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§ 28. Another Hymn. ANON. WHEN rifing from the bed of death, O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,

I fee my Maker face to face,

O how fhall I appear?

If yet, while pardon may be found,
And mercy may be fought,
My heart with inward horror fhrinks,
And trembles at the thought;

When thou, O Lord, fhalt stand difclos'd
In majefty fevere,

And fit in judgment on my foul,

O! how fhall I appear?

But thou haft told the troubled foul,
Who does her fins lament,

The timely tribute of her tears

Shall endlef's woe prevent. Then fee the forrows of my heart,

Ere yet it be too late;

And hear my Saviour's dying groans,
To give thofe forrows weight.
or never fhall my foul despair

Her pardon to procure,
Who knows thy only Son has died
To inake that pardon fure.

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THESE, as they change, Almighty Father, thefe
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleafing Spring
Thy beauty walks, thy tendernefs and love.
Wide flush the fields; the foftening air is balm;
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
And every fenfe and every heart is joy.
Then comes thy glory in the Summer months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy fun
Shoots full perfection thro' the fwelling year:
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks,
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whifp'ing gales.
Thy bounty fhines in Autumn unconfin'd,
And fpreads a common feaft for all that lives.
In Winter awful thou! with clouds and ftorms
Around Thee thrown, tempeft o'er tempeft roll'd,
Majestic darknefs! On the whirlwind's wing,
Riding fublime, Thou bidft the world adore,
And humbleft nature with thy northern blast.
Myfterious round! what skill, what force di-
Deep-felt, in thefe appear! a fimple train, [vine,
Yet fo delightful mix'd, with fuch kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combin'd;
And all fo forming an harmonious whole,
Shade, unperceiv'd, fo foftening into fhade;
That as they ftill fucceed, they ravish still.
But wandering oft, with rude inconfcious gaze,
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand
That, ever busy, wheels the filent spheres;
Works in the fecret deep; fhoots, freaming, thence
The fair profufion that o'erfpreads the fpring;
Flings from the fun direct the flaming day;
Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempeft forth,

And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport touches all the fprings of life.
Nature, attend! join, every living foul
Beneath the fpacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join; and ardent raife

One general fong! To him, ye vocal gales,
Breathe foft, whofe fpirit in your freshness breathes =
Oh talk of him in folitary glooms,

Where o'er the rock the fcarcely waving pine
Fills the brown fhade with a religious awe!
And ye, whofe bolder note is heard afar,
Who shake th'aftonish'd world, lift high to heav'
Th'impetuous fong, and fay from whom you rage.
His praife, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it as I mufe along.

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye fofter floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou majestic main,
A fecret world of wonders in thyfelf,
Sound his ftupendous praife, whofe greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roaring fall.
So roll your incenfe, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to Him, whofe fun exalts,
Whofe breath perfumes you, and whofe pencil
paints.

Ye forefts bend, ye harvests wave, to Him;
Breathe your ftill fong into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heav'n, as earth afleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye conftellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the fpangled fky, the filver lyre.
Great fource of day! bleft image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,
From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On nature write with every beam his praise.
The thunder rolls: be hufh'd the proftrate world;
While cloud to cloud returns the folemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye moffy rocks,
Retain the found: the broad refponfive low,
Ye valleys, raife; for the Great Shepherd reigns;
And his unfuffering kingdom yet will come.
Ye woodlands all awake: a boundlefs fong
Burft from the groves! and when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world afleep,
Sweeteft of birds! fweet Philomela, charm
The liftening fhades, and teach the night his praife.
Ye chief for whom the whole creation fimiles;
At once the head, the heart, the tongue of all,
Crown the great hymn! In fwarining cities vaft,
Affembled men to the deep organ join
The long-refounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At folemn paufes, thro' the fwelling bafe;
And as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardor rife to heav'n.
Or if you rather chufe the rural shade,
And find a fane in every facred grove;
There let the fhepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting feraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still fing the God of Seafons as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the bloffom blows; the Summer ray
Ruffets the plain; inspiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rites in the blackening cast;

Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat.

