5 Wide as He reigns, Praise the Lord. DR. WATTS.* [8s. & 7s.] TUNE-"Perez." 1 PRAISE the Lord! ye heavens adore Him; 2 Praise the Lord, for He hath spoken; For their guidance He hath made. 3 Praise the Lord, for He is glorious; 4 Praise the God of our salvation, Hosts on high His power proclaim; DUBLIN COLL. 6 [10s.] TUNE-"Melton." 1 ALONG the banks where Babel's current flows, Song of the Jewish Captives.t * Dr. Isaac Watts, the greatest lyric poet of his age, was born at Vide. Ps. CXXXVII. While Zion's fall in sad remembrance rose, Her friends, her children, mingled with the dead. 2 The tuneless harp, that once with joy we strung, And growing grief prolonged the tedious day. 3 Our hard oppressors, to increase our woe, With taunting smiles a song of Zion claim; 4 But how, in heathen chains, and lands unknown, 7 5 If e'er my memory lose thy lovely name, If my cold heart neglect my kindred race, Universal Praise. "Ariel." [C. P. M.] TUNE-" Meribah." 1 BEGIN, my soul, the exalted lay, To swell the inspiring theme. 2 Thou heaven of heavens, His vast abode, 8 Lo! on the lightning's fiery wing 3 Ye deeps, with roaring billows rise, Praise Him, who bids you roll:- 4 Wake, all ye soaring throngs and sing; To Him who shaped your finer mould, 5 Let man, by nobler passions swayed, [118.] OGILVIE. The Lord is my Shepherd. TUNE-" Portuguese Hymn." Vide also "Nason's Vocal Class Book," p. 90. 1 THE Lord is my shepherd, no want shall I know; pressed. 2 Through the valley and shadow of death though I Since Thou art my guardian, no evil I fear; 3 In the midst of affliction my table is spread; With blessings unmeasured my cup runneth o'er, 4 Let Goodness and Mercy, my bountiful God, Still follow my steps till I meet Thee above; I seek, by the path which my forefathers trod The Vicissitudes of Providence. [C. M.] TUNE-" Coventry." "Howards." 2 While changing aspect all things wear, 4 Then, mortal! send thy fears away, 10 MRS. ANNE STEELE. Oh Blest Art Thou. [L. M.] TUNE-" Illa." 1 OH! blest art thou, whose steps may rove 2 For man can show thee nought so fair, 3 For thee the stream in beauty flows, 4 But happier far, if then, thy soul Can soar to Him who made the whole; This lady was the daughter of a clergyman of Broughton, in Silent the lyre, and dumb the tuneful tongue, |