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“ The wond'ring world shall learn thy grace, Thy wisdom and thy righteousness.
PSALM 41. L. M.
Charity to the poor. 1 LEST is the man whose bowels move,
And melt with pity to the poor ; Whose soul, by sympathising love,
Feels what his fellow saints endure. 2 His heart contrives, for their relief,
More good than his own hands can do:
Shall find the Lord has bowels too. 3 His soul shall live secure on earth,
With secret blessings on his head ;
Around him multiply their dead. 4 Or, if he languish on his couch,
God will pronounce his sins forgiv'n;
Desertion and hope. 1
When heated in the chase;
And thy refreshing grace.
My thirsty soul doth pine :
Thou majesty divine ?
Insulting foes upbraid ;
“ And where his promis'd aid ?”
A pants the bart for cooling streams,
4. 'Tis with a mournful pleasure now
I think on ancient days ;
And all our work was praise.
Beneath this heavy load ?
And sin against my God ?
Can all thy woes remove :
Hope in affliction.
Y spirit sinks within me, Lord,
But I will call thy name to mind;
When I have found my God was kind. 2 Hugh troubles with tumultuous noise
Swell like a sea, and round me spread ;
When I address his throne by day,
The night shall hear me sing and pray. 4 I'll cast myself before his feet, And say, " My God, my heav'nly Rock!
Why doth thy love so long forget “ The soul, that groans beneath thy stroke?' 5 I'll chide my heart that sinks so low;
Why should my soul indulge her grief?
6 Thy light and truth shall guide me still :
Thy word shall my best thoughts employ ;
PSALM 43. P. M.
Complaint mingled with hope.
Against a host of foes :
Why dost thou faint,
Thy sad complaint.
Desert me thus forlorn ?
To God I fly;
My head shall lie.
Thy power divine
Thy mercy shine.
Thy truth with heav'nly ray
I'll hear thy word
And praise the Lord.
And all my sorrows heal;
Like balmy dew,
My strength renew. 6 Then in thy holy hill,
Before thine altar, Lord,
Henceforth to thee,
My life shall be.
And triumph in the Lord,
Ye fears remove ;
PSALM 44. C. M.
Thy works of pow'r and grace ; When to our ears our fathers told
The wonders of their days :
2 How thou did'st build thy churches here,
And make thy gospel known; Among them did thine arm appear,
Thy light and glory shone. 3 In God they boasted all the day,
And in a cheerful throng Did thousands meet to praise and pray,
And grace was all their song. 4 But now our souls are seiz'd with shame,
Confusion fills our face ;
And fools reproach thy grace.
Nor falsely dealt with heav'n ;
Of duty thou hast giv’n.
With their destruetive breath; And thine own hand has bruis'd us sore,
Hard by the gates of death. 7 We are expos'd all day to die,
As martyrs for thy cause ;
By sharp and bloody laws.
? Why should we look like men abhorr'd
Or banish'd from thy face? 9 Wilt thou forever cast us off,
And still neglect our cries ? For ever hide thy heav'nly love
From our afflicted eyes ? 10 Down to the dust our souls are bow'd
And lie upon the ground;