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The heart, that values less its ease
Than it adores thy ways, In thine avenging anger sees
A subject of its praise.
Pleased I could lie, conceal'd and lost, In shades of central night;Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st, But lest I grieve thy sight.
Smite me, O thou, whom I provoke!
And I will love thee still: The well deserved and righteous stroke
Shall please me, though it kill.
Am I not worthy to sustain
And dare I seek thy throne again,
Far from afflicting, thou art kind;
And, in my saddest hours, An unction of thy grace I find,
Pervading all my powers.
Alas! thou sparest me yet again;
And, when thy wrath should move, Too gentle to endure my pain,
Thou soothest me with thy love.
I have no punishment to fear;
But, ah! that smile from thee Imparts a pang far more severe
Than woe itself would be.
THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD FINDS HIM
Oh thou, by long experience tried,
All scenes alike engaging prove
To me remains nor place nor time;
While place we seek, or place we shun,
Could I be cast where thou art not,
My country, Lord, art thou alone;
I hold by nothing here below;
Appoint my journey, and I go;
Though pierced by scorn, oppress'd by pride,
I feel thee good—feel nought beside.
No frowns of men can hurtful prove
Ah then! to his embrace repair;
THE TESTIMONY OF DIVINE ADOPTION.
How happy are the new-born race;
The moment we believe, 'tis ours;
The God from whom it came;
An undisputed claim.
But, ah! if foul and wilful sin
Farewell the joy we knew;
Without a guide or clue.
The chaste and pure, who fear to grieve
His work distinctly trace:
Their hearts his dwelling place.
Oh messenger of dear delight,
Sweet peace-proclaiming Dove! With thee at hand, to soothe our pains, No wish unsatisfied remains,
No task but that of love.
'Tis love unites what sin divides;
To which the soul once brought,
Peace passing human thought.
Sorrow foregoes its nature there,
Divested of its woes; There sovereign goodness soothes the breast, Till then incapable of rest,
In sacred sure repose.
DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL.
Love is the Lord whom I obey,
For uncreated charms I burn,
He little loves him who complains,
Love causes grief, but 'tis to move
Sweet is the cross, above all sweets,