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351
C. M.

Watts.
Holy Resolutions. Ps. 119.
1 0 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
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J. Q. ADAMS.

Ps. 26.
1 0, 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.

DODDRIDGE

Christ's Service.

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.

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354

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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 & BRADF. 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;
0, 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.

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MONTGOMERY.
The Soul penting for God. Ps. 42.
I AS the hart, with eager looks,

Panteth for the water-brooks,
So my soul, athirst for thee,
Pants the living God to see ;
When, 0, when, with filial fear,

Lord, shall I to thee draw near ?
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 cry 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 mirtil,

And trusted in thy hope.

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