Ye gentile finners, ne'er forget
The wormwood, and the gall;
Go fpread your trophies at his feet,
And crown him LORD of All.

Babes, men, and fires, who know his love,
Who feel your fin and thrall;
Now join with all the hofts above,

And crown him LORD of All.

Let ev'ry kindred, ev'ry tribe,
On this terreftrial ball,

To him all majesty ascribe,

And crown him LORD of All.

O that with yonder, facred throng,
We at his feet may fall;
To join the everlafting fong,

And crown him LORD of All.

XVII. The eternal Love of CHRIST. P. M. 'ER GOD had built the mountains,

E

Or rais'd the fruitful hills

Before he fill'd the fountains
That feeds the running rills;
In me, from everlasting,
The wonderful I am,
Found pleasures never wafting,
And wifdom is my name.
When, like a tent to dwell in,
He spread the skies abroad;
And fwath'd about the fwelling
Of ocean's mighty flood;
He wrought by weight and measure,
And I was with him then;
Myfelf the Father's pleasure,
And mine, the fons of men.

Thus wifdom's words difcover
Thy glory and thy grace,
Thou everlasting lover
Of our unworthy race.
Thy gracious eye furvey'd us,
E'er ftars were feen above;
In wisdom thou haft made us,
And dy'd for us in love.

And could't thou be delighted
With creatures fuch as we!
A finful race who flighted

And nail'd thee to a tree!
Unfathomable wonder,
And mystery divine!

The voice that speaks in thunder,
Says, "finner, I am thine!"

XVIII. The happy Pilgrimage. S. M.
ROM Egypt lately freed,
By the REDEEMER's grace;

FRO

A rough and thorny path we tread,
In hopes to fee his face.

The flesh diflikes the way,
But faith approves it well;
This only leads to endless day,
And others lead to hell.

The promis'd land of peace, Faith keeps in conftant view; How diff'rent from the wilderness, We now are paffing thro'!

Here often from our eyes Clouds hide the light divine; There we fhall have unclouded skies, Our fun will always fhine,

Here griefs, and cares, and pains,
And fears diftrefs us fore;
But there eternal pleasure reigns,
And we shall weep no more.

LORD, pardon our complaints,
We follow at thy call!

The joy prepar'd for fuff'ring faints,
Will make amends for all.

G

XIX. Zion's Glory. P. M.

LORIOUS things of thee are spoken,
Zion, city of our God;

He, whofe word cannot be broken,

Form'd thee for his own abode: On the rock of ages founded, What can shake thy fure repofe;