v.13-15
S. M.
Portion of saints and sinners.

Arise, my gracious God,
And make the wicked flee;
They are but thy chastising rod,
To drive thy saints to thee.

Behold, the sinner dies,
His haughty words are vain;
Here in this life his pleasure lies,
And all beyond is pain.

Then let his pride advance,
And boast of all his store;
The Lord is my inheritance,
My soul can wish no more.

I shall behold the face
Of my forgiving God;
And stand complete in righteousness,
Washed in my Savior's blood.

Courage in death, and hope of the resurrection.

When God is nigh, my faith is strong;
His arm is my almighty prop:
Be glad, my heart; rejoice, my tongue;
My dying flesh shall rest in hope.

Though in the dust I lay my head,
Yet, gracious God, thou wilt not leave
My soul for ever with the dead,
Nor lose thy children in the grave.

My flesh shall thy first call obey,
Shake off the dust, and rise on high;
Then shalt thou lead the wondrous way
Up to thy throne above the sky.

There streams of endless pleasure flow;

Christ's all-sufficiency.

How fast their guilt and sorrows rise
Who haste to seek some idol-god!
I will not taste their sacrifice,
Their offerings of forbidden blood.

My God provides a richer cup,
And nobler food to live upon;
He for my life has offered up
Jesus, his best-beloved Son.

His love is my perpetual feast;
By day his counsels guide me right;
And be his name for ever blessed,
Who gives me sweet advice by night.

I set him still before mine eyes;
At my right hand he stands prepared

v.1,2,6
C. M.
A song of praise.

In God's own house pronounce his praise,
His grace he there reveals;
To heav'n your joy and wonder raise,
For there his glory dwells.

Let all your sacred passions move,
While you rehearse his deeds;
But the great work of saving love
Your highest praise exceeds.

All that have motion, life, and breath,
Proclaim your Maker blest;
Yet, when my voice expires in death,
My soul shall praise him best.

Characters of a saint.

Who shall inhabit in thy hill,
O God of holiness?
Whom will the Lord admit to dwell
So near his throne of grace?

The man that walks in pious ways,
And works with righteous hands;
That trusts his Maker's promises,
And follows his commands.

He speaks the meaning of his heart,
Nor slanders with his tongue;
Will scarce believe an ill report,
Nor do his neighbor wrong.

The wealthy sinner he contemns,
Loves all that fear the Lord;
And though to his own hurt he swears,

Praise God, all his saints or, The saints judging the world.

All ye that love the Lord, rejoice,
And let your songs be new;
Amidst the church with cheerful voice
His later wonders show.

The Jews, the people of his grace,
Shall their Redeemer sing;
And Gentile nations join the praise,
While Zion owns her King.

The Lord takes pleasure in the just,
Whom sinners treat with scorn;
The meek that lie despised in dust
Salvation shall adorn.

Saints should be joyful in their King,
E'en on a dying bed;

Proper Metre.
Praise to God from all creatures.

Ye tribes of Adam, join
With heav'n, and earth, and seas,
And offer notes divine
To your Creator's praise:
Ye holy throng
Of angels bright,
In worlds of light,
Begin the song.

Thou sun with dazzling rays,
And moon that rules the night,
Shine to your Maker's praise,
With stars of twinkling light:
His power declare,
Ye floods on high,
And clouds that fly
In empty air.

The shining worlds above
In glorious order stand,
Or in swift courses move,

Summer and winter.
A Song for Great Britain.

O Britain, praise thy mighty God,
And make his honors known abroad,
He bid the ocean round thee flow;
Not bars of brass could guard thee so.

Thy children are secure and blest;
Thy shores have peace, thy cities rest;
He feeds thy sons with finest wheat,
And adds his blessing to their meat.

Thy changing seasons he ordains,
Thine early and thy latter rains;
His flakes of snow like wool he sends,
And thus the springing corn defends.

With hoary frost he strews the ground;

v.7-9,13-18
C. M.
The seasons of the year.

With songs and honors sounding loud,
Address the Lord on high;
Over the heav'ns he spreads his cloud,
And waters veil the sky.

He sends his showers of blessing down
To cheer the plains below;
He makes the grass the mountains crown,
And corn in valleys grow.

He gives the grazing ox his meat,
He hears the raven's cry;
But man, who tastes his finest wheat,
Should raise his honors high.

His steady counsels change the face
Of the declining year;

Praise to God for his goodness and truth.

Praise ye the Lord, my heart shall join
In work so pleasant, so divine;
Now, while the flesh is mine abode,
And when my soul ascends to God.

Praise shall employ my noblest powers,
While immortality endures;
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last.

Why should I make a man my trust?
Princes must die and turn to dust;
Their breath departs, their pomp, and power,
And thoughts, all vanish in an hour.

Happy the man whose hopes rely