LI. GOD the Dwelling-Place of his People thro' all Generations.

THOU, LORD, thro' ev'ry changing Scene
Hast to thy Saints a Refuge been:
Thro' ev'ry Age, Eternal GOD,
Their pleasing Home, their safe Abode.

In thee our Fathers sought their Rest;
In thee our Fathers still are blest;
And, while the Tomb confines their Dust,
In thee their Souls abide, and trust.

Lo, we are ris'n, a feeble Race,
A while to fill our Fathers Place;
Our helpless State with Pity view,
And let us share their Refuge too.

Thro' all the thorny Paths we trace
In this uncertain Wilderness,
When Friends desert, and Foes invade,
Revive our Heart, and guard our Head.

So when this Pilgrimage is o'er,
And we must dwell in Flesh no more,
To thee our sep'rate Souls shall come,
And find in thee a surer Home.

To thee our Infant Race we leave;
Them may their Father's GOD receive;
That Voices yet unform'd may raise
Succeeding Hymns of humble Praise.