Jesus, then, purge my crimes away, 'Tis guilt creates my fears;
Laden with guilt (a heavy load)
Uncleans'd and unforgiven,
The soul returns t' an angry God, To be shut out from Heaven.
SUN, MOON, AND STARS, PRAISE YE THE
FAIREST of all the lights above,
Thou Sun, whose beams adorn the spheres, And with unwearied swiftness move, To form the circles of our years; Praise the Creator of the skies, That dress'd thine orb in golden rays; Or may the Sun forget to rise, If he forget his Maker's praise! Thou reigning beauty of the night, Fair queen of silence, silver Moon, Whose gentle beams and borrow'd light Are softer rivals of the noon;
Arise, and to that Sovereign Power Waxing and waning honours pay, Who bade thee rule the dusky hour, And half supply the absent day.
Ye twinkling Stars, who gild the skies When darkness has its curtains drawn, Who keep your watch, with wakeful eyes, When business, cares, and day, are gone: Proclaim the glories of your Lord, Dispers'd through all the heavenly street, Whose boundless treasures can afford So rich a pavement for his feet.
Thou Heaven of Heavens, supremely bright, Fair palace of the court divine, Where, with inimitable light, The Godhead condescends to shine; Praise thou thy great inhabitant, Who scatters lovely beams of grace On every angel, every saint, Nor veils the lustre of his face.
O God of Glory, God of Love,
Thou art the Sun that makes our days: With all thy shining works above, Let earth and dust attempt thy praise.
THE WELCOME MESSENGER.
LORD, when we see a saint of thine Lie gasping out his breath, With longing eyes, and looks divine, Smiling and pleas'd in death; How we could ev'n contend to lay Our limbs upon that bed! We ask thine envoy to convey
Our spirits in his stead.
Our souls are rising on the wing,
To venture in his place;
For, when grim Death has lost his sting, He has an angel's face.
'Tis guilt gives Death its fierce array, And all the arms it bears.
Oh! if my threatening sins were gone, And Death had lost his sting,
I could invite the angel on, And chide his lazy wing. Away these interposing days, And let the lovers meet; The angel has a cold embrace,
But kind, and soft, and sweet.
I'd leap at once my seventy years, I'd rush into his arms,
And lose my breath, and all my cares,
Amidst those heavenly charms. Joyful I'd lay this body down, And leave the lifeless clay, Without a sigh, without a groan, And stretch and soar away.
SINCERE PRAISE.
ALMIGHTY Maker, God! How wondrous is thy name! Thy glories how diffus'd abroad Through the creation's frame!
Nature in every dress
Her humble homage pays, And finds a thousand ways t' express Thine undissembled praise.
In native white and red The rose and lily stand,
And, free from pride, their beauties spread, To show thy skilful hand.
The lark mounts up the sky, With unambitious song,
And bears her Maker's praise on high Upon her artless tongue.
My soul would rise and sing
To her Creator too;
Fain would my tongue adore my King, And pay the worship due.
But pride, that busy sin, Spoils all that I perform; Curs'd pride, that creeps securely in, And swells a haughty worm.
Thy glories I abate,
Or praise thee with design; Some of the favours I forget, Or think the merit mine.
The very songs I frame
Are faithless to thy cause,
And steal the honours of thy name To build their own applause.
Create my soul anew,
Else all my worship's vain;
This wretched heart will ne'er be true, Until 'tis form'd again.
PARTLY IMITATED FROM A FRENCH SONNET OF M. POIRET
HAPPY the feet that shining Truth has led With her own hand to tread the path she please, To see her native lustre round her spread, Without a veil, without a shade,
All beauty, and all light, as in herself she is! Our senses cheat us with the pressing crowds Of painted shapes they thrust upon the mind: The truth they show lies wrapp'd in sevenfold shrouds, Our senses cast a thousand clouds
On unenlighten'd souls, and leave them doubly blind. I hate the dust that fierce disputers raise, And lose the mind in a wild maze of thought: What empty triflings, and what empty ways,
To fence and guard by rule and rote! Our God will never charge us, That we knew them Touch, heavenly Word, O touch these curious souls: Since I have heard but one soft hint from thee, From all the vain opinions of the schools
(That pageantry of knowing fools)
I feel my powers releas'd, and stand divinely free. 'Twas this Almighty Word that all things made, He grasps whole Nature in his single hand; All the eternal truths in him are laid,
The ground of all things, and their head, [stand. The circle where they move, and centre where they Without his aid I have no sure defence, From troops of errours that besiege me round; But he that rests his reason and his sense
Fast here, and never wanders hence, Unmoveable he dwells upon unshaken ground. Infinite Truth, the life of my desires, Come from the sky, and join thyself to me: I'm tir'd with hearing, and this reading tires; But never tir'd of telling thee,
""Tis thy fair face alone my spirit burns to see.”
