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Works of man, when made his plea,
Never shall accepted be ;
Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm)

Are the best he can perform. 2 Self, the god his soul adores,

Influences all his pow'rs ;
Jesus is a slighted name,
Self-advancement all his aim:
But when God the Judge shall come,
To pronounce the final doom ;
When for rocks and hills to hide,

All his works and all his pride ; 3 Still, the boasting heart replies,

What the worthy and the wise,
Friends to temperance and peace,
Have not these a righteousness ?
Banish ev'ry vain pretence
Built on human excellence ;
Perish ev'ry thing in man,
But the grace that never can.

LXII.

PRAISE FOR FAITB.

I OF all the gifts thine hand bestows,

Thou Giver of all good!
Not heav'n itself a richer knows,

Than my Redeemer's blood.

2 Faith too, the blood receiving grace,

From the same hand we gain ; Else, sweetly, as it suits our case,

That gift had been in vain.
3 Till thou thy teaching pow'r apply,

Our hearts refuse to see,
And weak, as a distemper'd eye,

Shut out the view of thee.
4 Blind to the merits of thy Son,

What mis'ry we endure !
Yet fly that hand, from which alone.

We could expect a cure. 5 We praise thee, and would praise thee more,

To thee our all we owe ;
The precious Saviour, and the pow'r

That makes him precious too.

LXIII.

GRACE AND PROVIDENCE.

I ALMIGHTY King! whose wond'rous hand

Supports the weight of sea and land ;
Whose grace is such a boundless store,

No heart shall break that sighs for more. 2 Thy providence supplies my food,

And 'tis thy blessing makes it good;
My soul is nourish'd by thy word,
Let soul and body praise the Lord.

3 My streams of outward comfort came

From him who built this earthly frame ;
Whate'er I want his bounty gives,

By whom my soul forever lives.
4 Either his hand preserves from pain,

Or, if I feel it, heals again ;
From Satan's malice shields my breast,

Or over-rules it for the best.
5 Forgive the song that falls so low

Beneath the gratitude I owe !
It means thy praise, however poor,
An angel's song can do no more.

LXIV.

I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES

I WINTER has a joy for me,

While the Saviour's charms I read,
Lowly, meek, from blemish free,

In the snow-drop's pensive head. 2 Spring returns, and brings along

Life invigorating suns :
Hark! the turtle's plaintive song

Seems to speak his dying groans ! 3 Summer has a thousand charms,

All expressive of his worth ;
'Tis his sun that lights and warms,
His the air that cools the earth.

4 What, has autumn left to say

Nothing of a Saviour's grace?
Yes, the beams of milder day

Tell me of his smiling face.
5 Light appears with early dawn
While the sun makes haste to rise,
See his bleeding beauties drawn
On the blushes of the skies.

6 Ev'ning, with a silent pace,

Slowly moving in the west,
Shews an emblem of his grace,
Points to an eternal rest.

END.

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