AND HYMNS.

3 Shake off the thoughts of dying too, And think your life your own; But death comes haft'ning on to you, To mow your glory down.

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4 Yes, you muft bow your ftately heads; Away your fpirits fly,

And no kind angels near your beds To bear them to the fky.

5 Go now, and boaft of all your flores, And tell how bright ye fhine: Your heaps of glitt'ring duft are yours, And my Redeemer's mine.

di Med

CCXXIX.

The Society and felicity of heaven. Pfal. xvi. II.

I

1 THERE on high majeftic throne, Th' Almighty Father reigns, And fheds his glorious goodneſs down On all the heav'nly plains.

2 Bright, like a fun, the Saviour fits, And fpreads eternal noon; // No ev'nings there, nor gloomy nights, To want the feeble moon. do d