Much I fasted, watch'd, and strove, Thus afraid to trust his grace, HOLY Lord God! I love thy truth, But though the poison lurks within, Had I a throne above the rest, Where angels and archangels dwell, One sin, unslain, within my breast, Would make that heaven as dark as hell. The prisoner sent to breathe fresh air, And bless'd with liberty again, Would mourn were he condemn'd to wear One link of all his former chain. But, oh no foe invades the bliss, When glory crowns the Christian's head; One view of Jesus as He is Will strike all sin for ever dead. LVIII. THE NEW CONVERT. THE new-born child of gospel grace, Lifts up his blooming branch on high. No fears he feels, he sees no foes, Nor has he learnt to whom he owes But sin soon darts its cruel sting, And comforts sinking day by day, What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring, Proves but a brook that glides away. When Gideon arm'd his numerous host, The Lord soon made his numbers less; And said, "Lest Israel vainly boast 36, 'My arm procured me this success.' 999 Thus will he bring our spirits down, 36 Judges, vii. 2. LIX. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS. O GOD, whose favourable eye The sin-sick soul revives, Not such as hypocrites suppose, Intoxicating joys are theirs, Who while they boast their light, Lull'd in a soft and fatal sleep, Be mine the comforts that reclaim 'Tis joy enough, my All in All, And none can higher fly. LX. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH. THE Lord receives his highest praise To walk as children of the day, Not words alone it cost the Lord, With golden bells, the priestly vest, And rich pomegranates border'd round 37, The need of holiness express'd, And call'd for fruit as well as sound. Easy indeed it were to reach A mansion in the courts above, But none shall gain the blissful place, 37 Exod. xxviii. 33. LXI. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL. Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace And while they boast they see thy face, Thy book displays a gracious light The pardon such presume upon, Was it for this, ye lawless tribe, Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few But these, the wretched husks they chew, The liberty our hearts implore Is not to live in sin; But still to wait at Wisdom's door, |