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My God, I hate to walk or dwell

With finful children here: Then let me not be sent to hell, Where none but finners are.

$75. Against Pride in Clothes. Watts.
WHY fhould our garments, made to hide
Our parents' fhame, provoke our pride?
The art of dress did ne'er begin
Till Eve, our mother, learnt to fin.
When first she put the cov'ring on,
Her robe of innocence was gone;
And yet her children vainly boast
In the fad marks of glory loft.
How proud we are! how fond to fhew
Our clothes, and call them rich and new!
When the poor fheep and filkworm wore
That very clothing long before.
The tulip and the butterfly
Appear in gayer coats than I:
Let me be dreft fine as I will,

Flies, worms, and flow`rs, exceed me ftill.
Then will I fet my heart to find
Inward adornings of the mind;
Knowledge and virtue, truth and grace:
These are the robes of richest drefs.
No more fhall worms with me compare;
This is the raiment angels wear;
The Son of God, when here below,
Put on this blest apparel too.

It never fades, it ne'er grows old;
Nor fears the rain, nor moth, nor mould:
It takes no spot, but still refines;
The more 'tis worn, the more it fhines.
In this on earth would I appear,
Then go to heav'n and wear it there,
God will approve it in his sight;
'Tis his own work, and his delight.

$76. Obedience to Parents. Watts. LET children that would fear the Lord Hear what their teachers fay;

With rev'rence meet their parent's word,
And with delight obey.

Have you not heard what dreadful plagues
Are threaten'd by the Lord,

To him that breaks his father's law,
Or mocks his mother's word?
What heavy guilt upon him lies!

How curfed is his name!
The ravens fhall pick out his eyes,
And eagles eat the fame.

But those who worship God, and give
Their parents honour due,
Here on this earth they long shall live,
And live hereafter too.

$77. The Child's Complaint. Watts. WHY fhould I love my fport so well, So conftant at my play,

And lofe the thoughts of heav'n and hell, And then forget to pray?

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§78. A Morning and Evening Song. Wat Morning Song.

My God, who makes the fun to know
His proper hour to rife,
And to give light to all below,

Doth fend him round the fkies.
When from the chambers of the east
His morning race begins,
He never tires, nor stops to rest,

But round the world he fhines.
So, like the fun, would I fulfil
The bus nefs of the day:
Begin my work betimes, and sti}}
March on my heav'nly way.
Give me, O Lord, thy early grace,
Nor let my foul complain
That the young morning of my days
Has all been spent in vain !

Evening Song.

AND now another day is gone,

I'll fing my Maker's praise:
My comforts ev'ry hour make known,
His providence and grace.

But how my childhood runs to waste!
My fins, how great their fum!
Lord, give me pardon for the past,
And strength for days to come.

I lay my body down to fleep;
Let angels guard my head,

And through the hours of darkness keep
Their watch around my best.

With cheerful heart I close my eyes,

Since thou wilt not remove; And in the morning let me rife, Rejoicing in thy love.

$79. For the Lord's Day Morning. Watt THIS is the day when Chrift arose

So early from the 'dead;
Why fhould I keep my eye-lids clos'd,
And waste my hours in bed?
This is the day when Jefus broke

The pow'r of death and hell?
And shall I still wear Satan's yoke,
And love thy fins fo well?

Today pleasure Christians meet
To, and hear the word:
All would go with cheerful feet
To learn thy will, O Lord.

Iave my sport to read and pray,
And to prepare for heaven;
Day I love this bleffed day
The bett of all the feven!

If we had been ducks, we might dabble in mud,
Or dogs, we might play till it ended in blood;
So foul and fo fierce are their natures:
But Thomas and William,andfuch prettynames,
Should be cleanly and harmless as doves or as
Those lovely sweet innocent creatures.{lambs,
Not a thing that we do, nor a word that we say,
Should hinder another in jefting or play;

For he's still in earneft that's hurt: [mire!
How rude are the boys that throw pebbles and

80. For the Lord's Day Evening. Watts. There's none but a madman willfling about fire,

Loan, bow delightful 'tis to fee

A wheatably worship thee!

At once they fing, at once they pray;

Tary hear of heav'n, and learn the way.

I have been there, and still would go;
Tiske a little heav'n below:
Not all ay pleasure and my play
Step me to forget this day.
write upon my mem'ry, Lord,
The texts and doctrines of thy word;
That I may break thy laws no more,
Beve the better than before.
We of Chrift, and things divine,
Foth heart of mine;
Tardon thro' his blood,
Imand wake with God.

