LXV. PRAISE FOR FAITH. Faith too, the blood-receiving grace, Till thou thy teaching power apply, Blind to the merits of thy Son, What misery we endure! We praise thee, and would praise thee LXVI. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE. ALMIGHTY King! whose wondrous hand Thy providence supplies my food, My streams of outward comfort came Either his hand preserves from pain, Forgive the song that falls so low LXVII. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES. WINTER has a joy for me, While the Saviour's charms I read, Lowly, meek, from blemish free, In the snowdrop's pensive head. Spring returns, and brings along Life-invigorating suns: Hark! the turtle's plaintive song Seems to speak his dying groans! Summer has a thousand charms, All expressive of his worth; 'Tis his sun that lights and warms, His the air that cools the earth. What! has Autumn left to say Nothing of a Saviour's grace? Yes, the beams of milder day Tell me of his smiling face. Light appears with early dawn, While the sun makes haste to rise; See his bleeding beauties drawn On the blushes of the skies. Evening with a silent pace, Slowly moving in the west, Shows an emblem of his grace, Points to an eternal rest. LXVIII. LONGING TO BE To Jesus, the Crown of my Hope, And waft me away to his throne ! My Saviour, whom absent I love, Whom, not having seen, I adore ; Whose name is exalted above All glory, dominion, and power; Dissolve thou these bonds, that detain My soul from her portion in thee, When that happy era begins, Oh then shall the veil be removed, And round me thy brightness be poured, I shall meet Him whom absent I loved, Shall see him whom unseen adored. And then, never more shall the fears, The trials, temptations, and woes, Which darken this valley of tears, Intrude on my blissful repose. Or, if yet remembered above, Remembrance no sadness shall raise, They will be but new signs of thy love, New themes for my wonder and praise. Thus the strokes which from sin and from pain Shall set me eternally free, Will but strengthen and rivet the chain Which binds me, my Saviour! to thee. Sicut aquæ tremulum labris ubi lumen ahenis So water trembling in a polished vase, Reflects the beam that plays upon its face, The sportive light, uncertain where it falls, Now strikes the roof, now flashes on the walls. Nous sommes nés pour la vérité, et nous ne pouvons souffrir son abord. les figures, les paraboles, les emblémes. sont toujours des ornements nécessaires pour qu'elle puisse s'annoncer. et soit quon craigne qu'elle ne découvre trop brusquement le défaut qu'on voudroit cacher, ou qu'enfin elle n'instruise avec trop peu de ménagement, ou veut, en la recevant, qu'elle soit déguisee. LONDO CARACCIOLI. N: Printed for J. JOHNSON, No. 72, St. Paul's Church Yard. 1 47 PREFACE, BY THE REV. JOHN NEWTON. WHEN an author, by appearing in print, requests an audience of the public, and is upon the point of speaking for himself, whoever presumes to step before him with a Preface, and to say, "Nay, but hear me first!" should have something worthy of attention to offer, or he will be justly deemed officious and impertinent. The judicious reader has, probably, upon other occasions, been beforehand with me in this reflection: and I am not very willing it should now be applied to me, however I may seem to expose myself to the danger of it. But the thought of having my own name perpetuated in connexion with the name in the title-page is so pleasing and flattering to the feelings of my heart, that I am content to risk something for the gratification. This Preface is not designed to commend the Poems to which it is prefixed. My testimony would be insufficient for those who are not qualified to judge properly for themselves, and unnecessary to those who are. Besides, the reasons which render it improper and unseemly for a man to celebrate his own performances, or those of his nearest relatives, will have some influence in suppressing much of what he might otherwise wish to say in favour of a friend, when that friend is indeed an alter idem, and excites almost the same emotions of sensibility and affection as he feels for himself. It is very probable these Poems may come into the hands of some persons, in whom the sight of the author's name will awaken a recollection of incidents and scenes, which through length of time they had almost forgotten. They will be reminded of one, who was once the companion of their chosen hours, and who set out with them in early life in the paths which lead to literary honours, to influence and affluence, with equal prospects of success. But he was suddenly and powerfully withdrawn from those pursuits, and he left them without regret; yet not till he had sufficient opportunity of counting the cost, and of knowing the value of what he gave up. If happiness could have been found in classical attainments, in an elegant taste, in the exertions of wit, fancy, and genius, and in the esteem and converse of such persons as in these respects were most congenial with himself, he would have been happy. But he was not. He wondered (as thousands in a similar situation still do) that he should continue dissatisfied, with all the means apparently conducive to satisfaction within his reach.—But in due time the cause of his disappointment was discovered to him:-He had lived without God in the world. In a memorable hour, the wisdom which is from above visited his heart. Then he felt himself a wanderer, and then he found a guide. Upon this change of views, a change of plan and conduct followed of course. When he saw the busy and the gay world in its true light, he left it with as little reluctance as a prisoner, when called to liberty, leaves his dungeon. Not that he became a cynic or an ascetic-a heart filled with love to God will assuredly breathe benevolence to men. But the turn of his temper inclining him to rural life, he indulged it, and the providence of God evidently preparing his way and marking out his retreat, he retired into the country. By these steps the good hand of God, unknown to me, was providing for me one of the principal blessings of my life; a friend and a counsellor, in whose company for almost seven years, though we were seldom seven successive waking hours separated, I always found new pleasure: a friend who was not only a comfort to myself, but a blessing to the affectionate poor people among whom I then lived. |