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.

THE

HYMN FOR NOON.

HE fun is fwiftly mounted high, It glitters in the fouthern sky; Its beams with force and glory beat, And fruitful earth is fill'd with heat. Father, also 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 seen to fade, And in its luftre find a fhade.

Let it ftrongly shine within,

To scatter 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 sky:

Let it swiftly 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 forc'd 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 send my prayer,
Great Creator, bow thine ear;
Thou, for whose propitious sway
The world was taught to fee the day;
Who fpake 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 them, and move to thee;
O, teach me, due returns to give,
And to thy glory let me live;
And then my days shall shine the more,
Or pass more blessed than before.

HYMN FOR EVENING.

THE beam-repelling mists arise,

And evening spreads obfcurer skies : The twilight will the night forerun, And night itself be foon begun. Upon thy knees devoutly bow, And pray the Lord of glory now, To fill thy breast, or deadly fin May cause a blinder night within.

And whether pleafing vapours rife, Which gently dim the clofing eyes; Which make the weary members bless'd, With sweet refreshment in their rest; Or whether spirits in the brain Dispel their soft embrace again; And on my watchful bed I stay, Forfook by fleep, and waiting day; Be God for ever in my view, And never he forsake 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 and love in one agree, Grace from God, and love from me; Grace that will from heaven inspire, Love that feals it in defire;

grace

Grace and love that mingle beams,
And fill me with encreafing flames.
Thou that haft thy palace far
Above the moon and every star,
Thou that fittest on a throne

To which the night was never known,
Regard my voice and make me blefs'd,
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,
part with darkness evermore.

And

THE SOUL IN SORROW.

WITH kind compaffion hear me cry,

my

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 thirsty gaps in earth are made : My thoughts of comfort languish fo, And fo foul is broke by woe. Then on thy fervant's drooping head Thy dews of bleffing fweetly fhed; Let thofe a quick refreshment give, And raise 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 chearful notes of endless praise ; Nor let a tear mine eyes employ, But fuch as owe their birth to joy : Joy tranfporting, fweet, and ftrong, Fit to fill and raise my song ; Joy that fhall refounded be,

While days and nights fucceed for me:

Be not as a Judge severe,

For fo thy prefence 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.
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 crofs,
Defpifing every grief and loss;
Since he, defpifing pain and shame,
First took up his, and did the fame.

THE HAPPY MAN.

How blefs'd the man, how fully so,
As far as man is blefs'd below,

Who, taking up his crofs, effays
To follow Jefus all his days;
With refolution to obey,
And steps enlarging in his way.