A Preparatory THOUGHT for the LORD'S

SUPPER.

In Imitation of ISAIAH lxiii. 1, 2, 3.

WH

HAT heavenly Man, or lovely God,
Comes marching downward from the skies,,
Array'd in garments roll'd in blood,
With joy and pity in his eyes.

The Lord! the Saviour! yes, 'tis he;
I know him by the fmiles he wears;
Dear glorious Man that dy'd for me,
Drench'd deep in agonies and tears!
Lo, he reveals his shining breast;
I own those wounds, and I adore :
Lo, he prepares a royal feast,
Sweet fruit of the sharp pangs he bore!
Whence flow thefe favours fo divine!
Lord! why fo lavish of thy blood?
Why for fuch earthly fouls as mine,
This heavenly flesh, this facred food?

'Twas his own love that made him bleed,
That nail'd him to the curfed tree;
'Twas his own love this table fpread
For fuch unworthy worms as we.

Then let us tafte the Saviour's love;
Come, faith, and feed upon the Lord:
With glad confent our lips fhall move,
And fweet Hofannas crown the board.

CON

I

CONVERSE with CHRIST.

M tir'd with vifits, modes, and forms,
And flatteries paid to fellow-worms;
Their converfation cloys;

Their vain amours, and empty stuff:

But I can ne'er enjoy enough

Of thy beft company, my Lord, thou life of all my joys.

When he begins to tell his love,

Through every vein my paffions move,
The captives of his tongue:

In midnight fhades, on frofty ground,

I could attend the pleasing sound,

[long.

Nor should I feel December cold, nor think the darkness

There, while I hear my Saviour-God

Count o'er the fins (a heavy load)

He bore upon the tree,

Inward I blufh with fecret shame,

And weep, and love, and bless the name [for me.

That knew not guilt nor grief his own, but bare it all Next he defcribes the thorns he wore,

And talks his bloody paffion o'er,

Till I am drown'd in tears:

Yet with the finypathetic fmart

There's a ftrange joy beats round my heart;

The curfed tree has bleffings in 't, my sweetest balm it

bears.

I hear the glorious fufferer tell,

How on his cross he vanquish'd hell,

And all the powers beneath :

Transported and infpir'd, my tongue

Attempts his triumphs in a fong;

[death!"

"How has the ferpent loft his fting Jand where 's thy victory,

But when he fhews his hands and heart,

With those dear prints of dying smart,

He fets my foul on fire :

Not the beloved John could reft

With more delight upon that breast,

[defire.

Nor Thomas pry into those wounds with more intense

Kindly he opens me his ear,

And bids me pour my forrow there,

And tell him all my pains:

Thus while I ease my burden'd heart,

In every woe he bears a part,

[fuftains.

His arms embrace me, and his hand my drooping head

Fly from my thoughts, all human things,

And fporting fwains, and fighting kings,
And tales of wanton love :

My foul difdains that little fnare

The tangles of Amira's hair;

[remove.

Thine arms, my God, are sweeter bands, nor can my heart

GRACE fhining, and NATURE fainting. Sol. Song . 3. & ii. 5. & vi. 5.

i.

LL me, faireft of thy kind,

TLL

Tell me Shepherd, all divine,
Where this fainting head reclin'd
May relieve fuch cares as mine:
Shepherd, lead me to thy grove;
If burning noon infect the sky,
The fickening sheep to covert fly,
The fleep not half fo faint as I,
Thus overcome with love.

Say, thou dear Sovereign of my breast,
Where doft thou lead thy flock to reft:
Why should I appear like one
Wild and wandering all alone,
Unbeloved and unknown?
O my Great Redeemer, fay,
Shall I turn my feet astray!
Will Jefus bear to see me rove,
To fee me feek another love?

Ne'er had I known his deareft name,

Ne'er had I felt this inward flame,

Had not his heart-strings first began the tender found :

Nor can I bear the thought, that He

Should leave the sky,

Should bleed and die,

Should love a wretch fo vile as me

Without returns of paffion for his dying wound.

His eyes are glory mix'd with grace;
In his delightful awful face
Sits majefty and gentleness.
So tender is my bleeding heart

That with a frown he kills;
His abfence in perpetual smart
Nor is my foul refin'd enough
To bear the beaming of his love,

And feel his warmer fmiles.

Where fhall I reft this drooping head?

I love, I love the fun, and yet I want the shade..
My finking fpirits feebly strive

T'endure the extafy;

Beneath these rays I cannot live,,

And yet without them die.

None knows the pleafure and the pain

That all my inward powers fuftain

But fuch as feel a Saviour's love, and love the God again..

Oh, why fhould beauty heavenly bright

Stoop to charm a mortal's fight,

And torture with the sweet excess of light?
Our hearts, alas! how frail their make!
With their own weight of joy they break,
Oh, why is love fo ftrong, and nature's felf fo weak?

Turn, turn away thine eyes,

Afcend the azure hills, and fhine

Amongst the happy tenants of the skies,

They can sustain a vision fo divine.