11
Through every period of my life,
Thy goodness I’ll pursue;
And after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.[17]

12
When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more,
My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,
Thy mercy shall adore.

13
Through all eternity, to thee
A joyful song I’ll raise;
For, oh! eternity’s too short
To utter all thy praise.

AN ODE.

1
How are thy servants blest, O Lord! 
How sure is their defence! 
Eternal wisdom is their guide,
Their help Omnipotence.

2
In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes I pass’d unhurt,
And breath’d in tainted air.

3
Thy mercy sweeten’d every soil,
Made every region please;
The hoary Alpine hills it warm’d,
And smooth’d the Tyrrhene seas.

4
Think, O my soul, devoutly think,
How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw’st the wide-extended deep
In all its horrors rise.

5
Confusion dwelt in every face,
And fear in every heart;
When waves on waves, and gulphs on gulphs,
O’ercame the pilot’s art.

6
Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord,
Thy mercy set me free;
Whilst, in the confidence of prayer,
My soul took hold on thee.

7
For though in dreadful whirls we hung
High on the broken wave,
I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.

8
The storm was laid, the winds retired,
Obedient to thy will;
The sea that roar’d at thy command,
At thy command was still.

9
In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I’ll adore;
And praise thee for thy mercies past,
And humbly hope for more.

10
My life, if thou preserv’st my life,
Thy sacrifice shall be;
And death, if death must be my doom,
Shall join my soul to thee.

AN HYMN.

1
When rising from the bed of death,
O’erwhelm’d with guilt and fear,
I see my Maker face to face;
O how shall I appear!

2
If yet, while pardon may be found,
And mercy may be sought,
My heart with inward horror shrinks,
And trembles at the thought: 

3
When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos’d
In majesty severe,
And sit in judgment on my soul;
O how shall I appear!

4
But thou hast told the troubled soul,
Who does her sins lament,
The timely tribute of her tears
Shall endless woe prevent.

5
Then see the sorrows of my heart,
Ere yet it be too late;
And add my Saviour’s dying groans,
To give those sorrows weight.

6
For never shall my soul despair
Her pardon to procure,
Who knows thy only Son has died
To make that pardon sure.

PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII.