Round our deveted heads the billows beat;
And from our troubled view the leffen'd lands

retreat.

62. A Paraphrafe on the latter Part of the Sath Chapter of St. Matthew. THOMSON. WHEN my breaft labours with oppreffive care,

And o'er my cheek defcends the falling tear; While all any warring paffions are at ftrife, Oh let me liften to the words of life! Raptures deep-felt his doctrine did impart, And thus he rais'd from earth the drooping heart:

Think not, when all your scanty ftores afford Ispread at once upon the fparing board; Think not, when worn the homely robe appears, While on the roof the howling tempeft bears; What farther thall this feeble life fuftain, And what shall clothe these shiv'ring limbs again. Say, does not life its nourishment exceed? And the fair body its invefting weed? Behold! and look away your low despair— See the light tenants of the barren air: To the nor ftores nor granaries belong, Nought but the woodland and the pleating fong; Yet your kind heav'nly Father bends his eye On the leaft wing that flits along the sky. To him they fing when fpring renews the plain, To him they cry in winter's pinching reign; Nor is their mufic nor their plaint in vain: He hears the gay and the diftrefsful call, And, with unfparing bounty, fills them all.

Obferve the rifing lily's fnowy grace, Obferve the various vegetable race; They neither toil nor ipin, but careless grow, Yet fee how warm they bluth! how bright they glow!

What regal veftments can with them compare? What king fo fhining, or what queen fo fair?

If ceafelefs thus the fowls of heaven he feeds, * If o'er the fields fuch lucid robes he spreads, Will he not care for you, ye faithlefs, fay? Is he unwife? or are ye lefs than they?

$63. Songs of Praife. WATTS.
A general Song of Praije to God.
HOW glorious is our heav'nly King,
Who reigns above the sky!
How fhall a child prefume to fing
His dreadful Majesty?

How great his pow'r is, none can tell,
Nor think how large his grace;
Not men below, nor faints that dwell
On high before his face.

Not angels, that stand round the Lord,
Can fearch his fecret will!
But they perform his heav'nly word,
And fing his praises still.

Then let me join this holy train,
And my first off'rings bring;
Th'eternal God will not difdain
To hear an infant fing.

My heart refolves, my tongue obeys;
And angels fhall rejoice
To hear their mighty Maker's praise
Sound from a feeble voice.

Praife for Creation and Providence,
I SING th'almighty pow'r of God,
That made the mountains rife;
That fpread the flowing feas abroad,
And built the lofty skies!

I fing the Wisdom that ordain'd
The fun to rule the day;
The moon fhines full at his command,
And all the stars obey.

I fing the goodness of the Lord,

That fill'd the earth with food;
He form'd the creatures with his word,
And then pronounc'd them good.
Lord, how thy wonders are difplay'd,
Where'er I turn mine eye!
If I furvey the ground I tread,
Or gaze upon the sky!
There's not a plant or flow'r below

But makes thy glories known;
And clouds arife, and tempests blow,
By order from thy throne.
Creatures (as num'rous as they be)
Are fubject to thy care;
There's not a place where we can flee,
But God is prefent there.

In Heav'n he fhines with beams of love,
With wrath in hell beneath!

'Tis on his earth I stand or move,

And 'tis his air I breathe.

His hand is my perpetual guard;
He keeps me with his eye:
Why fhould I then forget the Lord,
Who is for ever nigh?

Praife to God for our Redemption.
BLEST be the wifdom and the pow'r,
The juftice and the grace,
That join'd in counsel to restore

And fave our ruin'd race.

Our father ate forbidden fruit,
And from his glory fell;
And we his children thus were brought
To death, and near to hell.
Bleft be the Lord that fent his Son

To take our flesh and blood;
He for our lives gave up his own,

To make our peace with God.
He honour'd all his Father's laws,
Which we have difobey'd;
He bore our fins upon the cross,
And our full ranfou paid.

E 4

Behold

WATTS.

HERE is a God that reigns above,

On all thy works I look;

But fi thy wildom, pow'r, and grace, Shine brighteft in thy book.

The fars, that in their courfes roll,
Have much inftruction given;
But thy good word informs my foul
How I may climb to heaven.
The fields provide me food, and shew
The goodnefs of the Lord;
But fruits of life and glory grow
In thy moft holy word.

