For to my foul, 'tis hell to be,
But for one moment void of thee.
Lord, I my vows to thee renew,
Difperfe my fins as morning dew;
Guard my firft fprings of thought and will,
And with thy felf my fpirit fill.

Direct, controul, fuggeft, this day,
All I defign, or do, or fay,

That all my pow'rs, with all their might, In thy fole glory may unite.

Praife God, from whom all bleffings flow; Praise him, all creatures here below; Praife him above, ye heav'nly hoft; Praife Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

HYMN XXXVIII.

For the Evening. By Bishop Ken. To St. Luke's Tune: Or, as the 100 Pfalm.

A

LL praise to thee, my God, this night, For all the bleffings of the light: Keep me, O keep me, King of kings, Beneath thy own almighty wings. Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son, The ill that I this day have done; That with the world, my felf and thee, I, e're I fleep, at peace may be. Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed;

To

To die, that this vile body may
Rife glorious at the awful day.

O may my foul on thee repofe,

And may fweet fleep mine eye-lids clofe;
Sleep that may me more vig'rous make,
To ferve my God when I awake.

When in the night I fleepless lie,
My foul with heav'nly thoughts fupply;
Let no ill dreams difturb my reft,
No pow'rs of darknefs me moleft.
Dull fleep! of fenfe me to deprive,
I am but half my time alive;

1

Thy faithful lovers, Lord, are griev'd
To lie fo long of thee bereav'd.

But tho' fleep o'er my frailty reigns,
Let it not hold me long in chains,
But now and then let loofe my heart
Till it an Hallelujah dart.

The fafter fleep the fenfes binds, The more unfetter'd are our minds; O may my foul, from matter free, Thy loveliness unclouded fee.

Ŏ when fhall I, in endless day,
For ever chafe dark fleep away,
And hymns with the fupernal choir
Inceffant fing and never tire;

O may my guardian, while I fleep,
Clofe to my bed his vigils keep;
His love angelical instil,

Stop all the avenues of ill.

May

May he celestial joy rehearse,

And thought to thought with me converse;
Or, in my ftead, all the night long

Sing to my God a grateful fong.
Praife God, from whom, &c.

M

HYMN XXXIX.

For Midnight. By Bishop Ken:
To the 100 Pfalm Tune.

Y God, now I from fleep awake, The fole poffeffion of me take; From midnight terrors me fecure,

And guard my heart from thoughts impure,
Blefs'd angels, while we filent lie,
You hallelujahs fing on high;
You joyful hymn the ever-bleft,
Before the throne, and never rest.
I with your choir celestial join
In offering up a hymn divine;
With you in heav'n I hope to dwell,
And bid the night and world farewel.
My foul, when I fhake off this duft,
Lord, in thy arms I will intruft:
O make me thy peculiar care;
Some manfion for my foul prepare.
Give me a place at thy faints feet,
Or fome fall'n angel's vacant feat,
I'll ftrive to fing as loud as they
Who fit above in brighter day.

0 may I always ready stand,
With my lamp burning in my hand;
May I in fight of heav'n rejoice,
Whene'er I hear the bridegroom's voice.
All praise to thee, in light array'd,
Who light thy dwelling-place haft made :
A boundless ocean of bright beams
From thy all-glorious Godhead ftreams.
The fun in its meridian height,

Is very darkness in thy fight;
My foul, O lighten, and inflame
With thought and love of thy great name.
Blefs'd Jefu, thou on heav'n intent,
Whole nights haft in devotion spent,
But I, frail creature, foon am tir'd,
And all my zeal is foon expir'd.

My foul, how canft thou weary grow,
Of antedating blifs below,

In facred hymns, and heav'nly love,
Which will eternal be above?

Shine on me, Lord, new life impart,
Frefh ardors kindle in my heart;
One ray of thy all-quick'ning light
Difpels the floth and clouds of night.
Lord, left the tempter me furprize,
Watch over thine own facrifice;
All loose, all idle thoughts caft out,
And make my very dreams devout.
Praise God, from whom, &c.

SPECTATOR, N° 574.

The Virtue of Contentedness.

Was once engaged in difcourfe with a Roficrufian about the great fecret. As this kind of men (I mean those of them who are not profeffed cheats) are over-run with enthusiasm and philofophy, it was very amufing to hear this religious adept defcanting on his pretended difcovery. He talked of the fecret as of a spirit which lived within an emerald, and converted every thing that was near it to the highest perfection it is capable of. It gives a lustre, fays he, to the fun, and water to the diamond. It irradiates every metal, and enriches lead with all the properties of gold. It heightens fmoak into flame, flame into light, and light into glory. He further added, that a fingle ray of it diffipates pain, and care, and melancholy from the perfon on whom it falls. In fhort, fays he, its prefence naturally changes every place into a kind of heaven. After he had gone on for fome time in this unintelligible cant, I found that he jumbled natural and moral ideas together into the fame difcourfe, and that his great fecret was nothing else but Content.