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have wak'd me too foon, I must flumber

And tell you ""Tis all but in fport."

$83. The Rofe. Watts.

How fair is'the Rofe! what a beautiful flow'r!
The glory of April and May!

But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.

Yet the rofe has one powerful virtue to boast,
Above all the flow'rs of the field:
[loft,
When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are
Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!
So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,

Tho' they bloom and look gay like the rofe;
But all our fond care to preferve them is vain;
Time kills them as fast as he goes.

Then I'll not be proudof my youth or mybeauty,
Since both of them wither and fade;
But gain a good name by well doing my duty:
This will fcent like a rose when I'm dead.

§ 84. The Thief. Watts,

the dooron its hinges, fo he on his bed head. WHY should I deprive my neighbour
Taasides and his fhoulders, and his heavy
Ale more fleep and a little more flumber."
Thwaites half his days, and his hours

rhout number;

And when he gets up, he fits folding his hands,! about fauntring, or trifling he ftands. Ipad by his garden and faw the wild brier,

& the thittle grow broader & higher; Trades thathang onhim are turning to rags; moneyftili waftes, till heftarves or hebegs

a vifit, ftill hoping to find

k better care for improving his mind; asdreams, talk'd of eating &drinking, exe reads his Bible, and never loves aking.

to my heart, "Here's a leffon for me;
bat a picture of what I might be;
to my friends for their care in my
[reading!"
me betimes to love working and

Innocent Play. Watts.
Are meadows,tofee the younglambs,|
about by the fide of their dams,
Was to clean and so white;

Oract of ing
doves in a large open cage,
Wetherall in love, without anger or rage;
base may learn from the fight!

Of his goods against his will?
Hands were made for honeft labour,
Not to plunder or to steal.
'Tis a foolish self-deceiving,

By fuch tricks to hope for gain:
All that's ever got by thieving

Turns to forrow, fhame, and pain.
Have not Eve and Adam taught us

Their fad profit to compute?
To what difmal ftate they brought us,
When they stole forbidden fruit!
Oft we fee a young beginner

Practife little pilfering ways,
Till grown up a harden'd finner:

Then the gallows ends his days.
Theft will not be always hidden,

Though we fancy none can spy:
When we take a thing forbidden,

God beholds it with his eye.
Guard my heart, O God of heaven,
Left I covet what's not mine;
Left I steal what is not given,
Guard my heart and hands from sin.

$85. The Ant, or Emmet. Watts. THESE emmets, howlittle they are in our eyes! We tread them to duft, and a troop of them

dies,

Without

Without our regard or concern:
Yet as wife as we are, if we went to their school,
There's many a fluggard, and many a fool,

Some leffons of wildom might learn.
Theydon'twear their time out infleeping or play,
But gather up corn in a fun-fhiny day.

And for winter they lay up their stores:
They manage their work in fuch regular forms,
One would think they forefaw all the frofts and
the ftorms,

And fo brought their food within doors.
But I have lefs fenfe than a poor creeping ant,
If I take not due care for the things I fhall want,
Nor provide againft dangers in time:
When death or old age shall stare in my face,
What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days,
If I trifle away all their prime!

Now, now, while my strength and my youth are
in bloom,
[fhall come,
Let me think what will ferve me when ficknets
And pray that my fins be forgiven :
Let me read in good books,and believe and obey,
That, when death turns me out of this cottage
I may dwell in a palace in heaven. [of clay,

§ 86. Good Refolutions. Watts. THOUGH I am now in younger days, Nor can tell what fhall befal me, I'll prepare for ev'ry place

Where my growing age fhall call me. Should I e'er be rich or great,

Others fhall partake my goodness;
I'll fupply the poor with meat,
Never fhewing scorn or rudeness.
Where I fee the blind or lame,

Deaf or dumb, I'll kindly treat them; I deferve to feel the fame;

If I mock, or hurt, or cheat them.
If I meet with railing tongues,
Why should I return them railing?
Since I best revenge my wrongs
By my patience never failing.
When I hear them telling lies,
Talking foolish, curfing, fwearing;
First I'll try to make them wife,

Or I'll foon go out of hearing.
What though I be low and mean,
I'll engage the rich to love me,
While I'm modeft, neat and clean,
And submit when they reprove me.
If I fhould be poor and fick,

I fhall meet, I hope, with pity;
Since I love to help the weak,
Though they're neither fair nor witty.
I'll not willingly offend,`

Nor be easily offended:
What's amifs I'll strive to mend,

And endure what can't be mended.

