4 Yet fee, thine Hands a Standard rear;
Beneath it Each, who owns thy Fear,
(Engag'd in TRUTH's neglected Cause)
His Sword, fecure of Conqueft, draws.
Such, Objects of thy tend'reft Love,
Defend, propitious, from above;
Let Me with them thy Mercy fhare,
And hear, O hear my ceafelefs Pray'r.

PSALM LXI. Metre i.

W

X7HEN o'erwhelm'd with Grief,
My Heart within me dies;

Helpless and far from all Relief,
To Heav'n I lift mine Eyes.

O lead me to the Rock

That's high above my Head';
And make the Covert of thy Wings
My Shelter and my Shade.

Within thy Prefence, LORD,

For ever I'll abide;

Thou art the Tow'R of my Defence,
The REFUGE where I hide.

Thou giveft me the Lot
Of those that fear thy Name;
If endless Life be their Reward,
I fhall poffefs the fame.

PSALM LXI.

Metre ii.

PPRESS'D with Grief, in Exile loft,
To THEE from Ifrael's utmost Coast

My Voice, eternal GOD, I fend;

O hear my Plaint; my Pray'r attend.

2 High on the Rock my Fortress rear;
There let me ftand unmov'd, and hear
The Storms, (that now around me beat,)
At Distance roll beneath my Feet.

3 Thee, LORD, I feek, whene'er my Foes
With dire Intent my Path inclofe;

And own Thee, in the dang'rous Hour,
My ftedfaft HOPE, my ftrongeft Tow'R.

4 Remote from Fear, within thy Shrine
Thou, LORD, my Dwelling fhalt affign;
Thy Wings fhall wrap me in their Shade;
THOU, THOU haft heard me when I pray'd.

5

Thus fhall thy Love awake my Song,
Thy Name the willing Note prolong,
While warm'd with Zeal, my Vows I pay,
And bless Thee to my latest Day.

M

Y Spirit looks to God alone;
My Rock and Refuge is his Throne;

In all my Fears, in all my Straits,
My Soul for his Salvation waits.

2 Truft Him, ye Saints, in all your Ways,
Pour out your Hearts before his Face:
When Helpers fail, and Foes invade,
GOD is our all-fufficient Aid.

3

Falfe are the Men of high Degree,
The bafer Sort are Vanity;

Laid in the Balance, both appear
Light as a Puff of empty Air.

4 Make not increafing Gold your Truft, Nor fet your Hearts on glitt'ring Duft; Why will you grafp the fleeting Smoke, And not believe what God hath spoke

5 Once hath his awful Voice declar'd, Once and again my Ears have heard, "All Pow'r is his eternal Due;

"He must be fear'd and trufted too."

6 For fov'reign Pow'r reigns not alone,.
Grace is a Partner of the Throne;
Thy Grace and Juftice, mighty LORD,,
Shall well divide our laft Reward.

PSALM LXIII.

Metre i..

MY GOD, permit my Tongue

This Joy, to call Thee mine;,

And let my early Cries prevail

To tafte thy Love divine.

2 My thirsty, fainting Soul

3

4

Thy Mercy doth implore;
Not Travellers, in Defert-Lands,
Can pant for Water more.

Within thy Churches, LORD,
I long to find a Place;

Thy Pow'r and Glory to behold,,
And feel thy quick'ning Grace.

For Life without thy Love,
No Relish can afford;

No Joy can be compar'd with this,
To ferve and please the LORD.

5

6

7

To Thee I'll lift my Hands, And praise Thee while I live: Not the rich Dainties of a Feaft

Such Food or Pleasure give.

In wakeful Hours of Night,
I call my GOD to mind;

I think how wife thy Counfels are,
And all thy Dealings kind.

Since Thou haft been my Help,
To Thee my Spirit flies,

And on thy watchful Providence
My cheerful Hope relies.

8 The Shadow of thy Wings
My Soul in Safety keeps:-

I follow where my FATHER leads,
And He fupports my Steps.

'E

PSALM LXIII.

Metre ii.

ARLY, my GOD, without Delay,
I hafte to feek thy Face:

My thirsty Spirit faints away,
Without thy cheering Grace.

2 So Pilgrims on the fcorching Sand,
Beneath a burning Sky,

Long for a cooling Stream at hand,
And they muft drink or die.

3 I've feen thy Glory, and thy Pow'r
Through all thy Temples fhine;
My GoD, repeat that heav'nly Hour,
That Vifion fo divine!

4 Not all the Bleflings of a Feaft
Can please my Soul fo well,
As when thy richer Grace I taste,
And in thy Presence dwell.

$ Not Life itself, with all her Joys,
Can my beft Paffions move,
Or raise fo high my cheerful Voice,
As thy forgiving Love.

6 Thus, till my laft expiring Day,
I'll blefs my GoD and KING;
Thus will I lift my Hands to pray,
And tune my Lips to fing.

PSALM LXIII.

Metre iii.

REAT GOD, indulge my humble Claim,
Thou art my HOPE, my Joy, my REST:
The Glories that compofe thy Name,
Stand all engag'd to make me blest.

2 Thou Great and Good, thou Juft and Wife,
Thou art my FATHER and my GOD;
And I am Thine by facred Ties:

Thy Son, thy Servant bought with Blood.

3 With Heart and Eyes and lifted Hands,
For THEE I long, to THEE I look;
As Travellers, in thirsty Lands,
Pant for the cooling Water-Brook.

4 With early Feet I love t' appear
Among thy Saints, and feek thy Face;
Oft have I feen thy Glory there,
And felt the Pow'r of fov'reign Grace.