HYMNS

And

SPIRITUALSONGS.

i

I

MY God, my King, thy various Praise
Shall fill the Remnant of my Days;
Thy Grace employ my humble Tongue,
'Till Death and Glory raise the Song.

2 The Wings of ev'ry Hour shall bear
Some thankful Tribute to thine Ear;
And ev'ry setting Sun shall fee
New Works of Duty done for thee.
3 Thy Truth and Justice I'll proclaim;
Thy Bounty flows, an endless Stream;
Thy Mercy swift, thy Anger flow,
But dreadful to the stubborn Foe.

4 Thy Works with sov'reign Glory shine,
And speak thy Majesty divine;
Let Britain round her Shores proclaim
The Sound and Honour of thy Name.

5 Let distant Times and Nations raise
The long Succession of thy Praise;
And unborn Ages make my Song,
The Joy and Labour of their Tongue.
But who can speak thy wond'rous Deeds?
Thy Greatness all our Thoughts exceeds:
Vast and unsearchable thy Ways!
Vast and immortal be thy Praise!

1

LL praise my Maker with my Breath;
praise or soft in Death

Praise shall employ my nobler Pow'rs ; My Days of Praite shall ne'er be paft, While Life, and Thought, and Being last, Or Immortality endures.

2 Why should I make a Man my Trust? Princes must die and turn to Duft::

Vain is the Help of Flesh and Blood;.... Their Breath departs, their Pomp and Pow'r, And Thoughts, all vanish in an Hour,

Nor can they make their Promise good. 3 Happy the Man whose Hopes rely On Ifrael's God: He made the Sky, AndEarth, and Seas, with all their Train; His Truth for ever stands secure: He saves th' Opprest, he feeds the Poor,

And none shall find his Promise vain. 4 The Lord hath Eyes to give the Blind; The Lord fupports the finking Mind;

He sends the lab'ring Confcience Peace, He helps the Stranger in Distress, The Widow and the Fatherless,

And grants the Pris'ner sweet Release.

5 He loves his Saints, he knows them well,
But turns the Wicked down to Hell;
Thy God, O Zion, ever reigns:
Let ev'ry Tongue, let ev'ry Age,

In this exalted Work engage;

Praise him in everlasting Strains.

6 I'll praife him while he lends me Breath, And when my Voice is lost in Death,

Praise shall employ my nobler Pow'rs: My Days of Praise shalt ne'er be past, While Life, and Thought, and Being last, Or Immortality endures.

1 ETERNAL Source of ev'ry Joy!
Well may thy Praise our Lips employ,
While in thy Temple we appear;
Thy Goodness crowns the circling Year.

? Wide as the Wheels of Nature roll,
Thy Hand fupports the steddy Pole;
The Sun is taught by thee to rife,
And Darkness when to veil the Skies.

3 The flow'ry Spring at thy Command,
Embalms the Air, and paints the Land;
The Summer Rays with Vigour shine,
To raife the Corn, and cheer the Vine.
4 Seafons, and Months, and Weeks, and Days,
Demand fuccessive Songs of Praite;
Still be the cheerful Homage paid,
With op'ning Light and ev'ning Shade.

5 Here in thy House shall Incense rise,
As circling Sabbaths bless our Eyes;
Still will we make thy Mercies known
Around thy Board, and round our own.

L 2.

60