XVIII. The Ministry of Angels. IGH on a Hill of dazzling Light, H The King of Glory fpreads his Seat, And Troops of Angels ftretch'd for Flight, * 2" Go, faith the LORD, my Gabriel, go, "Salute the Virgin's fruitful Womb; "Make hafte, † ye Cherubs, down below, "Sing and proclaim the Saviour come.” 3 Here a bright Squadron † leaves the Skies, And thick around Elisha stands ; Anon a heav'nly Soldier flies, And breaks the Chains from Peter's || Hands, 4 Thy winged Troops, O God of Hofts, Wait on thy wand'ring Church below; Here we are failing to thy Coats, Let Angels be our Convoy too. 5 Are they not all thy Servants, Lord ? • Lukei. 26. † Luke ii. 13. † 2 Kings vi, 17, XIX. Our frail Bodies, and GoD our ET others boaft how strong they bej But we'll confefs, O LORD, to thee, 2 Fresh as the Grafs our Bodies ftand, A blafting Wind fweeps o'er the Land, 3 Our Life contains a thousand Springs, Strange! that a Harp of thousand Strings 4 But 'tis our God fupports our Frame, That rear'd us from the Duft. [5 He spoke, and straight our Hearts and Brains, In all their Motions rofe; "Let Blood, faid he, flow round the Veins," And round the Veins it flows. 6 While we have Breath, or use our Tongues, Our Maker we'll adore; His Spirit moves our heaving Lungs, XX. Backflidings and Returns: or, The WHY 7HY is my Heart so far from thee, [2 Why fhould my foolish Paffions rove? 3 When my forgetful Soul renews 4 But ere one fleeting Hour is pass'd, [5 Trifles of Nature or of Art, Where will those wild Affections roll, [7 Sin's promis'd Joys are turn'd to Pain, And I am drown'd in Grief; But my dear LORD returns again, 8 Seizing my Soul with fweet Surprise, [9 Wretch that I am, to wander thus 10 Make hafte, my Days, to reach the Goal, XXI. A Song of Praife to GOD the Redeemer. 1 ET the old Heathens tune their Song But the sweet Theme that moves my Tongue, 2 Behold a GOD defcends and dies, To fave my Soul from gaping Hell! 3 How Juftice frown'd, and Veng'ance stood, 4 Infinite Lover, gracious LORD! To thee be endless Honours giv'n; XXII. With GOD is terrible Majefty. TE 1 Errible Gop, that reign'ft on high, How awful is thy thund'ring Hand! Thy fiery Bolts how fierce they fly! Nor can all Earth or Hell withstand. 2 This the old Rebel-Angels knew, And Satan fell beneath thy Frown: Thine Arrows ftruck the Traitor through, And weighty Veng'ance funk him down. 3 This Sodom felt, and feels it ftill, And roars beneath th' eternal Load; "With endless Burnings who can dwell, "Or bear the Fury of a Gop!" 4 Tremble, ye Sinners, and fubmit 10 Throw down your Arms before his Throne; 5 And ye, blefs'd Saints, that love him too, "A |