Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms, But God shall fight, with all his storms, To keep the lamp alive, With oil we fill the bowl; 'Tis water makes the willow thrive, The Lord's unsparing hand It is not at our own command, Beware of Peter's word,1 "I never will deny thee, Lord," Man's wisdom is to seek His strength in God alone; Retreat beneath his wings, ; And in his grace confide Than all your works beside. 1 Matthew xxvi. 33. 2 John vi. 29. In Jesus is our store, Grace issues from his throne; Whoever says, "I want no more,” Confesses he has none. LXIII. NOT OF WORKS. GRACE, triumphant in the throne, Cast your idol works away. Works of man, when made his plea, Never shall accepted be; Fruits of pride (vainglorious worm!) Self, the god his soul adores, Then for rocks and hills to hide Still the boasting heart replies, But the grace that never can. LXIV. PRAISE FOR FAITH. Of all the gifts thine hand bestows, Thou Giver of all good! Not heaven itself a richer knows Than my Redeemer's blood. Faith too, the blood-receiving grace, Till thou thy teaching power apply, Shut out the view of thee. Blind to the merits of thy Son, What misery we endure! Yet fly that hand from which alone We could expect a cure. We praise thee, and would praise thee more, To thee our all we owe; The precious Saviour, and the power That makes him precious too. LXV. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE. ALMIGHTY King! whose wondrous hand Supports the weight of sea and land, Whose grace is such a boundless store, No heart shall break that sighs for more. Thy providence supplies my food, My streams of outward comfort came Either his hand preserves from pain, From Satan's malice shields my breast, Forgive the song that falls so low It means thy praise, however poor, LXVI. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES. WINTER has a joy for me, While the Saviour's charms I read, Lowly, meek, from blemish free, In the snowdrop's pensive head. Spring returns, and brings along Hark! the turtle's plaintive song Seems to speak his dying groans! Summer has a thousand charms, 'Tis his sun that lights and warms, What! has Autumn left to say Light appears with early dawn, See his bleeding beauties drawn Evening with a silent pace, FRAGMENT OF A HYMN. To Jesus, the Crown of my Hope, O bear me, ye cherubims, up, And waft me away to his throne! My Saviour, whom absent I love, VOL. III. |