Here are my choicest treasures hid,
Here my beft comfort lies:
Here my defires are fatisfied,
And hence my hopes arise.
Lerd, make me understand thy law,
Shew what my faults have been;
And from thy gospel let me draw
Pardon for all my kin.

Here would I learn how Chrift has died
To fave my foul from hell:
Not all the books on earth befide
Such heav'nly wonders tell.

Then let me love my Bible more,
And take a freth delight

By day to read thefe wonders o'er,
And meditate by night.

$65. The All-feeing God. WATTS.

ALMIGHTY God, thy piercing eye
Strikes thro' the fhades of night,
And our moft fecret actions lie
All open to thy fight.

There's not a fin that we commit,

Nor wicked word we fay,
But in thy dreadful book 'tis writ,
Against the judgment-day.

And muft the crimes that I have done
Be read and publish'd there?
Be all expos'd before the Sun,
While men and angels hear?
Lord, at thy foot afham'd I lie;
Upward I dare not look:
Pardon my fins before I die,

And blot them from thy book.

Remember all the dying pains
That my Redeemer felt;

And let his blood wash out my stains,
And anfwer for my guilt.

O may I now for ever fear

Tindulge a finful thought,
Since the great God can fee and hear,
And writes down ev'ry fault,

WATTS.

Lord of the heav'ns, and earth, and feas:

I fear his wrath, I afk his love,
And with my lips I fing his praife.

There is a law which he has writ,
To teach us all what we must do:
My foul, to his commands submit,
For they are holy, juft, and true.
There is a gofpel of rich grace,
Whence finners all their comforts draw:
Lord, I repent, and seek thy face,
For I have often broke thy law.
There is an hour when I must die,
Nor do I know how foon 'twill come;
A thoufand children, young as 1,
Are call'd by death to hear their doom,
Let me improve the hours I have,
Before the day of grace is fled:
There's no repentance in the grave,
Nor pardons offer'd to the dead.

Juft as the tree, cut down, that fell
To north or fouthward, there it lies;
So man departs to heav'n or hell,
Fix'd in the state wherein he dies.

$67. Heaven and Hell. WATT THERE is beyond the sky

A heav'n of joy and love; And holy children, when they die, Go to that world above.

There is a dreadful hell,

And everlasting pains;
There finners must with devils dwell,
In darkness, fire, and chains..
Can fuch a wretch as I
Efcape this curfed end?

And may I hope, whene'er I die,
I fhall to heav'n afcend?
Then will I read and pray,

While I have life and breath;
Left I should be cut off to-day,
And fent to eternal death.

"Twill fave us from a thousand fnares, To mind religion young;

Grace will preferve our following years,
And make our virtue ftrong.

To thee, almighty God, to thee,
Our childhood we refign;
Twill please us to look back and fee
That our whole lives were thine.

Let the fweet work of pray'r and praise
Employ my youngest breath;
Thus I'm prepar'd for longer days,
Or fit for early death.

$69. The Danger of Delay. WATTS,
WHY fhould I fay," "Tis yet too foon
"To feek for Heav'n, or think of death?"
A flow'r may fade before 'tis noon,
And I this day may lose my breath.
If this rebellious heart of mine
Defpife the gracious calls of Heaven,
I may be harden'd in my fin,
And never have repentance given.

What if the Lord grow wroth, and swear,
While I refuse to read and pray,
That he'll refuse to lend an ear
To all my groans another day!
What if his dreadful anger burn,
While I refufe his offer'd grace,
And all his love to fury turn,
And strike me dead upon the place!
'Tis dang'rous to provoke a God!
His pow'r and vengeance none can tell:
One ftroke of his almighty rod

Shall fend young finners quick to hell.
Then 'twill for ever be in vain
Το for pardon and for grace;
cry
To wish I had my time again,
Or hope to fee my Maker's face!

§ 70. Examples of Early Piety. WATTS. WHAT blefs'd examples do I find

Writ in the word of truth,.
Of children that began to mind
Religion in their youth!
Jefus who reigns above the fky,
And keeps the world in awe,
Was once a child as young as I,
And kept his Father's law.