Should fate command me to the fartheft verge
Of the green earth, to diftant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to fong; where first the fun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic iiles; 'tis nought to me:
Since God is ever prefent, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full;
And where He vital fpreads, there must be joy.
When even at laft the folemn hour shall come,
And wing my myftic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rifing wonders fing: I cannot go
Where univerfal love not smiles around,
Suftaining all yon orbs, and all their suns :
From feeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progreffion.-But I lofe
Myfelf in Him, in light ineffable!

Come then, expreffive filence, mufe his praise.

§ 30. Hymn for Morning. PARNELL. SEE the ftar that leads the day,

Rifing, fhoots a golden ray To make the fhades of darkness go From heaven above and earth below; And warn us early with the fight, To leave the beds of filent night; From an heart fincere and found, From its very deepest ground; Send devotion up on high, Wing'd with heat to reach the fky. See the time for fleep has run, Rife before, or with the fun : Lift thy hands, and humbly pray The fountain of eternal day, That, as the light ferenely fair Illuftrates all the tracts of air; The Sacred Spirit fo may rest, With quickening beams, upon thy breaft; And kindly clean it all within, From darker blemishes of fin; And thine with grace, until we view The realm it gilds with glory too. See the day that dawns in air, Brings along its toil and care : From the lap of night it fprings, With heaps of bufinefs on its wings; Prepare to meet them in a mind, That bows fubmiffively refign'd; That would to works appointed fall, That knows that God has order'd all. And whether, with a finall repaft, We break the fober morning faft; Or in our thoughts and houfes lay The future methods of the day; Or early walk abroad to meet Our business, with induftrious feet: Whate'er we think, whate'er we do, His glory ftill be kept in view. O, Giver of eternal blifs, Heavenly Father, grant me this;

Grant it all, as well as me,
All whofe hearts are fix'd on thee;
Who revere thy Son above,
Who thy Sacred Spirit love.

§ 31. Hymn for Noon. PARNELL. HE fun is fwiftly mounted high,

THE

It glitters in the fouthern sky;
Its beams with force and glory beat,
And fruitful earth is fill'd with heat.
Father, alfo with thy fire

Warm the cold, the dead defire,
And make the facred love of thee,
Within my foul, a fun to me.
Let it fhine fo fairly bright,
That nothing else be took for light;
That worldly charms be feen to fade,
And in its luftre find a fhade.
Let it ftrongly fhine within,

To fcatter all the clouds of fin,

That drive when gufts of paffion rife,
And intercept it from our eyes.
Let its glory more than vie
With the fun that lights the fky:
Let it fwiftly mount in air,
Mount with that, and leave it there;
And foar with more afpiring flight,
To realms of everlasting Light.
Thus, while here I'm forced to be,
I daily wish to live with thee;
And feel that union which thy love
Will, after death, complete above.
From my foul I fend my prayer,
Great Creator, bow thine ear;
Thou, for whofe propitious fway
The world was taught to fee the day;
Who fpoke the word, and earth begun,
And fhew'd its beauties in the fun;
With pleasure I thy creatures view,
And would, with good affection too,
Good affection fweetly free,

Loose from thein, and move to thee;
O, teach me due returns to give,
And to thy glory let me live;
And then my days fhall fhine the more,
Or pafs more bleffed than before.

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And on my watchful bed I stay,
Forfook by fleep, and waiting day;
Be God for ever in my view,
And never he forfake me too;
But ftill as day concludes in night,
To break again with new born-light;
His wondrous bounty let me find,
With still a more enlighten'd mind;'
When grace and love in one agree;
Grace from God, and love from me;
Grace that will from heaven infpire;
Love that feals it in defire:
Grace and love that mingle beams,
And fill me with increafing flames.
Thou that haft thy palace far
Above the moon and every star;
Thou that fitteft on a throne
To which the night was never known,
Regard my voice, and make me bleft,
By kindly granting its request.
If thoughts on thee my foul employ,
My darkness will afford me joy
Till thou fhalt call, and I fhall foar,
And part with darknefs evermore.

