Break, glorious Brightness, through the gloomy veil, Look how the armies of despair Aloft their sooty banners rear Round my poor captive soul, and dare Pronounce me prisoner of hell. But Thou, my Sun, and Thou, my Shield, Wilt save me in the bloody field; [ray, Break, glorious Brightness, shoot one glimmering One glance of thine creates a day, And drives the troops of hell away. Happy the times, but ah! those times are gone When wondrous power and radiant grace Were all devotion, all delight, And loud Hosannas sounded the Redeemer's praise. Here could I say, (And point the place whereon I stood) Here I enjoy'd a visit half the day From my descending God : I was regal'd with heavenly fare, The Conqueror spread The banner of his love. Then why my heart sunk down so low? And hopeless nature mourn? Review, my soul, those pleasing days, Through the displeasure of his face, A father's love may raise a frown COME, LORD JESUS. WHEN shall thy lovely face be seen? Our months are ages of delay, And slowly every minute wears; Fly, winged time, and roll away These tedious rounds of sluggish years, Ye heavenly gates, loose all your chains, Hark, how thy saints unite their cries, Put thy bright robes of triumph on, And bless our eyes, and bless our ears, Thou absent Love, thou dear Unknown, Thou Fairest of ten thousand Fairs. Our heart-strings groan with deep complaint, Our spirits shake their eager wings, To' attend thy shining chariot down. Now let our cheerful eyes survey The blazing earth and melting hills, And smile to see the lightnings play, And flash along before thy wheels. O for a shout of violent joys To join the trumpet's thundering sound! The angel herald shakes the skies, Awakes the graves, and tears the ground. Ye slumbering saints, a heavenly host Stands waiting at your gaping tombs ; Let every sacred sleeping dust Leap into life, for Jesus comes. Jesus, the God of might and love, New-moulds our limbs of cumbrous clay; Quick as seraphic flames we move, Active and young, and fair as they. Our airy feet with unknown flight, BEWAILING MY OWN INCONSTANCY. I LOVE the Lord; but ah! how far My thoughts from the dear object are! If my soul burn to see my God, Would I enjoy my Lord alone, But cares, or trifles, make or find Oft I am told the Muse will prove Strangely I lose his lovely face, False confident! and falser breast! Here finds admittance through my eyes. This foolish heart can leave her God, Look gently down, Almighty Grace, Say, when shall that bright moment be My heart no foreign lords adore, FORSAKEN, YET HOPING. HAPPY the hours, the golden days, C |