Speak to my soul, alone; no other hand Shall mark my path out with delusive art: All nature, silent in his presence stand; Creatures, be dumb at his command,
And leave his single voice to whisper to my heart. Retire, my soul, within thyself retire, Away from sense and every outward show: Now let my thoughts to loftier theines aspire; My knowledge now on wheels of fire
May mount and spread above, surveying all below. The Lord grows lavish of his heavenly light,
And pours whole floods on such a mind as this: Fled from the eyes, she gains a piercing sight, She dives into the infinite,
And sees unutterable things in that unknown abyss.
PRONOUNCE him blest, my Muse, whom Wisdo guides
In her own path to her own heavenly seat; Through all the storms his soul securely glides, Nor can the tempests, nor the tides,
That rise and roar around, supplant his steady feet.
Earth, you may let your golden arrows fly, And seek, in vain, a passage to his breast, Spread all your painted toys to court his eye; He smiles, and sees them vainly try
To lure his soul aside from her eternal rest.
Our headstrong lusts, like a young fiery horse, Start and flee, raging in a violent course; [them, He tames and breaks them, manages and rides Checks their career, and turns and guides them, And bids his reason bridle their licentious force.
Lord of himself, he rules his wildest thoughts, And boldly acts what calmly he design'd, While he looks down and pities human faults; Nor can he think, nor can he find,
A plague like reigning passions, and a subject mind.
But oh! 'tis mighty toil to reach this height,. To vanquish self is a laborious art;
What manly courage to sustain the fight,
To bear the noble pain, and part
[heart! With those dear charming tempters rooted in the
'Tis hard to stand when all the passions move, Hard to awake the eye that passion blinds; To rend and tear out this unhappy love,
That clings so close about our minds,
And where th' enchanted soul so sweet a poison finds.
Hard; but it may be done. Come, heavenly fire, Come to my breast, and with one powerful ray Melt off my lusts, my fetters: I can bear
A while to be a tenant here,
But not be chain'd and prison'd in a cage of clay.
Heaven is my home, and I must use my wings; Sublime above the globe my flight aspires: I have a soul was made to pity kings, And all their little glittering things;
I have a soul was made for infinite desires.
Loos'd from the Earth, my heart is upward flown; Farewell, my friends, and all that once was mine: Now, should you fix my feet on Cæsar's throne,
Crown me, and call the world my own, [contine. The gold that binds my brows could ne'er my soul
I am the Lord's, and Jesus is my love; He, the dear God, shall fill my vast desire. My flesh below; yet I can dwell above, And nearer to my Saviour move;
There all my soul shall centre, all my pow'rs conspire.
Thus I with angels live; thus half-divine
I sit on high, nor inind inferior joys:
Fill'd with his love, I feel that God is mine,
His glory is my great design,
That everlasting project all my thoughts employs.
A SONG TO CREATING WISDOM.
ETERNAL Wisdom, thee we praise, Thee the creation sings:
With thy loud name, rocks, hills, and seas, And Heaven's high palace rings.
Place me on the bright wings of Day To travel with the Sun; With what amaze shall I survey
The wonders thou hast done!
Thy hand how wide it spread the sky! How glorious to behold! Ting'd with a blue of heavenly dye, And starr'd with sparkling gold. There thou hast bid the globes of light Their endless circles run;
There the pale planet rules the night, And day obeys the Sun.
Downward I turn my wondering eyes On clouds and storms below, Those under-regions of the skies Thy numerous glories show.
The noisy winds stand ready there Thy orders to obey,
With sounding wings they sweep the air,
To make thy chariot way.
There, like a trumpet, loud and strong, Thy thunder shakes our coast; While the red lightnings wave along, The banners of thine host.
On the thin air, without a prop,
Hang fruitful showers around:
At thy command they sink, and drop Their fatness on the ground.
