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Laden with guilt (a heavy load)
Jesus, then, purge my crimes away, . Uncleans'd and unforgiven,
'Tis guilt creates my fears ; The soul retums t' an angry God,
'Tis guilt gives Death its fierce array, To be shut out from Heaven.
And all the arms it bears.
And Death had lost his sting,
I could invite the angel on, SUN, MOON, AND STARS, PRAISE YE THE And chide his lazy wing. LORD.
Away these interposing days,
And let the lovers meet; FAIREST of all the lights above,
The angel has a cold embrace, Thou Sun, whose beams adorn the spheres,
But kind, and soft, and sweet. And with unwearied swiftness move,
I'd leap at once my seventy years, To form the circles of our years;
I'd rush into his arms, Praise the Creator of the skies,
And lose my breath, and all my cares, . That dress'd thine orb in golden rays;
Amidst those heavenly charms. Or may the Sun forget to rise,
Joyful I'd lay this body down, If he forget his Maker's praise !
And leave the lifeless clay, Thou reigning beauty of the night,
Without a sigh, without a groan,
And stretch and soar away.
ALMIGHTY Maker, God!
How wondrous is thy name! When darkness has its curtains drawn,
Thy glories how diffus'd abroad Who keep your watch, with wakeful eyes,
Through the creation's fraine! When business, cares, and day, are gone:
Nature in every dress Proclaim the glories of your Lord,
Her humble homage pays, Dispers'd through all the heavenly street,
And finds a thousand ways t' express
Thine undissembled praise.
In native white and red
The rose and lily stand, Fair palace of the court divine,
And, free from pride, their beauties spread, Where, with inimitable light,
To show thy skilful hand.
The lark mounts up the sky,
With unambitious song, On every angel, every saint,
And bears her Maker's praise on high, Nor veils the lustre of his face.
Upon her artless tongue. O God of Glory, God of Love,
My soul would rise and sing Thou art the Sun that makes our days:
To her Creator too ; With all thy shining works above,
Fain would my tongue adore my King,
And pay the worship due.
Spoils all that I perform;
Curs'd pride, that creeps securely in,
And swells a haughty worm.
Thy glories I abate,
Or praise thee with design; Lie gasping out his breath,
Some of the favours I forget,
Or think the merit mine.
The very songs I frame
Are faithless to thy cause, We ask thine envoy to convey
And steal the honours of thy name Our spirits in his stead.
To build their own applause. Our souls are rising on the wing,
Create my soul anew, To venture in his place;
Else all my worship's vain; For, when grim Death has lost his sting,
This wretched heart will ne'er be true, He has an angel's face.
Until 'tis fort'd again.
Descend, celestial fire,
And seize me from above;
A sacrifice to love.
The remnant of my days,
In sweet perfumes of praise.
Nor can the tempests, nor the tides,
Earth, you may let your golden arrows fly,
And seek, in vain, a passage to his breast,
Spread all your painted toys to court his eye;
He smiles, and sees them vainly try
Our headstrong lusts, like a young fiery horse, With her own hand to tread the path she please, Start and flee, raging in a violent course; (them, To see her native lustre round her spread,
He tames and breaks them, manages and rides Without a veil, without a shade,
Checks their career, and turns and guides them, All beauty, and all light, as in herself she is ! And bids his reason bridle their licentious force. Our senses cheat us with the pressing crowds Of painted shapes they thrust upon the mind :
Lord of himself, he rules his wildest thoughts,
And boldly acts what calmly he design'd, The truth they show lies wrapp'd in sevenfold shrouds,
While he looks down and pities human faults; Our senses cast a thousand clouds On unenlighten'd souls, and leave them doubly blind.
Nor can he think, nor can he find,
A plague like reigning passions, and a subject mind. I hate the dust that fierce disputers raise, And lose the mind in a wild maze of thought :
But oh! 'tis mighty toil to reach this height, What empty triflings, and what empty ways,
To vanquish self is a laborious art; To fence and guard by rule and rote! (not.
What manly courage to sustain the fight, Our God will never charge us, That we knew them
To bear the noble pain, and part [heart! Touch, heavenly Word, O touch these curious souls: With those dear charming tempters rooted in the Since I have heard but one soft hint from thee, From all the vain opinions of the schools
'Tis hard to stand when all the passions more, (That pageantry of knowing fools)
Hard to awake the eye that passion blinds; I feel my powers releas'd, and stand divinely free. To rend and tear out this unhappy love, 'Twas this Almighty Word that all things made,
That clings so close about our minds, He grasps whole Nature in his single hand;
And where th’ enchanted soul so sweet a poison finds All the eternal truths in him are laid, The ground of all things, and their head, [stand.
