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IT is with pleasure I now present the first volume of a publication often contemplated, and often solicited by my friends to publish. I shell not pretend to say any thing respecting the utility or entertainment of the following pages, but only observe, that this selection is made from a work publishing in London, by a society of thirty Ministers of the Gospel, of different denominations; and that the profits arising from the publication of the work, are for the support of poor widows of Gospel Ministers. Ten thousand copies are monibly disposed of through the British empire, and other parts of the world. About 2600 pounds sterling have been distributed. The publication is conducted in a catholic spirit, and calculated to be entertaining and instructive to pious characters of various professions in the Christian church.

May the feeble effort of the compiler prove acceptable to his patrons, and the publication serve to enlighten the ignorant, animate the pious, and convince the obstinate that there is a GODMERCIFUL--- yet JUST.


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The Editor of the American selection knows of no

thing more suitable for a dedication to these volumes than a copy from the original, taken from the 1st number printed in the year 1793, with a few alterations.


HOU triune God! from whose rich stores of grace


To lay myself, and this my weak attempt,
Beneath the smile of PATRONAGE SUPREME.
My eye keep single, and my aim direct;
That all my efforts, in concurrence sweet,
May spread thy praife, and edify thy flock
In things divine. O let this select Work
Stand up a faithful witness for thy truth ;
Against the floods of error may it stand
A brazen bulwark, durable and firm.

FATHER OMNIPOTENT! thy love doth found
Along each line. Far as thy word reveals
Thy plans and counfels, I with joy have mark'd
The brilliant footsteps of eternal grace
Tow'rds guilty man.

JESUS! thy charming name,
Bright as the noon-day fun, hath gilt each page.
The glories of thy bleeding love is now
My darling theme. Thy influence benign,
Thou facred COMFORTER! shed on my heart.
Teach me to print the thunders of thy word
With sacred care ; and point, with steady hand,
The dread artillery of the flaming mount
Against the conscience of thy rebel foes.
When finners, wounded by thy terrors, fall;
And, rack'd with guilty pains, begin to list


Towards thy mercy-feat a tearful eye,
Or breathe a wish for peace ; O for that balm,
So fam'd in sacred story for its power
To heal ! O for the gracious words of pardon !
Free pardon promis'd through atoning blood,
To draw the sting of guilt, and pour that health
O'er all the foul, that health divine which none
But pardon'd finners ere can know or feel !
Th'exhaustlefs wells of thy falvation, fed
By springs perennial, teach me to disclose,
That, hither led, thy lambs with joy may drink
Of living waters; and, with gentle hand,
Their steps to guide, where richest pastures rise,
With endless verdure crown'd, there to partake
Of angels' food, and grow prepared for heaven,
Where partial knowledge meets the blaze of day,
And means, so blest on earth, shall all be done away.

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