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Through all eternity, to thee

A joyful song I'll raise; But oh! eternity's too short To utter all thy praise!

SECTION 23.

Hymn on preservation by land and sea:

How are thy servants bless'd, O Lord!

How sure is their defence!
Eternal wisdom is their guide;
Their help, Omnipotence.

In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,

Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt
And breath'd in tainted air.

Thy mercy sweeten'd ev'ry soil;
Made ev'ry region please :
The hoary, rugged hills it warm'd;
And smooth'd the stormy seas.

Think, O my soul, devoutly think,
How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide extended deep
In all its horrors rise!

Confusion dwelt in ev'ry face,

And fear in ev'ry heart,

When waves on waves, and gulfs in gulfs,

O'ercame the pilot's art.

Yet then, from all my griefs, O Lord,

Thy mercy set me free;

Whilst in the confidence of pray r,

My soul took hold on thee.

For though in dreadful whirls we hung,

High on the broken wave,

I knew thou wast not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.

The storm was laid, the winds retir'd,
Obedient to thy will:

The sea that roar'd at thy command,
At thy command was still.

In midst of danger, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I'll adore;

And praise thee for thy mercies past;
And humbly hope for more.

My life, if thou preserve my life,

Thy sacrifice shall be:

And death, when death must be my doom, Shall join my soul to thee.

SECTION 24.

The husbandman's hymn.

THOU great Creator of this earth,

That gave to ev'ry seed its birth;

By whom our fields with show'rs are bless'd;
Regard the husbandman's request.

In vain, our seed around we throw ;
In vain, we harrow where we sow;
Except thou dost our labours bless,
And give the grain a due increase.

Let then thy blessing, Lord, attend
On all the labours of my hand :
That I, with joy, may reap and mow
A rich return from what I sow.

Let not our sins thy vengeance move;
To turn our heav'n to brass above;
Or hard'n into iron our earth,

And o'er our fields to spread a dearth

But

pour

in season on the grain
The former and the latter rain ;
And in proportion due, supply
The needful change of wet and dry.

Forbid the vermin to devour;
Forbid the mildew's blasting show'r;
Forbid the tempest to destroy
My growing crop, and promis'd joy.

Crown with thy goodness, Lord, the year;
And let thy blessings round appear:
Let vales be cloth'd with grass and corn;
And hills let various flocks adorn.

Give to the sons of men their bread;
Let beasts with fatt'ning grass be fed :
All things in plenty, Lord, provide,
That all our wants may be supplied.

Give us abundance, Lord, we pray,
From fields of corn, from meads of hay;
Of fruits, from orchards' grafted stocks ;
Of milk, from all the milky flocks.

Thou, Lord, vouchsafe to bless our land,
And ev'ry work we take in hand :
And grant, for all thy gifts we may
Return thee praises night and day.

SECTION 25.

A hymn of praise.

Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will joy in the God of my salvation. HABAKKUK iii. 17, 18.

PRAISE to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days:
Bounteous source of ev'ry joy,

Let thy praise our tongues employ !

For the blessings of the field;
For the stores the gardens yield;
For the vine's exalted juice:
For the gen'rous olive's use.

Flocks that whiten all the plain;
Yellow sheaves of ripen'd grain ;
Clouds that drop their fatt'ning dews ;
Suns that temp'rate warmth diffuse :

All that Spring, with bounteous hand,
Scatters o'er the smiling land;
All that lib'ral Autumn pours,
From her rich o'erflowing stores:

These to thee, my God, we owe;
Source whence all our blessings flow!
And for these, my soul shall raise
Grateful vows, and solemn praise.

Yet, should rising whirlwinds tear,
From its stem, the rip'ning ear;
Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot,
Drop her green, untimely fruit;

Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store;

Though the sick'ning flocks should fall,
And the herds desert their stall;

Should thine alter'd hand restrain
The early and the latter rain;
Blast each op'ning bud of joy,
And the rising year destroy:

Yet, to thee my soul should raise
Grateful vows, and solemn praise;
And, when ev'ry blessing's flown,
Love thee, for thyself alone.

SECTION 26.

Hymn on the birth of Christ.

ARISE, and hail the happy day;
Cast all low cares of life away,

And thought of meaner things!
This day to cure all deadly woes,
The sun of Righteousness arose,
With healing in his wings.

If angels, on that happy morn
The Saviour of the world was born,

Pour'd forth their joyful songs; Much more should we of human race, Adore the wonders of his grace,

To whom that grace belongs.

N

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