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Soon, by Satan's counsel led,'
Man wrought sin, and sin wrought death;
But of life, the healing tree

Grows in rich Gethsemane.

Hither, Lord, Thou didst resort,
Ofttimes with thy little train;

Here wouldst keep thy private court:
Oh! confer that grace again:
Lord, resort with worthless me,
Ofttimes to Gethsemane.

True, I can't deserve to share
In a favour so divine;

But since sin first fix'd Thee there,
None have greater sins than mine;
And to this my woful plea,
Witness thou, Gethsemane !-

Sins against a holy God,
Sins against His righteous laws,
Sins against His love, His blood,
Sins against His name and cause,—
Sins immense as is the sea:
-Hide me, O Gethsemane!

Saviour! all the stone remove
From my flinty, frozen heart;
Thaw it with the beams of love,

Pierce it with Thy mercy's dart :

Wound the heart that wounded Thee;
Break it in Gethsemane.

AUGUSTUS M. TOPLADY.*

Assured Faith.

A debtor to mercy alone,

Of covenant mercy I sing;

Nor fear, with Thy righteousness on,
My person and offerings to bring:

* See page 238 of this volume.

TOPLADY.

The terrors of law and of God
With me can have nothing to do;
My Saviour's obedience and blood
Hide all my transgressions from view.

The work which His goodness began
The arm of His strength will complete;
His promise is yea and Amen,

And never was forfeited yet:

Things future, nor things that are now,
Not all things below nor above,
Can make Him His purpose forego,
Or sever my soul from His love.

My name from the palms of His hands,
Eternity will not erase:

Impress'd on His heart it remains,
In marks of indelible grace;
Yes, I to the end shall endure,

As sure as the earnest is given;
More happy, but not more secure,
The glorified spirits in heaven.

The Rock of Ages.

Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!

Let the water and the blood,
From Thy riven side which flow'd,
Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labours of my hands,
Can fulfil Thy law's demands:
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears for ever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring,

Simply to Thy cross I cling;

401

Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the fountain fly-
Wash me, Saviour, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eye-strings break in death;
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne—
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!

A Meditation in Sickness.

When languor and disease invade
This trembling house of clay;
'Tis sweet to look beyond our cage,
And long to fly away.

Sweet to look inward and attend
The whispers of His love;
Sweet to look upward to the place
Where Jesus pleads above.

Sweet to look back and see my name
In life's fair book set down;
Sweet to look forward and behold

Eternal joys my own.

Sweet to reflect how grace divine
My sins on Jesus laid;

Sweet to remember that His blood
My debt of sufferings paid.

Sweet on His righteousness to stand,
Which saves from second death;
Sweet to experience day by day,
His Spirit's quick'ning breath.

Sweet on His faithfulness to rest,
Whose love can never end;
Sweet on His covenant of grace,
For all things to depend.

TOPLADY.

Sweet in the confidence of faith,
To trust His firm decrees;
Sweet to lie passive in His hand,
And know no will but His.

Sweet to rejoice in lively hope,

That when my change shall come;
Angels will hover round my bed,
And waft my spirit home.

There shall my disimprison'd soul
Behold Him and adore;
Be with His likeness satisfied,
And grieve and sin no more:

Shall see Him wear that very flesh,
On which my guilt was lain;
His love intense, His merit fresh,
As though but newly slain.

Soon too my slumbering dust shall hear
The trumpet's quickening sound;
And by my Saviour's power rebuilt,
At His right hand be found.

These eyes shall see Him in that day,
The God that died for me;
And all my rising bones shall say,
Lord, who is like to Thee?

If such the views which grace unfolds
Weak as it is below;

What raptures must the Church above
In Jesus' presence know!

If such the sweetness of the stream,
What must the fountain be,

Where saints and angels draw their bliss,
Immediately from Thee!

O may the unction of these truths

For ever with me stay;

Till from her sinful cage dismiss'd,
My spirit flies away.

403

The Dying Believer to his Soul.

Deathless principle, arise;

Soar, thou native of the skies.
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To His glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before His throne,
Deck His mediatorial crown;
Go, His triumphs to adorn;
Made for God, to God return.

Lo, He beckons from on high!
Fearless to His presence fly:
Thine the merit of His blood;
Thine the righteousness of God.

Angels, joyful to attend,

Hovering, round thy pillow bend;
Wait to catch the signal given,
And escort thee quick to heaven.

Is thy earthly house distrest?
Willing to retain her guest?
'Tis not thou, but she, must die:
Fly, celestial tenant, fly.
Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay,
Sweetly breathe thyself away:
Singing, to thy crown remove;
Swift of wing, and fired with love.

Shudder not to pass the stream:
Venture all thy care on Him;
Him, whose dying love and power
Still'd its tossing, hush'd its roar,
Safe is the expanded wave;
Gentle as a summer's eve:

Not one object of His care

Ever suffer'd shipwreck there.

See the haven full in view!

Love divine shall bear thee through.

Trust to that propitious gale:

Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail.

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