Now to the Earth I bend my song, And cast my eyes abroad, Glancing the British isles along;
Blest Isles, confess your God. How did his wondrous skill array Your fields in charming green! A thousand herbs his art display, A thousand flowers between. Tall oaks for future navies grow, Fair Albion's best defence, While corn and vines rejoice below,
Those luxuries of sense.
The bleating flocks his pasture feeds: And herds of larger size,
That bellow through the Lindian meads, His bounteous hand supplies.
We see the Thames caress the shores; He guides her silver flood; While angry Severn swells and roars, Yet hears her ruler, God.
The rolling mountains of the deep Observe his strong command; His breath can raise the billows steep, Or sink them to the sand. Amidst thy watery kingdoms, Lord,
The finny nations play, And scaly monsters, at thy word, Rush through the northern sea.
Thy glories blaze all nature round, And strike the gazing sight, Through skies, and seas, and solid ground, With terrour and delight.
Infinite strength, and equal skill,
Shine through the worlds abroad, Our souls with vast amazement fill, And speak the builder God.
But the sweet beauties of thy grace Our softer passions move; Pity divine in Jesu's face We see, adore, and love.
LORD, when my thoughtful soul surveys Fire, air, and earth, and stars, and seas, I call them all thy slaves;
Commission'd by my Father's will, Poisons shall cure, or balms shall kill; Vernal suns, or Zephyr's breath, May burn or blast the plants to death That sharp December saves; What can winds or planets boast But a precarious power?
The Sun is all in darkness lost, Frost shall be fire, and fire be frost, When he appoints the hour.
Lo, the Norwegians near the polar sky Chafe their frozen limbs with snow; Their frozen limbs awake and glow; The vital flame, touch'd with a strange supply, Rekindles, for the God of life is nigh;
He bids the vital flood in wonted circles flow. Cold steel, expos'd to northern air, Drinks the meridian fury of the midnight Bear, And burns th' unwary stranger there.
Inquire, my soul, of ancient Fame, Look back two thousand years, and see Th' Assyrian prince transform'd a brute, For boasting to be absolute:
Once to his court the God of Israel came, A King more absolute than he.
I see the furnace blaze with rage Sevenfold: I see amidst the flame Three Hebrews of immortal name: They move, they walk across the burning stage Unhurt, and fearless, while the tyrant stood A statue; fear congeal'd his blood: Nor did the raging element dare Attempt their garments, or their hair: It knew the Lord of nature there. Nature, compell'd by a superior cause, Now breaks her own eternal laws,
Now seems to break them, and obeys Her sovereign King in different ways. Father, how bright thy glories shine! How broad thy kingdom, how divine!
Nature, and Miracle, and Fate, and Chance, are thine. Hence from my heart, ye idols, flee, Ye sounding names of vanity! No more my lips shall sacrifice
To chance and nature, tales and lies: Creatures without a God can yield me no supplies. What is the sun, or what the shade, Or frosts, or flames, to kill or save? His favour is my life, his lips pronounce me dead; And, as his awful dictates bid, Earth is my inother, or my grave.
The mysteries of creation lie
Beneath enlighten'd minds; Thoughts can ascend above the sky, And fly before the winds.
Reason may grasp the massy hills,
And stretch from pole to pole; But half thy name our spirit fills, And overloads our soul.
In vain our haughty reason swells, For nothing's found in thee But boundless unconceivables, And vast eternity.
IN IMITATION OF THE CXIVTH PSA! M.
HEN the Eternal bows the skies,
To visit earthly things,
With scorn divine he turns his eyes From towers of haughty kings;
Rides on a cloud disdainful by
A sultan, or a czar,
Langhs at the worms that rise so high, Or frowns them from afar :
He bids his awful chariot roll Far downward from the skies,
To visit every humble soul,
With pleasure in his eyes. Why should the Lord that reigns al ove Disdain so lofty kings?
Say, Lord, and why such looks of love Upon such worthless things?
Mortals, be dumb: what creature dares Dispute his awful will?
Ask no account of his affairs,
But tremble, and be still.
Just like his nature is his grace,
All sovereign, and all free;
Great God, how searchless are thy ways! How deep thy judgments be!
SOME Seraph, lend your heavenly tongue,
Or harp of golden string, That I may raise a lofty song To our Eternal King.
Thy names, how infinite they be!
