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See his fierce reviler Saul,

How he rails with impious breath,. Then observe converted Paul,

Oft in perils, oft in death. 'Twas that God whose sovereign power,

Did the lion's fury swage, Could again in one short hour,

Still the persecutor's rage. Ey'n a woman women hear;

Read in Maccabees the story, Conquer'd nature, love and fear,

To obtain a crown of glory. Seven stout sons she saw expire,

(How the mother's soul was pain’d;) Some by sword, and some by fire,

How the Martyr was sustain'd. Even in death's acutest anguish,

Each the tyrant still defy'd; Each she saw in torture languish,

Last of all the mother dy'd. Martyrs who were thus arrested,

In their short but bright career, By their blood the truth attested,

Prov'd their faith and love sincere, Tho’their lot was hard and lowly,

Tho' they perish'd at the stake; Now they live with God in glory, Since they suffer'd for his sake. H2

Fierce,

Fierce and unbelieving foes,

But their bodies could destroy ; Short tho'bitter were their woes,

Everlasting is their joy.

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HYMN OF PRAISE

FOR THE

ABUNDANT HARVEST OF 1796.

AFTER A YEAR OF SCARCITY.

GRE

REAT God! when Famine threaten's

Jate
To scourge our guilty land,
O did we learn from that dark fate

To dread thy mighty band?
Did then our sins to mem’ry rise?

Or own'd we God was just?
Or rais'd we penitential cries?

Or bow'd we in the dust?
Did we forsake one evil path,

Was any sin abhorr’d?
Or did we deprecate thy wrath,
And turn us to the Lord?

'TH

'Tis true we faild not to repine,

But did we too repent?
Or own the chastisement divine

In awful judgment sent?
Tho' the bright chain of peace is broke, ,

And war with ruthless sword
Unpeoples nations at a stroke,

Yet who regards the Lord ?
But God, who in his strict decrees

Remembers mercy still,
Can, in a moment, if he please,

Our hearts with comfort fill.
He mark'd our angry spirits rise,

Domestic hate increase ;
And for a time withheld supplies,

To teach us love and peace.
He, when he brings his children low,

Has blessings still in store ;
And when he strikes the heaviest blow

He does but love us more.
Now Frost, and Flood, and BLIGHT no

more

Our golden harvests spoil;
See what an unexampled store

Rewards the Reaper's toil!
As when the promis'd harvest fail'd

In Canaan's fruitful land;
The envious Patriarchs were assail'd

By famine's pressing hand !

The

The angry brothers then forgot

Each fierce and jarring feud;
United by their adverse lot,

They lov'd as brothers shou'd.
So here, from Heaven's correcting hand

Tho' famine fail'd to move;
Let Plenty now throughout the land,

Rekindle peace and love.
Like the rich fool, let us not say,

Soul! thou hast goods in store !
But shake the overplus away,

To feed the aged poor.
Let rich and poor, on whom are now

Such bounteous crops bestow'd,
Raise many a pure and holy vow.

In gratitude to God!
And while his gracious nanie we praise

For bread so kindly given;
Let us beseech him all our days,

To give the bread of heav'n.
In that blest Prayer our Lord did frame,

Of all our prayers the guide,
We ask that i hollow'd be his name,”

And then our wants supplied.
For grace he bids us first implore,
Next, that we may be fed ;

Thy will be done,” before
We ask " our daily bread.”

2.

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93

DAME ANDREWS.

A BALLAD.

NE

TEAR Lechlade Town, in Glo'stershire,

Upon the banks of Thame, There liv'd an honest worthy pair,

And Andrews was their name. Tho' but a labourer was he,

And children they had four:
Content and comfort they enjoy’d,

Want came not near their door.
For all his earnings John brought home

He ne'er to alehouse went;
And Mary manag’d what he brought :

Right frugally they spent...
The cottage look'd in order still,

The children clean and tight: And John still found some wholesome fare,

When he came home at night, The children early taught to spim

Added their little gains; And though their earnings were but small,

They amply paid the pains, For every little matter helps

When carefully 'tis us'd: And whatsoever Mary goto's It never was abus'd.

Industriously

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