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56. L. M. BROWNE.
Give thanks to God in all things.
Shall, like thy gifts, continual be:
Nor end nor interruption knows. 2 From thee our comforts all arise,
Our num'rous wants thy hand supplies,
Who live on thine exhaustless store. 3 If what we ask our God denies,
It is because thou’rt good and wise ;
Thou canst to real blessings turn.
Let all thy favours be imprest;
The whole, or any single debt.
For all thy gifts our praises pay ;
Which teach this grateful heart to glow;
The rivers of thy mercy flow!
Secure in thine immortal trust, .
The soul has hush'd her secret strife,
Nor longer shudders at the dust.
The dawn of earthly hope and joy,
And will unveil eternity.
Shall stand acknowledged at thy throne,
Prayer to the supreme being. 1 WHILE raptur'd saints adoring stand,
And burning seraphs sing, Trembling I wait thy just command,
My father, God, and king! 2 Thou source of everlasting good,
Whose bounty flows to all ! Thy pow'r restrains the swelling flood ;
O hear! to thee I call.
Directs the reas’ning mind :
Her God: her God we find. 4 Thy wisdom paints each springing flow'r,
And shades the blushing green; Thy goodness falls in ev'ry show'r,
In ev'ry show'r is seen.
5 When'er thy wisdom thinks it fit
To shake this clay built frame,
With patience bless thy name. 6 Let not the stream of partial ill
My better thoughts betray,
Through virtue's peaceful way.
1 FATHER supreme! thy gracious pow'r
On ev'ry hand we see ;
Lead all our thoughts to thee.
To earth's remotest bound,
Thine arm our path surround.
And reaches to the skies ;
of mercy never sleeps,
The hand of God we see ;
Ceaseless proceed from thee.
On thee our hopes depend;
DODDRIDGE. God the author of our comforts, our deliverances, and
The various riches of thy grace ;
And in thy praise exalt our voice. 2 By thee the vault of heav’n was spread;
By thee the earth's foundations laid ;
Proclaim a wise and gracious God. 3 Thy quick’ning hand restores our breath,
When trembling on the verge of death;
Aod lengthens life to future years. 4 Our lives are sacred to the LORD;
Kindld by him, by hiin restord :
May sin no more these hours disgrace! 5 So when, at length, by thee we're led
Through unknown regions of the dead,
Who kindl’st up the lamp of day;
2 Fountain of good! from thee proceeds,
In copious drops, the genial rain,
Revive the grass, and swell the grain. 3 Thro' the wide world thy bounties spread;
Yet millions of our guilty race,
Affront thy law, and spurn thy grace, 4 Not so may our forgetful hearts
O'erlook the tokens of thy care ;
Still own in praise, still ask in pray’r. 5 So shall our suns more grateful shine,
And show'rs in sweeter drops shall fall,
62. 8 & 6s. M. H. MOORE.
The love of God.
How sweetly bloom below!
And o’er the earth they flow.
Their genial drops distil ;
And glides in ev'ry rill.