$33. The Soul in Sorrow. PARNELL.
WITH kind compaffion hear my cry,
O, Jefu, Lord of Life, on high!
As, when the fummer's feafons beat
With fcorching flame, and parching heat,
The trees are burnt, the flowers fade,
And thirty gaps in earth are made;
My thoughts of comfort languifh so,
And fo my foul is broke by woe.
Then on thy fervant's drooping head
Thy dews of bleffing sweetly thed;
Let thofe a quick refreshment give,
And raife my mind, and bid me live.
My fears of danger, while I breathe,
My dread of endless hell beneath;
My fenfe of forrow for my fin,
To fpringing comfort, change within;
Change all my fad complaints for ease,
To cheerful notes of endless praife;
Nor let a tear mine eyes employ,
But fuch as owe their birth to joy:
Joy tranfporting, fweet and firong,
Fit to fill and raife my fong;
Joy that fhall refounded be,
While days and nights succeed for me.
Be not as a Judge fevere,

For fo thy pretence who may bear?
On all my words and actions look,
(I know they're written in thy book ;)
But then regard my mournful cry,
And look with mercy's gracious eye.
What needs my blood, fince thine will do,
To pay the debt to Juftice due?
O, tender mercy's art divine!
Thy forrow proves the cure of mine!
Thy dropping wounds, thy woeful smart,
Allay the bleedings of my heart:

Thy death, in death's extreme of pain,
Reftores my foul to life again.

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Guide me then, for here I burn,
To make my Saviour fome return.
I'll rife (if that will please him, still;
And fure I've heard him own it will);
I'll trace his steps, and bear my cross,
Defpifing every grief and lofs;
Since he, defpifing pain and fhame,
First took up his, and did the fame.

$34. The Happy Man. PARNELL.
HOW blefs'd the man, how fully fo,
As far as man is blefs'd below,
Who, taking up his cross, effays
To follow Jefus all his days;
With refolution to obey,

And fteps enlarging in his way!
The Father of the faints above
Adopts him with a father's love,
And makes his bofom throughly shine
With wondrous ftores of grace divine;
Sweet grace divine, the pledge of joy,
That will his foul above employ;
Full joy, that, when his time is done,
Becomes his portion as a fon.
Ah me! the fweet infus'd defires,
The fervid wifhes, holy fires,
Which thus a melted heart refine,
Such are his, and fuch be mine.
From hence defpifing all befides
That earth reveals, or ocean hides,
All that men in either prize,
On God alone he fets his eyes.
From hence his hope is on the wings,
His health renews, his fafety fprings,
His glory blazes up below,

And all the streams of comfort flow.
He calls his Saviour King above,
Lord of mercy, Lord of love;
And finds a kingly care defend,
And mercy fimile, and love defcend,
To cheer, to guide him in the ways
Of this vain world's deceitful maze :
And though the wicked earth display
Its terrors in their fierce array;
Or gape fo wide that horror fhows
Its hell replete with endlefs woes;
Such fuccour keeps him clear of ill,
Still firm to good, and dauntless ftill.
So, fix'd by Providence's hands,
A rock amidst an occan ftands;
So bears, without a trembling dread,
The tempeft beating round his head;
And with its fide repels the wave,
Whofe hollow feems a coming grave;
The kies, the deeps, are heard to roar;
The rock stands fettled as before.

I, all with whom he has to do,
Admire the life which bleffes you;
That feeds a foe, that aids a friend,
Without a bye defigning end;
Its knowing real intereft lies
On the bright fide of yonder skies,
Where, having made a title fair,

It mounts, and leaves the world to care.

While

While he that feeks for pleafing days,
In earthly joys and evil ways,
Is but the fool of toil or fame,
(Though happy be the fpecious name)
And made by wealth, which makes him great,
A more confpicuous wretch of ftate.

35. The Way to Happiness. PARNELL. HOW long, ye miserable blind,

Shall idle dreams engage your mind;
How long the paffions make their flight
At empty fhadows of delight?
No more in paths of error ftray,
The Lord thy Jefus is the way,
The fpring of happiness, and where
Should men feck happiness but there?
Then run to meet him at your need,
Run with boldnefs, run with speed,
For he forfook his own abode

To meet thee more than half the road.
He laid afide his radiant crown,
And love for mankind brought him down
To thirst and hunger, pain and woe,
To wounds, to death itfelf below;
And he, that fuffer'd thefe alone
For all the world, defpifes none.
To bid the foul that's fick, be clean,
To bring the loft to life again;
To comfort thofe that grieve for ill,
Is his peculiar goodness ftill.
And, as the thoughts of parents run
Upon a dear and only fon,
So kind a love his mercies fhow,
So kind and more extremely fo.
Thrice happy men, (or find a phrase
That fpeaks your blifs with greater praise)
Who moft obedient to thy call,
Leaving pleafures, leaving all,

With heart, with foul, with ftrength incline,
O sweetest Jcfu! to be thine.

