XLVIII. THE HIDDEN LIFE. To tell the Saviour all my wants, My labouring spirit vainly seeks Nor were it wise, nor should I choose, Like precious wines their taste they lose, Exposed to open air. But this with boldness I proclaim, Nor care if thousands hear, And can you frown, my former friends, It can bring with it nothing Will clothe his people too; Will give his children bread. Though vine nor fig-tree neither Their wonted fruit shall bear, Though all the field should wither, Nor flocks nor herds be there: Yet God the same abiding, His praise shall tune my voice; For, while in him confiding, I cannot but rejoice. L. TRUE PLEASURES. Still delighted I perceive; Clothed in sanctity and grace, What we owe to love divine; Those the comforts I possess, Which God shall still increase, And all his paths are peace. LI. THE CHRISTIAN. HONOUR and happiness unite To make the Christian's name a praise; How fair the scene, how clear the light, That fills the remnant of his days! A kingly character he bears, No change his priestly office knows; Unfading is the crown he wears, His joys can never reach a close. Adorned with glory from on high,. His steps are dignity and grace. Inferior honours he disdains, Nor stoops to take applause from earth; The King of kings himself maintains The expenses of his heavenly birth. The noblest creature seen below, Ordained to fill a throne above; God gives him all he can bestow, His kingdom of eternal love! My soul is ravished at the thought! Methinks from earth I see him rise! Angels congratulate his lot, And shout him welcome to the skies! LII. LIVELY HOPE AND GRACIOUS FEAR. I WAS a grovelling creature once, The clod that gave me birth. But God has breathed upon a worm, The wings of joy and love. With these to Pisgah's top I fly, And there delighted stand, The Lord of all the vast domain The length and breadth of all the plain How glorious is my privilege! I stand upon a mountain's edge, LIV. MY SOUL THIRSTETH I THIRST, but not as once I did, The vain delights of earth to share; Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid That I should seek my pleasures there. It was the sight of thy dear cross First weaned my soul from earthly things; And taught me to esteem as dross The mirth of fools and pomp of kings. I want that grace that springs from thee, For sure of all the plants that share The notice of thy Father's eye, None proves less grateful to his care, Or yields him meaner fruit than I. LV. LOVE CONSTRAINING No strength of Nature can suffice How long beneath the law I lay But toiled without success. I feel I hate it too. Then all my servile works were done I freely chuse his ways. "What shall I do," was then the word, To see the law by Christ fulfilled, And duty into choice. Much I fasted, watched, and strove, Scarce would show my face abroad, Feared almost to speak or move, A stranger still to God. Thus afraid to trust his grace, LVII. HATRED OF SIN. HOLY Lord God! I love thy truth, Nor dare thy least commandment slight; Yet pierced by sin, the serpent's tooth, I mourn the anguish of the bite. But though the poison lurks within, Hope bids me still with patience wait; Till death shall set me free from sin, Free from the only thing I hate. Had I a throne above the rest, Where angels and archangels dwell, One sin, unslain, within my breast, Would make that heaven as dark as hell. The prisoner sent to breathe fresh air, And blessed with liberty again, Would mourn were he condemnedto wear One link of all his former chain. But, oh! no foe invades the bliss, When glory crowns the Christian's head; One view of Jesus as he is Will strike all sin for ever dead. LVIII. THE NEW CONVERT. THE new-born child of Gospel grace, Like some fair tree when summer's nigh, Beneath Emmanuel's shining face Lifts up his blooming branch on high. No fears he feels, he sees no foes, The strength and peace his soul enjoys. But sin soon darts its cruel sting, And comforts sinking day by day, What seemed his own, a self-fed spring, Proves but a brook that glides away. When Gideon armed his numerous host, Thus will he bring our spirits down, And draw our ebbing comforts low, That saved by grace, but not our own, We may not claim the praise we owe. LIX. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS. O GOD, whose favourable eye Not such as hypocrites suppose, Who with a graceless heart Taste not of thee, but drink a dose Prepared by Satan's art. Intoxicating joys are theirs, Who while they boast their light, And seem to soar above the stars, Are plunging into night. Lulled in a soft and fatal sleep, They sin and yet rejoice; Be mine the comforts that reclaim 'Tis joy enough, my All in All, At thy dear feet to lie; THE Lord receives his highest praise From humble minds and hearts sincere ; While all the loud professor says To walk as children of the day, To purchase pardon for his own; Return the Saviour words alone. With golden bells, the priestly vest, And called for fruit as well as sound. Easy indeed it were to reach A mansion in the courts above, If swelling words and fluent speech Might serve instead of faith and love. But none shall gain the blissful place, Or God's unclouded glory see, Who talks of free and sovereign grace, Unless that grace has made him free! LXI. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL. Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace And while they boast they see thy face Thy book displays a gracious light That can the blind restore; The pardon such presume upon, Was it for this, ye lawless tribe, The dear Redeemer bled? Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few Proclaim them what they are. The liberty our hearts implore Is not to live in sin; But still to wait at Wisdom's door, Till Mercy calls us in. LXII. THE NARROW WAY. WHAT thousands never knew the road! What thousands hate it when 'tis known! None but the chosen tribes of God Will seek or choose it for their own. A thousand ways in ruin end, One only leads to joys on high; By that my willing steps ascend, Pleased with a journey to the sky. No more I ask or hope to find Delight or happiness below; The joy that fades is not for me, Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms, Contented lick your native dust! But God shall fight with all his storms Against the idol of your trust. LXIII. DEPENDENCE. To keep the lamp alive, 'Tis water makes the willow thrive, And grace that feeds the soul. LXIV. NOT OF WORKS. GRACE, triumphant in the throne, Scorns a rival, reigns alone; Come and bow beneath her sway, Cast your idol works away! Works of man, when made his plea, Never shall accepted be; Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm!) Are the best he can perform. Self, the god his soul adores, Influences all his powers; Jesus is a slighted name, Self-advancement all his aim: But when God the Judge shall come To pronounce the final doom, Then for rocks and hills to hide All his works and all his pride! Still the boasting heart replies, "What! the worthy and the wise, Friends to temperance and peace, Have not these a righteousness?" Banish every vain pretence Built on human excellence; Perish everything in man, But the grace that never can. |