Second PART

A Father pities his young Son; So doth the Lord the Just. He knows how feeble is our Frame, Remembers we are Dust. Man's Days like Grass; he flourisheth, As a Field-Flow'r new blown. The Wind sweeps o'er, it disappears; It's Place no more is known. But, Lord, thy Mercy ever was, And ever will endure, To them that fear Thee; and thy Truth To Children's Children's sure: To such as keep his Covenant, And his Commands obey. The Lord, in Heav'n prepar'd his Throne; O'er all extends his Sway. Ye holy Angels, mighty Pow'rs, Bless ye Iehovah still: Who hear his Voice attentively, And constant do his Will. Bless God, his Hosts, and Ministers, That do his Pleasure whole. Thro' his wide Empire, bless the Lord; The Lord bless, O my Soul.