May I be fo watchful still
O'er my humours and my paffion,
As to speak and do no ill,

Though it should be all the fashion!
Wicked fashions lead to hell;
Ne'er may I be found complying;
But in life behave so well,
Not to be afraid of dying.

$87. A Summer Evening. Watts. How fine has the day been, how bright v the fun,

How lovely and joyful the course that he ru Though he rofe in a mift whenhis race he begi

And there followed fome droppings of rai
But now the fair traveller's come to the wel
His rays all are gold, and his beauties are be
He paints the fky gay as hè finks to his reft,
And foretels a bright rifing again.
Juft fuch is the Chriftian: his course he begi
Like the fun in a mist,whenhemourns for hisfi

And melts into tears; thenhe breaks out &thin
But, when he comes nearer to finish his race
And travels his heavenly way:
Like a fine fetting fun, he looks richer in gra
And gives a fure hope at the end of his day
Of rifing in brighter array!

=

§ 88. A Cradle Hymn, Watts.
HUSH! my dear, lie ftill and flumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heav'nly bleffings, without number,
Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe! thy food and raiment,
House and home, thy friends provide;
All without thy care or payment,

All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou'rt attended
Than the Son of God could be;
When from heav'n he descended,
And became a child like thee!
Soft and eafy is thy cradle,

Coarfe and hard thy Saviour lay;
When his birth-place was a stable,
And his fofteft bed was hay.
Bleffed babe! what glorious features
Spotless fair! divinely bright!
Muft he dwell with brutal creatures!
How could angels bear the fight?
Was there nothing but a manger

Curfed finners could afford, To receive the heav'nly ftranger? Did they thus affront their Lord ? Soft, my child! I did not chide thee, Though my fong might found too hard! "Tis thy mother fits befide thee, And her arms fhall be thy guard.

• Here you may use the words Brother, Sifter, Neighbour, Friend, &C.

Yet

Yet to read the fhameful ftory,.
How the Jews abus'd their King,
How they ferv'd the Lord of glory,
Makes me angry while I fing.

See the kinder thepherds round him,
Telag wonders from the sky!

Ye angels, that with loud acclaim
Admiring view'd the new-born frame,
And hail'd the Eternal King,
Again proclaim yonr Maker's praise
Again your thankful voices raife,
And touch the tuneful ftring.

Where they fought him, there they found him, Praise him, ye bleft æthereal plains,

With his Virgin mother by.

See the lovely babe a-dreffing, Levels It, how he fmil'd! When he wit, the Mother's bleffing Suth and huth'd the holy child. Lembers in his manger, Where the bored oxen fed: Peace, my darling, here's no danger,, Heto ox a-near thy bed. Twa to Lave thee, child, from dying, Sve my dear from burning flame, Brns, and endless crying,

Ty bleft Redeemer came. Mathou live to know and fear him, Tt and love him all thy days; Tot for ever near him, See his fact, and fing his praise ! I could give the thousand kiffes, Hoping I muft defire; Not a mother's fondeft wishes Can to greater joys afpire.

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Where, in full majefty, he deigns

To fix his awful throne:

Ye waters that above him roll,
From orb to orb, from pole to pole,
O make his praises known!
Ye thrones, dominions, virtues, pow'rs,
Join ye your joyful fongs with ours;
With us your voices raife;
From age to age extend the lay,
To Heaven's Eternal Monarch pay
Hymns of eternal praise.
Celeftial orb! whose powerful ray
Opes the glad eyelids of the day,

Whole influence all things own; Praife him, whofe courts effulgent shine With light as far excelling thine,

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As thine the paler moon.

Ye glitt'ring planets of the fky,
Whofe lamps the abfent fun fupply,
With him the fong pursue;
And let himfelf fubmiffive own,
He borrows from a brighter Sun
The light he lends to you.

Ye fhow'rs and dews, whofe moisture shed Calls into life the op'ning feed,

To him your praifes yield,

Whofe influence wakes the genial birth, Drops fatnefs on the pregnant earth,

And crowns the laughing field. Ye winds, that oft tempeftuous sweep The ruffled furface of the deep,

With us confefs your God;

See thro' the heav'ns the King of kings,
Upborne on your expanded wings,
Come flying all abroad.

Ye floods of fire, where'er ye flow,
With juft fubmission humbly bow
To his fuperior pow'r,
Who ftops the tempeft on its way,
Or bids the flaming deluge stray,
And gives it strength to roar.
Ye fummer's heat, and winter's cold,
By turns in long fucceffion roll'd,

The drooping world to cheer,
Praife him who gave the fun and moon
To lead the various feasons on,

And guide the circling year.

