Hymn CLXXXVIII. Long Metre. [*]

Glory to Chrift our Prieft and King.

NOT

OW to the Lord who makes us know
The wonders of his dying love;

Be humble honours paid below,

And strains of nobler praife above.

2 'Twas he who cleans'd us from our fins, And wafh'd us in his precious blood; 'Tis he who makes us priefts and kings, And brings us rebels near to God. 3 To Jefus, our atoning Priest, To Jefus, our eternal King, Be univerfal power confefs'd, And every tongue his glory fing. 4 Behold, on flying clouds he comes! And every eye thail fee him move! Though with our fins we pierc'd him once, Then he displays his pard'ning love. 5 The unbelieving world fhall wail, Whilft we rejoice to fee the day; Come, Lord, nor let thy promise fail, Nor let thy chariot long delay.

WATTS

Hymn CLXXXIX. Long Meire. [*]

NOW

Salvation by Grace.

OW to the power of God fupreme
Be everlafting honours given;

He faves from fin, we blefs his name,
And calls our wand'ring feet to heaven.

2 Not for our duties or deferts,
But of his awn abundant grace,

3

He works falvation in our hearts,
And forms a people for his praife.

'Twas his own purpose that begun
To refcue finners doom'd to die;

He gave us grace in Chrift his Son,
Before he spread the ftarry fky.
4 Jefus, the Lord, appears at last,
And makes his Father's counfels known;
Declares the great tranfactions past,
And brings immortal bleffings down.
5 He dies, and in that dreadful night
Did all the powers of hell deftroy;
Rifing, he brought our heaven to light,
And took poffeffion of the joy.

Hymn CXC.

WATTS.

Common Metre. [*]

Divine Goodness in Afflictions.

OW to thy heav'nly Father's praife,

NOW My heart thy tribute bring;

That goodness which prolongs my days,
With grateful pleasure fing.

2 Whene'er he fends afflicting pains,
His mercy holds the rod;

His powerful word the heart fuftains,
And speaks a faithful God.

3 A faithful God is ever nigh,

When humble grief implores;

His ear attends each plaintive figh,
He pities and restores.

4 My grateful foul would humbly bring
Her tribute to thy throne;

Accept the with, my God, my King,
To make thy goodness known.

5 O be the life thy hand reftores,
Devoted to thy praise !

To thee I confecrate my powers,
To thee, my future days.

6 Thy foul-enliv'ning grace impart,
A warmer love infpire;

And be the breathings of my heart
Dependence and defire.

Mrs. STEELE,

Hymn CXCI. Common Metre. [or b]

NOW

Winter.

OW winter throws his icy chains,
Encircling nature round:

How bleak, how comfortless the plains,
With verdure lately crown'd!

2 The fun withdraws his vital beams,
And light and warmth depart;
And drooping, lifelefs nature seems
An emblem of my heart.

3 My heart, where mental winter reigns,
In night's dark mantle clad,
Confin'd in cold inactive chains,
How defolate and fad !

4 Ere long the fun with genial ray
Shall cheer the mourning earth;
And blooming flowers, and verdure gay,
Renew their annual birth.

So, if my foul's bright Sun impart

His all-enliv'ning fmile,

The vital ray fhall cheer my heart,

Till then a frozen foil.

6 Then faith and hope and love fhall rife,
Renew'd to lively bloom,

And breathe accepted to the skies,
Their humble, fweet perfume.

7 Great Source of light, thy beams display,
My drooping joys restore,

And guide me to the feats of day,
Where winter frowns no more.

Mrs. STEELE,

Hymn CXCII. Common Metre.

Charity.

CHARITY! thou heavenly grace!
all tender, foft and kind!

A friend to all the human race,
To all that's good inclin'd!

2 The man of charity extends
To all, his liberal hand ;

3

His kindred, neighbours, foes and friends,
His pity may command.

He aids the poor in their diftrefs;
He hears when they complain;
With tender heart delights to bless,
And leffen all their pain.

4 The fick, the pris'ner, poor and blind,
And all the fons of grief,

In him a benefactor find,

He loves to give relief.

5 'Tis love that makes religion sweet 'Tis love that makes us rife,

[*]

With willing mind and ardent feet,
To yonder happy fkies.

6 Then let us all in love abound,
And charity purfue;

Thus fhall we be with glory crown'd,

And love as angels do.

PROUD.

Hymn CXCIII. Long Metre. [or b]

Longing for Heaven.

COULD I foar to worlds above, That bleffed flate of peace and love! How gladly would I mount and fly On angels' wings to joys on high! 2 But ah! ftill longer must I stay, Ere darkfome night is chang'd to day; More croffes, forrows, conflicts bear, Expos'd to trials, pains and care. 3 Well, let these troubles ftill abound, Let thorns and briars fill the ground; Let ftorms and tempefts dreadful come, Till I arrive at heaven my home.

4 My Father knows what road is beft, And how to lead to peace and rest ; To him I cheerful give my all,

5

Go where he leads, and wait his call.
When he commands my foul away,
Not kingdoms then fhall tempt my itay;
With rapture I fhall wake, and rife
To join my friends above the fkies.

PROCD.