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Henceforth, the repose and pleasure
Night affords me I resign;
And thy will shall be the measure,
Wisdom infinite! of mine:
Wishing is but inclination
Quarreling with thy decrees;
Wayward nature finds the occasion,—
"I is her folly and disease.
Night, with its sublime enjoyments,
Now no longer will I choose ;
Nor the day, with its employments,
Irksome as they seem, refuse;
Lessons of a God's inspiring
Neither time nor place impedes;
From our wishing and desiring
Our unhappiness proceeds.

ON THE SAME.

NIGHT! how I love thy silent shades,
My spirits they compose;
The bliss of heaven my soul pervades,
In spite of all my woes.

While sleep instils her poppy dews
In every slumbering eye,

I watch, to meditate and muse,
In blest tranquillity.

And when I feel a God immense

Familiarly impart,

With every proof he can dispense,
His favour to my heart;
My native meanness I lament,
Though most divinely fill'd
With all the ineffable content
That Deity can yield.

His purpose and his course he keeps ;
Treads all my reasonings down;
Commands me out of nature's deeps,
And hides me in his own.

When in the dust, its proper place,
Our pride of heart we lay,

'Tis then a deluge of his grace

Bears all our sins away.

Thou whom I serve, and whose I am,
Whose influence from on high
Refines, and still refines my flame,
And makes my fetters fly;

How wretched is the creature's state
Who thwarts thy gracious power;
Crush'd under sin's enormous weight,
Increasing every hour!

The night, when pass'd entire with thee,
How luminous and clear!
Then sleep has no delights for me,
Lest thou shouldst disappear.

My Saviour! occupy me still
In this secure recess;
Let reason slumber if she will,
My joy shall not be less :

Let reason slumber out the night;
But if thou deign to make
My soul the abode of truth and light,
Ah, keep my heart awake!

THE JOY OF THE CROSS. LONG plunged in sorrow, I resign My soul to that dear hand of thine, Without reserve or fear;

That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes, Or into smiles of glad surprise

Transform the falling tear.

My sole possession is thy love;
In earth beneath, or heaven above,

I have no other store;

And though with fervent suit I pray,
And importune thee night and day,
I ask thee nothing more.

My rapid hours pursue the course
Prescribed them by love's sweetest force;
And I thy sovereign will,

Without a wish to escape my doom,
Though still a sufferer from the womb,
Am doom'd to suffer still.

By thy command, where'er I stray,
Sorrow attends me all my way,
A never-failing friend;
And if my sufferings may augment
Thy praise, behold me well content,-
Let sorrow still attend!

It costs me no regret, that she,
Who follow'd Christ, should follow me;
And though, where'er she goes,
Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet,
I love her, and extract a sweet
From all my bitter woes.

Adieu! ye vain delights of earth;
Insipid sports, and childish mirth,
I taste no sweets in you;
Unknown delights are in the Cross,
All joy beside to me is dross;
And Jesus thought so too.

The Cross! Oh ravishment and bliss,-
How grateful even its anguish is,
Its bitterness how sweet!
There every sense, and all the mind,
In all her faculties refined,

Tastes happiness complete.

Souls once enabled to disdain
Base sublunary joys, maintain
Their dignity secure;
The fever of desire is pass'd,
And love has all its genuine taste,
Is delicate and pure.

Self-love no grace in sorrow sees,
Consults her own peculiar ease;
'Tis all the bliss she knows :
But nobler aims true Love employ;
In self-denial is her joy,

In suffering her repose.

Sorrow and Love go side by side;
Nor height nor depth can e'er divide

Their heaven-appointed bands;
Those dear associates still are one,
Nor till the race of life is run
Disjoin their wedded hands.
Jesus, avenger of our fall,
Thou faithful lover, above all
The Cross has ever borne !
Oh tell me,-life is in thy voice,-
How much afflictions were thy choice,
And sloth and ease thy scorn!
Thy choice and mine shall be the same,
Inspirer of that holy flame

Which must for ever blaze !

To take the Cross and follow thee,
Where love and duty lead, shall be
My portion and my praise.

JOY IN MARTYRDOM.
SWEET tenants of this grove,
Who sing, without design,
A song of artless love,

In unison with mine:
These echoing shades return

Full many a note of ours,
That wise ones cannot learn
With all their boasted powers.

O Thou! whose sacred charms
These hearts so seldom love,
Although thy beauty warms
And blesses all above;
How slow are human things
To choose their happiest lot!
All-glorious King of kings,

Say why we love thee not?
This heart, that cannot rest,
Shall thine for ever prove;
Though bleeding and distress'd,
Yet joyful in thy love :

'Tis happy, though it breaks
Beneath thy chastening hand;
And speechless,-yet it speaks
What thou canst understand.

SIMPLE TRUST.

STILL, Still, without ceasing,
I feel it increasing,
This fervour of holy desire;
And often exclaim,

Let me die in the flame
Of a love that can never expire!
Had I words to explain

What she must sustain

Who dies to the world and its ways:

How joy and affright,

Distress and delight,
Alternately chequer her days.
Thou, sweetly severe !

I would make thee appear,
In all thou art pleased to award,
Not more in the sweet
Than the bitter I meet,
My tender and merciful Lord.
This faith, in the dark
Pursuing its mark

Through many sharp trials of love,
Is the sorrowful waste

That is to be pass'd

In the way to the Canaan above.

THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT.
SOURCE of love, my brighter sun,
Thou alone my comfort art;
See, my race is almost run;

Hast thou left this trembling heart?

In my youth thy charming eyes
Drew me from the ways of men ;

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