5 When all array'd in light,
The fhining Conq'ror rode,
Ye hail'd his rapt'rous flight,
Up to the throne of God;
And wav'd around

Your ardent wings,

And tun'd your ftrings, Of nobleft found. 6 The warbling notes purfue,

And louder anthems raife;

Whilft mortals found with you

Their own Redeemer's praife.

And thou, my foul,

With equal flame,

His praife proclaim,

Whilft ages roll.

DODDRIDGE, altered.

Hymn CCXII. Long Metre. [or b]

PA

Patience.

ATIENCE! O what grace divine ! Sent from the God of peace and love That leans upon its Father's hand, As through the wilds of life we rove. 2 By patience we ferenely bear The troubles of our mortal ftate; And wait contented our discharge, Nor think our glory comes too late. 3 Though we in full fenfation fcel, The weight, the wounds our God ordains; We fmile amidst our heaviest woes, And triumph in our fharpeft pains.

4 O for this grace to aid us on,

And arm with fortitude the breaft;
Till life's tumultuous voyage is o'er,
We reach the port of endless reft.

P

5

Faith into vifion fhall be brought;
Hope fhall in full enjoyment die;
And patience in poffeffion end

In the bright world of bliss on high.

Hymn CCXIII. Common Metre. [orb]

The Peace and Confolation of a Chriftian.
EACE, all ye forrows of the heart,
And every tear be dry;

PEA

The Chriftian ne'er can be forlorn,
Who views his Saviour nigh.

2 "Let not your forrows rife," he says,
"Nor be your fouls afraid :
Truft in your God's almighty name,
And trust your Saviour's aid.

3 "Fair manfions in my Father's house
For all his children wait;
And I your elder brother go
To open wide the gate.
4"And if I thither go before,
A dwelling to prepare ;
I furely will return, again
That I may fix you there.
5"United in eternal love,

My people fhall remain,

And with rejoicing heart fhall fhare
The glories of my reign."

Thy gracious words, O Lord, we hear,
And cordial joys they bring ;

Frail nature may extort a groan,
But death has loft its fting,

DODDRIDGE.

Hymn CCXIV. Common Metre. [b]

P

Submiffion to afflictive Providence.

EACE, my complaining, doubting heart;
Ye bufy cares, be ftill;

Adore the juft, the fov'reign Lord,

Nor murmur at his will.

2 Unerring wisdom guides his hand;
Nor dares my guilty fear,
Amidft the fharpeft pains I feel,
Pronounce his hand fevere.
To foften every painful stroke,
Indulgent mercy bends;
And unrepining when I plead,
His gracious ear attends.

3

4

Let me

reflect with humble awe,
Whene'er my heart complains;
Compar'd with what my fins deferve,
How eafy are my pains!

5 Great fov'reign Lord, I own thy hand,
Thou juft and wife and kind;

Be every anxious thought fupprefs'd,
And all my foul refign'd.

6 From evil, thou wilt good produce,
And light from darknefs raife;

Thus thou wilt change my grief to joy,
And turn my tears to praise.

Mrs, STEELE, with Addition,

Hymn CCXV. Common Metre. [b]

The Trials of Virtue.

LAC'D on the verge of youth, my mind
Life's opening fcene furvey'd ;

I view'd its ills of various kinds

Afflicted and afraid.

2 But chief my fear the dangers mov'd
That virtue's path inclofe;
My heart the wife purfuit approv'd;
But oh, what toils oppofe !

3 For fee, while yet her unknown ways
With doubtful ftep I tread!
A hoftile world its terrors raife,
Its fnares delusive spread.

4 O how fhall I with heart prepar'd
Those terrors learn to meet ?

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

5 Let faith fupprefs each rifing fear,
Each anxious doubt exclude;

My Maker's will has plac'd me here;
A Maker wife and good.

6 He to my every trial knows
Its juft restraint to give;
Attentive to behold my woes,
And faithful to relieve.

7 Then why thus heavy, O my foul?
Say, why distrustful ftill,

Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll.
O'er scenes of future ill?

8 Though griefs unnumber'd throng thee round, Still in thy God confide;

Whofe finger marks the feas their bound,
And curbs the rolling tide.

MERRICK.

3

Hymn CCXVI.

PR

Sevens Metre. [*]

Praife in Profperity and Adverfity.
RAISE to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous Source of every joy,
Let thy praise our fongs employ.
2 For the bleffings of the field,
For the ftores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's ufe;
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow fheaves of ripen'd grain,
Clouds that drop their fattening dews,
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse;
4 All that spring with bounteous hand
Scatters o'er the fmiling land:
All that liberal autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing ftores;
These to thee, our God, we owe,
Source, whence all our bleffings flow;
And for these our fouls fhall raise
Grateful vows and folemu praise.
6 Yet fhould rifing whirlwinds tear
From its ftem, the opening ear;
Should the fig-tree's blafted fhoot
Drop its green untimely fruit;
7 Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store;
Though the fickening flocks fhould fall,
And the herds defert the stall;

5

8 Yet to thee our fouls fhall raise Grateful vows and folemn praise;