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Dear theme of my wonder and praise,

I cry, who is worthy as thou ! I can only be silent and gaze:

'Tis all that is left to me now.

Oh glory in which I am lost,

Too deep for the plummet of thought; On an ocean of deity toss'd,

I am swallow'd, I sink into nought. Yet, lost and absorb’d as I seem,

I chant to the praise of my king; And, though overwhelm'd by the theme,

Am happy whenever I sing.


All are indebted much to thee,

But I far more than all,
From many a deadly snare set free,

And raised from many a fall.
Overwhelm me, from above,
Daily, with thy boundless love.
What bonds of gratitude I feel

No language can declare;
Beneath the oppressive weight I reel,

'Tis more than I can bear : When shall I that blessing prove, To return thee love for love?

Spirit of charity, dispense

Thy grace to every heart;
Expel all other spirits thence,

Drive self from every part ;
Charity divine, draw nigh,
Break the chains in which we lie!
All selfish souls, whate'er they feign,

Have still a slavish lot;
They boast of liberty in vain,

Of love, and feel it not.
He whose bosom glows with thee,
He, and he alone, is free.
Oh blessedness, all bliss above,

When thy pure fires prevail !
Love only teaches what is love;

All other lessons fail :
We learn its name, but not its powers,
Experience only makes it ours.


burden light; I smile, though sad, when thou art in my sight: The more my woes in secret I deplore, I taste thy goodness, and I love the more. There, while a solemn stillness reigns around, Faith, love, and hope within my soul abound; And, while the world suppose me lost in care, The joys of angels, unperceived, I share.

My heart is


Thy creatures wrong thee, O thou sovereign good!
Thou art not loved, because not understood;
This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile
Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile.
Frail beauty and false honour are adored ;
While Thee they scorn, and trifle with thy word ;
Pass, unconcern'd, a Saviour's sorrows by;
And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die.


The fountain in its source

No drought of summer fears;
The farther it pursues

its course,
The nobler it appears.
But shallow cisterns yield

A scanty short supply;
The morning sees them amply fill’d,

At evening they are dry.



O Love, of pure and heavenly birth!
O simple truth, scarce known on earth!
Whom men resist with stubborn will;
And, more perverse and daring still,
Smother and quench, with reasonings vain,
While error and deception reign.

Whence comes it, that, your power

the same As His is on high, from whence you came, Ye rarely find a listening ear, Or heart that makes you welcome here ?Because ye bring reproach and pain, Where'er ye visit, in your train.

The world is proud, and cannot bear
The scorn and calumny ye share;
The praise of men the mark they mean,
They fly the place where ye are seen ;
Pure love, with scandal in the rear,
Suits not the vain; it costs too dear.

Then, let the price be what it may,
Though poor, I am prepared to pay;
Come shame, come sorrow; spite of tears,
Weakness, and heart-oppressing fears ;
One soul, at least, shall not repine,
To give you room ; come, reign in mine!


Thou hast no lightnings, O thou just !

Or I their force should know;
And, if thou strike me into dust,

My soul approves the blow. .

The heart, that values less its ease

Than it adores thy ways, In thine avenging anger sees

A subject of its praise.
Pleased I could lie, conceal'd and lost,

In shades of central night;
Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st,

But lest I grieve thy sight.
Smite me, O thou, whom I provoke!

And I will love thee still :
The well deserved, and righteous stroke,

Shall please me, though it kill. Am I not worthy to sustain

The worst thou canst devise ;
And dare I seek thy throne again,

And meet thy sacred eyes?
Far from afflicting, thou art kind;

And, in my saddest hours,
An unction of thy grace I find,

Pervading all my powers.
Alas! thou sparest me yet again ;

And, when thy wrath should move,
Too gentle to endure my pain,

Thou soothest me with thy love. I have no punishment to fear;

But, ah! that smile from thee Imparts 'a pang far more severe

Than woe itself would be.

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