351

C. M.

WATTS.

Holy Resolutions. Ps. 119.

1 O THAT thy statutes every hour
Might dwell upon my mind!
Thence I derive a quickening power,
And daily peace I find.

2 To meditate thy precepts, Lord,
Shall be my sweet employ ;

My soul shall ne'er forget thy word;
Thy word is all my joy.

3 How would I run in thy commands,
If thou my heart discharge

From sin and Satan's hateful chains,
And set my feet at large!

4 My lips with courage shall declare
Thy statutes and thy name;

I'll speak thy word, though kings should hear, Nor yield to sinful shame.

352

C. M.

J. Q. ADAMS.

Ps. 26.

1 O, JUDGE me, Lord, for thou art just;

Thy statutes are my pride;

In thee alone I put my trust;

I therefore shall not slide:

O prove me, try my reins and heart;
Thy mercies, Lord, I know;

I never took the scorner's part,
Nor with the vain will go.

2 Of sinners I detest the bands,
Nor with them will offend;
In innocence will wash my hands,
And at thine altar bend;

There, with thanksgiving's grateful voice,
Thy wondrous works will tell;

I love the mansions of thy choice,
And where thine honors dwell.

353

L. M.

Christ's Service.

DODDRIDGE

1 MY gracious Lord, I own thy right
To every service I can pay,
And call it my supreme delight
To hear thy dictates and obey.

2 What is my being, but for thee,
Its sure support, its noblest end?
Thy ever-smiling face to see,

And serve the cause of such a Friend?

- 3 I would not breathe for worldly joy,
Or to increase my worldly good;
Nor future days or powers employ
To spread a sounding name abroad.
4 Thy work my hoary age shall bless,
When youthful vigor is no more,
And my last hour of life confess
Thy love hath animating power.

284

354

C. M.

J. Q. ADAMS.

Ps. 6.

1 O HEAL me, Lord, for I am weak;
My bones are vexed with pain;
Let not thy hot displeasure speak;
Thy burning wrath restrain.
My soul what sore vexations try!
How long shall they assail?
Return, and listen to my cry;
Let mercy, Lord, prevail.

2 of thee no memory remains
In death's relentless cave;
To thee ascend no grateful strains
Of glory from the grave:
With ceaseless pain I groan and weep.
So cruel are my foes;

My very couch in tears I steep,
My bed with grief o'erflows.

3 Depart from me, all who rejoice
Iniquity to share;

The Lord hath heard my moaning voice,
And listened to my prayer;

What though my foes despise the Lord,
And my destruction plot?

Vexation shall be their reward,

And sudden shame their lot.

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355

C. M.

TATE & BRADY.

The Soul thirsting for God. Ps. 42.

1 AS pants the hart for cooling streams,
When heated in the chase,

So longs my soul, O God, for thee,
And thy refreshing grace.

2 For thee, my God, the living God,
My thirsty soul doth pine;

O, when shall I behold thy face,
Thou majesty divine?

3 I sigh, whene'er my musing thoughts
Those happy days present,
When I, with troops of pious friends,
Thy temple did frequent ;-

4 When I advanced with songs of praise,
My solemn vows to pay,
And led the joyful, sacred throng,
That kept the festal day.

5 One trouble calls another on,
And, bursting o'er my head,

Falls spouting down, till round my soul
A roaring sea is spread.

6 But when thy presence, Lord of life,
Has once dispelled this storm,

To thee I'll midnight anthems sing,
And all my vows perform.

7 Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Hope still; and thou shalt sing
The praise of him who is thy God,
Thy health's eternal Spring.

The Soul panting for God. Ps. 42.
1 AS the hart, with eager looks,
Panteth for the water-brooks,
So my soul, athirst for thee,
Pants the living God to see;
When, O, when, with filial fear,
Lord, shall I to thee draw near?

MONTGOMERY.

2 Why art thou cast down, my soul?
God, thy God, shall make thee whole;
Why art thou disquieted?

God shall lift thy fallen head,

And his countenance benign

Be the saving health of thine.

357

S. M.

FURNESS.

“As the Hart panteth after the Water-brooks, so panteth my Soul after thee, O God." Ps. 42.

1 HERE is a world of doubt,

A sorrowful abode ;

O, how my heart and flesh crv out

For thee, the living God!

2 As for the water-brooks

The hart, expiring, pants,
So for my God my spirit looks,
Yea, for his presence faints.

3 I know thy joys, O earth,
The sweetness of thy cup;
Oft have I mingled in thy mirt.),
And trusted in thy hope.