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JOHN MASON.

DIED 1694.

AMONG the numerous later writers of Hymns few have equalled this pious nonconformist. He was the grandfather of the more popular author of the "Essay on Self.Knowledge." Towards

the close of his life he became the victim of some strange delusions, in regard to the imaginary millenial reign of our Lord upon earth, not altogether unlike those which have been revived in our own times. This circumstance, however, ought not to prejudice the reader against his poems, which are remarkable for a pure and sound, though high-toned devotion.

JOHN MASON.

A SONG OF PRAISE FOR CREATION.

THOU Wast, O God, and thou wast blest,
Before the world begun;

Of thine eternity possest

Before Time's glass did run.

Thou needest none thy praise to sing,
As if thy joy could fade:

Couldst thou have needed any thing,
Thou couldst have nothing made.

Great and good God, it pleased thee
Thy Godhead to declare;

And what thy goodness did decree,

Thy greatness did prepare:

Thou spak'st, and heaven and earth appear'd,
And answer'd to thy call;

As if their Maker's voice they heard,
Which is the creatures' all.

Thou spak'st the word, most mighty Lord,

Thy word went forth with speed:

Thy will, O Lord, it was thy word,
Thy word it was thy deed.

Thou brought'st forth Adam from the ground,

And Eve out of his side:

Thy blessing made the earth abound

With there two multiplied.

Those three great leaves, heaven, sea, and land,

Thy name in figures show;

Brutes feel the bounty of thy hand,

But I my Maker know.
Should not I here thy servant be,

Whose creatures serve me here?
My Lord, whom should I fear but thee,
Who am thy creatures' fear!

To whom, Lord, should I sing, but thee,
The maker of my tongue?

Lo other lords would seize on me,
But I to thee belong.

As waters haste unto their sea,
And earth unto its earth,

So let my soul return to thee,

From whom it had its birth.

But, ah! I'm fallen in the night,
And cannot come to thee:

Yet speak the word, "Let there be light"

It shall enlighten me:

And let thy word, most mighty Lord,

Thy fallen creature raise:

O make me o'er again, and I

Shall sing my Maker's praise.

A SONG OF PRAISE FOR PROVISION.

COME, let us praise our Master's hand, Which gives us daily bread :

Thy house, my Lord, is full of guests,
Thy table richly spread.

Earth is thy table, where thy guests
Do daily sit and feed:

Thy hand carves every one his part,
And suffers none to need.

Naked came I into the world,
And nothing with me brought;
And nothing have I here deserv'd,
Yet have I lacked nought.
I do not bless my lab'ring hand,
My lab'ring head, or chance;
Thy Providence, most gracious God,
Is mine inheritance.

Thy bounty gives me bread with peace,
A table free from strife;
Thy blessing is the staff of bread,
Which is the staff of life.
The people sat in companies,
My Saviour fed them all :
So all the families of the earth
Have tables in God's hall.

The vine and olive-branches too
Are nourish'd by thy care:
Mercies we eat, mercies we drink,
Mercies we daily wear.

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