HYMN II. The Same.
AR from our thoughts, vain world, be gone,
Let our religious hours alone;
O may our eyes our Saviour fee!
We wait a vifit, Lord, from thee.
O warm our hearts with holy fire,
And kindle there a pure defire.
Come, our dear Jefus, from above,"
And feed our fouls with heav'nly love.
Bleft Jefus, what delicious fare!
How fweet thy entertainments are!
Never did angels tafte above,
Redeeming grace and dying love.
Hail, great Immanuel, all divine!
In thee thy Father's glories fhine:
Thou brighteft, fweeteft, faireft One,
That eyes have feen, or angels known!
HYMN III. Public Worship.
LORD, we come before thee, now;
At thy feet we humbly bow;
Oh! do not our fuit difdain;
Shall we feek thee, Lord, in vain?
Lord, on thee our fouls depend;
In compaffion now defcend;
Fill our hearts with thy rich grace
Tune our lips to fing thy praise
In thine own appointed way,
Now we feek thee, here we ftay;
Lord, we know not how to go,
Till a bleffing thou bestow
Send fome meffage from thy word,
That may joy and peace afford;
Let thy Spirit now impart
Full falvation to each heart.
Comfort thofe who weep
Let the time of joy return:
Those who are caft down, lift up;
Make them ftrong in faith and hope;
Grant that those who seek may find
Thee a God fupremely kind:
Heal the fick, the captive free,
Let us all rejoice in thee.
HYMN IV. The Same.
OME worship at Immanuel's feet, See in his face what wonders meet; Words are too feeble to exprefs
His worth, his glory, or his grace.
When fhall we climb thofe higher skies,
Where ftorms and tempefts never rise,
Where he unveils his lovely face,
And shines and reigns the God of grace?
Nor earth, nor air, nor fun, nor stars,
Nor heav'n, his full resemblance bears;
His beauties we can never trace
Till we behold him face to face.
HYMN V. Invitation.
HITHER, ye poor, ye fick, ye blind,
A fin-diforder'd trembling throng; To you the Gospel calls, to you Meffiah's bleflings all belong. Reason's and Virtue's boafting fons Derive no bleffings from this tree, For finners only Jefus died,
Then fure I hear he died for me. 'Twas with our griefs Meffiah groan'd, 'Twas with our guilt his foul was tried Our punishment he took, he bore, And finners liv'd when Jefus died. Awake each heart, arife each foul, And join the blissful choirs above: May nothing tune our future fong, But heav'nly wisdom, heav'nly love.
HYMN VI. The Same.
SINNERS, obey the Gospel-word,
Hafte to the fupper of our Lord;
Be wife to know your glorious day,
All things are ready, come away.
Ready the Father is to own,
And kifs his late-returning fon;
Ready the loving Saviour ftands,
And spreads for you his bleeding hands,
Ready the Spirit of his love,
Just now the ftony heart to move;
T' apply and witness with the blood,
And wash, and feal you fons of God.
Ready for you the angels wait,
To triumph in your bleft estate;
Tuning their harps, they long to praise
The wonders of redeeming grace.
Come then, ye finners, to your Lord,
To happiness in Chrift reftor'd:
His proffer'd benefits embrace,
And live the fubjects of his grace.
ET ev'ry mortal ear attend,
And ev'ry heart rejoice,
The trumpet of the Gospel founds
With an inviting voice.
Ho, all ye hungry starving fouls,
That feed upon the wind,
And vainly strive with earthly toys
To fill an empty mind:
Eternal wisdom hath prepar'd
A foul-reviving feaft;
And bids our longing appetites
The rich provifion tafte.
Ho, ye that pant for living ftreams,
And pine away and die,
Here you may quench your raging thirst,
With fprings that never dry.
Dear God, the treasures of thy love
Are everlasting mines;
Deep as our helpless mis'ries are,
And boundless as our fins.
The happy gates of Gofpel-grace
Stand open night and day;
Lord, we are come to feek fupplies,
And drive our wants away.
HYMN VIII. Thanksgiving.
BLESS, O my foul, the living God,
Call home thy thoughts that rove abroad;
Let all the pow'rs within thee join
In work and worship fo divine.
Blefs, O my foul, the God of grace;
His favours claim thy highest praise;
Why fhould the wonders he hath wrought
Be loft in filence, and forgot?
'Tis he, my foul, that fent his Son,
To die for crimes which thou haft done;
He owns the ranfom, and forgives
The hourly follies of our lives.
Our youth decay'd, his pow'r repairs;
His mercy crowns our growing years;
He fatisfies our mouth with good,
And feeds our hopes with heav'nly food.
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