LVII. The holy Soul returning to its Restin a grateful Sense of divine Bounties.

RETURN my Soul, and seek thy Rest
Upon thy heav'nly Father's Breast:
Indulge me, LORD, in that Repose,
The Soul which loves thee only knows.

Lodg'd in thine Arms I fear no more
The Tempest's Howl, the Billows Roar:
Those Storms must shake th' Almighty's Seat,
Which violate the Saints Retreat.

Thy Bounties, LORD, to me surmount
The Pow'r of Language to recount;
From Morning Dawn, the setting Sun
Sees but my Work of Praise begun.

The Mercies, all my Moments bring,
Ask an Eternity to sing;
What Thanks those Mercies can suffice,
Which thro' Eternity shall rise?

Rich in ten thousand Gifts possess'd,
In future Hopes more richly bless'd,
I'll sit and sing, till Death shall raise
A Note of more proportion'd Praise.