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But he their power controls;

3 Grace reigns to pardon crimson sins,
To melt the hardest hearts;
And from the word it once begins,†

It never more departs.

The world and Satan strive in vain
Against the chosen few;
Secur'd by grace's conqu'ring reign,
They all shall conquer too.

4 Grace tills the soil, and sows the seeds,
Provides the sun and rain;

Till from the tender blade proceeds
The ripen'd harvest-grain.
'Twas grace that call'd our souls at first;
By grace thus far we're come;
And grace will help us through the worst,
And lead us safely home.

5 Lord, when this changing life is past,
If we may see thy face,

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How shall we praise and love at last,
And sing the reign of grace!{
Yet let us aim, while here below,
Thy mercy to display;

And own, at least, the debt we owe,
Although we cannot pay.

HYMN LXXXVII.
Praise to the Redeemer.
PREPARE a thankful song

To the Redeemer's name!

His praises should employ each tongue, And ev'ry heart inflame!

He laid his glory by,

And dreadful pains endur'd,

That rebels, such as you and I,
From wrath might be secur'd.

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His wisdom, love, and truth, engage
Protection for our souls.

Though press'd, we will not yield,
But shall prevail at length:
For Jesus is our sun and shield,
Our righteousness and strength.
10 Assur'd that Christ, our King,
Will put our foes to flight,
We on the field of battle sing,
And triumph while we fight.

HYMN LXXXVIII.

Man, by Nature, Grace, and Glory.

1 LORD, what is man! extremes how wide
In this mysterious nature join!
The flesh, to worms and dust allied,
The soul, immortal and divine!
2 Divine at first, a holy flame,
Kindled by the Almighty's breath;
Till, stain'd by sin, it soon became
The seat of darkness, strife, and death.
3 But Jesus, oh! amazing grace!
Assum'd our nature as his own,
Obeyed and suffer'd in our place.
Then took it with him to his throne.

4 Now, what is man, when grace reveals
The virtue of a Saviour's blood!
Again a life divine he feels,
Despises earth, and walks with God.
5 And what, in yonder realms above,
Is ransom'd man ordain'd to be!
With honour, holiness, and love,
No seraph more adorn'd than he.

6 Nearest the throne, and first in song,
Man shall his hallelujahs raise;
While wond'ring angels round him throng,
And swell the chorus of his praise.

SIMILAR HYMNS.

Book I. Hymn 57, 58, 59, 79, 80. Book II. Hymn 37, 38, 39, 41, 42.

VIII. SHORT HYMNS.

BEFORE SERMON.

HYMN LXXXIX.

CONFIRM the hope thy word allows,
Behold us waiting to be fed;
Bless the provision of thy house,
And satisfy thy poor with bread:

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POEMS.

THE KITE; OR, PRIDE MUST HAVE
A FALL.

My waking dreams are best conceal'd,
Much folly, little good, they yield;
But now and then I gain, when sleeping,
A friendly hint that 's worth the keeping.
Lately I dreamt of one who cried,
"Beware of self, beware of pride;
When you are prone to build a Babel,
Recall to mind this little fable."

ONCE on a time a paper kite
Was mounted to a wond'rous height,
Where, giddy with its elevation,
It thus express'd self-admiration:
"See how yon crowds of gazing people
Admire my flight above the steeple:
How would they wonder if they knew
All that a kite like me can do!
Were I but free, I'd take a flight,
And pierce the clouds beyond their sight;
But, ah! like a poor pris'ner bound,
My string confines me near the ground:
I'd brave the eagle's towering wing,
Might I but fly without a string."

It tugg'd and pull'd, while thus it spoke, To break the string:-at last it broke. Depriv'd at once of all its stay, In vain it tried to soar away; Unable its own weight to bear, It flutter'd downward through the air; Unable its own course to guide, The winds soon plung'd it in the tide. Ah! foolish kite, thou hadst no wing, How couldst thou fly without a string?

My heart replied, “O Lord, I see
How much this kite resembles me!
Forgetful that by thee I stand,
Impatient of thy ruling hand;

How oft I've wish'd to break the lines
Thy wisdom for my lot assigns?
How oft indulg'd a vain desire,

For something more or something higher?
And, but for grace and love divine,
A fall thus dreadful had been mine."

A THOUGHT ON THE SEA-SHORE.
IN ev'ry object here I see
Something, O Lord, that leads to thee:
Firm as the rocks thy promise stands,
Thy mercies countless as the sands,

Thy love a sea immensely wide,
Thy grace an ever-flowing tide.
In ev'ry object here I see
Something, my heart, that points at thee
Hard as the rocks that bound the strand,
Unfruitful as the barren sand,
Deep and deceitful as the ocean,
And, like the tide, in constant motion.

THE SPIDER AND THE TOAD SOME author (no great matter who, Provided what he says be true) Relates he saw, with hostile rage, A spider and a toad engage; For though with poison both are stor❜d, Each by the other is abhorr'd: It seems as if their common venom Provok'd an enmity between 'em. Implacable, malicious, cruel, Like modern hero in a duel, The spider darted on his foe, Infixing death at ev'ry blow. The toad, by ready instinct taught, An antidote, when wounded, sought, From the herb plantain, growing near, Well-known to toads, its virtues rare The spider's poison to repel; It cropp'd the leaf and soon was well. This remedy it often tried, And all the spider's rage defied. The person who the contest viewed, While yet the battle doubtful stood, Remov'd the healing plant away, And thus the spider gain'd the day; For when the toad returned once more, Wounded, as it had done before, To seek relief, and found it not, It swell'd and died upon the spot.

In ev'ry circumstance but one (Could that hold too, I were undone !) No glass can represent my face More justly than this tale my case. The toad 's an emblem of my heart, And Satan acts the spider's part. Envenom'd by his poison, I Am often at the point to die; But he who hung upon the tree, From guilt and woe to set me free, Is like the plantain leaf to me.

To him my wounded soul repairs,
He knows my pain and hears my prayers;
From him I virtue draw by faith,
Which saves me from the jaws of death:
From him fresh life and strength I gain,
And Satan spends his rage in vain.
No secret arts or open force
Can rob me of this sure resource:
Though banish'd to some distant land,
My med'cine would be still at hand;
Though foolish men its worth deny,
Experience gives them all the lie;
Though Deists and Socinians join,
Jesus still lives, and still is mine.

'Tis here the happy difference lies,
My Saviour reigns above the skies,
Yet to my soul is always near,
For he is God and everywhere.
His blood a sovereign balm is found
For ev'ry grief and ev'ry wound;
And sooner all the hills shall flee
And hide themselves beneath the sea,
Or ocean, starting from its bed,
Rush o'er the cloud-topt mountains' head,
The sun, exhausted of its light,
Become the source of endless night,
And ruin spread from pole to pole,
Than Jesus fail the tempted soul

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