Thanksgiving for God's particular Providence

When all thy Mercies, o my God, My rising Soul surveys, Why my cold Heart, art thou not lost In Woader, Love and Praise?

Thy Providence my Life sastain'd And all my Wants redress. While in the silent Womb I lay And hung upon the breast.

To all my weak Complaints and Cries Thy Mercy lent an har E'er yet my feeble Thoughts had learn'd To form themselves in Prayer.

Un number'd Comforts on my Soul Thy tender Care bestow'd, Before my infant Heart conceived From whom thole Comforts flow'd.

When in the slippery Paths of Youth With heedless Steps I ran, Thine Arm unseen convey'd me safe And led me up to Man.

Thro' hidden Dangers, Toils and Deaths I gently clear'd my way. And thro' the pleasing Snares of Vice, More to be fear'd than they

Ten Thousand Thousand precious Gifts My daily Thanks employ; Nor is the least a chearsal Heart That tasts those Gifts with Joy.

Taro' every Peried of my Life Thy Goodness I'll pursae. And after Death in distant Worlds The pleasing Theme renew.

Thro' all Eternity to thee A grateful Song I'll raise: But o! Eternity's too short To utter all thy Praise.