Ye frofts, that bind the wat'ry plain,
Ye filent fhow'rs of fleecy rain,

Pursue the heav'nly theme;
Praife him who fheds the driving fnow,
Forbids the harden'd waves to flow,

And ftops the rapid ftream.
F

Ye

Ye days and nights, that swiftly borne
From morn to eve, from eve to morn,
Alternate glide away,

Praise him, whofe never-varying light,
Abfent, adds horror to the night,

But, prefent, gives the day.

Light, from whofe rays all beauty fprings;
Darkness, whofe wide-expanded wings

Involve the dufky globe;

Praise him who, when the heav'ns he fpread, Darkness his thick pavilion made,

And light his regal robe.

Praise him, ye lightnings, as ye fly
Wing'd with his vengeance thro' the sky,
And red with wrath divine;
Praise him, ye clouds that wand'ring stray,
Or, fix'd by him, in clofe array

Surround his awful fhrine.

Exalt, O Earth! thy Heav'nly King,
Who bids the plants that form the spring
With annual verdure bloom;
Whofe frequent drops of kindly rain,
Prolific fwell the rip'ning grain,

And bless thy fertile womb.

Ye mountains, that ambitious rife,
And heave your fummits to the kies,
Revere his awful nod;

Think how you once affrighted fled;
When Jordan fought his fountain-head,
And own'd the approaching God.
Ye trees, that fill the tural scene;
Ye flow'rs, that o'er the enamell'd green
In native beauty reign;
O praise the Ruler of the fkies,
Whofe hand the genial fap fupplies,

And clothes the fmiling plain.
Ye fecret fprings, ye gentle rills,
That murm'ring rife among the hills,
Or fill the humble vale;
Praise him, at whofe Almighty nod
The rugged roek diffolving flow'd,

And form'd a fpringing well.
Praise him, ye floods, and feas profound,
Whofe waves the fpacious earth furround,
And roll from thore to fhore;
Aw'd by his voice, ye seas, subside;
Ye floods, within your channels glide,
And tremble and adore.

Ye whales, that ftir the boiling deep,
Or in its dark recesses fleep,

Remote from human eye,
Praife him by whom ye all are fed;
Praise him, without whofe heavenly aid
Ye languish, faint, and die.
Ye birds, exalty our Maker's name;
Begin, and with th' important theme
Your artle's lays improve;
Wake with your fongs the rifing day,
Let mufic found on ev'ry fpray,
And fill the vocal grove.

Praife him, ye beafts, that nightly roam
Amid the folitary gloom,

Th' expected prey to seize;
Ye flaves of the laborious plough,
Your ftubborn necks fubmiffive bow,

And bend your wearied knees.
Ye fons of men, his praife difplay,
Who flamp'd his image on your clay,
And gave it pow'r to move;
Ye that in Judah's confines dwell,
From age to age fucceffive tell

The wonders of his love.

Let Levi's tribe the lay prolong,
Till angels liften to the fong,

And bend attentive down;
Let wonder feize the heavenly train,
Pleas'd while they hear a mortal strain
So sweet, fo like their own.
And you your thankful voices join,
That oft at Salem's facred fhrine

Before his altars kneel;
Where thron'd in majesty he dwells,
And from thy myftic cloud reveals
The dictates of his will.

Ye fpirits of the just and good,
That, eager for the blefs'd abode,

To heavenly mansions foar;
O let your fongs his praife difplay,
Till heaven itself shall melt away,

And time fhall be no more!
Praise him, ye meek and humble train,
Ye faints, whom his decrees ordain
The boundlefs blifs to fhare;
O praife him, till ye take your way
To regions of eternal day,

And reign for ever there.
Let us, who now impaffive ftand,
Aw'd by the tyrant's ftern command,
Amid the fiery blaze;

While thus we triumph in the flame,
Rife, and our Maker's love proclaim,
In hymns of endless praife.

§ 91. The Ignorance of Man. Merrick.
BEHOLD yon new-born infant griev'd
With hunger, thirst, and pain;
That afks to have the wants reliev'd,
It knows not to complain.
Aloud the fpeechlefs fuppliant cries,
And utters, as it can,
The woes that in its bofom rife,

And fpeak its nature-man.
That infant, whofe advancing hour

Life's various forrows try

(Sad proof of fin's tranfmiffive pow'r),
That infant, Lord, am I.

A childhood yet my thoughts confels,
Though long in years mature;
Unknowing whence I feel distress,
And where, or what, its cure.

Auth

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