5 Behold him rising from the grave;

Behold him rais'd on high;
He pleads his merits there, to save

Transgressors doom'd to die.
6 There on a glorious throne he reigns,

And by his pow'r divine
Redeems us from the slavish chains

Of Satan and of sin. 7 Thence shall the Lord to judgment come,

And with a sov'reign voice
Shall call, and break up ev'ry tomb,

While waking saints rejoice. 8 O! may I then with joy appear

Before the Judge's face,
And with the blest assembly there

Sing his redeeming grace!

SONG IV. PRAISE FOR MERCIES SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL. 1 WHENE'ER I take my walks abroad,

How many poor I see!

What shall I render to my God

For all his gifts to me?
2 Not more than others I deserve,

Yet God hath given me more;
For I have food while others starve,

Or beg from door to door.
3 How many children in the street

Half naked I behold;
While I am cloth'd from head to feet,

And cover'd from the cold. 4 While some poor wretches scarce can tell

Where they may lay there head; I have a home wherein to dwell,

And rest upon my bed. 5 While others early learn to swear,

And curse, and lie, and steal; Lord, I am taught thy name to fear,

And do thy holy will.
6 Are these thy favours day by day,

To me above the rest?
Then let me love thee more than they,

And try to serve thee best.

1 GREAT God, to thee my voice I raise,

To thee my youngest hours belong; I would begin my life with praise,

Till growing years improve the song. 2 'Tis to thy sov’reign grace I owe

That I was born on British ground; Where streams of heav'nly mercy flow,

And words of sweet salvation sound. 3 I would not change my native land

For rich Peru with all her gold;
A nobler prize lies in my hand,

Than East or Western Indies hold.
How do I pity those that dwell

Where ignorance and darkness reigns!
They know heav'n, they fear no hell,

Those endless joys, these endless pains.

5 Thy glorious promises, O Lord!

Kindle my hopes, and my desire; While all the preachers of thy word

Warn me t escape eternal fire. 6 Thy praise shall still employ my breath, Since thou hast mark'd my way to

heav'n; Nor will I run the road to death,

And waste the blessings thou hast giv'n.

1 LORD, I ascribe it to thy grace,

And not to chance as others do, That I was born of Christian race,

And not a heathen nor a Jew. 2 What would the ancient Jewish kings

And Jewish prophets once have giv'n,

Could they have heard those glorious

things Which Christ reveal'd and brought

from heav'n! 3 How glad the heathens would have been,

That worshipp'd idols, wood and stone, If they the book of God had seen,

Or Jesus and his gospel known! 4 Then if this gospel I refuse,

How shall I e'er lift up my eyes; For all the Gentiles and the Jews,

Against me will in judgment rise.

1 GREAT God, with wonder and with praise

On all thy works I look; But still thy wisdom, pow'r, and grace,

Shine brightest in thy book.