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The lyre resounds unknown alarms,
And sets the thunderer in arms.
Behold the God! th’ Almighty King
Rides on a tempest's glorious wing :
His enligns lighten round the sky,
And moving legions found on high.
Ten thousand cherubs wait his course,
Chariots of fire and flaming horse:
Earth trembles, and her mountains flow,
At his approach, like melting snow.
But who these frowns of wrath can draw,
That strike Heav'n, Earth, and Hell, with awe?
Red lightning from his eyelids broke;
His voice was thunder, hail, and smoke.
He fpake; the cleaving waters filed,
And stars beheld the occan's bed :
While the great master strikes his lyre,
You see the frighted floods retire:. .
In heaps the frighted billows ftand,
Waiting the changes of his hand :
He leads his Israel through the sea,
And watery mountains guard their way. .
Turning his hand with sovereign sweep
He drowns all Egypt in the deep:
Then guides the tribes, a glorious band,
Through deserts, to the promis'd land !
Here camps, with wide embattl’d force';
Here gates and bulwarks stop their conrlé :
He forms the mounds, the bulwark falls,
The harp lies frowd with ruin'd walls.

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See his broad sword fies o'er the strings,
And mows down nations with their kings :
From every chord his bolts are hurld,
And vengeance fmites the rebel world.
Lo! the great Poet shifts the scene;
And thews the face of God ferene :
Truth, Meekness, Peace, Salvation ride,
With guards of justice at his fide.
No meaner mule could weave the light,
To form his robes divinely bright;
Or frame a crown of stars to thine
With beams for Majesty Divine.
Now in prophetic light he sees
Ages to come, and dark decrees;
He brings the Prince of Glory down,
Stript of his robe and starry crown.
See Jews and Heathens fir'd with rage ;
See the combining pow'rs engage
Against th' Anointed of the Lord,
The Man whom angels late ador'd;
God's only Son; behold he dies!
Surprising grief ! the groans arise !
The lyre complains on ev'ry string,
And mourns the murder of her King.
But Heaven's Anointed must not dwell
In death : the vanquish'd pow'rs of hell
Yield to the harp's diviner lay; ?
The grave religns th’ illustrious prey.
Mefliah lives! Melliah reigns!
The song surmounts the airy plains,

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T'attend her Lord with joys unknown,
And bear the Victor to his throne,
Rejoice! ye Nining worlds on high ;
Behold the Lord of Glory nigh:
Eternal doors, your leaves display,
To make the Lord of Glory way.
What mortal bard has skill or force
To paint these scenes, to tread this course,
Or furnish through th' ethereal road
A triumph for a rising God?
Astonish'd at so vast a fight
Through flaming worlds and floods of light,
My muse her awful distance keeps,
Still following, but with trembling feps.
She bids her humble verse explain
The Hebrew harp's sublimer strain;
l'oints to her Saviour ftill, and shows
What course the Sun of Glory goes.
Here he ascends behind a cloud
Of incense, there he fets in blood;
She reads his labours and his names
In spicy smoke, and bleeding lambs.
Rich are the graces which the draws
From types, and shades and Jewish laws;
With thousand glories long foretold
To turn the future age to gold,
Grace is her theme, and joy, and love :
Descend, ye blessings, from above, , ,
And crown my fong! Eeternal God,
Forgive the Muse that dreads thy rod !

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Silent, she hears thy vengeance roll,
That crules mortals to the foul, ,
Nor dares assume the bolt, nor sheds
Th’immortal curses on their heads.
Yet since her God is still the same,
And David's Son is all her theme,
She begs some humble place to sing
In concert with Judea's King.

PSALM 139.

THE ALL-SEEING LORD, thou hast search?d and seen me through! Thine eye commands with piercing view My rising and my resting hours, My heart and flesh with all their pow'rs. My thoughts before they are my own, . Are to my God distinctly known; He knows the words I mean to speak, Ere from my op’ning lips they break. Within thy circling pow'r I fand, On ev'ry fide I find thy band : Awake, anleep, at home, abroad, I am surrounded still with God. Amazing knowledge, vast and great! What large extent! what lofty height! My soul, with all the pow'rs I boast, Is in the boundless prospect loft. O may these thoughts possess my breast, Where'er I rove, where'er I reft !

Nor let my weaker passions dare
Consent to fin, for God is there.

PAUSE I. Could I fo false, fo faithless prove To quit thy service and thy love, Where, Lord, could I thy presence shun, Or from thy dreadful glory run? If up to heav'n I take my flight, 'Tis there thou dwell’At enthron'd in light; Or dive to hell, there vengeance reigns, And Satan groans beneath thy chains. If mounted on a morning.ray, I fly beyond the western sea, Thy swifter hand would first arrive, And there arrest thy fugitive. Or should I try to fhun thy fight, Beneath the spreading veil of night; One glance of thine, one piercing ray, Would kindle darkness into day. The veil of night is no disguise, No fcrcen from thy all-searching eyes ; Thy hand can seize thy foes as soon Through midnight shades as blazing noon. Midnight and noon in this agree, Great God! they're both alike to thee: Not death can hide what God will spy, And hell lies naked to his eye. O may these thoughts postess my breast, Where'er I rove, where'er I reft ;

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