Into the gulph of sin anon

I'm plunged head aad ears;
Grace to my sense is wholly gone,
And I am chain'd in fears;

Till straight my Lord with sweet surprize
Returns to loose my bands,
With kind compassion in his eyes,
And pardon in his hands.

Yet thus my life is nothing else
But heav'n and hell by turns;
My soul that now in Goshen dwells,
Anon in Egypt mourns.

SECTION VI.

Faith and frames compared, or faith building upon sense discovered.

AITH has for its foundation broad,

FAITH

stable rock on which I stand,
The truth and faithfulness of God:
All other grounds are sinking sand.

My frames and feelings ebb and flow;
And when my faith depends on them,

It fleets and staggers to and fro,

And dies amidst the dying frame.

That faith is surely most unstay'd,
Its stagg'ring can't be counted strange,
That builds its hope of lasting aid

On things that ev'ry moment change.

But could my faith lay all its load
On Jesus' everlasting name,
Upon the righteousness of God,

And divine truth that's still the same:

Could I believe what God has spoke,
Rely on his unchanging love,
And cease to grasp at fleeting smoak,
No changes would my mountain move.

But when, how soon the frame's away,
And comfortable feelings fail ;
So soon my faith falls in decay,

And unbelieving doubts prevail :

This proves the charge of latent vice,

And plain my faith's defects may show ; I built the house on thawing ice,

That tumbles with the melting snow. When divine smiles in sight appear, And I enjoy the heav'nly gale; When wind and tide, and all is fair, I dream my faith shall never fail ; My heart will false conclusions draw, That strong my mountain shall remain; That in my faith there is no flaw, I'll never never doubt again.

I think the only rest I take,

Is God's unfading word and name; And fancy not my faith so weak,

As e'er to trust a fading frame.

But ah! by sudden turns I see

My lying heart's fallacious guilt, And that my faith, not firm in me,

On sinking sand was partly built:

For lo! when warming beams are gone,
And shadows fall; alas, 'tis odd,

I cannot wait the rising sun,

I cannot trust a hiding God.

So much my faith's affiance seems
Its life from fading joys to bring,
That when I lose the dying streams,
I cannot trust the living spring
When drops of comfort quickly dry'd,
And sensible enjoyments fail;
When chearing apples are deny'd,

Then doubts instead of faith prevail.

But why, though fruit be snatch'd from me,
Should I distrust the glorious root;
And still affront the standing tree,
By trusting more to falling fruit.

The smallest trials may evince

My faith unfit to stand the shock,
That more depends on fleeting sense,
Than on the fix'd eternal rock.

The safest ark, when floods arise,
Is stable truth that changes not;
How weak's my faith, that more relies
On feeble sense's floating boat?

For when the fleeting frame is gone,
I straight my state in question call;

I droop and sink in deeps anon,
As if my frame were all in all.

But though I miss the pleasing gale,

And Heav'n withdraw the charming glance;

Unless Jehovah's oath can fail,

My faith may keep its countenance.

The frame of nature shall decay,

Time-changes break her rusty chains; Yea, heav'n and earth shall pass away; But faith's foundations firm remains.

Heav'n's promises so fix'dly stand,
Ingrav'd with an immortal pen,
In great Immanuel's mighty hand,
All hell's attempts to raze are vain.
Did faith with none but truth advise,
My steady soul would move no more,
Than stable hills when tempests rise,
Or solid rocks when billows roar.

But when my faith the counsel hears
Of present sense and reason blind,
My wav'ring spirit then appears

A feather tossed with ev'ry wind.

Lame legs of faith unequal crook :

Thus mine, alas! unev'nly stand, Else I would trust my stable rock, Not fading frames and feeble sand: I would, when dying comforts fly,

As much as when they present were, Upon my living joy rely.

Help, Lord, for here I daily err.

CHAPTER V.

The Believer's Principles concerning Heaven and Earth.

SECTION I.

The work and contention of heaven.

N heavenly choirs a question rose,

IN

That stirr❜d-up strife will never close,
What rank of all the ransom'd race
Owes highest praise to sov'reign grace?

Babes thither caught from womb and breast,
Claim'd right to sing above the rest;
Because they found the happy shore
They never saw nor sought before.

Those that arriv'd at riper age
Before they left the dusky stage,
Thought grace deserv'd yet higher praise,
That wash'd the blots of num'rous days.

Anon the war more close begun,
What praising harp should lead the van?
And which of grace's heav'nly peers
Was deepest run in her arrears.

"

" "Tis I, (said one), 'bove all my race,
"Am debtor chief to glorious grace.'
"Nay, (said another), hark, I trow
"I'm more oblig'd to grace than you.”