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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,
Would mourn, were he condemn'd to wear
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.
LVII. THE NEW CONVERT.
The new-born child of gospel grace, Like some fair tree when summer's nigh, Beneath Emmanuel's shining face
No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
What seemed his own, a self-fed spring,
"When Gideon arm'd his numerous host, The Lord soon made his numbers less;
And said, "Lest Israel vainly boast,1
Thus will he bring our spirits down,
That saved by grace, but not our own,
LVIII. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS.
0 God, whose favourable eye The sin-sick soul revives,
Not such as hypocrites suppose, Who with a graceless heart
Intoxicating joys are theirs,
Who, while they boast their light,
And seem to soar above the stars,
Lull'd in a soft and fatal sleep,
They sin and yet rejoice;
Would they not hear his voice?
1 Judges vii. 2.
Be mine the comforts that reclaim
That make me blush for what I am,
'Tis joy enough, my All in All,
At thy dear feet to lie;
And none can higher fly.
LIX. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH.
The Lord receives his highest praise
To walk as children of the day,
To wage the warfare, watch, and pray,
Not words alone it cost the Lord,
The need of holiness express'd,
And call'd for fruit as well as sound.
1 Exod. xxviii. 33.
Easy, indeed, it were to reach
If swelling words and fluent speech
But none shall gain the blissful place, Or God's unclouded glory see, Who talks of free and sovereign grace, Unless that grace has made him free!
LX. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL.
Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace In this licentious day;
Thy book displays a gracious light That can the blind restore;
The pardon such presume upon,
And when they plead it at thy throne,
Was it for this, ye lawless tribe,
The dear Redeemer bled?
Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few
The liberty our hearts implore
Is not to live in sin;
Till mercy calls us in.
LXI. THE NARROW WAY.
What thousands never knew the road!What thousands hate it when 'tis known!
A thousand ways in ruin end,
No more I ask or hope to find
Delight or happiness below; Sorrow may well possess the mind
That feeds where thorns and thistles grow.
The joy that fades is not for me,
I seek immortal joys above; There glory without end shall be
The bright reward of faith and love.