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HYMN 1. L. M.

A Song of Praise to God.

N

ATURE, with all her pow'rs
shall sing,

God the Creator, and the King;
Nor air, nor earth, nor skies, nor seas,
Deny the tribute of their praise.

2 [Begin to make his glories known,
Ye seraphs, who sit near his throne;
Tune your harps high, and spread the
To the creation's utmost bound.] [sound.

3 [All mortal things of meaner frame, Exert your force, and own his name; Whilst with our souls,and with our voice, We sing his honours, and our joys.]

4 [To him be sacred all we have, From the young cradle to the grave: Our lips shall his loud wonders tell, And ev'ry word a miracle.]

HYdo we mourn departing friends?
Or shake at death's alarms?
Tis but the voice that Jesus sends,
To call them to his arms.

o 2 Are we not tending upward too,
As fast as time can move?
Nor would we wish the hours more slow,
To keep us from our Love.

-3 Why should we tremble to convey Their bodies to the tomb?

o There the dear flesh of Jesus lay, And left a long perfume.

4 The graves of all the saints he bless'd, And soften'd every bed:

e Where should the dying members rest, But with the dying Head?

o 5 Thence he arose, ascended high,
And shew'd our feet the way:
o Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
At the great rising day.

8 6 Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake, ye nations under ground,
Ye saints, ascend the skies.

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ISLE OF WIGHT. CANTERBURY.

HYMN 4. L. M.
Salvation in the Cross.

ERE,at thy cross, my dying God, I lay my soul beneath thy love Beneath the droppings of thy blood, Jesus-nor shall it e'er remove.

-2 Not all that tyrants think or say,
With rage and lightning in their eyes,
Nor hell shall fright my heart away,
Should hell with all its legions rise.

3 Should worlds conspire to drive me
hence,
Moveless and firm this heart should lie
Resolv'd (for that's my last defence)
If I must perish, here to die.

e 4 But speak my Lord, and calm my fear Am I not safe beneath thy shade? d Thy vengeance will not strike me here, Nor Satan dare my soul invade.

o 5 Yes, I'm secure beneath thy blood, And all my foes shall lose their aim; o Hosanna to my dying God, And my best honours to his name. MUNICH. PLEYEL'S.

3 'Tis he supports my mortal frame, My tongue shall speak his praise; My sins would rouse his wrath to flame, And yet his wrath delays.

p4 [On a poor worm thy pow'r might
And I could ne'er withstand; [tread,
Thy justice might have crush'd me dead;
But
mercy held thine hand.

e 5 A thousand wretched souls are fled,
Since the last setting sun;
-And yet thou length'nest out my thread
And yet my moments run.]

e 6 Dear God, let all my hours be thine, Whilst I enjoy the light:

o Then shall my sun in smiles decline, And bring a pleasant night. ST. ANN'S. BARBY.

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HYMN 7. C. M.

An Evening Song.

READ Sov'reign,let my evening
Like holy incense rise; [song,

Assist the off'rings of my tongue,
To reach the lofty skies.

-2 Through all the dangers of the day,
Thy hand was still my guard;
And still, to drive my wants away,
Thy mercy stood prepar'd.

• 3 Perpetual blessings from above
Encompass me around;

e But O how few returns of love,
Hath my Creator found?

p 4 What have I done for Him, who died
To save my wretched soul?
How are my follies multiply'd,
Fast as the minutes roll?

3 Was it for crimes-that I had doneHe groan'd upou the tree?

a Amazing pity! grace unknown! And love beyond degree!

e 4 Well might the sun in darkness hide, And shut his glories in,

When God the mighty Maker, dy'd
For man the creature's sin.

e 5 Thus might I hide my blushing face-
While his dear cross appears;
d Dissolve, my heart, in thankfulness,
And melt, mine eyes, in tears.

6 But drops of tears can ne'er repay The debt of love I owe;

o Here, Lord, I give myself away"Tis all that I can do.

ISLE OF WIGHT. BANGOR.

3 Lord, I adore thy matchless grace,
That warn'd me of that dark abyss;
That drew me from those treach❜rous
And bid me seek superior bliss. [seas,

4 Now, to the shining realms above
I stretch my hands and glance my eyes:

u O for the pinions of a dove,

To bear me to the upper skies!

g 5 There, from the bosom of my God,
Oceans of endless pleasure roll;
There would I fix my last abode,
And drown the sorrows of my soul.
MUNICH. PLEXEL'S.

3 Now from his high imperial throne, He looks far down upon the spheres; o He bids the shining orbs roll on,

And round he turns the hasty years,

e 4 Thus shall this moving engine last, "Till all his saints are gather'd in; Then for the trumpet's dreadful blast← To shake it all to dust again!

g5Yet when the sound shall tear the skies, And lightning burn the globe below, o Saints, you may lift your joyful eyes, o There's a new heav'n and earth for you. OLD HUNDRED. BLENDON.