Sweet is the Day of facred Reft,
No mortal Cares fhould feize our Breast;
O may our Hearts in Tune be found,
Like David's Harp, of folemn Sound!
Our Hearts should triumph in thee, Lord,
And blefs thy Works, and bless thy Word;
Thy Works of Grace, how bright they shine!
How deep thy Counfels! how divine!
O may we fee, and hear, and know,
What Mortals cannot reach below:
May all our Pow'rs find fweet Employ
In Chrift's eternal World of Joy.
Longing for the Houfe of GOD.
ORD of the Worlds above,
How pleasant and how fair
The Dwellings of thy Love,
Thy earthly Temples are!
To his Abode,
My Soul, afpire,
With warm Defire,
To fee thy God.
O happy Souls that pray,
Where God appoints to hear!
O happy Men that pay
Their conftant Service there!
They praise Chrift ftill;
And happy they
That love the Way
To Zion's Hill.
They go from Strength to Strength,
Through this dark Vale of Tears:
'Till each arrives at length,
'Till each in Heav'n appears.
O glorious Seat!
Our God and King,
Us thither bring,
To kifs thy Feet!
The Lord his People loves;
His Hand no Good with-holds
From thofe his Heart approves,
From pure and pious Souls.
Thrice happy he,
O God of Hofts,
Whofe Spirit trufts
Alone in thee!
TOW pleafant, how divinely fair,
O Lord of Hofts, thy Dwellings are!
The new-born Soul both longs and faints
To meet th' Affemblies of thy Saints.
Bleft are the Souls that find a Place
Within the Temple of thy Grace!
There they behold thy gentler Rays,
And feek thy Face, and learn thy Praife.
Bleft are the Men whofe Hearts are set
To find the Way to Zion's Gate;
God is their Strength, and through the Road
They lean upon their Helper God.
Oh may we walk with growing Strength, 'Till we all meet in Heav'n at Length; 'Till all before Chrift's Face appear, And join in nobler Worship there!
OIN all the glorious Names
Of Wisdom, Love, and Power,
That Mortals ever knew,
That Angels ever bore:
All are too mean
To speak his Worth,
Too mean to fet
Our Saviour forth.
But, O what gentle Terms,
What condefcending Ways,
Doth our Redeemer ufe
To teach his heav'nly Grace!
My Soul, with Joy
And Wonder see
What Forms of Love
He bears for thee.
Great Prophet of our God,
Our Tongues would bless thy Name;
By thee the joyful News
Of our Salvation came:
The joyful News
Of Sins forgiv❜n,
Of Hell fubdu'd,
And Peace with Heav'n,
Jefus, our great High Prieft,
Offer'd his Blood and dy'd;
Thou guilty Sinner feek
No Sacrifice befide:
His pow'rful Blood
Did once atone,
And now it pleads
Before the Throne.
Thou dear Almighty Lord,
Our Conqu❜ror and our King,
Thy Scepter and thy Sword,
Thy reigning Grace we fing
Thine is the Pow'r;
O may we fit,
In willing Bonds,
Beneath thy Feet!
Array'd in mortal Flesh,
Chrift like an Angel stands,
And holds the Promifes
And Pardons in his Hands:
Commiffion'd from
His Father's Throne,
To make his Grace
To Mortals known.
Be thou our Counsellor,
Our Pattern and our Guide!
And through this defart Land
Sull keep us near thy Side!
Ne'er run aftray,
Nor rove, nor feek
The crooked Way!
We'd hear our Shepherd's Voice,
Who's watchful Eye doth keep
Poor wandring Souls among
The Thousands of his Sheep.
He feeds his Flock,
He calls their Names,
His Bofom bears
The tender Lambs.
To this dear Surety's Hands,
My Soul, commend thy Cause,
He answers and fulfils
His Father's broken Laws:
Believing Souls
Now free are fet;
For Chrift hath paid
Their dreadful Debt.
Their Advocate appears
For their Defence on high,
The Father bows his Ears,
And lays his Thunder by:
Not all that Hell
Or Sin can fay,
Shall turn his Heart,
His Love away.
Then let our Souls arife,
And tread the Tempter down;
Our Captain leads us forth
To Conqueft and a Crown.
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