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BISHOP KEN.

395

My soul, when I shake off this dust,
Lord, in Thy arms I will intrust :
O make me Thy peculiar care,
Some heavenly mansion me prepare.
Give me a place at Thy saints' feet,
Or some fallen angel's vacant seat ;
I'll strive to sing as loud as they,
Who sit above in brighter day.

O may I always ready stand,
With my lamp burning in my hand;
May I in sight of heaven rejoice,
Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice.
Glory to Thee in light array'd,
Who light Thy dwelling-place hast mad
An immense ocean of bright beams
From Thy all-glorious Godhead streams.

The sun, in its meridian height,
Is very darkness in Thy sight:
My soul O lighten and inflame
With thought and love of Thy great name.
Blest Jesu, Thou on heaven intent,
Whole nights hast in devotion spent;
But I, frail creature, soon am tired,
And all my zeal is soon expired.
My soul, how canst thou weary grow
Of antedating heaven below,
In sacred hymns and divine love,
Which will eternal be above ?
Shine on me, Lord, new life impart,
Fresh ardours kindle in my heart;
One ray of Thy all-quickening light
Dispels the sloth and clouds of night.
Lord, lest the tempter me surprise,
Watch over thine own sacrifice;
All loose, all idle thoughts cast out,
And make my very dreams devout.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye angelic host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

JOSEPH ADDISON. *

The Traveller's Hymn.

low are Thy servants blest, O Lord !

How sure is their defence !
Eternal Wisdom is their guide,

Their help Omnipotence.
In foreign realms, and lands remote,

Supported by Thy care,
Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt,

And breathed in tainted air.
Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil,

Made every region please ;
The hoary Alpine hills it warm',

And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas.
Think, O my soul! devoutly think,

How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep

In all its horrors rise.
Confusion dwelt on every face,

And fear in every heart,
When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs,

O'ercame the pilot's art.
Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord !

Thy mercy set me free;
Whilst in the confidence of prayer

My soul took hold on Thee.
For though in dreadful whirls we hung

High on the broken wave,

* See ante, page 32.

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In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever singing, as they shine,
The hand that made us is divine.

JOSEPH HART.

This gifted and warm-hearted man was forty-eight years of age before he began to preach. The Independent Chapel, Jewin Street, London, was the scene of his brief ministrations, but during the eight years of his public career he had attained an uncommon popularity; and when he was buried in Bunhill Fields, it is said that twenty thousand persons were present. Over his grave they sang his own hymn,

66 Sons of God, by blest adoption." He was born about 1712, and died May 24, 1768.*

*

Gethsemane.

Jesus, while He dwelt below,
As divine historians say,
To a place would often go ;
Near to Kedron's brook it lay ;
In this place He loved to be,
And 'twas named Gethsemane.

'Twas a garden, as we read,
At the foot of Olivet,
Low and proper to be made
The Redeemer's lone retreat :
When from noise He would be free,
Then He sought Gethsemane.
Thither, by their Master brought,
His disciples likewise came;

* Gadsby's "Memoirs of Hymn Writers.”

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