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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 returns tan 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,
And chide his lazy wing.
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 inwearied 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 be 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.
GHTY Maker, God! Ye twinkling Stars, who gild the skies
How wondrous is thy name! When darkness has its curtains drawn,
Thy glories how diffus'd abroad Wbo keep your watch, with wakeful eyes,
Through the creation's frame! When business, cares, and day, are gone:
Nature in every dress Proclaim the glories of your Lord,
Her humble homage pays, Depers'd through all the heavenly street,
And finds a thousand ways t'express whose boundless treasures can afford
Thine undissembled praise. So rich a pavement for his feet.
In native white and red Thea Heaven of Heavens, supremely bright,
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 Na reils the lustre of his face.
Upon her artless tongue. O God of Glory, God of Love,
My soul would rise and sing Tbra art the Sun that makes our days:
To her Creator too ; With all thy shining works above,
Fain would my tongue adore my King, Let earth and dust attempt thy praise.
And pay the worship due.
Spoils all that I perform;
Curs'd pride, that creeps securely in, THE WELCOME MESSENGER.
And swells a haughty worm. Lord, when we see a saint of thine
Thy glories I abate,
Or praise thee with design; Le 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 renture 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 form'd again.
Descend, celestial fire,
And seize me from above;
A sacrifice to love.
The remnant of my days,
In sweet perfumes of praise.
PRONOUNCE him blest, my Muse, whom Wisdora
Nor can the tempests, nor the tides,
Earth, you may let your golden arrows fly,
He smiles, and sees them vainly try
PARTLY IMITATED FROM A FRENCH SONNET OP
Our headstrong lusts, like a young fiery horse, With her own hand to tread the path she please, Start and fee, 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
Lord of himself, he rules his wildest thoughts, Of painted shapes they thrust upon the mind :
And boldly acts what calmly he desigu'd, The truth they show lies wrapp'd in sevenfold shrouds,
While he looks down and pities human faults;
Nor can he think, nor can he find,
But oh! 'tis mighty toil to reach this height,
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 nuble 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 move, (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 Ward that all things made,
That clings so close about our minds,
And where th'enchanted soul so sweet a poison finds. He grasps whole Nature in his single hand; 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 more, 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'a 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, (conline. All nature, silent in his presence stand;
The gold that binds my 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; Re:jre, 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,
And nearer to my Saviour move;
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
Observe his strong command;
Or sink them to the sand.
Amidst thy watery kingdoms, Lord, ErErsal 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,
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, There thou hast bid the globes of light
And speak the builder God. Their endless circles run;
But the sweet beauties of thy grace There the pale planet rules the night,
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, Wito sounding wings they sweep the air,
I call them all thy slaves; To make thy chariot way.
Commission'd by my Father's will,
Poisons shall cure, or balms shall kill; There, like a trumpet, lond and strong,
Vernal suns, or Zephyr's breath, Thy thunder shakes our coast;
May burn or blast the plants to death While the red lightnings wave along,
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,
When he appoints the hour.
Chafe their frozen limbs with snow;
Their fruzen limbs awake and glow; Ko to the Earth I bend my song,
The vital fame, touch'd with a strange supply, And cast my eyes abroad,
Rekindles, for the God of life is nigh; Glancing the British isles along;
He bids the vital food in wonted circles flow, Blest Isles, confess your God.
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.
Inquire, my soul, of ancient Fame,
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 his court the God of Israel came, Those luxuries of sense.
A King more absolute than 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 the Lindian meads,
Three Hebrews of immortal name:
They move, they walk across the burning stage
A statue; fear congeald his blood:
Nor did the raging element dare We see the Thames caress the shores:
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, compell’d by a superior cause, Yet bears her ruler, God.
Now breaks her own eternal laws,
Now seems to break them, and obeys
The mysteries of creation lie Her sovereign King in difierent 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 massy hills, Hence from my heart, ye idols, fee,
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 What is the sun, or what the shade,
But boundless unconceivables, Or frosts, or flames, to kill or save?
And vast eternity.
And, as his awful dictates bid,
CONFESSION AND PARDON.
IN IMITATION OF THE CXIVTH PSAIM.
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 awfu) 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 iminortal 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,
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.
PSALM CXLVIII. 10.
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 smild:
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, AND BABES, PRAISE YE THE LORD. And wear upon your shining back
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,
THE COMPARISON AND COMPLAINT.
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 ohedient 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 Mies, (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. XIU.