Hymn 2:93. 
God all, and in all, Psalm 73. 25.

1 My God, my life, my love,
To thee, to thee I call,
I cannot live if thou remove,
For thou art all in all.

2 [Thy shining grace can cheer,
This dungeon where I dwell;
’Tis paradise when thou art here;
If thou depart, ’tis hell.]

3 [The smilings of thy face,
How amiable they are! 
’Tis heaven to rest in thine embrace,
And no where else but there.]

4 [To thee, and thee alone,
The angels owe their bliss;
They sit around thy gracious throne,
And dwell where Jesus is.]

5 [Not all the harps above
Can make a heavenly place,
If God his residence remove,
Or but conceal his face.]

6 Nor earth nor all the sky
Can one delight afford;
No not a drop of real joy,
Without thy presence, Lord.

7 Thou art the sea of love,
Where all my pleasures roll,
The circle where my passions move,
And centre of my soul.

8 [To thee my spirits fly
With infinite desire;
And yet how far from thee I lie! 
Dear Jesus, raise me higher!]

Hymn 2:94. 
God my only happiness, Psalm 73. 25.

1 My God, my portion, and my love,
My everlasting all,
I’ve none but thee in heaven above,
Or on this earthly ball.

2 [What empty things are all the skies,
And this inferior clod! 
There’s nothing here deserves my joys,
There’s nothing like my God.]

3 [In vain the bright, the burning sun
Scatters his feeble light;
’Tis thy sweet beams create my noon;
If thou withdraw, ’tis night.

4 And whilst upon my restless bed,
Amongst the shades I roll,
If my Redeemer shew his head
’Tis morning with my soul.]

5 To thee we owe our wealth and friends,
And health, and safe abode;
Thanks to thy Name for meaner things,
But they are not my God.

6 How vain a toy is glittering wealth,
If once compar’d to thee;
Or what’s my safety, or my health,
Or all my friends to me?

7 Were I possessor of the earth,
And call’d the stars my own
Without thy graces and thyself
I were a wretch undone.

8 Let others stretch their arms like seas,
And grasp in all the shore,
Grant me the visits of thy face,
And I desire no more.

Hymn 2:95. 
Look on him whom they pierced, and mourn.

1 Infinite grief! amazing woe! 
Behold my bleeding Lord: 
Hell and the Jews conspir’d his death,
And us’d the Roman sword.

2 O the sharp pangs of smarting pain
My dear Redeemer bore,
When knotty whips and ragged thorns
His sacred body tore!

3 But knotty whips and ragged thorns
In vain do I accuse;
In vain I blame the Roman bands,
And the more spiteful Jews.

4 ’Twere you, my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormentors were;
Each of my crimes became a nail,
And unbelief the spear.