Great Everlasting One! Boundless thy might and majes y, And unconfin'd thy throne. Thy glories shine of wondrous size, And wondrous large thy grace; Immortal day breaks from thine eyes, And Gabriel veils his face.
Thine essence is a vast abyss, Which angels cannot sound,
An ocean of infinities,
Where all our thoughts are drown'd.
ALAS, my aching heart! Here the keen torment lies;
It racks my waking hours with smart, And frights my slumbering eyes. Guilt will be hid no more,
My griefs take vent apace; The crimes that blot my conscience o'er Flush crimson in my face.
My sorrows, like a flood Impatient of restraint,
Into thy bosom, O my God, Pour out a long complaint. This impious heart of mine Could once defy the Lord, Could rush with violence on to sin, In presence of thy sword.
How often have I stood A rebel to the skies,
The calls, the tenders of a God, And mercy's loudest cries!
He offers all his grace, And all his heaven, to me; Offers! but 'tis to senseless brass,
That cannot feel nor see.
Jesus the Saviour stands
To court me from above,
And looks and spreads his wounded hands, And shows the prints of love.
But I, a stupid fool,
How long have I withstood
The blessings purchas'd with his soul, And paid for all in blood!
The heavenly Dove came down And tender'd me his wings, To mount me upward to a crown, And bright immortal things.
Lord, I'm asham'd to say That I refus'd thy Dove, And sent thy Spirit griev'd away To his own realins of love.
Not all thine heavenly charms, Nor terrours of thy hand,
Could force me to lay down my arms,
And bow to thy command.
Lord, 'tis against thy face
My sins like arrows rise,
And yet, and yet (O matchless grace!) Thy thunder silent lies.
Virgins, who roll your artful eyes, And shoot delicious danger thence; Swift the lovely lightning flies,
And melts our reason down to sense;
Boast not of those withering charms, That must yield their youthful grace To age and wrinkles, earth and worms; But love the Author of your smiling face;
That heavenly bridegroom claims your blooming hours:
O make it your perpetual care
To please that Everlasting Fair;
His beauties are the sun, and but the shade is yours. Infants, whose different destinies
Are wove with threads of different size, But from the same spring-tide of tears Commence your hopes, and joys, and fears,
(A tedious train!) and date your following years: Break your first silence in his praise
Who wrought your wondrous frame: With sounds of tenderest accent raise
Young honours to his name;
And consecrate your early days
To know the Power supreme. Ye heads of venerable age, Just marching off the mortal stage, Fathers, whose vital threads are spun As long as e'er the glass of life would run,
Adore the hand that led your way
Through flowery fields a fair long summer's day; Gasp out your soul in praises to the sovereign power That set your west so distant from your dawning hour:
FLYING FOWL, AND CREEPING THINGS, PRAISE YE THE LORD.
SWEET flocks, whose soft enamell'd wing Swift and gently cleaves the sky; Whose charming notes address the Spring With an artless harmony:
Lovely minstrels of the field,
Who in leafy shadows sit,
And your wondrous structures build,
Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light: To Nature's God your first devotions pay,
Ere you salute the rising day;
'Tis he calls up the Sun, and gives him every ray. Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide, And wear upon your shining back Numerous ranks of gaudy pride, Which thousand mingling colours make; Let the fierce glances of your eyes Rebate their baleful fire:
In harmless play twist and unfold The volumes of your scaly gold: That rich embroidery of your gay attire, Proclaims your Maker kind and wise. Insects and mites, of mean degree, That swarm in myriads o'er the land, Moulded by Wisdom's artful hand,
And curl'd and painted with a various dye; In your innumerable forms
Praise him that wears th' ethereal crown, And bends his lofty counsels down
To despicable worms.
THE COMPARISON AND COMPLAINT.
INFINITE Power, Eternal Lord,
How sovereign is thy hand! All Nature rose t' obey thy word,
And moves at thy command. With steady course thy shining Sun Keeps his appointed way;
And all the hours obedient run The circle of the day.
But ah! how wide my spirit flies, And wanders from her God! My soul forgets the heavenly prize, And treads the downward road. The raging fire, and stormy sea, Perform thine awful will, And every beast and every tree Thy great designs fulfil:
While my wild passions rage within, Nor thy commands obey;
And flesh and sense, enslav'd to sin, Draw my best thoughts away.
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