Thy bounteous cup my soul has bless'd,

And pour'd a balm within my breast,

That wealth cannot bestow;

Though choicest fruits the vineyards yield,

Though every fruit of every field

In rich luxuriance grow.

Come, sleep, thy genial influence shed;

The Lord shall not forsake my bed,

Nor leave my soul forlorn.

His guardian hand, whose power has made

The brightest ray, the darkest shade,

Shall bring me safe to morn.

PARAPHRASE OF THE LORD'S PRAYER.

Eternal God! whose pow'r divine

This wond'rous world has made,

And all the distant worlds that shine

Unnumber'd o'er my head!

Who dwellest in the realms of light,

Where none but saints can be ;

Who sittest on a throne-too bright

For mortal eyes to see!

That men, as saints above, may know

Thy mandates to fulfil—

That earth with heav'n may strive to do

The pleasures of thy will.

On thee our future wants depend;

On thee our daily bread:

This day thy gracious hand extend,

And grant us what we need

What our obedience never did

And never can receive;

What our offences would forbid

Let mercy deign to give.

L

For we have wander'd from thy fold,

"Like sheep have gone astray;"

To thee our hearts are worse than cold

Are prone to disobey:

But through the precious blood that flow'd

The human race to save,

And on a guilty world bestow'd

A triumph o'er the grave,

Forgive us, Lord! and whilst we live,

Our faults-our sins--forbear,

As we each other's wrongs forgive;

As we each other spare.