4 Though mercy is his darling grace,
In which he chiefly takes delight,
Yet will he all the human race
According to their works requite.

1

45.

PSALM LXIII.

For the Morning.

(6. 8.)

GOD, my gracious God, to thee
My morning prayer shall offer'd be ;
For thee my thirsty soul doth pant :
My fainting flesh implores thy grace,
Within this dry and barren place

Where I refreshing waters want.
2 O to my longing eyes once more
That view of glorious power restore,
Which thy majestic house displays!
Because to me thy wondrous love
Than life itself does dearer prove,
My lips shall always speak thy praise.

3 My life, while I that life enjoy,
In blessing God I will employ,

1

With lifted hands adore his name: My soul's content shall be as great As theirs who choicest dainties eat, While I with joy his praise proclaim. (6.8.)

46.

PSALM LXIII.

For the Evening.

HEN down I lie sweet sleep to find,
Thou, Lord, art present to my mind;

And when I wake in dead of night, Because thou still dost succour bring, Beneath the shadow of thy wing

I rest with safety and delight.

2 My soul, when foes would me devour,
Cleaves fast to thee, whose matchless power
In her support is daily shewn:
Who thee confess shall still rejoice,
Whilst the false tongue and lying voice
Thou, Lord, shalt silence and disown.

3 To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
The God whom heav'n's triumphant host
And suff'ring saints on earth adore,

Be glory; as in ages past

As now it is, and so shall last

When time itself must be no more.

47.

FOR

OR thee, O God, our constant praise In Sion waits, thy chosen seat; Our promis'd altars there we'll raise, And all our zealous vows complete. O thou, who to my humble prayer Didst always bend thy list'ning ear, To thee shall all mankind repair, And at thy gracious throne appear.

F

3 Our sins, though numberless, in vain
To stop thy flowing mercies try;
Whilst thou o'erlook'st the guilty stain,
And washest out the crimson dye.

4 Blest is the man, who, near thee plac'd,
Within thy sacred dwelling lives;
Whilst we at humbler distance taste
The vast delights thy temple gives.

48.

PSALM LXV.

In Harvest.

L. M.

1HOU,Lord, dost barb'rous lands dismay,
When they thy dreadful tokens view;
With joy they see the night and day
Each other's track by turns pursue.

2 From out thy unexhausted store

Thy rain relieves the thirsty ground;
Makes lands, that barren were before,
With corn and useful fruits abound.
3 On rising ridges down it pours,
And ev'ry furrow'd valley fills;
Thou mak'st them soft with gentle showers,
In which a blest increase distils.

4 Thy goodness does the circling year
With fresh returns of plenty crown;
And, where thy glorious paths appear,
Thy fruitful clouds drop fatness down.

5 Large flocks with fleecy wool adorn
The cheerful downs; the valleys bring
A plenteous crop of full-eared corn,
And seem for joy to shout and sing.
PSALM LXVI.

1

49.

LE

C. M.

ET all the lands with shouts of joy
To God their voices raise;
Sing psalms in honour of his name,
And spread his glorious praise.

2 Through all the earth the nations round Shall thee their God confess;

And, with glad hymns, their awful dread
Of thy great name express.

3.0 come behold the works of God,
And then with me you'll own,
That he to all the sons of men
Has wondrous judgment shewn.
4 He by his power for ever rules;
His eyes the world survey;
Let no presumptuous man rebel
Against his sov'reign sway.

50.

PSALM LXVII.

A Missionary Psalm.

1 NO bless thy chosen race,

То T

In mercy, Lord, incline;

S. M.

And cause the brightness of thy face
On all thy saints to shine.

2 That so thy wond'rous ways

May through the world be known, Whilst distant lands their tribute pay, And thy salvation own.

3 Let diff'ring nations join
To celebrate thy fame;

Let all the world, O Lord, combine
To praise thy glorious name.

4 O let them shout and sing

With joy and pious mirth!

For thou, the righteous Judge and King, Shalt govern all the earth.

51.

1 To

PSALM LXIII.

L.M.

O God your voice in anthems raise,
Jehovah's awful name he bears;
In him rejoice, extol his praise,

Who rides upon high rolling spheres,

2 Him, from his empire of the skies,
To this low world compassion draws,
The orphan's claim to patronize,
And judge the injur'd widow's cause.
3 'Tis God, who from a foreign soil

Restores poor exiles to their home,
Makes captives free, and fruitless toil
Their proud oppressors' righteous doom.