Who know thy will, obferve thy ways,
And in thy fervice fpend their days:
Ev'n death, that feems to fet them free,
But brings them clofer still to thee.

§ 36. The Convert's Love. PARNELL. BLESSED light of faints on high,

Who fill the manfions of the iky;
Sure defence, whofe mercy ftill
Preferves thy fubjects here from ill;
Oh, my Jesus' make me know
How to pay the thanks I owe.

As the fond fheep that idly ftrays,
With wanton play, through winding ways,
Which never hits the road of home,
O'er wilds of danger learns to roam,
Till, wearied out with idle fear,
And palling there, and turning here,
He will, for reft, to covert run,
And meet the wolf he with'd to fhun:
Thus wretched I, through wanton will,
Run blind and beadlong on in ill,

'Twas thus from fin to fin I flew,
And thus I might have perifh'd too;
But mercy dropt the likeness here,
And fhew'd and fav'd me from my fear.
While o'er the darknefs of my mind
The facred fpirit purely thin'd,
And mark'd and brighten'd all the way
Which leads to everlasting day;
And broke the thickening clouds of fin,
And fix'd the light of love within.

From hence my ravish'd foul aspires,
And dates the rife of its defires.
From hence to thee, my God! I turn,
And fervent wishes fay I burn;

I burn thy glorious face to fee,
And live in endlefs joy with thee.

There's no fuch ardent kind of flame
Between the lover and the dame;
Nor fuch affection parents bear
To their young and only heir,
Though join'd together, both confpire,
And boaft a double force of fire.
My tender heart, within its feat,
Diffolves before the fcorching heat;
As foftening wax is taught to run
Before the warmnefs of the fun.

Oh, my flame, my pleafing pain,
Burn and purify my ftain;
Warm me, burn me, day by day,
Till
you purge my earth away;
Till at the lait I throughly shine,
And burn a torch of love divine.

$37. A Defire to Praife. PARNELLÀ PROPITIOUS Son of God, to thee,

With all my foul, I bend my knee;
My wish I fend, my want impart,
And dedicate my mind and heart.
For as an abfent parent's fon,
Whofe fecond year is only run,
When no protecting friend is near,
Void of wit and void of fear,

With things that hurt him fondly plays,
Or here he falls, or there he ftrays;
So, fhould my foul's eternal guide,
The facred spirit be deny 'd,
Thy fervant foon the lofs would know,
And fink in fin, or run to woc.

O, fpirit bountifully kind,
Warm, poffets, and fill my mind;
Difperte my fins with light divine,
And raise the flames of love with thine
Before thy pleafures rightly priz'd,
Let wealth and honour be defpis'd;
And let the Father's glory be
More dear than life itfelf to me.

Sing of Jefus! Virgins fing
Him, your everlafting King!
Sing of Jefus! cheerful youth,
Him, the God of love and truth!
Write, and raise a fong divine,

Or come and hear, and borrow mine.
Son eternal, word fupreme,
Who made the univerfal frame,

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Heaven, and all its fhining fhow,
Earth, and all it holds below;
Bow with mercy, bow thine ear,
While we fing thy praifes here.
Son Eternal, ever-blefs'd,
Refting on the Father's breaft,
Whofe tender love for all provides,
Whole power over all prefides;
Bow with pity, bow thine ear,
While we fing thy praifes here!
Thou, by pity's foft extreme,
Mov'd, and won, and fet on flame,
Affum'd the form of man, and fell
In pains, to rescue man from hell;
How bright thine humble glories rife,
And match the luftre of the fkies!
From death and hell's dejected state
Arifing, thou refum'd thy feat,
And golden thrones of blifs prepar'd
Above, to be thy faints reward!

How bright thy glorious honours rise,
And with new luftre grace the fkies!
For thee, the fweet feraphic choir
Raife the voice, and tune the lyre,
And praifes with harmonious found
Through all the higheft heaven rebound.

