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THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT.
SOURCE of love, my brighter sun,
Spouse of Christ was then my name;
Conscious of no evil drift,
Such his folly—proved, at last,
LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING.
“ I Love the Lord,” is still the strain
This heart delights to sing;
Perhaps 'tis no such thing.
Creation fades away;
In all that we survey.
The God of our desires ; 'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,
And doubles all its fires. Flames of encircling love invest,
And pierce it sweetly through ; ”Tis fill’d with sacred joy, yet press'd
With sacred sorrow too.
Amidst a thousand woes,
And all its peace it owes. Fresh causes of distress occur
Where'er I look or move; The comforts I to all prefer
Are solitude and love.
Nor exile I nor prison fear;
Love makes my courage great ;
His grace in every state.
Exclude his quickening beams;
And dwell on heavenly themes.
A joy beyond compare ;
No pride can enter there.
And sweetens all my pains,
Consoles me and sustains.
I fear no ill, resent no wrong;
Nor feel a passion move,
Such patience is in love.
SCENES FAVOURABLE TO MEDITATION.
Wilds horrid and dark with o'ershadowing trees,
Rocks that ivy and briers infold, Scenes nature with dread and astonishment sees,
But I with a pleasure untold.
Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude,
I am charm'd with the peace ye afford, Your shades are a temple where none will intrude,
The abode of my lover and Lord.
And here I am hid from its beams,
Of the noblest and holiest of themes.
Where stillness and solitude reign,
The dear anguish of which I complain. Here, sweetly forgetting and wholly forgot
By the world and its turbulent throng, The birds and the streams lend me many a note
That aids meditation and song.
Love wears me and wastes me away,
Ere yet I perceive it is day.
My sorrows are sadly rehearsed,
And the last is as sweet as the first.
Mankind are the wolves that I fear,
But nobody questions it here.