PAGE 174:

PSALM 102. Third Part. L.M.
The saints die, but Christ and the church live. (cont.)

4	This earth grows old, these heav'ns shall fade, And all be chang'd at his command.
5	The starry curtains of the sky, Like garments, shall be laid aside; But still thy throne stands firm and high; Thy church for ever must abide.
6	Before thy face thy church shall live, And on thy throne thy children reign: This dying world shall they survive, And the dead saints be rais'd again.

PSALM 103. First Part. S.M.
Praise for spiritual and temporal mercies.

1	O BLESS the Lord, my soul!    Let all within me join: And aid my tongue to bless his name,    Whose favours are divine.
2	O bless the Lord, my soul!    Nor let his mercies lie Forgotten in unthankfulness,    And without praises die.
3	'Tis he forgives thy sins;    'Tis he relieves thy pain; 'Tis he that heals thy sicknesses,    And makes thee young again.
4	He crowns thy life with love,    When ransom'd from the grave; He, that redeem'd my soul from hell,    Hath sov'reign pow'r to save.
5	He fills the poor with good,    He gives the suff'rers rest; The Lord hath judgments for the proud,    And justice for th' opprest.
6	His wondrous works and ways    He made by Moses known;

PAGE 175

PSALM 103. First Part. S.M.
Praise for spiritual and temporal mercies. (cont.)

6	But sent the world his truth and grace,    By his beloved Son.

PSALM 103. Second Part. S.M.
Mercy in the midst of judgment.

1	MY soul, repeat his praise,    Whose mercies are so great; Whose anger is so slow to rise,    So ready to abate.
2	God will not always chide:    And when his strokes are felt, His strokes are fewer than our crimes,    And lighter than our guilt.
3	High as the heav'ns are rais'd    Above the ground we tread; So far the riches of his grace    Our highest thoughts exceed.
4	His pow'r subdues our sins:    And his forgiving love, Far as the east is from the west,    Doth all our guilt remove.
5	The pity of the Lord,    To those that fear his name, Is such, as tender parents feel:    He knows our feeble frame,
6	He knows we are but dust,    Scatter'd with ev'ry breath; His anger, like a rising wind.    Can send us swift to death,
7	Our days are as the grass,    Or like the morning flow'r: If one sharp blast sweep o'er the field,    It withers in an hour.
8	But thy compassions, Lord,    T0 endless years endure: