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$252. Good Refolutions. WATTS. THOUGH I am now in younger days, Nor can tell what shall befal me,

I'll prepare for ev'ry place
Where my growing age fhall call me.

Should I e'er be rich or great,

Others fhall partake my goodness; I'll fupply the poor with meat, Never thewing fcorn or rudeness. Where I fee the blind or lame,

Deaf or duinb, I'll kindly treat them; I deferve to feel the fame,

If I mock, or hurt, or cheat them.

If I meet with railing tongues,
Why should I return them railing,
Since I beft revenge my wrongs

By my patience never failing!
When I hear them telling lies,
Talking foolish, curfing, fwearing;
First I'll try to make them wife,

Or I'll foon get out of hearing.
What though I be low and mean,
I'll engage the rich to love me
While I'm modeft, neat, and clean,
And fubmit when they reprove me.
If I fhould be poor and fick,

I fhall meet, I hope, with pity;
Since I love to help the weak,

Tho' they're neither fair nor witty.

I'll not willingly offend,

Nor be easily offended!
What's amifs I'll ftrive to mend,
And endure what can't be mended.

May I be fo watchful still

O'er my humours and my paffion, As to speak and do no ill,

Tho' it fhould be all the fashion. Wicked fashions lead to hell;

Ne'er may I be found complying; But in life behave fo well,

Not to be afraid of dying.

And there follow'd fome droppings of rain!
But now the fair traveller's come to the weft,
His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best;
He paints the fky gay as he finks to his reft,
And foretells a bright rifing again.

Juft fuch is the Chriftian: his course he begins,
Like the fun in a mift, when he mourns for his fins,
And melts into tears;then he breaks out and shines,
And travels his heav'nly way:

$253. A Summer Evening. WATTS. HOW fine has the day been! how bright was

the fun!

How lovely and joyful the courfe that he run!
Tho' he rofe in a mift when his race he begun,

But, when he comes nearer to finish his race,
Like a fine fetting fun, he looks richer in grace,
And gives a fure hope at the end of his days,
Of rifing in brighter array!

HUS

$254. A Cradle Hymn. WATTS.
USH! my dear, lie ftill and flumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed !
Heav'nly blethings, without number,
Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment,

Houfe and home thy friends provide;
All without thy care or payinent,
All thy wants are well fupply'd.
How much better thou'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be;
When from heav'n he defcended,

And became a child like thee!
Soft and eafy is thy cradle,

Coarfe and hard thy Saviour lay:
When his birth-place was a ftable,
And his fofteft bed was hay.
Bleffed babe! what glorious features,
Spotlefs fair, divinely bright!
Muft he dwell with brutal creatures!
How could angels bear the fight!
Was there nothing but a manger

Curfed finners could afford,
To receive the heav'nly stranger!

Did they thus affront their Lord!
Soft, my child; I did not chide thee,
Tho' my fong might found too hard :
* mother

'Tis thy

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fits befide thee,

nurse that
And her arms fhall be thy guard.
Yet to read the shameful story,

How the Jews abus'd their King!
How they ferv'd the Lord of Glory,.
Makes me angry while I fing.
See the kinder fhepherds round him,
Telling wonders from the sky!
Where they fought him, there they found him;
With his Virgin mother by.

See the lovely babe a-dreffing;

Lovely infant, how he fmil'd!
When he wept, the mother's bleffing
Sooth'd and hufh'd the holy child.

Here you may use the words Brother, Sifler, Neighbour, Friend, &c.

Lo,

Lo, he flumbers in his manger,

Where the horned oxen fed; Peace, my darling, here's no danger, Here's no ox a-near thy bed. 'Twas to fave thee, child, from dying, Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans, and endless crying,

That thy bleft Redeemer came.

May'st thou live to know and fear him,
Truft and love him all thy days;
Then go dwell for ever near him,
See his face, and fing his praise!
I could give thee thoufand kiffes,
Hoping what I must defire
Not a mother's fondeft wishes
Can to greater joys aspire!

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MERRICK.

$255. The Nunc Dimittis. "TIS enough-the hour is come:

Now within the filent tomb

Let this mortal frame decay,
Mingled with its kindred clay;
Since thy mercies, oft of old
By thy chofen feers foretold,
Faithful now and ftedfast prove,
God of truth, and God of love!
Since at length my aged eye
Sees the day fpring from on high!
Son of righteoufnels, to thee,
Lo! the nations bow the knce;
And the realms of distant kings
Own the healing of thy wings.
Those whom death had overfpread
With his dark and dreary shade,
Lift their eyes, and from afar
Hail the light of Jacob's Star
Waiting till the promis'd ray-
Turn their darkness into day.
See the beams, intenfely fhed,
Shine o'er Sion's favour'd head!
Never may they hence remove,
God of truth, and God of love!

