ty God, our souls admire,
Thee our glad voices sing,
And join with the celestial choir
To praise th' eternal King.

3 Thy power the whole creation rules,
And on the starry skies
Sits smiling at the weak designs
Thine envious foes devise.

4 Thy scorn derides their feeble rage,
And with an awful frown
Flings vast confusion on their plots,
And shakes their Babel down.

5 [Their secret fires in caverns lay,
And we the sacrifice:
But gloomy caverns strove in vain
To 'scape all-searching eyes.

6 Their dark designs were all reveal'd,
Their treasons all betray'd:
Praise to the God that broke the snare
Their cursed hands had laid.]

7 In vain the busy sons of hell
Still new rebellions try,
Their souls shall pine with envious rage,
And vex away and die.

8 Almighty grace defends our land
From their malicious power,
Let Britain with united songs
Almighty grace adore.

Hymn 2:93.
God all, and in all, Psalm 73. 25.

1 My God, my life, my love,
To thee, to thee I call,
I cannot live if thou remove,
For thou art all in all.

2 [Thy shining grace can cheer,
This dungeon where I dwell;
'Tis paradise when thou art here;
If thou depart, 'tis hell.]

3 [The smilings of thy face,
How amiable they are!
'Tis heaven to rest in thine embrace,
And no where else but there.]

4 [To thee, and thee alone,
The angels owe their bliss;
They sit around thy gracious throne,
And dwell where Jesus is.]

5 [Not all the harps above
Can make a heavenly place,
If God his residence remove,
Or but conceal his face.]

6 Nor earth nor all the sky
Can one delight afford;
No not a drop of real joy,
Without thy presence, Lord.

7 Thou art the sea of love,
Where all my pleasures roll,
The circle where my passions move,
And centre of my soul.

8 [To thee my spirits fly
With infinite desire;
And yet how far from thee I lie!
Dear Jesus, raise me higher!]

Hymn 2:94.
God my only happiness, Psalm 73. 25.

1 My God, my portion, and my love,
My everlasting all,
I've none but thee in heaven above,
Or on this earthly ball.

2 [What empty things are all the skies,
And this inferior clod!
There's nothing here deserves my joys,
There's nothing like my God.]

3 [In vain the bright, the burning sun
Scatters his feeble light;
'Tis thy sweet beams create my noon;
If thou withdraw, 'tis night.

4 And whilst upon my restless bed,
Amongst the shades I roll,
If my Redeemer shew his head
'Tis morning with my soul.]

5 T