The HAZARD of loving the CREATURES. WHERE-E'ER my flattering paffions rove, I find a lurking snare; 'Tis dangerous to let loose our love Beneath th' Eternal Fair. Souls whom the tie of friendship binds, And leave the lefs for God. Different ages have their different airs and fashions of writing. It was much more the fashion of the age, when these poems were written, to treat of divine fubjects in the ftyle of Solomon's Song than it is at this day, which will afford fome apology for the writer, in his younger years. Nature has foft but powerful bands, And reafon fhe controls; While children with their little hands Hang clofeft to our fouls. Thoughtless they act th' old ferpent's part; Lord, how they twine about our heart, Our hafty wills rush blindly on And thus we make our fetters strong Dear Sovereign, break these fetters off, And set our spirits free; God in himself is bliss enough, C DESIRING TO LOVE CHRIST. OME, let me love or is thy mind I fee the bleffed Fair-one bend And stoop t' embrace me from the skies! O! 'tis a thought would melt a rock, I was a traitor doom'd to fire, He flew on wings of strong defire, Did pity ever stoop so lów, In groans of an expiring God? Again he lives; and fpreads his hands, Sure I muft love; or are my ears IF The HEART given away. F there are paffions in my foul, (And paffions fure they be) Now they are all at thy control, My Jefus, all for Thee. If B 3 If love, that pleafing power, can rest Come, gentle Saviour, to my breast, Let the gay world, with treacherous art I have convey'd away my heart, I feel my warmest paffions dead Now I can fix my thoughts above, So Gabriel, at his King's command, Walks downward to our worthlefs land, He glides along my mortal things, Fulfils his task, and spreads his wings MEDITA MEDITATION in a GROVE. WEET Muse, descend and bless the shade, SWE And bless the evening grove; Business, and noise, and day, are fled, And every care, but love. But hence, ye wanton young Jefus has all my powers poffest, and fair, My hopes, my fears, my joys: Some of the faireft choirs above His charms fhall make my numbers flow, While filence fits on every bough, And bends the liftening woods. I'll carve our paffion on the bark And every wounded tree Shall drop and bear fome mystic mark That Jefus dy'd for me. |