His pow'rful Blood

Did once atone;

And now it pleads
Before the Throne.]

9 [My ADVOCATE appears
For my Defence on high;
The Father bows his Ears,
And lays his Thunder by.
Not all that Hell

Or Sin can say,

Shall turn his Heart,
His Love away.]

10 [My dear Almighty LORD,
My CONQU'ROR and my KING,
Thy Scepter, and thy Sword,
Thy reigning Grace I fing.
Thine is the Pow'r ;
Behold I fit

In willing Bonds
Beneath thy Feet.]

11 [Now let my Soul arife,
And tread the Tempter down:
My CAPTAIN leads me forth
To Conqueft and a Crown.
A feeble Saint
Shall win the Day,

Tho' Death and Hell
Obftruct the Way.]

12 Should all the Hofts of Death,

And Pow'rs of Hell unknown,

Put their moft dreadful Forms
Of Rage and Mischief on,
I shall be safe;

For CHRIST displays
Superior Pow'r

And guardian Grace.

The END of the FIRST BOOK.

HYMNS

AND

Spiritual Songs.

BOOK II.

Composed on Divine Subjects.

I. A Song in Praife to GOD from Great

N

Britain.

Ature with all her Pow'rs fhall fing
GOD the Creator and the King :

Nor Air, nor Earth, nor Skies, nor Seas,
Deny the Tribute of their Praife.

2 Begin to make his Glories known,

Ye Seraphs, that fit near his Throne;

Tune your Harps high, and spread the Sound
To the Creation's utmost Bound.

3 All mortal Things of meaner Frame,

Exert your Force, and own 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 Northern 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 aspiring Tyrant down.
8 Pillows of lafting Brafs proclaim
The Triumphs of th' eternal Name;
While trembling Nations read from far
The Honours of the God of War.

9

Thus let our flaming Zeal employ
Our loftiest Thoughts and loudest Songs;
Britain pronounce with warmest Joy,
Hofanna from ten thousand Tongues.

Jo Yet, mighty God, our feeble Frame Attempts in vain to reach thy Name; The strongest Notes that Angels raise, Faint in the Worship and the Praise.

II. The Death of a Sinner,

MY 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;

3

4

Till like a Flood with rapid Force
Death sweeps the Wretch away.

Then swift and dreadful fhe defcends
Down to the fiery Coast,
Amongst abominable Fiends;
Herself a frighted Ghost.

There endlefs Crouds of Sinners lie,

And Darkness makes their Chains;
Tortur'd with keen Deipair they cry,
Yet wait for fiercer Pains.

5 Not all their Anguish and their Blood
For their old Guilt atones,
Nor the Compaffion of a Go

Shall hearken to their Groans.

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!