And couldst thou be delighted

With creatures such as we,

Who, when we saw thee, slighted,
And nail'd thee to a tree?
Unfathomable wonder,

And mystery divine!

The voice that speaks in thunder,
Says, "Sinner, I am thine!"

VII.

VANITY OF THE WORLD.

GOD gives his mercies to be spent ;
Your hoard will do your soul no good;
Gold is a blessing only lent,

Repaid by giving others food.

The world's esteem is but a bribe,

To buy their peace you sell your own; The slave of a vainglorious tribe,

Who hate

you

while they make you known.

The joy that vain amusements give,
Oh! sad conclusion that it brings!
The honey of a crowded hive,
Defended by a thousand stings.
'Tis thus the world rewards the fools
That live upon her treacherous smiles:
She leads them blindfold by her rules,
And ruins all whom she beguiles.

God knows the thousands who go down
From pleasure into endless woe;
And with a long despairing groan
Blaspheme their Maker as they go.

O fearful thought! be timely wise;

Delight but in a Saviour's charms, And God shall take you to the skies, Embraced in everlasting arms.

VIII. O LORD, I WILL PRAISE THEE.

every day

I WILL praise thee
Now thine anger's turn'd away;
Comfortable thoughts arise
From the bleeding sacrifice.

Here, in the fair gospel-field,
Wells of free salvation yield
Streams of life, a plenteous store,
And my soul shall thirst no more.

Jesus is become at length
My salvation and my strength;
And his praises shall prolong,
While I live, my pleasant song.

Praise ye, then, his glorious name,
Publish his exalted fame!

Still his worth your praise exceeds;
Excellent are all his deeds.

Raise again the joyful sound,
Let the nations roll it round!
Zion, shout! for this is he;

God the Saviour dwells in thee!

Isaiah, xii. 1.

IX. THE CONTRITE HEART.

Isaiah, lvii. 15.

THE Lord will happiness divine

On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart, or no?

I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;

If ought is felt, 'tis only pain,
To find I cannot feel.

I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that's good.

My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more;
But when I cry, "My strength renew !”
Seem weaker than before.

Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.

O make this heart rejoice or ache;
Decide this doubt for me;

And if it be not broken, break,-
And heal it if it be !

X. THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OF THE CHURCH. Isaiah, ix. 15-20.

HEAR what God the Lord hath spoken,

"O my people, faint and few,
Comfortless, afflicted, broken,
Fair abodes I build for you.
Thorns of heart-felt tribulation
Shall no more perplex your ways:
You shall name your walls, Salvation,
And your gates shall all be Praise.

"There, like streams that feed the garden, Pleasures without end shall flow;

For the Lord, your faith rewarding,
All his bounty shall bestow;
Still in undisturb'd possession
Peace and righteousness shall reign;
Never shall you feel oppression,
Hear the voice of war again.

"Ye no more your suns descending,
Waning moons no more shall see;
But, your griefs for ever ending,
Find eternal noon in me:

God shall rise, and shining o'er ye,
Change to day the gloom of night;
He, the Lord, shall be your glory,
God your everlasting light."

XI.

JEHOVAH OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS.

My God, how perfect are thy ways!

But mine polluted are;

Sin twines itself about my praise,

And slides into my prayer.

Jer. xxiii. 6.

When I would speak what thou hast done
To save me from my sin,

I cannot make thy mercies known,
But self-applause creeps in.

Divine desire, that holy flame
Thy grace creates in me;
Alas! impatience is its name,
When it returns to thee.

This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts,

How does it overflow,

While self upon the surface floats,
Still bubbling from below.

Let others in the gaudy dress
Of fancied merit shine;

The Lord shall be my righteousness,

The Lord for ever mine.

XII. EPHRAIM REPENTING.

Jer. xxxi. 18-20.

My God, till I received thy stroke,

How like a beast was I!

So unaccustom'd to the yoke,

So backward to comply.