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Now at his feet fubmit your crowns,
Rejoice and tremble at his name.

9 With humble love addrefs the Son,
Left he grow angry, and ye die;

His wrath will burn to worlds unknown,
If ye provoke his jealoufy.

10 His ftorms fhall drive you quick to hell!
He is a God, and ye but duft;

Happy the fouls that know him well,
And make his grace their only truft.

PSALM III. Common Metre.


Doubts and fears fuppreffed or, God our defence from fin and Satan.


MY God, how many are my fears!


How faft my foes increase!
Confpiring my eternal death,
They break my present peace.
2 The lying tempter would perfuade
There's no relief in heav'n;
And all my fwelling fins appear
Too big to be forgiv'n.

But thou, my glory and my strength,
Shalt on the tempter tread;
Shalt filence all my threat'ning guilt,
And raise my drooping head.

4 [I cry'd, and from his holy hill
He bow'd a lift'ning ear;
I call'd my Father and my God,
And he fubdu'd my fear.


He fhed foft flumbers on mine eyes,
In spite of all my foes;

I 'woke, and wonder'd at the grace
Which guarded my repose.]

6 What though the hofts of death and hell
All arm'd against me ftood!

Terrors no more fhall fhake
My refuge is my God.

my foul:

7 Arife, O Lord, fulfil thy grace,
While I thy glory fing:

My God has broke the ferpent's teeth,
And death has loft his fting.

8 Salvation to the Lord belongs;
His arm alone can fave:

Bleffings attend thy people here,
And reach beyond the grave.

PSALM III. I-5. Long Metre.
A Morning Pfalm.

LORD, how many are my foes,

In this weak state of flesh and blood!

My peace they daily difcompofe,

But my
2 Tir'd with the burdens of the day,
To thee I rais'd an ev'ning cry:
Thou heard'ft when I began to pray,
And thine almighty help was nigh..
3 Supported by thine heav'nly aid,
I laid me down and flept fecure :
Not death fhould make my heart afraid,
Though I fhould wake and rife no more.
4 But God fuftain'd me all the night;
Salvation doth to God belong :
He rais'd my head to fee the light,
And makes his praife my morning fong

defence and hope is God.

PSALMIV. 1,2,3,5,6,7. Long Metre. Hearing of prayer; or, God our portion, and Christ our


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GOD of grace and right'oufnefs,
Hear and attend when I complain :
Thou haft enlarg'd me in diftrefs,
Bow down a gracious ear again.
2 Ye fons of men, in vain ye try
To turn my glory into fhame:
How long will fcoffers love to lie,
And dare reproach my Saviour's name?



Know that the Lord divides his faints
From all the tribes of men befide;
He hears the cry of penitents

For the dear fake of Chrift who dy'd.
When our obed'ent hands have done
A thoufand works of right'oufness,
We put our truft in God alone,
And glory in his pard'ning grace.
5 Let the unthinking many fay,
Who will bestow fome earthly good?
But, Lord, thy light and love we pray;
Our fouls defire this heav'nly food.
6 Then fhall my cheerful pow'rs rejoice
At grace and favour fo divine;

Nor will I change my happy choice
For all their corn and all their wine.

PSALM IV. 3,4,5,8. Common Metre.
An Evening Pfalm.

LORD, thou wilt hear me when I pray ;


am forever thine,

I fear before thee all the day,
Nor would I dare to fin.

2 And while I reft my weary head,
From cares and bus'nefs free,
'Tis fweet converfing on my bed
With my own heart and thee.
I pay this ev'ning facrifice;


And when my work is done, Great God, my faith and hope relies Upon thy grace alone.

4 Thus, with my thoughts compos'd to peace, I'll give mine eyes to fleep;

Thy hand in fafety keeps my days,
And will my flumbers keep.


Common Metre.

For the Lord's-day morning.


ORD, in the morning thou shalt hear
My voice afcending high :

To thee will I direct my pray'r,

To thee lift up mine eye.

2 Up to the hills, where Chrift is gone,
To plead for all his faints,
Presenting at his Father's throne
Our fongs and our complaints.


Thou art a God, before whofe fight
The wicked fhall not ftand:
Sinners fhall ne'er be thy delight,
Nor dwell at thy right hand.

4 But to thy houfe will I refort,
To taste thy mercies there;
I will frequent thine holy court,
And worship in thy fear.


O may thy Spirit guide my feet
In ways of right'oufnefs!
Make every path of duty straight
And plain before my face.


6 My watchful enemies combine
To tempt my feet aftray;
They flatter with a base design,
To make my foul their prey.

7 Lord, crush the ferpent in the duft,
And all his plots destroy;

While thofe, who in thy mercy trust,
For ever fhout for joy.

8 The men, who love and fear thy name,
Shall fee their hopes fulfill'd;


The mighty God will compass them
With favour as a fhield.


Common Metre.

Complaint in fickness: or, difenfes healed.

N anger, Lord, rebuke me not,
Withdraw the dreadful ftorm;


Nor let thy fury grow fo hot
Against a feeble worm.

2 My foul's bow'd down with heavy cares, My flesh with pain opprefs'd;

My couch is witnefs to my tears,
My tears forbid my reft.

3 Sorrow and pain wear out my days;
I waste the night with cries,
Counting the minutes as they pass,
Till the flow morning rife.

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