O make our notes with theirs agree,
And blefs the fouls that fing of thee!
To thee the churches here rejoice,
The folemn organs aid the voice;
To facred roofs the found we raife,
The facred roofs refound thy praife:
And while our notes in one agree,
O! blefs the church that fings to thee!

$38. On Happiness in this Life. PARNELL. THE morning opens, very freshly gav,

And life itfelf is in the month of May. With green my fancy paints an arbour o’er, And flow'rets, with a thoufand colours more; Then falls to weaving that, and spreading these, And foftly shakes them with an cafy breeze; With golden fruit adorns the bending shade, Or trails a filver water o'er its bed. Glide, gentle water, ftill more gently by, While in this fummer-bower of blifs I lye, And fweetly fing of fenfe-delighting flames, And nymphs and thepherds, foft invented names; Or view the branches which around me twine, And praife their fruit, diffufing fprightly wine; Or find new pleasures in the world to praife, And fill with this return adorn my lays; "Range round your gardens of eternal fpring, Go, range, my fenfes, while I fweetly fing In vain, in vain, alas! feduc'd by ill, And atled wildly by the force of will! I tell my foul, it will be conftant May, And charm a feafon never made to stay; My beauteous arbour will not stand a storm, The world but promifes, and can't perform: Then fade, ye leaves; and wither, all ye flowers; Il doat no longer in enchanted bowers; but fadly mourn, in melancholy fong, The vain conceits that held my foul to long;

66

The lufts that tempt us with delufive fhow, And fin brought forth for everlasting woe. Thus fhall the notes to Sorrow's object rife, While frequent refts procure a place for fighs; And, as I moan upon the naked plain, Be this the burthen clofing every ftrain: "Return, my fenfes; range no more abroad; “He'll only find his bliss who seeks for God.” $39. Ecftafy. PARNELL.

THE

HE flecting joys, which all affords below,
Work the fond heart with unperforming
fhow;

The with that makes our happier life compleat,
Nor grafps the wealth nor honours of the great;
Nor loosely fails on Pleafure's cafy ftream,
Nor gathers wreaths from all the groves of fame;
Weak man, whofe charms to thefe alone confine,
Attend my prayer, and learn to make it thine.

From thy rich throne, where circling trains of Make day that's endlefs, infinitely bright; [light Thence, heavenly Father! thence with mercy dart One beam of brightnefs to my longing heart.

Dawn through the mind, drive Error's clouds
And ftill the rage in Paffion's troubled fea;[away,
That the poor banish'd foul, ferene and free,
May rife from earth, to vifit heaven and thee:

Come, Peace divine! fhed gently from above,
Infpire my willing bofom, wondrous Love;
Thy purpled pinions to my fhoulders tye,
And point the pallage where I want to fly.

But whither, whither now! what powerful fire With this blefs'd influence equals my defire? I rife (or Love, the kind deluder, reigas, And acts in fancy fuch enchanted fcenes); Earth lefening flies, the parting fkies retreat, The fleecy clouds my waving feathers beat And now the fun and now the ftars are gon Yet ftill methinks the spirit bears me on, Where tracts of æther purer blue difplay, And edge the golden realm of native day.

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Oh, ftrange enjoyment of a blifs unfeen!
Oh, ravifhment! Oh, facred rage within!
Tumultuous pleafure, rais'd on peace of mind,
Sincere, exceflive, from the world refin'd;
I fee the light that veils the throne on high,
A light unpierc'd by man's impurer eye;
I hear the words, that iffuing thence proclaim,
"Let God's attendants praife his awful name!"
Then heads unnumber'd bend before the fhrine,
Myfterious feat of Majefty divine!

And hands unnumber'd ftrike the filver ftring,
And tongues unnumber'd Hallelujah fing.
See, where the fhining Seraphims appear,
And fink their decent eyes with holy fear.
See flights of angels all their feathers raife,
And range the orbs, and, as they range, they
Behold the great Apoftles, fweetly met, [praife;
And high on pearls of azure æther fet.
Behold the Prophets, full of heavenly fire,
With wandering finger wake the trembling lyre;
And hear the Martyrs tune, and all around
The church triumphant makes the region found.
With harps of gold, with bows of ever-green,
With rebes of white, the pious throngs are feen;

Exalted

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