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Are fillèd with Thy praise, and love, and fear.
Let never sin get room, or entrance there:
Vouchsafe, O Lord, through this and all our days,
To guard us with Thy powerful grace:
Within our hearts let no usurping lust be found,
No rebel passion tumult raise,
To break Thy laws, or break our peace,
But set Thy watch of angels on the place.
And keep the tempter still from that forbidden ground.
Ever, O Lord, to us Thy mercies grant;
Never, O Lord, let us thy mercies want;
Ne'er want Thy favour, bounty, liberality,
But let them ever on us be,
Constant as our own hope and trust on Thee.
On Thee, we all our hope and trust repose!
O never leave us to our foes,
Never, O Lord, desert our cause;
Thus aided and upheld by Thee,
We'll fear no danger, death, nor misery;
Fearless we thus will stand a falling world,
With crushing ruins all about us hurled,
And face wide gaping hell, and all its slighted powers defy.
A SUNDAY-THOUGHT IN SICKNESS.
LORD, how dreadful is the prospect of death, at the remotest distance! How the smallest apprehension of it can pall the most gay, airy, and brisk spirits! Even I, who thought I could have been merry in sight of my coffin, and drink a health with the sexton in my own grave, now tremble at the least envoy of the king of terrors. To see but the shaking of my glass makes me turn pale, and fear is like to prevent and do the work of ray distemper. All the jollity of my humour and conversation in turned on a sudden to chagrin and melancholy, black in despair,
