Who trample order; and the day,
Which God asserts his own,
Dishonour with unhallow'd play,
And worship chance alone?
If scorn of God's commands, impress'd
On word and deed, imply
The better part of man unbless'd
With life that cannot die;
Such want it, and that want, uncured
'Till man resigns his breath,
Speaks him a criminal, assured
Of everlasting death.
Sad period to a pleasant course!
Yet so will God repay,
Sabbaths profaned without remorse,
And mercy cast away.
PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.
Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein;
Seem it to say-Health here has long to reign?'
Hast thou the vigour of thy youth? an eye
That beams delight? a heart untaught to sigh?
Yet fear. Youth, oft-times healthful and at ease,
Anticipates a day it never sees;
And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud, Exclaims, 'Prepare thee for an earthly shroud.'
THE Lord will happiness divine,
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no?
I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;
If aught is felt, 'tis only pain
To find I cannot feel.
I sometimes think myself inclin'd
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that's good.
My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more;
But when I 66
cry, my strength renew,'
Seem weaker than before.
Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I sometimes go where others go,
But find no comfort there.
O make this heart rejoice or ache,
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken, break;
And heal it if it be.
WHEN darkness long has veil'd my mind, And smiling day once more appears, Then, my Redeemer, then I find,
The folly of my doubts and fears.
Strait I upbraid my wandering heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act so base a part,
Or harbour one base thought of thee.
Oh! let me then at length be taught
What I am still so slow to learn,
That God is love, and changes not
Nor knows the shadow of a turn.
Sweet truth, and easy to repeat,
But when my faith is sharply try'd,
I find myself a learner yet,
Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.
But, O my Lord, one look from thee,
Subdues the disobedient will,
Drives doubt and discontent away,
And thy rebellious worm is still.
Thou art as ready to forgive,
As I am ready to repine;
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;
Be shame, and self abhorrence mine.
THERE is a fountain fill'd with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins !
And sinners, plung'd beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoic'd to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, as vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb! thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow'r,
"Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be sav'd, to sin no more.
E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing thy power to save;
When this poor lisping stamm'ring tongue
Lies silent in the grave.
Lord, I believe thou hast prepar'd,
Unworthy though I be,
For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me!
'Tis strung, and tun'd, for endless years, And form'd by pow'r divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but thine.
BLINDED in youth by Satan's arts,
The world to our unpracticed hearts
A flattering prospect shows :
Our fancy forms a thousand schemes
Of gay delights, and golden dreams,
And undisturbed repose.
So in the desert's dreary waste,
By magic power produced in haste,
(As ancient fables say),
Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
The senses of the traveller meet,
And stop him in his way.
But while he listens with surprise,
The charm dissolves, the vision dies,
'Twas but enchanted ground;
Thus if the Lord our spirit touch,
The world, which promised us so much,
A wilderness is found.
At first we start, and feel distressed,
Convinced we never can have rest
In such a wretched place;
|