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§ 256. The Benedicite paraphrafed. MERRICK.

YE works of God, on him alone,

In earth his footstool, heav'n his throne,
Be all your praise bestow'd;
Whofe hand the beauteous fabric made,
Whofe eye the finish'd work furvey'd,
And faw that all was good.
Ye angels, that with loud acclaim
Admiring view'd the new-born frame,

And hail'd th'Eternal King,
Again proclaim your Maker's praife;
Again your thankful voices raife,

And touch the tuneful string. Praise him, ye blefs'd æthereal plains, Where, in full majefty, he deigns

To fix his awful throne:
Ye waters that above him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
O make his praises known!
Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow'rs,
Join ye your joyful fongs with ours;
With us your voices raise;
From age to age extend the lay,
To heav'n's Eternal Monarch pay
Hymns of eternal praife.
Celestial orb! whofe pow'rful ray
Opes the glad eyelids of the day,

Whofe influence all things own;
Praise him, whofe courts effulgent shine
With light as far excelling thine,
As thine the paler moon.
Ye glitt'ring planets of the sky,
Whole lamps the abfent fun fupply,
With him the fong purfue;
And let himself fubmiflive own,
He borrows from a brighter Sun
The light he lends to you.

Ye fhow'rs and dews, whofe moisture shed
Calls into life the op'ning feed,

To him your praifes yield,
Whose influence wakes the genial birth,
Drops fatnefs on the pregnant earth,

And crowns the laughing field.
Ye winds, that oft tempeftuous fweep
The ruffled furface of the deep,

With us confefs your God;
See thro' the heav'ns the King of Kings,
Upborne on your expanded wings,
Comes Aying all abroad.

Ye floods of fire, where'er ye flow,
With juft fubmifhon humbly bow
To his fuperior pow'r,
Who ftops the tempeft on its way,
Or bids the flaming deluge ftray,
And gives it strength to roar.
Ye fummer's heat and winter's cold,
By turns in long fucceffion roll'd,

The drooping world to cheer,
Praife him who gave the fun and moon
To lead the various feafons on,

And guide the circling year..
Ye frofts, that bind the wat❜ry plain,
Ye filent fhow'rs of fleecy rain,

Pursue the heav'nly theme;
Praise him who fheds the driving fnow,
Forbids the harden'd waves to flow,

And ftops the rapid stream.

Ye days and nights, that fwiftly borne,
From morn to eve, from eve to morn,
Alternate glide away,

Praise him, whofe never-varying light,
Abfent, adds horror to the night,

But prefent, gives the day.

Light, from whofe rays all beauty fprings; Darkness, whofe wide-expanded wings

Involve

Involve the dufky globe;

Praise him, who, when the heav'ns he fpread,
Darkness his thick pavilion made,

And light his regal robe.

Praife him, ye lightnings, as ye fly
Wing'd with his vengeance thro' the sky,
And red with wrath divine;
Praife him, ye clouds, that wand'ring stray,
Or fix'd by him, in close array

Surround his awful fhrine.

Exalt, O earth! thy Heav'nly King,
Who bids the plants, that form the spring,
With annual verdure bloom;
Whofe frequent drops of kindly rain
Prolific fweil the rip'ning grain,

And bless thy fertile womb.

Ye mountains, that ambitious rife,
And heave your fummits to the skies,
Revere his awful nod;

Think how you once affrighted fled,
When Jordan fought his fountain-head,
And own'd th'approaching God.
Ye trees, that fill the rural fcene;
Ye flow'rs, that o'er th'enamell'd green
In native beauty reign;

O praise the Ruler of the skles,
Whofe hand the genial fap fupplies,
And clothes the finiling plain.
Ye fecret fprings, ye gentle rills,
That murm'ring rife among the hills,

Or fill the humble vale;
Praise him, at whofe Almighty nod
The rugged rock diffolving flow'd,

And form'd a fpringing well.
Praife him ye floods, and feas profound,
Whofe waves the fpacious earth furround,
And roll from shore to fhore;
Aw'd by his voice, ye feas, fubfide;
Ye floods, within your channels glide,'
And tremble and adore.