At twelve years old he talk'd with men,
(The Jews all wond'ring stand)
Yet he obey'd his mother then,
And came at her command.
Children a fweet hofanna fung,

And blefs'd their Saviour's name!
They gave him honour with their tongue,
While feribes and priests blafpheme.
Samuel the child was wean'd and brought
To wa upon the Lord;
Young Timothy betimes was taught
To know his holy word.

Then why fhould I fo long delay
What others learnt fo foon?
I would not pass another day
Without this work begun.

$71. Again Lying. WATTS. 'Tis a lovely thing for youth To walk betimes in wifdom's way; To fear a lie, to speak the truth, That we may truft to all they say.

But liars we can never trust,

Tho' they fhould fpeak the thing that's true!
And he that does one fault at first,
And lies to hide it, makes it two.
How God abhors deceit and wrong?
Have we not known, nor heard, nor read,
How Ananias was ftruck dead,
Caught with a lie upon his tongue ?
So did his wife Sapphira die,
When the came in, and grew fo bold
As to confirm that wicked lie
That juft before her husband told.

The Lord delights in them that speak
The words of truth; but ev'ry liar
Must have his portion in the lake
That burns with brimstone and with fire.
Then let me always watch my lips,
Left I be ftruck to death and hell,
Since God a book of reck'ning keeps

For ev'ry lie that children tell.

Birds

Birds in their little nefts agree;
And 'tis a fhameful fight,
When children of one family
Fall out, and chide, and fight!

Hard names at firft, and threat'ning words,
That are but noify breath,

May grow to clubs and naked fwords,
To murder and to death.

The devil tempts one mother's fon
To rage against another;

So wicked Cain was hurried on

Till he had kill'd his brother.
The wife will make their anger cool,
At least before 'tis night;"
But in the bofom of a fool

It burns till morning-light.
Pardon, O Lord, our childish rage,
Our little brawls remove;
That, as we grow to riper age,
Our hearts may all be love.

OUR tongues were made to blefs the Lord,
And not speak ill of men;

When others give a railing word,
We must not rail again.

Crofs words and angry names require
To be chaftis'd at school;
And he's in danger of hell-fire
That calls his brother Fool,

But lips that dare be so profane,
To mock and jeer and scoff
At holy things or holy men,

The Lord fhall cut them off.

When children in their wanton play
Serv'd old Elisha fo;

And bid the prophe go his way,
"Go up, thou bald-head, go;'

God quickly ftopp'd their wicked breath,
And fent two raging bears,

That tore them limb from limb to death,
With blood, and groans, and tears.
Great God, how terrible art thou

To finners e'er fo young!"
Grant me thy grace, and teach me how
To tame and rule my tongue!

How will they ftand before thy face,
Who treated thee with fuch disdain,
While thou shalt doom them to the place
Of everlasting fire and pain!

Then never fhall one cooling drop
To quench their burning tongues be given.
But I will praife thee here, and hope
Thus to employ my tongue in heaven.
My heart fhall be in pain to hear
Wretches affront the Lord above;
'Tis that great God whofe pow'r I fear,
That heav'nly Father whom I love.
If my companions grow profane,
I'll leave their friendship when I hear
Young finners take thy name in vain,
And learn to curfe, and learn to fwear.

$76. Against Idlenefs and Mischief. WATTS. HOW doth the little bufy bee

Improve each fhining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From ev'ry op'ning flow'r!
How skilfully fhe builds her cell!

How neat the fpreads the wax !
And labours hard to ftore it well
With the fweet food fhe makes.
In works of labour, or of skill,
I would be bufy too;

For Satan finds fome mifchief still
For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play,
Let my firft years be past,
That I may give for ev'ry day
Some good account at last.

877. Again Evil Company. WATTS. WHY fhould I join with those in play

In whom I've no delight;

Who curfe and fwear, but never pray;
Who call ill names, and fight?

I hate to hear a wanton fong,

Their words offend mine ears;
I should not dare defile my tongue
With language fuch as theirs.
Away from fools I'll turn mine eyes,
Nor with the fcoffers go:
I would be walking with the wise,

That wifer I may grow.

From one rude boy that's us'd to mock,
They learn the wicked jeft:
One fickly fheep infects the flock,
And poifons all the reft.

My God, I hate to walk or dwell
With finful children here:
Then let me not be fent to hell,
Where none but finners are.

§ 78.