A GENERAL SONG OF PRAISE TO GOD. HOW glorious is our heav'nly King, Who reigns above the sky! How fhall a child presume to fing His dreadful majesty ? How great his pow'r is, none can tell, Not angels, that stand round the Lord, But they perform his heavenly word, Then let me join this holy strain, My heart refolves, my tongue obeys; To hear their mighty Maker's praise Sound from a feeble voice. A CONTEMPLATION. O NATURE! 'grateful for the gifts of mind, Bring gentleft Love, bring Fancy to my breaft; And if wild Genius, in his devious way, Would fometimes deign to be my evening guest, Or near my lone fhade not unkindly stray; 1 I ask no more! for happier gifts than these, LANGHORNE. GRATITUDE. WHEN all thy mercies, O my God Tranfported with the view, I'm lost Oh how fhall words, with equal warmth, The gratitude declare, That glows within my ravifh'd heart? But thou canst read it there. Thy Providence my life fuftain'd, And all my wants redrest, When in the filent womb I lay And hung upon the breast., To all my weak complaints and cries, Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt Unnumber'd comforts to my fou! Before my infant heart conceiv'd From whom those comforts flow'd. When, in the flipp'ry paths of youth,' With heedlefs fteps, I ran, Thine arm, unfecn, convey'd me safe, And led me up to man. Thro' hidden dangers, toils, and death, It gently clear'd my way; And thro' the pleasing fnares of vice, When worn by fickness, oft haft thou Thy bounteous hand, with worldly blifs, Has made my cup run o'er; And, in a kind and faithful friend, Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ; Nor is the leaft, a chearful heart, And, after death, in diftant worlds, The glorious theme renew. When Nature fails, and day and night Divide thy works no more, My ever-grateful heart, O Lord! 1 Thro' all eternity, to Thee A joyful fong I'll raife, For O! Eternity's too short, To utter all thy. Praise. ADDISON. THE ALL-SEEING GOD. ALMIGHTY God, thy piercing eye Strikes thro' the fhades of night, Here's not a fin that we commit, Nor wicked word we say, But in thy dreadful Book 'tis writ, And must the crimes that I have done Be all expos'd before the fun, Lord, at thy foot afham'd I lie |