Hard; but it may be done. Come, heavenly fire, The circle where they move, and centre where they
Come to my breast, and with one powerful ray
Melt off my lusts, my fetters: I can bear Without his aid I have no sure defence,
A while to be a tenant here, From troops of errours that besiege me round;
But not be chain’d and prison’d in a cage of clay. But he that rests his reason and his sense Fast here, and never wanders hence,
Heaven is my home, and I must use my wings; Unmoveable he dwells upon unshaken ground.
Sublime above the globe my flight aspires : Infinite Truth, the life of my desires,
I have a soul was made to pity kings, Come from the sky, and join thyself to me:
· And all their little glittering things; I'm tir'd with hearing, and this reading tires;
I have a soul was made for infinite desires. But never tir'd of telling thee, “ 'Tis thy fair face alone my spirit burns to see.” Loos'd from the Earth, my heart is upward flown;
Farewell, my friends, and all that once was mine : Speak to my soul, alone ; no other hand
Now, should you fix my feet on Cæsar's throne, Shall mark my path out with delusive art: ,
Crown me, and call the world my own, [contine, All nature, silent in his presence stand;
The gold that binds mny brows could ne'er my soul Creatures, be dumb at his command, And leave his single voice to whisper to my heart.
I am the Lord's, and Jesus is my love; Retire, my soul, within thyself retire,
He, the dear God, shall fill my vast desire. Away from sense and every outward show :
My flesh below; yet I can dwell above, Now let my thoughts to loftier themes aspire;
And nearer to my Saviour move; My knowledge now on wheels of fire
There all my soul shall centre, all my pow'rs conspire.
Thus I with angels live; thus half-divine
His glory is my great design,
The rolling mountains of the deep
His breath can raise the billows steep,
Or sink them to the sand.
Amidst thy watery kingdoms, Lord, ETERNAL Wisdom, thee we praise,
The finny nations play, Thee the creation sings:
And scaly monsters, at thy word,
Rush through the northern sea,
To travel with the Sun;
Thy glories blaze all nature round,
And strike the gazing sight, Thy hand how wide it spread the sky!
Through skies, and seas, and solid ground,
With terrour and delight.
Infinite strength, and equal skill,
Shine through the worlds abroad,
Our souls with vast amazement fill,
And speak the builder God.
But the sweet beauties of thy grace
Our softer passions move; And day obeys the Sun.
Pity divine in Jesu's face
We see, adore, and love
On clouds and storms below,
GOD'S ABSOLUTE DOMINION. Thy numerous glories show, The noisy winds stand ready there
LORD, when my thoughtful soul surveys Thy orders to obey,
Fire, air, and earth, and stars, and seas, With sounding wings they sweep the air,
I call them all thy slaves; To make thy chariot way.
Commission'd by my Father's will, There, like a trumpet, loud and strong,
Poisons shall cure, or balms shall kill; Thy thunder shakes our coast;
Vernal suns, or Zephyr's breath, While the red lightnings wave along,
May burn or blast the plants to death
That sharp December saves; The banners of thine host.
What can winds or planets boast On the thin air, without a prop,
But a precarious power? Hang fruitful showers around :
The Sun is all in darkness lost, At thy command they sink, and drop
Frost shall be fire, and fire be frost, Their fatness on the ground.
When he appoints the hour.
Lo, the Norwegians near the polar sky
Chafe their frozen limbs with snow;
Their frozen limbs awake and glow;
The vital flame, touch'd with a strange supply, And cast my eyes abroad, Glancing the British isles along;
Rekindles, for the God of life is nigh; Blest Isles, confess your God.
He bids the vital flood in wonted circles flow.
Cold steel, expos'd to northern air, How did his wondrous skill array
Drinks the meridian fury of the midnight Bear, Your fields in charming green!
And burns th’ unwary stranger there. A thousand herbs his art display,
Inquire, my soul, of ancient Fame, A thousand flowers between.
Look back two thousand years, and see Tall oaks for future navies grow,
Th’ Assyrian prince transform'd a brute, Fair Albion's best defence,
For boasting to be absolute: While corn and vines rejoice below,
Once to bis court the God of Israel came, Those luxuries of sense.
A King more absolute thau he. The bleating flocks his pasture feeds:
I see the furnace blaze with rage And herds of larger size,
Sevenfold: I see amidst the flame That bellow through thé Lindian meads,
Three Hebrews of immortal name:
They move, they walk across the burning stage
A statue; fear congeal'd his blood:
Nor did the raging element dare
Attempt their garments, or their hair: He guides her silver flood;
It knew the Lord of nature there. While angry Severn swells and roars,
Nature, compellid by a superior cause, Yet hears her ruler, God
Now breaks ber own eternal laws,
Now seems to break them, and obeys
The mysteries of creation lie Her sovereign King in different ways.
Beneath enlighten'd minds; Father, how bright thy glories shine!
Thoughts can ascend above the sky, How broad thy kingdom, how divine!
And fly before the winds. Nature, and Miracle, and Fate, and Chance, are thine.
Reason may grasp the inassy hills, Hence from my heart, ye idols, flee,
And stretch from pole to pole ; Ye sounding names of vanity!