Ye whales, that ftir the boiling deep,
Or in its dark recelles fleep,

Remote from human eye,
Praise him by whom ye all are fed;
Praife him, without whofe heav'nly aid
Ye languish, faint, and die.
Ye birds, exalt your Maker's name;
Begin, and with th'important theme
Your artless lays improve;
Wake with your fongs the rifing day,
Let music found on ev'ry spray,

And fill the vocal grove.

Praise him, ye beasts, that nightly roam
Amid the folitary gloom,

Th'expected prey to feize;
Ye flaves of the laborious plough,
Your ftubborn necks fubmiffive bow,

And bend your weary'd knees.
Ye fons of men, his praifc. display,
Who ftampt his image on your clay,

And gave it pow'r to move;

Ye that in Judah's confines dwell, From age to age fucceffive tell

The wonders of his love. Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong, Till angels liften to the fong,

And bend attentive down ;
Let wonder feize the heav'nly train,
Pleas'd while they hear a mortal ftrain
So fweet, fo like their own.
And you your thankful voices join,
That oft at Salem's facred fhrine
Before his altars kneel;
Where thron'd in majefty he dwells,
And from the myftic cloud reveals
The dictates of his will.

Ye fpirits of the just and good,
That, eager for the blefs'd abode,

To heav'nly mansions foar;
O let your fongs his praise difplay,
Till heav'n itself shall melt away,

And time fhall be no more!
Praise him, ye meek and humble train,
Ye faints, whom his decrees ordain
The boundless blifs to fhare;
O praife him, till ye take your way
To regions of eternal day,
And reign for ever there.

Let
us, who
now impaffive ftand,
Aw'd by the tyrant's ftern command,
Amid the fiery blaze;
While thus we triumph in the flame,
Rife, and our Maker's love proclaim,
In hymns of endless praise.

$257. The Ignorance of Man. MERRICK. BEHOLD yon new-born infant, griev'd With hunger, thirst, and pain; That afks to have the wants reliev'd It knows not to complain. Aloud the fpeechless suppliant cries, And utters, as it can,

The woes that in its bofom rife,

And fpeaks its nature — man.
That infant, whose advancing hour
Life's various forrows try
(Sad proof of fin's tranfmiffive pow'r ')
That infant, Lord, am I.

A childhood yet my thoughts confefs,
Though long in years mature;
Unknowing whence I feel diftrefs,

And where, or what, its 'cure.
Author of Good, to thee I turn :
Thy ever-wakeful eye
Alone can all my wants difcern;
Thy hand alone fupply.

O let thy fear within me dwell,

Thy love my footsteps guide; That love fhall vainer loves expel; That fear all fears befide.

And

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PLAC'D on the verge of youth, my mind
Life's op'ning scene survey'd :

I view'd its ills of various kind,
Afflicted and afraid.

But chief my fear the dangers mov'd,
That virtue's path inclofe:
My heart the wife pursuit approv'd;
But O, what toils oppose!

For fee, ah fee! while yet her ways
With doubtful step I tread,
A hoftile world its terrors raise;
Its fnares delufive spread.

O how shall I, with heart prepar'd,
Thofe terrors learn to meet ?

How from the thousand fnares to guard
My unexperienc'd feet?

As thus I mus'd, oppreffive fleep
Soft o'er my temples drew
Oblivion's veil.-The wat'ry deep,
An object strange and new,
Before me rofe: on the wide shore
Obfervant as I stood,

The gath'ring ftorms around me roar,
And heave the boiling flood.
Near and more near the billows rife;

E'en now my steps they lave;
And death to my affrighted eyes
Approach'd in ev'ry wave.
What hope, or whither to retreat,
Each nerve at once unftrung,
Chill fear had fetter'd fast my feet,
And chain'd my fpeechless tongue.
I feel my heart within me die;

When fudden to mine ear
A voice defcending from on high,
Reprov'd my erring fear :

What tho' the fwelling furge thou fee
Impatient to devour;

Reft, mortal, reft on God's decree,
And thankful own his pow'r.
Know, when he bade the deep appear,
"Thus far," th' Almighty faid,
"Thus far, nor farther, rage; and here
"Let thy proud waves be stay'd."
I heard; and lo! at once controul'd,
The waves, in wild retreat,
Back on themselves reluctant roll'd,
And murmuring, left my fect.,

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$259. Chrift's Paffion: from a Greek Ode of Mr. MASTER'S, formerly of New College. PITT. No more of earthly subjects fing;

To Heaven, my mufe, afpire

To raise the song, charge ev'ry string,
And strike the living lyre.

