BLESS'D are the loving twain that walk the road That leads at last to Zion's bless'd abode;

The hallow'd path is like the shining light,
By which they shun the glooms of endless night.

The heedful traveller observes his path,
And seeks direction of his Lord by faith;
His mind compos'd upon his master's staid,
He feels him out, and finds his heav'nly aid.

This mystic path he walks in filial fear,
And finds no brute, no rav'nous monster there;
None but the saint can walk this milky way,
The child of darkness shuns the heavenly ray.

At each by-path he'll stop, he'll pray, and wait,
Till Christ appears, and makes the crooked straight;
Lest the wayfaring soul should trip or stray,
He bids us take the stumblingblocks away.

If God deserts him, he bemoans his loss,
Till he erects the standard of the cross;
Again he travels, void of doubt or fear,
While he discerns Jehovah's banner there.

Upon this path no fool shall ever err
Because Jehovah is his guide and cure;
All roughs and mounts that Satan dares to throw,
God smooths the one, and brings the other low.

The word's a map, by which he learns the way,
And while he walks by that, he cannot stray;
He follows those whose souls are now with God,
And marks the steps that ancient saints have trod.

Jehovah says that such shall dwell aloft,
And see the promis'd land, though distant off;
The King immortal he by faith shall spy,
And see his beauty with a longing eye.

The host of heaven guard him on the way,
Nor leave their charge till he's in endless day;
His bless'd Redeemer travels by his side,
Nor is his wanted presence long deny'd.

At length he finds he's near to end his race,
eyes the great reward that comes by grace,
His shatter'd frame is bow'd upon the bed,
While arms divine support the drooping head.

His busy faith maintains her mighty hold,
While hope expects the vision to unfold;
The snares of death invade the heav'nly mind,
But through the gloom faith sees a beam divine.

The flesh unpanoply'd will fear the stroke,

The soul to lend it help will God invoke ;

The blessed Saviour own'd, when low and meek, The spirit's willing but the flesh is weak.

If heart and flesh through fear of death should fail,
The Spirit breathes a strong and heav'nly gale;
To answer pray'r the Lord appears at length,

He feeds the mind, and props the heart with strength.

If sunk with grief, or rack'd with mortal pain,
To make his bed the Lord will not disdain :
His tender aid shall bear his spirit up,

His end is peace, his flesh shall rest in hope.

At last he breathes the ripen'd spirit forth,
God takes the soul who gave it first its birth;
To heav'n it flies, the angels bear it in,
And thus he ends his journey and his sin.







CHAPEL, SEPT, 2, 1787.


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