GRACE SHINING, and NATURE FAINTING.

Sol. Song i. 3. & ii. 5. & vi. 5.

TELL me, faireft of thy kind,
Tell me Shepherd, all divine,

Where this fainting head reclin'd
May relieve fuch cares as mine :
Shepherd, lead me to thy grove;
If burning noon infect the sky,
The fickening fheep to covert fly,
The sheep not half so faint as I,
Thus overcome with love.

Say, thou dear Sovereign of my breast,
Where doft thou lead thy flock to rest:
Why fhould I appear like one
Wild and wandering all alone,
Unbeloved and unknown?
O my Great Redeemer, fay,
Shall I turn my feet aftray!
Will Jefus bear to see me rove,
To fee me feek another love?

Ne'er had I known his dearest name,

Ne'er had I felt this inward flame,

Had not his heart-ftrings firft began the tender found:

Nor can I bear the thought, that He

Should leave the sky,

Should bleed and die,

Should love a wretch fo vile as me

Without returns of paffion for his dying wound.

His

eyes are glory mix'd with In his delightful awful face Sits majefty and gentleness. So tender is my bleeding heart

grace;

That with a frown he kills; His abfence in perpetual smart Nor is my foul refin'd enough To bear the beaming of his love,

And feel his warmer fmiles.

Where fhall I reft this drooping head?

I love, I love the fun, and yet I want the shade.

My finking fpirits feebly strive

T'endure the extasy;

Beneath thefe rays I cannot live,

And yet without them die.

None knows the pleafure and the pain

That all my inward powers fuftain

But fuch as feel a Saviour's love, and love the God again.

Oh, why fhould beauty heavenly bright

Stoop to charm a mortal's fight,

And torture with the fweet excess of light?
Our hearts, alas! how frail their make!

With their own weight of joy they break,

Oh, why is love fo ftrong, and nature's self so weak? .

Turn, turn away thine eyes,

Afcend the azure hills, and fhine Among the happy tenants of the skies, They can fuftain a vifion fo divine.

O turn thy lovely glories from me,

The joys are too intenfe, the glories overcome me.

Dear Lord, forgive my rash complaint,

And love me ftill
Against my froward will;
Unveil thy beauties, though I faint.
Send the great herald from the sky,
And at the trumpet's awful roar
This feeble state of things fhall fy,
And pain and pleasure mix no more:
Then fhall I gaze with ftrengthened fight
On glories infinitely bright,

My heart shall all be love, my Jefus all delight.

LOVE to CHRIST prefent or absent.

OF all the joys we mortals know,

Jefus, thy love exceeds the reft;

Love the best bleffing here below,
And nearest image of the bleft.

Sweet are my thoughts, and foft my cares,
When the celeftial flame I feel;

In all my hopes, and all my fears,
There's fomething kind and pleasing ftill.
While I am held in his embrace,
There's not a thought attempts to rove;
Each fmile he wears upon his face
Fixes, and charms, and fires my love.

He

He fpeaks, and ftrait immortal joys

Run through my ears, and reach my heart;
My foul all melts at that dear voice,
And pleasure shoots through every part.

If he withdraw a moment's space,
He leaves a facred pledge behind;
Here in this breast his image stays,
The grief and comfort of my mind.
While of his abfence I complain,
And long, and weep as lovers do,
There's a ftrange pleasure in the pain,
And tears have their own sweetness too.
When round his courts by day I rove,
Or ask the watchmen of the night
For fome kind tidings of my love,
His very name creates delight.

Jefus, my God; yet rather come;
Mine eyes would dwell upon thy face;
'Tis beft to fee my Lord at home,
And feel the presence of his grace.

The ABSENCE of CHRIST.

COME

COME, lead me to fome lofty fhade Where turtles moan their loves; 'Tall fhadows were for lovers made;

And grief becomes the groves.

'Tis no mean beauty of the ground
That has inflav'd mine eyes;
I faint beneath a nobler wound,
Nor love below the fkies.

Jefus, the fpring of all that's bright,
The Everlasting Fair,

Heaven's ornament, and heaven's delight,
Is my eternal care.

But, ah! how far above this grave

Does the bright charmer dwell? Abfence, thou keenest wound to love, That fharpeft pain, I feel.

Penfive I climb the facred hills,

And near him vent my woes;
Yet his fweet face he ftill conceals,
Yet ftill my paffion grows.

I murmur to the hollow vale,
I tell the rocks my flame,
And blefs the echo in her cell
That beft repeats her name.

My paffion breathes perpetual fighs,
Till pitying winds fhall hear,
And gently bear them up the fkies,
And gently wound his ear.

DESIRING