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My heart is easy, and my burden light;

I smile, though sad, when Thou art in my sight: The more my woes in secret I deplore,

I taste thy goodness and I love the more.

There, while a solemn stillness reigns around,
Faith, Love, and Hope within my soul abound;
And while the world suppose me lost in care,
The joys of angels, unperceived, I share.

Thy creatures wrong thee, O thou sovereign Good!
Thou art not loved, because not understood;
This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile
Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile.

Frail beauty and false honour are adored;
While Thee they scorn, and trifle with thy Word;
Pass, unconcern'd, a Saviour's sorrows by;
And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die.


THE fountain in its source

No drought of summer fears;
The farther it pursues its course,
The nobler it appears.

But shallow cisterns yield

A scanty short supply;

The morning sees them amply fill'd,
At evening they are dry.



O LOVE, of pure and heavenly birth!
O simple Truth, scarce known on earth!
Whom men resist with stubborn will;
And, more perverse and daring still,
Smother and quench, with reasonings vain,
While Error and Deception reign.

the same

Whence comes it, that, your power
As His on high, from whence you came,
Ye rarely find a listening ear,

Or heart that makes you welcome here ?-
Because ye bring reproach and pain,
Where'er ye visit, in your train.

The world is proud, and cannot bear
The scorn and calumny ye share;
The praise of men the mark they mean,
They fly the place where ye are seen;
Pure Love, with scandal in the rear,
Suits not the vain, it costs too dear.

Then, let the price be what it may,
Though poor, I am prepared to pay;
Come shame, come sorrow; spite of tears,
Weakness, and heart-oppressing fears;
One soul, at least, shall not repine,
To give you room; come, reign in mine!


THOU hast no lightnings, O thou just!
Or I their force should know;
And if thou strike me into dust,
My soul approves the blow.

The heart that values less its ease
Than it adores thy ways,
In thine avenging anger sees
A subject of its praise.

Pleased I could lie, conceal'd and lost,
In shades of central night;

Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st, But lest I grieve thy sight.

Smite me, O Thou, whom I provoke ! And I will love thee still;

The well-deserved and righteous stroke Shall please me, though it kill.

Am I not worthy to sustain

The worst thou canst devise?
And dare I seek thy throne again,
And meet thy sacred eyes?

Far from afflicting, Thou art kind;
And in my saddest hours,
An unction of thy grace I find,
Pervading all my powers.

Alas! Thou sparest me yet again;
And when thy wrath should move,

Too gentle to endure my pain,

Thou sooth'st me with thy love.

I have no punishment to fear;

But, ah! that smile from Thee Imparts a pang far more severe Than woe itself would be.


Oн Thou, by long experience tried,
Near whom no grief can long abide;
My Love! how full of sweet content
I pass my years of banishment !

All scenes alike engaging prove

To souls impress'd with sacred Love!
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in Thee;
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea.

To me remains nor place nor time;
My country is in every clime;
I can be calm and free from care
On any shore, since God is there.

While place we seek, or place we shun,
The soul finds happiness in none;
But with a God to guide our way,
'Tis equal joy to go or stay.

Could I be cast where Thou art not,
That were indeed a dreadful lot;
But regions none remote I call,
Secure of finding God in all.

My country, Lord, art Thou alone;
Nor other can I claim or own;

The point where all my wishes meet;
My law, my love; life's only sweet!

I hold by nothing here below;
Appoint my journey, and I go;

Though pierced by scorn, oppress'd by pride,
I feel thee good, feel nought beside.

No frowns of men can hurtful prove
To souls on fire with heavenly Love;
Though men and devils both condemn,
No gloomy days arise from them.

Ah then! to His embrace repair;
My soul, thou art no stranger there;
There Love divine shall be thy guard,
And peace and safety thy reward.



How happy are the new-born race;

Partakers of adopting grace,

How pure the bliss they share! Hid from the world and all its eyes, Within their heart the blessing lies, And conscience feels it there.

The moment we believe, 'tis ours;
And if we love with all our powers

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