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And thou the notes inspire;
My tongue shall keep the heavenly chime,

My cheerful pulse shall beat the time, [spire. And sweet variety of sound shall in thy praise con

The dearest nerve about my heart,
Should it refuse to bear a part

With my melodious breath,
I'd tear away the vital chord,
A bloody victim to my Lord,

[zeal in death. And live without that impious string, or show my


God is a name my soul adores,

The Almighty Three, the' Eternal One ; Nature and grace, with all their pow’rs,

Confess the infinite unknown.

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From thy great Self thy being springs,

Thou art thine own original, Made up of uncreated things,

And self-sufficience bears them all.

Thy voice produc'd the seas and spheres,

Bid the waves roar, and planets shine ; But nothing like thy Self appears,

Through all these spacious works of thine.

Still restless Nature dies and grows:

From change to change the creatures run; Thy being no succession knows,

And all thy vast designs are one.

A glance of thine runs through the globes,

Rules the bright worlds, and moves their frame : Broad sheets of light compose thy robes;

Thy guards are form'd of living fame.

Thrones and dominions round thee fall,

And worship in submissive forms; Thy presence shakes this lower ball,

This little dwelling-place of worms.

How shall affrighted mortals dare

To sing thy glory or thy grace, Beneath thy feet we lie so far,

And see but shadows of thy face?

Who can behold the blazing light?

Who can approach consuming flame? None but thy wisdom knows thy might;

None but thy word can speak thy name.


SSHEPHERDS, rejoice, lift up your eyes,

And send your fears away ;
News from the region of the skies,

Salvation's born to-day.

Jesus, the God whom angels fear,

Comes down to dwell with you; To-day he makes his entrance here,

But not as monarchs do.

“No gold, nor purple swadling bands,

Nor royal shining things;
A manger for his cradle, stands,

And holds the King of kings.

'Go, shepherds, where the infant lies,

And see his humble throne ; With tears of joy in all your eyes,

Go, shepherds, kiss the Son.'

Thus Gabriel sang, and straight around

The heavenly armies throng;
They tune their harps to lofty sound,

And thus conclude the song:

‘Glory to God that reigns above,

Let peace surround the earth : Mortals shall know their Maker's love,

At their Redeemer's birth.'

Lord! and shall angels have their songs,

And men no tunes to raise ?
O may we lose these useless tongues

When they forget to praise !

Glory to God that reigns above,

That pitied us forlorn,
We join to sing our Maker's love,

For there's a Saviour born.


FATHER, how wide thy glory shines !

How high thy wonders rise !
Known through the earth by thousand signs,

By thousand through the skies.

Those mighty orbs proclaim thy power,

Their motions speak thy skill ; And on the wings of every hour

We read thy patience still.

Part of thy name divinely stands

On all thy creatures writ,
They show the labour of thine hands,

Or impress of thy feet.

But when we view thy strange design

To save rebellious worms,
Where vengeance and compassion join

In their divinest forms;

Our thoughts are lost in reverend awe:

We love and we adore':
The first arch-angel never saw

So much of God before.

Here the whole Deity is known,

Nor dares a creature guess
Which of the glories brightest shone,

The justice or the grace.

When sinners broke the Father's laws,

The dying Son atones;
Oh, the dear mysteries of his cross !

The triumph of his groans !

Now the full glories of the Lamb

Adorn the heavenly plains ;
Sweet cherubs learn Immanuel's name,

And try their choicest strains.

O may I bear some humble past

In that immortal song !
Wonder and joy shall tune my heart,

And love command my tongue.


Hence from my soul, my sins, depart,

Your fatal friendship now I see:
Long have you dwelt too near my heart,

Hence, to eternal distance filee.

Ye gave my dying Lord his wound,

Yet I caress'd your viperous brood, And in my heart-strings lapp'd you round;

You, the vile murderers of my God.

Black heavy thoughts, like mountains, roll

O'er my poor breast, with boding fears, And crushing hard my tortur'd soul,

Wring through my.eyes the briny tears.

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