3 [All mortal Things of meaner Frame,
Exert your Force, and owp his Name;
Whilft with our Souls, and with our Voice,
We fing his Honours and our Joys.]
4 [To him be facred all we have,
From the young Cradle to the Grave:
Our Lips fhall his loud Wonders tell,
And ev'ry Word a Miracle.]
5 [This Northen Ifle, our native Land,
Lies fafe in the Almighty's Hand:
Our Foes of Vict'ry dream in vain,"
And own the captivating Chain.
6 He builds and guards the British Throne,
And makes it gracious, like his own;
Makes our fucceffive Princes kind,
And gives our Dangers to the Wind.]
7 Raife monumental Praises high
To him that thunders thro' the Sky,
And with an awful Nod or Frown
Shakes an afpiring Tyrant down.
8 [Pillars of lafting Brafs proclaim
The Triumphs of th' eternal Name;
While trembling Nations read from far
The Honours of the God of War.]
Thus let our flaming Zeal employ
Our loftieft Thoughts and loudest Songs;
Britain pronounce with warmeft Joy,
Hofanna from ten thoufand Tongues.
10 [Yet, mighty God, our feeble Frame
Attempts in vain to reach thy, Name;
The ftrongest Notes that Angels raife,
Faint in the Worship and the Praise.]
II. The Death of a Sinner.
Y Thoughts on awful Subjects roll,
Damnation and the Dead;
What Horrors feize the guilty Soul
Upon a dying Bed!
2 Ling'ring about these mortal Shores,
She makes a long Delay;
Till like a Flood with rapid Force
Death fweeps the Wretch away.
3 Then swift and dreadful the defcends
Down to the fiery Coaft,
Amongst abominable Fiends ;
Herfelf a frighted Ghoft.
4 There endless Crouds of Sinners lie,
And Darkness makes their Chains
Tortur'd with keen Defpair they cry,
Yet wait for fiercer Pains.
Not all their Anguish and their Blood
For their old Guilt atones,
Nor the Compaffion of a GOD
Shall hearken to their Grones.
6 Amazing Grace, that kept my Breath,
Nor bid my Soul remove,
Till I had learn'd my Saviour's Death,
And well infur'd his Love!
III. The Death and Burial of a Saint.
THY do we mourn departing Friends? Or fhake at Death's Alarms?. 'Tis but the Voice that JESUS fends To call them to his Arms.
2 Are we not tending upward too As faft as Time can move?.
Nor should we wish the Hours more flow, To keep us from our Love.
3 Why should we tremble to convey
Their Bodies to the Tomb?
There the dear Flesh of JESUS lay,
And left a long Perfume.
4 The Graves of all his Saints he blefs'd,
And foft'ned ev'ry Bed:
Where should the dying Members reft,
But with their dying Head?
5 Thence he arofe, afcending high,
And fhew'd our Feet the Way:
Up to the LORD our Flefh fhall fly,
At the great Rifing-day.
6 Then let the laft loud Trumpet found,
And bid our Kindred rife:
Awake, ye Nations under Ground;
Ye Saints, afcend the Skies.
IV. Salvation in the Cross.
HERE at thy Crofs my dying GOD,
I lay my Soul beneath thy Love,
Beneath the Droppings of thy Blood,
JESUS! nor fhall it e'er remove.
2 Not all that Tyrants think or fay,
With Rage and Light'ning in their Eyes,
Nor Hell fhall fright my Heart away,
Should Hell with all its Legions rise.
3 Should Worlds confpire to drive me thence,
Movelefs and firm this Heart fhould lie :
Refolv'd (for that's my laft Defence)
If I must perish, there to die.
4 But fpeak, my LORD, and calm my Fear; Am I not fafe beneath thy Shade !. Thy Vengeance will not ftrike me here; Nor Satan dares my Soul invade.
5 Yes, I'm fecure beneath thy Blood, And all my Foes fhall lose their Aim: Hofanna to my dying GOD;
And my best Honours to his Name.
V. Longing to praife CHRIST better..
[roll ORD, when my Thoughts with Wonder O'er the fharp Sorrows of thy Soul, And read my Maker's broken Laws, Repair'd and honour'd by thy Crofs;
2 When I behold Death, Hell, and Sin,
Vanquish'd by that dear Blood of thine;
And fee the Man that groan'd and dy'd,
Sit glorious by his Father's Side;
3 My Paffions rife and foar above,
I'm wing'd with Faith, and fir'd with Love;
Fain would I reach eternal Things
And learn the, Notes that Gabriel fings.
4 But my Heart fails, my Tongue complains,
For want of their immortal Strains;
And in fuch humble Notes as these
Muft fall below thy Victories.
5 Well, the kind Minute muft appear
When we fhall leave thefe Bodies here,
Thefe Clogs of Clay; and mount on high,
To join the Songs above the Sky.
ONCE more, my Soul, the rifing Day
Salutes thy waking Eyes;
Once more, my Voice, thy Tribute pay To Him that rules the Skies.
2 Night unto Night his Name repeats,
The Day renews the Sound,
Wide as the Heav'n on which he fits
To turn the Seasons round.
3 'Tis he fupports my mortal Frame;
My Tongue fhall speak his Praife;
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