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8 O chase this darkness from my mind, And raise my thoughts above,

That I may full salvation find,
And celebrate thy love.

My heart aw The grace Tet I to sina

XCVI.

Surely I am more brutish than any.-Proverbs xxx. 2.

1 BRING all the brutish and unwise,

Who neither know nor love

That God who made the earth and skies,

Who reigns supreme above;

And all hi

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2 Set forth their base ingratitude
In all its blackest hue,

I'd mingle with this hateful brood,
As vilest of the crew.

3 Alas! they never, never felt

The power of quick'ning grace;
They never saw their nature's guilt,
Nor felt their helplessness.

4 They ne'er enjoy'd a Saviour's love;
They ne'er convers'd with heaven;
Ne'er heard Jehovah from above
Pronounce their sins forgiven.

5 But I these mercies have enjoy'd
In wisdom's sacred ways:

Then how were all my powers employ'd
In grateful strains of praise!

6 Jesus, I knew, endur'd my shame
Upon th' accursed tree,
How did I venerate his name

Who suffer'd there for me!

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And she I'll mourn If possi

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My heart awhile with ardor burn'd

The grace I could not hide,

Yet I to sin again return'd,
And all his work denied.

Now let me take the lowest place,
And chide my brutish heart,
Which thus abus'd the richest grace
That Mercy could impart.

Here is ingratitude indeed,
In all its deepest stains;
Here let my sorrows ever feed
While life and breath remains.

0 Yes: I'll repent till Jesus smile,
And shews my sins forgiven;
I'll mourn ingratitude so vile,-
If possible, in heaven.

XCVII.

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Hide me under the Shadow of thy Wings.-Psalm xvii. &.

JESUS, my Hiding-place thou art,

My Rock, my Refuge, and my All;

My mis'ries swell, O take my part;
In mercy save me, or I fall.

My soul is overwhelmed with grief,
My heart with sorrows well nigh broke;
Haste and appoint some kind relief,
Or I must die beneath the stroke.

3 Pity my weakness, O my God,
My woes unable to sustain;
Lighten the great, the heavy load,
And mix some pleasure with my pain.

4 Leave not my drooping soul alone,
Lest I dishonor thy great name;
Lest satan mock my doleful moan,
And laugh exulting o'er my shame.

5 Hide me, I tremble at thy power,
I fear thy rod, thou King of kings,
Hide me, till all thy wrath is o'er,
Beneath the shadow of thy wings.

let thy Sp
And wor
Be thou my
And now

XCVIII.

He will regard the Prayer of the Destitute.-Psalm cii. 17.

1 How suitable this word to me,

A destitute, distressed worm! Lord, I will make my moan to thee; Do thou thy promise now perform.

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2 Hear me, for I am destitute,
Oppress'd with grief and heavy woes;
Do not despise my humble suit,
For I in thee my trust repose.

3 I can to none but thee complain,
O let thy faithfulness appear,
Look with compassion on my pain,
And bring thy tender mercies near.

4 Regard me in my low estate,
Perplex'd and griev'd on every side;
Helpless and poor, my wants are great,
Let them by thee be all supplied.

5 On thee alone for help I call,
I'll trust an arm of flesh no more;
Fain would I make my God my all,
But thou, my God, must give the power.

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O let thy Spirit now descend,

And work a stronger faith within; Be thou my Father and my Friend, And now eternal life bring in.

XCIX.

Let the Sighing of the Prisoners come before thee.
Psalm lxxix. 11.

To thee, my God, I make my moan,

Lend thou a gracious ear:

Let every sigh, let every groan,

Before thy throne appear.

For friends my sorrows swell too high,
My woes they cannot bear;

Helpless and destitute I lie,

Expos'd to every snare.

3 Whilst thou, O Lord, my soul forsake, I must indulge my grief;

O let my heart with sorrow break,

So I may gain relief.

4 If here I must not see thy face,
Be life no longer given;
Finish at once thy work of grace,
And take me up to heaven.

5 Haste, Lord, my soul is all distress'd,
Distracting fears arise;

O let thy bosom be my rest,
No other can suffice.

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Turn thee unto me, and have Mercy upon me, for I am desolate and afflicted.-Psalm xxv. 16,

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To God I'd

2 How great my weakness and my pain! How far from all relief!

No friend to hear my soul complain,
Or mitigate my grief.

3 Near to the gate of death I lie,
And fear to enter in:
Hear me, O God, before I die,
And cheer my soul again.

4 Doth God in wrath my soul abhor? Why am I thus distrest?

For Jesus' sake, thy hand withdraw,
And give my spirit rest.

5 Turn unto me thy gracious eye,
O thou eternal God!

Before I faint, before I die
Beneath thy chast'ning rod.

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