Begin, in lofty numbers show
Th'Eternal King's unfathom'd love,
Who reigns the Sov'reign God above,
And fuffers on the cross below.
Prodigious pile of wonders! rais'd too high
For the dim ken of frail mortality.

What numbers thall I bring along!
From whence fhall I begin the fong?
The mighty mystery I'll fing, infpir'd
Beyond the reach of human wifdomn wrought,
Beyond the compafs of an angel's thought,
How by the rage of man his God expir'd.
I'll make the tracklefs depths of mercy know
How to redeem his foe, God render'd up his Son
I'll raife my voice to tell mankind

The victor's conqueft o'er his doom; How in the grave he lay confin'd,

To feal more fure the rav'nous tomb. Three days, th'infernal empire to fubdue, He pafs'd triumphant through the coafts of woe; With his own dart the tyrant Death he flew, And led hell captive through her realms below. A mingled round from Calvary I hear, And the loud tumult thickens on my ear; The fhouts of murd'rers that infult the flain, The voice of torment and the fhricks of pain.

I caft my eyes with horror up
To the curft mountain's guilty top;

See there! whom hanging in the midft I view!
Ah! how unlike the other two!
I fee him high above his focs,
And gently bending from the wood
His head in pity down to thofe,
Whofe guilt confpires to fhed his blood.
His wide-extended arms I fee

Transfix'd with nails, and faften'd to the trec.
Man! fenfelefs man! canft thou look on?
Nor make thy Saviour's pains thy own,
The rage of all thy griefs exert,
Rend thy garments and thy heart:
Beat thy breaft and grovel low,
Beneath the burden of thy woe;

Bleed through thy bowels, tear thy hairs,
Breathe gales of fighs, and weep a flood of tears.
Behold thy King, with purple cover'd round,
Not in the Tyrian tinctures dy'd,
Nor dipt in poifon of Sidonian pride, [wound.
But in his own rich blood that streams from ev'ry
Doft thou not fee the thorny circle red?
The guilty wreath that blushes round his head?
And with what rage the bloody fcourge apply'd;
Curls round his limbs, and ploughs into his fide!
At fuch a fight let all thy anguith rife;
Break up, break up the fountains of thy eyes.
Here bid thy tears in gufhing torrents flow,
Indulge thy grief, and give a loose to woe.

Weep from thy foul, till earth be drown'd; Weep, till thy forrows drench the ground. Canft thou, ungrateful man! his torments fee, Nor drop a tear for him, who pours his blood for thee?

$260. A Funeral Hymn. MALLET. YE midnight fhades o'er nature fpread

Dumb filence of the dreary hour!
In honor of th'approaching dead,
Around your awful terrors pour.
Yes, pour around,
On this pale ground,

Through all this deep furrounding gloom,
The fober thought,

The tear untaught,

Thofe mecteft mourners at a tomb.
Lo! as the furplic'd train draw near
To this laft manfion of mankind,
The flow fad bell, the fable bier,
In holy mufings wrap the mind!
And while their beam,
With trembling ftream,
Attending tapers faintly dart;
Each mould'ring bone,
Each sculptur'd stone,
Strikes mute inftruction to the heart!

Now, let the facred organ blow,
With folemn paufe and founding flow;
Now, let the voice due measure keep,
In trains that figh, and words that weep;

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$261. Veni Creator Spiritus, paraphrafed. DRYDEN,

REATOR Spirit, by whofe aid

CRE

The world's foundations firft were laid,
Come vifit ev'ry pious mind;
Come pour thy joys on human kind;
From fin and forrow fet us free,
And make thy temples worthy thee.

O Source of uncreated light,
The Father's promis'd Paraclete
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heav'nly love infpire;
Come, and thy facred unction bring
To fanctify us while we fing.

Plenteous of grace, defcend from high,
Rich in thy fevenfold energy!
Thou ftrength of his Almighty hand,

Whofe pow'r does heaven and carth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who doft the gifts of tongues difpenfe,
And crown'ft thy gift with eloquence !

Refine and purge our earthly parts ;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our voice controul,
Submit the fenfes to the foul;

And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.

Chace from our minds th'infernal foc,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, left our feet should step aftray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive, And practife all that we believe: Give us thyfelf, that we may fee The Father and the Son by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame, Attend th'Almighty Father's name :

The

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