The following Poems of this Book are peculiarly dedicated to Divine Love.1

THE HAZARD OF LOVING THE
CREATURES.

WHERE'ER my flattering passions rove,
I find a lurking snare;
'Tis dangerous to let loose our love
Beneath the Eternal Fair.

Souls whom the tie of friendship binds,

And partners of our blood,
Seize a large portion of our minds,
And leave the less for God.

Nature has soft but powerful bands,

And reason she controls;

While children, with their little hands,
Hang closest to our souls.

1 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 subjects in the style of Solomon's Song, than it is at this day, which will afford some apology for the writer in his youngest years.

Thoughtless, they act the old serpent's part;
What tempting things they be!

Lord, how they twine about our heart,
And draw it off from thee!

Our hasty wills rush blindly on
Where rising passion rolls,

And thus we make our fetters strong
To bind our slavish souls.

Dear Sovereign! break these fetters off,

And set our spirits free; God in himself is bliss enough, For we have all in thee.

DESIRING TO LOVE CHRIST.

COME, let me love: or is thy mind
Harden'd to stone, or froze to ice?
I see the blessed Fair One bend
And stoop to embrace me from the skies!

O'tis a thought would melt a rock,
And make a heart of iron move,

That those sweet lips, that heavenly look,

Should seek and wish a mortal love!

I was a traitor, doom'd to fire,

Bound to sustain eternal pains ;
He flew on wings of strong desire,
Assum'd my guilt, and took

my

chains.

Infinite grace! Almighty charms!
Stand in amaze, ye whirling skies!
Jesus, the God, with naked arms,
Hangs on a cross of love and dies.

Did pity ever stoop so low,
Dress'd in divinity and blood?
Was ever rebel courted so

In

groans of an expiring God?

Again he lives; and spreads his hands, Hands that were nail'd to torturing smart; "By these dear wounds,"says he; and stands And prays to clasp me to his heart.

Sure I must love; or are my ears
Still deaf, nor will my passion move?
Then let me melt this heart to tears;
This heart shall yield to death or love.

THE HEART GIVEN AWAY.

If there are passions in my soul,
(And passions sure there be,)
Now they are all at thy control,
My Jesus, all for thee!

If love, that pleasing power, can rest
In hearts so hard as mine,
Come, gentle Saviour, to my breast,
For all my love is thine.

Let the gay world, with treacherous art,
Allure my eyes in vain ;

I have convey'd away my heart,
Ne'er to return again.

I feel my warmest passions dead
To all that earth can boast;
This soul of mine was never made
For vanity and dust.

Now I can fix my thoughts above,
Amidst their flattering charms,
Till the dear Lord that hath my love
Shall call me to his arms.

So Gabriel, at his King's command,

From

yon celestial hill,

Walks downward to our worthless land;

His soul points upward still.

He glides along my mortal things
Without a thought of love,
Fulfils his task, and spreads his wings
To reach the realms above.

MEDITATION IN A GROVE.

SWEET muse, descend, and bless the shade,
And bless the evening grove;
Business, and noise, and day are fled,
And every care, but love.

But hence, ye wanton young and fair;
Mine is a purer flame;
No Phyllis shall infect the air

With her unhallow'd name.

Jesus has all my powers possest,
My hopes, my fears, my joys;
He, the dear Sovereign of my breast,
Shall still command my voice.