The work is great I'm called unto,
Yet nothing's left for me to do:
Hence for my work Heav'n has prepar'd
No wages, yet a great reward.

To works, but not to working dead;
From sin, but not from sinning freed.
I clear myself from no offence,
Yet wash my hands in innocence.

My Father's anger burns like fire,
Without a spark of furious ire:
Though still my sins displeasing be;
Yet still I know he's pleas'd with me

Triumphing is my constant trade;
Who yet am often captive led.
My bloody war does never cease;

My life's a pleasure and a pain;
A real loss, a real gain;
A glorious paradise of joys,
A grievous prison of annoys.

I daily joy, and daily mourn,
Yet daily wait the tide's return:
Then sorrow deep my spirit cheers,
I'm joyful in a flood of tears.

Good cause I have still to be sad,
Good reason always to be glad.
Hence still my joys with sorrows meet,
And still my tears are bitter sweet.

I'm crossed, and yet have all my will,
I'm always empty, always full.
I hunger now, and thirst no more,

My life's a maze of seeming traps,
A scene of mercies and mishaps;
A heap of jarring to-and-froes,
A field of joys, a flood of woes.

I'm in my own, and others eyes,
A labyrinth of mysteries.
I'm something that from nothing came;
Yet sure it is I nothing am.

Once I was dead, and blind, and lame,
Yea, I continue still the same;
Yet what I was, I am no more,
Nor ever shall be as before.

My Father lives, my father's gone,
My vital head both lost and won.
My parents cruel are, and kind.
Of one, and of a diff'rent mind.

Am not I in blessed case,
Treasure and pleasure to possess?
I would not wish no better place,
If I may still have wealthiness,
And to enjoy in perfect peace,
My lady, lady.
My pleasant pleasure shall increase,
My dear lady.

Helen may not compared be,
Nor Cressida that was so bright,
These cannot stain the shine of thee,
Nor yet Minerva of great might.
Thou passest Venus far away,
Lady, lady,
Love thee I will both night and day,
My dear Lady.

My mouse, my nobs, my coney sweet,

Hey ho, care away, let the world pass,
For I am as lusty as ever I was,
In flowers I flourish as blossoms in May,
Hey ho, care away: hey ho, care away.

Me sacred Virtue moves alone;
I will no Rival Passion own:
Begone, begone, in vain ye sue,
I'll to my firm Resolves be true:
No more shall Riches tempt my Sight
With their false, their glaring Light:
Before me when the Phantoms play,
From them, with Scorn, I'll turn away;
Defy their Power, and slight their Art,
And still be Mistress of my Heart.

Behold! the mountain of the Lord
In latter days shall rise,
Above the mountains and the hills,
And draw the wondering eyes.

To this the joyful nations round
All tribes and tongues shall flow,
Up to the Hill of God they 'll say,
And to His house we 'll go.

The beam that shines on Zion hill
Shall lighten every land;
The King who reigns in Zion towers
Shall all the world command.

No strife shall vex Messiah's reign,
Or mar the peaceful years;
To ploughshares soon they beat their swords,

Messiah! at Thy glad approach
The howling wilds are still;
Thy praises fill the lonely waste,
And breathe from every hill.

The hidden fountains at Thy call
Their sacred stores unlock;
Loud in the desert sudden streams
Burst living from the rock.

The incense of the Spring ascends
Upon the morning gale;
Red o'er the hill the roses bloom,
The lilies in the vale.

Renew'd, the earth a robe of light,
A robe of beauty wears;
And in new heavens a brighter Sun
Leads on the promised years.

Behold! th' Ambassador divine,
Descending from above,
To publish to mankind the law
Of everlasting love!

On Him in rich effusion pour'd
The heavenly dew descends;
And truth divine He shall reveal,
To earth's remotest ends.

No trumpet-sound, at His approach,
Shall strike the wondering ears;
But still and gentle breathe the voice
In which the God appears.

By His kind hand the shaken reed
Shall raise its falling frame;
The dying embers shall revive,
And kindle to a flame.

Almighty Father of mankind,
On Thee my hopes remain;
And when the day of trouble comes,
I shall not trust in vain.

Thou art our kind Preserver, from
The cradle to the tomb;
And I was cast upon Thy care,
Even from my mother's womb.

In early years Thou wast my guide,
And of my youth the friend;
And as my days began with Thee,
With Thee my days shall end.

I know the Power in whom I trust,
The arm on which I lean;
He will my Saviour ever be,
Who has my Saviour been.

In former times, when trouble came,