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What tho', in solemn silence, all

Move round this dark terrestrial ball?

What tho' nor real voice nor sound

Amid their radiant orbs be found ?

In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
“ The hand that made us is Divine."


The Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care ; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye; My noon-day walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend.

When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant;
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary wand'ring steps he leads;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

Tho' in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My stedfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O Lord, art with me still ;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

Tho' in a bare and rugged way,
Thro’ devious lonely wilds 1 stray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile;
The barren wilderness shall smile,

With sudden green and herbage crown'd, And streams shall murmur all around,



When all thy mercies, O my God,

My rising soul surveys; Transported with the viety, Im lost

In wonder, love and praise.

O how shall words with equal warmth

The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd heart?

But thou canst read it there.

Thy providence my life sustain’d,

And all my wants redrest, When in the silent womb I lay,

And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak complaints and cries,

Thy mercy lent an ear, Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learn'd

To form themselves in pray'r.

Unnumber'd comforts to


soul Thy tender care bestow'd, Before my infant heart conceiv'd

From whom those comforts flow'd.

When in the slipp'ry paths of youth

With heedless steps I ran, Thine arm unseen convey'd me safe,

And led me up to man.

Thro' hidden dangers, toils, and deaths,

It gently clear'd my way, And through the pleasing snares of vice,

More to be fear'd than they,

When worn with sickness oft hast thou

With health renewid my face, And when in sins and sorrows sunk, Reviv'd my

soul with grace.

Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss

Hath made my cup run o'er, And in a kind and faithful friend

Hath doubled all my store.

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ, Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes those gists with joy.


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