4 But in his looks a glory stands,
The noblest labour of thine hands: 
The pleasing lustre of his eyes
Outshines the wonders of the skies.

5 Grace, ’tis a sweet, a charming theme;
My thoughts rejoice at Jesus’ name: 
Ye angels, dwell upon the sound,
Ye heavens, reflect it to the ground!

6 O, may I live to reach the place
Where he unveils his lovely face,
Where all his beauties you behold,
And sing his Name to harps of gold!

Hymn 2:48. 
Love to the creatures is dangerous.

1 How vain are all things here below! 
How false, and yet how fair! 
Each pleasure hath its poison too,
And every sweet a snare.

2 The brightest things below the sky
Give but a flattering light;
We should suspect some danger nigh
Where we possess delight.

3 Our dearest joys, and nearest friends,
The partners of our blood,
How they divide our wavering minds,
And leave but half for God!

4 The fondness of a creature’s love,
How strong it strikes the sense! 
Thither the warm affections move,
Nor can we call them thence.

5 Dear Saviour, let thy beauties be
My soul’s eternal food;
And grace command my heart away
From all created good.

Hymn 2:49. 
Moses dying in the embraces of God.

1 Death cannot make our souls afraid
If God be with us there;
We may walk thro’ her darkest shade,
And never yield to fear.

2 I could renounce my all below,
If my Creator bid,
And run, if I were call’d to go,
And die as Moses did.

3 Might I but climb to Pisgah’s top,
And view the promis’d land,
My flesh itself shall long to drop,
And pray for the command.

4 Clasp’d in my heavenly Father’s arms
I would forget my breath,
And lose my life among the charms
Of so divine a death.

Hymn 2:50. 
Comfort under sorrows and pains.

1 Now let the Lord my Saviour smile,
And shew my name upon his heart,
I would forget my pains awhile,
And in the pleasure lose the smart.

But O it swells my sorrows high
To see my blessed Jesus frown! 
My spirits sink, my comforts die,
And all the springs of life are down.

3 Yet why, my soul, why these complaints? 
Still while he frowns his bowels move;
Still on his heart he bears his saints,
And feels their sorrows and his love.

4 My name is printed on his breast;
His book of life contains my name;
I’d rather have it there impress’d
Than in the bright records of fame.

5 When the last fire burns all things here,
Those letters shall securely stand,
And in the Lamb’s fair book appear,
Writ by th’ eternal Father’s hand.

6 Now shall my minutes smoothly run,
Whil’st here I wait my Father’s will;
My rising and my setting sun
Roll gently up and down the hill.