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T'attend her Lord with joys unknown,
And bear the Victor to his throne.

Rejoice! ye fhining worlds on high;
Behold the Lord of Glory nigh:
Eternal doors, your leaves display,
To make the Lord of Glory way.

What mortal bard has fkill or force

To paint these scenes, to tread this course,
Or furnish through th' ethereal road
A triumph for a rising God?

Aftonish'd at fo vaft a flight

Through flaming worlds and floods of light,
My mufe her awful distance keeps,
Still following, but with trembling fteps.

She bids her humble verse explain
The Hebrew harp's fublimer ftrain ;
Points to her Saviour ftill, and shows
What courfe the Sun of Glory goes.

Here he afcends behind a cloud

Of incenfe, there he fets in blood;
She reads his labours and his names
In fpicy smoke, and bleeding lambs.
Rich are the graces which the draws
From types, and shades and Jewish laws;
With thousand glories long foretold
To turn the future age to gold.

Grace is her theme, and joy, and love :
Defcend, ye bleffings, from above,,
And crown my fong! Eeternal God,
Forgive the Mufe that dreads thy rod !

Silent, the hears thy vengeance roll,
That crushes mortals to the foul,
Nor dares affume the bolt, nor fheds
Th' immortal curfes on their heads.

Yet fince her God is ftill the fame,
And David's Son is all her theme,
She begs fome humble place to fing
In concert with Judea's King.

PSALM 139.


LORD, thou haft fearch'd and feen me through !

Thine eye commands with piercing view

My rifing and my resting hours,

My heart and flesh with all their pow'rs.

My thoughts before they are my own,
Are to my God diftinctly known;
He knows the words I mean to speak,
Ere from my op'ning lips they break.
Within thy circling pow'r I stand,
On ev'ry fide I find thy hand:
Awake, afleep, at home, abroad,
I am furrounded ftill with God.

Amazing knowledge, vast and great!
What large extent! what lofty height!
My foul, with all the pow'rs I boast,
Is in the boundless profpect loft.

O may these thoughts poffefs my breast,
Where'er I rove, where'er I reft!

Nor let my weaker passions dare

Confent to fin, for God is there.


COULD I fo falfe, fo faithlefs prove
To quit thy fervice and thy love,
Where, Lord, could I thy presence shun,
Or from thy dreadful glory run?—

If up to heav'n I take my flight,

"Tis there thou dwell'st enthron'd in light; Or dive to hell, there vengeance reigns, And Satan groans beneath thy chains.

If mounted on a morning ray,
I fly beyond the western sea,
Thy fwifter hand would first arrive,
And there arreft thy fugitive.

Or fhould I try to fhun thy fight,
Beneath the spreading veil of night;
One glance of thine, one piercing ray,
Would kindle darkness into day.

The veil of night is no disguise,
No fercen from thy all-searching eyes;
Thy hand can feize thy foes as foon
Through midnight shades as blazing noon.
Midnight and noon in this agree,
Great God! they're both alike to thee:
Not death can hide what God will spy,
And hell lies naked to his eye.

O may these thoughts poffefs my breast,
Where'er I rove, where'er I reft;

Nor let my weaker paffions dare

Confent to fin, for God is there.



'Twas from thy hand, my God, I came,

A work of fuch a curious frame;
In me thy fearful wonders fhine,
*And each proclaims thy fkill divine.
Thy eyes did all my limbs furvey,
Which yet in dark confufion lay;
Thou faw'ft the daily growth they took,
Form'd by the model of thy book.

By thee my growing parts were nam'd;
And what thy fov'reign counfels fram'd,
(The breathing lungs, the beating heart)
Was copy'd with unerring art.
At laft, to fhew my Maker's name,
God ftamp'd his image on my frame;
And in fome unknown moment join'd
The finish'd members to the mind.

There the young feeds of thought began,
And all the paffions of the man!
Great God our infant nature pays
Immortal tribute to thy praise.

Lord, fince in my advancing age,
I've acted on life's busy stage:
Thy thoughts of love to me furmount
The pow'r of numbers to recount.

I could furvey the ocean o'er,

And count each fand that makes the shore,
Before my swifteft thoughts could trace
The num'rous wonders of thy grace!

These on my heart are still impress'd,
With thefe I give my eyes to reft;
And at my waking hour I find
God and his love poffefs my mind.



My God, with inward grief I feel
When impious men tranfgrefs thy will;
I mourn to hear their lips profane,
Take thy tremendous name in vain.

Does not my foul deteft and hate
The fons of malice and deceit ?
Those that oppofe thy laws and thee,
I count them enemies to me.

Lord, fearch my foul, try ev'ry thought,
Though my own heart accufe me not
Of walking in a false disguise,
I beg the trial of thine eyes.

Doth fecret mifchief lurk within ?
Do I indulge fome unknown fin?
O turn my feet whene'er I ftray,
And lead me in thy perfect way.

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