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Vain, sinful world, farewel!!
I go where angels dwell;
Where life, light, love, and jos

Are the saint's glory.
God's praises there employ

The consistory.
Christ, who knows all bis sheep,
Will all in safety keep;
He will not lose his blood,

Nor intercession:
Nor we the purchased good

Of his dear passion.
I know my God is just,
To him I wholly trust;
All that I have, and am,

All that I hope for.
All's sure and seen to him,

Which I here grope for.
Lord Jesus, take my spirit:
I trust thy love and merit:
Take home this wand'ring sheep,

For thou hast sought it :
This soul in safety keep,
For thou hast bought it. A107.

HYMN TO PROVIDENCE.

[ADDISON.]

How are thy servants blest, O Lord!

How sure is their defence ! Eternal wisdom is their guide,

Their help, Omnipotence.

In foreign realms, and lands remote,

Supported by thy care,
Through burning clinies I pass'd unhurt,

And breathed in tainted air.
Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,

Made every region please ;
The hoary Alpine hills it warm’d,

And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.
Think, O my soul, devoutly think

How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide extended deep

In all its horrors rise.

Confusion dwelt in every face,

And fear in every heart;
When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs,

O’ercame the pilot's art.
Yet then, from all my griefs, O Lord,

Thy mercy set me free,
Whilst, in the confidence of prayer,

My soul took hold on thee.
Yet though in dreadful whirls we hulig

High on the broken wave,
I knew thou wert not slow to hear,

Nor impotent to save.
The storm was laid, the winds retir’d,

Obedient to thy will;
The sea, that roar'd at thy command,

At thy command was still.
In midst of dangers, fears, and death,

Thy goodness I'll adore;
And praise thee for thy mercies past,

And humbly hope for more.

My life, if thou preserv'st my life,

Thy sacrifice shall be; And death, if death must be my door,

Shall join my soul to Thee.

THE VALEDICTION.

(BAXTER.)
VAIN world, what is in thee!
What do poor mortals see
Which should esteemed be,

Worthy their pleasure?
Is it the mother's womb,
Or sorrows which soon come,
Or a dark grave and tomb

Which is their treasure?
How dost thou man deceive

By thy vain glory,
Why do they still believe

Thy false history?
Is 't children's book and roll,
The lab'rer's heavy load,
Poverty under-trod

The world desireth?
Is it distracting cares,
Or heart.tormenting fears,
Or pining grief and tears,

Which man requireth ?
Or is it youthful rage,

Or childish toying ? Or is decrepid age

Worth man's enjoying i

Is it deceitful wealth,
Got by care, fraud, or stealth,
Or short, uncertain health,

Which thus befool men?
Or do the serpent’s lies,
By the world's flatteries,
And tempting vanities,

Still over-rule them?
Or do they in a dream,

Sleep out their season ?
Or borne down by lust's stream,

Which conquers reason!
The silly lambs to-day
Pleasantly skip and play,
Whom butchers mean to slay,

Perhaps to-morrow :
In a more brutish sort,
Do careless sinners sport,
Or in dead sleep still snort,

As near to sorrow;
Till life, not well begun,

Be sadly ended,
And the web they have spun,

Can ne'er be mended.
What is the time that's

gone,
And what is that to come ?
Is it not now as none ?

The present stays not.
Time posteth, oh how fast!
Unwelcome death makes haste,
None can call back what's past,

Judgment delays not:
Though God bring in the light,

Sinners a wake not, Because Hell's out of sight,

They sin forsake not.

Man walks in a vain show,
They know, yet will not know,
Sit still when they should go;

But run for shadows :
While they might taste and know
The living streams that flow,
And crop the powers that

grow, In Christ's sweet meadows. Life's better slept away,

Than as they use it:
In sin and drunken play,

Vain men abuse it.
Malignant world, adien!
Where no foul vice is new,
Only to Satan true,

God still offended :
Though taught and warn'd by God,

And his chastising rod,
Keeps still the way that's broad,

Never amended.
Baptismal vows some make,

But ne'er perform them;
If angels from Heaven spake,

"Twould not reform them.
They dig for Hell beneath,
They labour hard for death,
Run themselves out of breath

To overtake it.
Hell is not had for nought,
Damnation's dearly bought,
And with great labour sought,

They'll not forsake it,
Their souls are Satan's ice,

He'll not abate it.
Grace is refus'd that's free,

Mad sinner's hate it.

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