7 Thou wilt arife, and fhew thy Face,
Nor will my LORD delay

Beyond th' appointed Hour of Grace,
That long-expected Day.

8 He hears his Saints, He knows their Cry, And by myfterious Ways

Redeems the Pris'ners doom'd to die,
And fills their Tongues with Praife.

PART II.

9 LET Zion and her Sons rejoice,
Behold the promis'd Hour:

Her GOD hath heard her mourning Voice,
And comes t' exalt his Pow'r.

10 Her Duft and Ruins that remain.
Are precious in our Eyes;
Those Ruins fhall be built again,
And all that Duft fhall rife.

II The LORD will raise Jerufalem
And ftand in Glory there;
Nations fhall bow before his Name,
And Kings attend with Fear.

12 He fits a Sov'reign on his Throne,
With Pity in his Eyes:

He hears the dying Pris'ners groan,
And fees their Sighs arife.

13 He frees the Souls condemn'd to Death,
And when his Saints complain,

"Twill ne'er be faid, "That praying Breath "Was ever spent in vain."

14 This fhall be known when we are dead,
And left on long Record,

That Ages yet unborn may read,
And truft and praife the LORD.

PART III.

15 IT is the LORD our SAVIOUR'S Hand
Weakens our Strength amidst the Race;
Difeafe and Death at his Command
Arreft us, and cut fhort our Days.

16 Spare us, O LORD, aloud we pray,
Nor let our Sun go down at Noon;
Thy Years are one eternal Day,
And must thy Children die fo foon?

17 Yet in the Midft of Death and Grief
This Thought our Sorrow fhall affuage;
"Our FATHER and our SAVIOUR live;
"CHRIST is the fame through every Age."

18 'Twas He this Earth's Foundation laid;
Heav'n is the Building of his Hand;

This Earth grows old, thefe Heav'ns fhall fade,
And all be chang'd at his Command.

19 The ftarry Curtains of the Sky,

Like Garments fhall be laid afide;
But ftill thy Throne ftands firm and high;
Thy Church for ever must abide.

20 Before thy Face thy Church fhall live,
And on thy Throne thy Children reign;
This dying World shall they furvive,
And the dead Saints be rais'd again.

I

2

PSALM

CIII.

Metre i.

BLESS the LORD, my Soul!
Let all within me join,

And aid my Tongue to blefs his Name,
Whofe Favours are divine.

O blefs the LORD, my Soul!
Nor let his Mercies lie
Forgotten in Unthankfulness;
And without Praises die.

4

'Tis He who heals thy Sickneffes,

And makes thee young again.

He crowns thy Life with Love, When ranfom'd from the Grave; He that redeem'd my Soul from Hell, Hath fovereign Pow'r to fave.

5

He fills the Poor with Good;

He gives the Suff'rers Reft;

The LORD hath Judgments for the Proud,

And Juftice for th' Oppreft.

6 His wondrous Works and Ways He made by Mofes known;

7

But fent the World his Truth and Grace, By his beloved SON.

MY Soul, repeat his Praife, Whose Mercies are fo great; Whose Anger is fo flow to rife, So ready to abate.

8

9

10

II

12

13

14

GOD will not always chide;
And when his Strokes are felt,
His Strokes are fewer than our Crimes,
And lighter than our Guilt.

High as the Heav'ns are rais'd
Above the Ground we tread,
So far the Riches of his Grace
Our highest Thoughts exceed.

His Pow'r fubdues our Sins,
And his forgiving Love

Far as the Eaft is from the Weft,
Doth all our Guilt remove.

The Pity of the LORD
To thofe that fear his Name,
Is fuch as tender Parents feel;
He knows our feeble Frame.

He knows we are but Duft
Scatter'd with ev'ry Breath;
His Anger, like a rifing Wind,
Can fend us fwift to Death!

Our Days are as the Grass,
Or like the Morning-Flow'r :

If one fharp Blaft fweep o'er the Field,
It withers in an Hour.

But thy Compaffions, LORD,
To endlefs Years endure;

And Children's Children ever find
Thy Word of Promise fure.

15

16

17

18

THE LORD, the fov'reign KING,
Hath fix'd his Throne on high;
O'er all the heav'nly World He rules,
And All beneath the Sky.

Ye Angels, great in Might,
And swift to do is Will,

Ble's ye the LORD, whole Voice ye hear,
Whofe Pleafure ye fulfil.

Let the bright Hofts who wait
The Orders of their King,

And guard his Churches when they pray;
Jom in the Praise they fing.

While all his wondrous Works
Through his vaft Kingdom fhew

Their MAKER'S Glory,-thou, my Soul,
Shalt fing his Graces too.

PSALM CIII.

Metre ii.

BLESS, O my Soul, the living GOD,

Call home thy Thoughts that rove abroad; Let all the Pow'rs within me join

In Work and Worship fo divine.

2 Blefs, O my Soul, the GoD of Grace;
His Favours claim thy higheft Praise :
Why fhould the Wonders He hath wrought
Be loft in Silence, and forgot?

3

'Tis He, my Soul, that fent his SON

To die for Crimes which thou haft done:
He owns the Ranfom, and forgives

The hourly Follies of our Lives.