By Nature all men are sinners.

Fools in their heart believe and say
"That all religion's vain;
There is no God that reigns on high,
Or minds th' affairs of men."

From thoughts so dreadful and profane,
Corrupt discourse proceeds;
And in their impious hands are found
Abominable deeds.

The Lord from his celestial throne
Looked down on things below,
To find the man that sought his grace,
Or did his justice know.

By nature all are gone astray,
Their practice all the same;
There's none that fears his Maker's hand;

The wonderful formation of man.

'Twas from thy hand, my God, I came,
A work of such a curious frame
In me thy fearful wonders shine,
And each proclaims thy skill divine.

Thine eyes did all my limbs survey,
Which yet in dark confusion lay;
Thou saw'st the daily growth they took,
Formed by the model of thy book.

By thee my growing parts were named,
And what thy sovereign counsels framed-
The breathing lungs, the beating heart-
Was copied with unerring art.

At last, to show my Maker's name,

Imperfection of nature, and perfection of scripture.

ver. 96, paraphrased.

Let all the heathen writers join
To form one perfect book;
Great God! if once compared with thine,
How mean their writings look!

Not the most perfect rules they gave
Could show one sin forgiv'n,
Nor lead a step beyond the grave;
But thine conduct to heav'n.

I've seen an end to what we call
Perfection here below;
How short the powers of nature fall,
And can no further go!

Yet men would fain be just with God

Delight in Scripture; or, The word of God dwelling in us.

ver. 97

O how I love thy holy law!
'Tis daily my delight;
And thence my meditations draw
Divine advice by night.

ver. 148

My waking eyes prevent the day
To meditate thy word;
My soul with longing melts away
To hear thy gospel, Lord.

ver. 3,13,54

How doth thy word my heart engage!
How well employ my tongue!
And in my tiresome pilgrimage,
Yields me a heav'nly song.

ver. 19,103

Am I a stranger or at home,

Holy fear, and tenderness of conscience.

ver. 10

With my whole heart I've sought thy face:
O let me never stray
From thy commands, O God of grace,
Nor tread the sinner's way.

ver. 11

Thy word I've hid within my heart
To keep my conscience clean,
And be an everlasting guard
From every rising sin.

ver. 63,53,158

I'm a companion of the saints
Who fear and love the Lord;
My sorrows rise, my nature faints,
When men transgress thy word.

ver. 161,163

While sinners do thy gospel wrong

Miracles attending Israel's journey.

When Isr'el, freed from Pharaoh's hand,
Left the proud tyrant and his land,
The tribes with cheerful homage own
Their King, and Judah was his throne.

Across the deep their journey lay;
The deep divides to make them way;
Jordan beheld their march, and fled
With backward current to his head.

The mountains shook like frighted sheep,
Like lambs the little hillocks leap;
Not Sinai on her base could stand,
Conscious of sovereign power at hand.

What power could make the deep divide?

Proper tune.
The majesty and condescension of God.

Ye that delight to serve the Lord,
The honors of his name record,
His sacred name for ever bless;
Where'er the circling sun displays
His rising beams, or setting rays,
Let lands and seas his power confess.

Not time, nor nature's narrow rounds,
Can give his vast dominion bounds,
The heav'ns are far below his height:
Let no created greatness dare
With our eternal God compare,
Armed with his uncreated might.

He bows his glorious head to view

The blessings of the liberal man.

That man is blest who stands in awe
Of God, and loves his sacred law:
His seed on earth shall be renowned;
His house the seat of wealth shall be,
An inexhausted treasury,
And with successive honors crowned.

His lib'ral favors he extends,
To some he gives, to others lends;
A gen'rous pity fills his mind:
Yet what his charity impairs,
He saves by prudence in affairs
And thus he's just to all mankind.

His hands, while they his alms bestowed,
His glory's future harvest sowed;

Intemperance punished and pardoned.

Vain man, on foolish pleasures bent,
Prepares for his own punishment;
What pains, what loathsome maladies,
From luxury and lust arise!

The drunkard feels his vitals waste,
Yet drowns his health to please his taste;
Till all his active powers are lost,
And fainting life draws near the dust.

The glutton groans, and loathes to eat,
His soul abhors delicious meat;
Nature, with heavy loads oppressed,
Would yield to death to be released.

Then how the frighted sinners fly

The glory of God in creation and providence.

My soul, thy great Creator praise:
When clothed in his celestial rays,
He in full majesty appears,
And, like a robe, his glory wears.

The heav'ns are for his curtains spread,
The unfathomed deep he makes his bed.
Clouds are his chariot when he flies
On winged storms across the skies.

Angels, whom his own breath inspires,
His ministers, are flaming fires;
And swift as thought their armies move
To bear his vengeance or his love.

The world's foundations by his hand