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II.

Whate'er we fondly call our own,
belongs to heaven's great Lord;
The blessings lent us for a day
are soon to be restor❜d.

*III.'

'Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
or sinks them in the grave;
He gives; and when he takes away,
I he takes but what he gave.

IV.

Then, ever blessed be his name!
his goodness swell'd our store;
His justice but resumes its own;
'tis ours still to adore.

Pili .139

How

JOB, iii. 17,-20.

I.

LOW still and peaceful is the grave! where, life's vain tumults past,

Th' appointed house, by Heaven's decree, receives us all at last.

II.

The wicked there from troubling cease; their passions rage no more; And there the weary pilgrim rests from all the toils he bore.

III.

There rest the pris ners, now releas'd from Slav'ry's sad abode;

No more they hear the oppressor's voice, or dread the tyrant's rod.

IV.

There servants, masters, small and great, partake the same repose;

And there, in peace, the ashes mix

of those who once were foes.
V..

All, levell'd by the hand of Death,
lie sleeping in the tomb;

Till God in judgment calls them forth to meet their final doom.

V.

JOB, V. 6,-12.

I.

THO' trouble springs not from the dust,

nor sorrow from the ground; Yet ills on ills, by Heaven's decree, in man's estate are found.

11.

As sparks in close succession rise, so man, the child of wo,

Is doom'd to endless cares and toils through all his life below.

III,

But with my God I leave my cause;
from him I seek relief;
To him, in confidence of pray'r,
unbosom all my grief.

IV.

Unnumber'd are his wond'rous works, unsearchable his ways;

'Tis his the mourning soul to cheer, the bowed down to raise.

VI.

JOB, viii. 11,-22.

T.

THE rush may rise where waters flow,

and flags beside the stream; But soon their verdure fades and dies before the scorching beam.

II.

So is the sinner's hope cut off; or if it transient rise,

'Tis like the spider's airy web, from ev'ry breath that flies.

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Fixt on his house, he leans; his house, and all its props, decay:

He holds it fast; but while he holds, the tott'ring frame gives way.

IV.

Fair in his garden, to the sun

his boughs with verdure smile; And, deeply fix'd, his spreading roots unshaken stand a while.

But forth the sentence flies from Heav'n, that sweeps him from his place; Which then denies him for its lord, nor owns it knew his face.

VI.

Lo! this the joy of wicked men,
who Heaven's high laws despise;
They quickly fall; and in their room
as quickly others rise.

VII.

But, for the just, with gracious care
God will his pow'r employ
He'll teach their lips to sing his praise,
and fill their hearts with joy.

VIL

JOB, ix. 2,-10.

How should the sons of Adam's race

be

pure before their God?

If he contends in right'ousness, we sink beneath his rod.

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