Thrice happy men! (or find a phrase That fpeaks your blifs with greater praise)
Who most obedient to thy call,
Leaving pleasures, leaving all,
With heart, with foul, with ftrength incline,
O fweeteft Jefu! to be thine.
Who know thy will, obferve thy ways,
And in thy service spend their days :
Ev'n death, that seems to fet them free,
But brings them clofer ftill to thee.
LESSED light of faints on high,
Who fill the manfions of the fky;
Sure defence, whose mercy ftill
Preferves thy fubjects here from ill;
Oh, my Jefus! make me know
How to pay the thanks I owe.
As the fond fheep that idly ftrays,
With wanton play, through winding ways,
Which never hits the road of home,
O'er wilds of danger learns to roam,
Till, wearied out with idle fear,
And paffing there, and turning here,
He will, for reft, to covert run,
.And meet the wolf he wish'd to fhun.
Thus wretched I, through wanton will,
Run blind and headlong on in ili:
'Twas thus from fin to fin. I flew,
And thus I might have perish'd too;
But mercy dropt the likeness here,
And fhew'd, and fav'd me from my fear.
While o'er the darkness of my mind
The facred spirit purely fhin'd,
And mark'd and brighten'd all the way
Which leads to everlasting day;
And broke the thickening clouds of fin,
And fix'd the light of love within.
From hence my ravish'd foul afpires,
And dates the rife of its defires.
*From hence to thee, my God! I turn,
And fervent wishes fay I burn ;
I burn, thy glorious face to fee,
And live in eitdlefs joy with thee.
There's no fuch ardent kind of flame
"Between the lover and the dame;
Nor fuch affection parents bear
To their young and only heir,
Though, join'd together, both confpire
...And boaft a doubled force of fire,
My tender heart, within its feat,
Diffolves before the scorching heat;
As foftening wax is taught to run
Before the warmnefs of the fun.
Oh, my flame, my pleafing pain,
Burn and purify my stain,
Warm me, burn me, day by day,
Till you purge my earth away;
Till at the last I throughly shine,
And turn a torch of love divine.
ROPITIOUS Son of God, to thee,
With all my foul, I bend my knee;
My wish I fend, my want impart,
And dedicate my mind and heart:
For, as an absent parent's son,
Whofe fecond year is only run,
When no protecting friend is near,
Void of wit, and void of fear,
With things that hurt him fondly plays,
› Or here he falls, or there he ftrays ;
So fhould my foul's eternal guide,
The facred spirit be deny'd,
Thy fervant foon the lofs would know,
And fink in fin, or run to woe.
O, fpirit bountifully kind,
Warm, poffefs, and fill my mind;
› Disperse my fins with light divine,
And raise the flames of love with thine;
Before thy pleasures rightly priz'd,
Let wealth and honour be defpis'd;
And let the Father's glory be
More dear than life itfelf to me.'
Sing of Jefus!. Virgins, fing
Him, your everlasting King!
Sing of Jefus! chearful youth,
Him, the God of love and truth!
Write, and raise a fong divine,
Or come and hear, and borrow mine.
Son eternal, word fupreme,
Who made the univerfal frame,
Heaven, and all its shining show,
Earth, and all it holds below:
Bow with mercy, bow thine ear,
While we fing thy praises here;
.Son Eternal, ever-blefs'd,
Refting on the Father's breast,
Whofe tender love for all provides,
Whofe power over all prefides:;
Bow with pity, bow thine ear;
While we fing thy praifes, hear!
Thou, by pity's foft extreme,
Mov'd, and won, and fet on flame,
Affum'd the form of man, and fell
In pains, to rescue man from hell;
How bright thine humble glories rife,
And match the luftre of the kies,
From death and hell's dejected state
Arifing, thou refum'd thy feat,
And golden thrones of blifs prepar'd
Above, to be thy faints' reward.
How bright thy glorious honours rife,
And with new luftre grace the skies.!
For thee, the fweet feraphic choir
Raife the voice, and tune the lyre,
And praifes with harmonious found
Through all the highest heaven rebound.
O make our notes with theirs agree,
And bless the fouls that fing of thee!
To thee the churches here rejoice,
The folemn organs aid the voice:
To facred roofs the found we raise,
The facred roofs refound thy praise :
And while our notes in one agree,
O! bless the church that sings to thee!
ON HAPPINESS IN THIS LIFE.
HE morning opens, very freshly gay,
And life itself is in the month of May. With green my fancy paints an arbour o'er, And flowerets with a thousand colours more; Then falls to weaving that, and spreading thefe, And softly shakes them with an easy breeze. With golden fruit adorns the bending shade, Or trails a filver water o'er its bed. Glide, gentle water, ftill more gently by, While in this fummer-bower of blifs I lye, And fweetly fing of fenfe-delighting flames, And nymphs and shepherds, foft invented names; Or view the branches which around me twine, And praise their fruit, diffusing sprightly wine; Or find new pleasures in the world to praise, And still with this return adorn my lays; "Range round your gardens of eternal spring, "Go, range my fenfes, while I fweetly fing:"
|