2 To Christ, th’ anointed King,
Be endless blessings giv’n,
Let the whole Earth his Glory sing
Who made our Peace with Heav’n.

Glory to the Father and the Son, &c.

Long Metre.

To God the Father, God the Son,
And God the Spirit, Three in One,
Be Honour, Praise, and Glory giv’n,
By all on Earth, and all in Heav’n.

Common Metre.

Now let the Father and the Son,
And Spirit be ador’d,
Where there are works to make him known,
Or saints to love the Lord.

Short Metre.

Give to the Father Praise,
Give Glory to the Son,
And to the Spirit of his Grace
Be equal Honour done.

A Slight SPECIMEN of MORAL SONGS,

Such as I wish some happy and condescending Genius would undertake for the use of Children, and perform much better.

The sense and subjects might be borrow’d plentifully from the Proverbs of Solomon, from all the common appearances of nature, from all the occurrences in the civil life, both in city and country:  (which would also afford matter for other divine songs).  Here the language and measures should be easy and flowing with cheerfulness, and without the solemnities of religion, or the sacred names of God and holy things; that children might find delight and profit together.

This would be one effectual way to deliver them from the temptation of loving and learning those idle, wanton or profane songs, which give so early an ill taint to the fancy and memory, and become the seeds of future vices.

The Sluggard.

1 ’Tis the voice of the Sluggard.  I heard him complain “You have waked me too soon!  I must slumber again!” As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head.

2 “A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;” Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number:  And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands.

3 I past by his garden, and saw the wild bryar The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher:  The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags; And his money still wasts, still he starves, or he begs.

4 I made him a visit, still hoping to find He had took better care for improving his mind:  He told me his dreams, talk’d of eating and drinking, But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.

5 Said I then to my heart, “Here’s a lesson for me,” That man’s but a picture of what I might be:  But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding:  Who taught me betimes to love working and reading!

Innocent Play.

1 Abroad in the meadows to see the young lambs,
Run sporting about by the side of their dams
With fleeces so clean, and so white;
Or a nest of young doves in a large open cage,
When they play all in love without anger or rage,
How much may we learn from the sight!