Why laid in jail of cruel grave,

If not thy death from death me free? Then, Lord, infure the blifs I crave, Seal'd with thy blood, and fuccour me.

GOSPEL SONNETS.

PART V.

The BELIEVER'S SOLILOQUY; especially in times of desertion, temptation, affliction,

SECT. I.

c.

The deferted believer longing for perfect freedom

A1

from fin.

H! mournful cafe! what can afford Contentment, when an absent Lord Will now his kindness neither prove By fmiles of grace, nor lines of love! What heart can joy, what foul can fing, While winter over-runs the spring? I die, yet can't my death condole; Lord, fave a dying, drooping foul. In pain, yet unconcern'd I live, And languifh when I fhould believe. Lord, if thou ceafe to come and stay, My foul in fin will pine away. In fin, whofe ill ne tongue can tell, To live is death, to die, is hell; O fave, if not from thrall's arreft, Yet fave me, Lord, from fin at least.

This for his merit's fake I feek,

Whofe blood and wounds do mercy fpeak;
Who left the rank of glorious choirs,

And heav'nly flow'rs for earthly briers.
Our Samfon took an holy nap
Upon our feeble nature's lap:
He, wand'ring in a pilgrim's weed,
Did taste our griefs, to help our need.
Earth's fury did upon him light:
How black was Herod's cruel spite!
Who, to be fure of murd'ring one,
Left he be spar'd, did pity none !
Hell hunts the Babe a few days old,
That came to rifle Satan's fold;
All hands purfu'd him ev'n to death,
That came to fave from fin and wrath.
O mercy! ignorant of bounds!
Which all created thought confounds;
He ran outright a faving race

For them that unto death him chase.
O fin! how heavy is thy weight,
That prefs'd the glorious God of might,
Till proftrate on the freezing ground,
He sweat his clotted blood around!
His hand the pond'rous globe does prop,
This weight ne'er made him fweat a drop:
But when fin's load upon him lies,
He falls and fweats, and groans and dies.
Alas! if God fink under fin,

How fhall the man that dies therein!
How deeply down, when to the load
He adds the flighted blood of God?
Lord, let thy fall my rife obtain,
Thy grievous fhame my glory gain;

Thy cross my lafting crown procure,
Thy death my endless life enfure.
O fend me down a draught of love,
Or take me hence to drink above:
Here Marah's water fills my cup,
But there all griefs are fwallow'd up.
Love here is scarce a faint defire;
But there the fpark's a flaming fire.
Joys here are drops that paffing flee,
But there an everflowing fea.
My faith, that fees fo darkly here,
Will there refign to vifion clear;
My hope, that's here a weary groan,
Will to fruition yield the throne.
Here fetters hamper freedom's wing,
But there the captive is a king:
And grace is like a bury'd feed,

But, finners there are faints indeed.
Thy portion's here a crumb at beft,
But there the Lamb's eternal feaft:
My praise is now a fmother'd fire,
But then I'll fing and never tire.
Now dusky fhadows cloud my day,
But then the fhades will flee away:
My Lord will break the dimming glass,
And fhew his glory face to face.
My num'rous foes now beat me down,
But then I'll wear the victor's crown;
Yet all the revenues I'll bring

To Zion's everlasting King,

The deferted Believer's prayer under complaints of unbelief, darkness, deadness, and hardness.

THAT means this wicked, wand'ring heart?

WHA

This trembling ague of my foul? Would Jefus but a look impart,

One look from him would make me whole.

But will he turn to me his face,

From whom he justly did withdraw?
To me who flighted all that grace
I in my paft experience faw?
Lord, for thy promife fake, return,
Apply thy pard'ning, cleaning blood;
Look down with pity on a worm,
With cov'nant-mercy do me good.
When thy free Sp'rit the word applies,
And kindly tells me thou art mine,
My faithless finking heart replies,

Ah, Lord! I wish I could be thine.
My faith's fo 'nighted in my doubts,
I caft the offer'd good away;
And lofe, by raising vain disputes,
The wonted bleffings of the day.
Was e'er one prefs'd with such a load,
Or pierc'd with fuch an unseen dart :
To find at once an abfent God,

And yet, alas! a careless heart?
Such grief as mine, a grieflefs grief,
Did ever any mortal fhare!
An hopeless hope, a lifelefs life,

Or fuch unwonted careless care?
'Tis fad, Lord! when for night's folace,
Nor moon, nor ftarry gleams appear?

Yet worse, when in this difmal cafe

My heart is harden'd from thy fear. 'Twas not because no show'rs did flow Of heav'nly manna at my door; But by my folly I'm into

A worse condition than before. Come, Lord, with greater pow'r; for why, Mine, fure, is not a common cafe: Thou offer it to unvail; yet I

Do scarce incline to fee thy face. Such languid faint defires I feel Within this wicked stupid heart : I fhould, I would, but that I will I hardly dare with truth affert. O to be free of that vile wrack, That bafely keeps me from my God! I flee from thee, Lord; bring me back by tender love, or by thy rod. In paths of righteoufnefs direct,

New proofs of thy remiffion give; Then of thy name I'll mention make With grateful praises while I live. On banks of mercy's boundless deep, With sweeter eafe I'll foar and fing, Than kings of feather'd hofts, that sweep The oozy fhore with easy wing. But if thy mind omnifcient know I'm for this absent bliss unfit, Give grace to hate my fins, and to Their righteous punishment fubmit. But let me ne'er thy Spirit lack, That by his aid my pray'rs may come Before him, who can wifely make

Ev'n distance lead his people home.