But half thy name our spirit fills,
And overloads our soul.
In vain our haughty reason swells,
For nothing's found in thee
But boundless unconceivables,
And vast eternity.
CONFESSION AND PARDON. '
IN IMITATION OF THE CXIVTH PSALM.
WHEN the Eternal bows the skies,
To visit earthly things,
From towers of haughty kings;
A sultan, or a czar,
Or frowns them from afar :
Far downward from the skies,
With pleasure in his eyes.
Disdain so lofty kings?
Upon such worthless things ?
Dispute his awful will ?
But tremble, and be still.
All sovereign, and all free;
How deep thy judgments be!
Alas, my aching heart!
Here the keen torment lies;
And frights my slumbering eyes.
My griefs take vent apace;
Flush crimson in my face.
Impatient of restraint,
Pour out a long complaint.
Could once defy the Lord,
In presence of thy sword.
A rebel to the skies,
And mercy's loudest cries !
And all his heaven, to me;
That cannot feel nor see.
To court me from above,
And shows the prints of love.
How long have I withstood
And paid for all in blood !
And tender'd me his wings,
And bright immortal things.
That I refus'd thy Dove,
To his own realms of love.
Nor terrours of thy hand,
And bow to thy command.
My sins like arrows rise,
Thy thunder silent lies.
Or harp of golden string,
To our Eternal King.
Great Everlasting One!
And unconfin'd thy throne.
And wondrous large thy grace;
And Gabriel veils his face. Thine essence is a vast abyss,
Which angels cannot sound, An ocean of infinities,
Where all our thoughts are drown'd.
O shall I never feel
Adore the hand that led your way The meltings of thy love?
Through flowery fields a fair long summer's day; Am I such hell-harden'd steel
Gasp out your soul in praises to the sovereign power That mercy cannot move ?
That set your west so distant from your dawning
hour. Now for one powerful glance,
Dear Saviour, from thy face;
But sinks beneath thy grace.
FLYING FOWL, AND CREEPING THINGS, Here at thy cross I lie;
PRAISE YE THE LORD. And throw my flesh, my soul, my all,
PSALM CXLVIII. 10. And weep, and love, and die. “Rise,” says the Prince of Mercy, “ rise,"
Sweet flocks, whose soft enamelld wing With joy and pity in his eyes :
Swift and gently cleaves the sky; “ Rise, and behold my wounded veins,
Whose charming notes address the Spring Here flows the blood to wash thy stains.
With an artless harmony: “ See my Great Father reconcil'd:”
Lovely minstrels of the field, He said. And lo, the Father smil'd:
Who in leafy shadows sit, The joyful cherubs clapp'd their wings,
And your wondrous structures build,
Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light:
Ere you salute the rising day;
'Tis he calls up the Sun, and gives him every ray. YOUNG MEN AND MAIDENS, OLD MEN
Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide,
Numerous ranks of gaudy pride,
Which thousand mingling colours make;
Let the fierce glances of your eyes In the wild mazes of whose veins
Rebate their baleful fire: A flood of fiery vigour reigns,
In harmless play twist and unfold And wields your active limbs, with hardy sinews The volumes of your scaly gold : strung;
That rich embroidery of your gay attire, Fall prostrate at th' eternal throne
Proclaims your Maker kind and wise. Whence your precarious powers depend;
Insects and mites, of mean degree, Nor swell as if your lives were all your own,
That swarm in myriads o'er the land,
Moulded by Wisdom's artful hand,
In your innumerable forms
Praise him that wears th' ethereal crown, Virgins, who roll your artful eyes,
And bends his lofty counsels down
To despicable worms.
Boast not of those withering charms,
That must yield their youthful grace To age and wrinkles, earth and worms;
THE COMPARISON AND COMPLAINT. But love the Author of your smiling face; That heavenly bridegroom claims your blooming
| INFINITE Power, Eternal Lord, hours:
How sovereign is thy hand! O make it your perpetual care
All Nature rose t’ obey thy word,
And moves at thy command.
Keeps his appointed way;
And all the hours obedient run But from the same spring-tide of tears
The circle of the day. Commence your hopes, and joys, and fears,
But ah! how wide my spirit flies, (A tedious train !) and date your following years: And wanders from her God! Break your first silence in his praise
My soul forgets the heavenly prize, Who wrought your wondrous frame:
And treads the downward road. With sounds of tenderest accent raise
The raging fire, and stormy sea, Young honours to his name;
Perform thine awful will, And consecrate your early days
And every beast and every tree To know the Power supreme.
Thy great designs fulfil: Ye heads of venerable age,
While my wild passions rage within, Just marching off the mortal stage,
Nor thy commands obey; Fathers, whose vital threads are spun
And flesh and sense, enslav'd to sin, As long as e'er the glass of life would run,
Draw my best thoughts away. VOL. XIIL