THE LOVE OF CHRIST. The love of Christ ! poor I may touch upon, But 'tis unsearchable. Oh! there's none Its large dimensions can comprehend, Should they dilate thereon world without end. When we had sinn'd, He in His zeal did swear, That He upon His back our sins would bear. And since to sin there is entailed death, He vow'd, that for our sins He'd lose His breath He did not only say, vow, or resolve But, to astonishment, did so involve Himself in man's distress and misery, As for and with him both to live and die. To His eternal fame, in sacred story, We find that He did lay aside His glory; Step'd from the throne of highest dignity, Became poor man, did in a manger lie; Yea, was beholden upon His for bread; Had, of His own, not where to lay His head : Though rich, He did, for us, become thus poor, That He might make us rich for evermore." Yet this was but the least of what he did; But the outside of what he suffered. God made His blessed Son under the law; Under the curse, which, like the lion's paw, Did rend and tear His soul, for mankind's sin, More than if we for it in hell had been, His cries, His tears, and bloody agony. The nature of His death doth testisy. Nor did He of constraint Himself thus give, For sin, to death, that man might with Him live He did do what He did most willingly, He sung, and gave God thanks that he must die. Did ever king die for a captive slave? Yet such were we whom Jesus died to save.

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Yea, when He made Himself a sacrifice,
It was that He might save His enemies.
And, though He was provoked to retract
His blest resolves to do so kind an act,
Bv the abusive carriages of those
That did both Him, His love, and grace oppose;
Yet He, as unconcern'd about such things,
Goes on, determined to make captives kings;
Yea, many of His murdereres He takes
Into His favour, and them Princes makes.

The Hen, so soon as she an egg doth lay,
Spreads the fame of her doing what she may;
About the yard a cackling she doth go,
To tell what 'twas she at her nest did do.
Just thus it is with some professing Men,
If they do aught that's good; they, like our Hen,
Cannot but cackle on't where'er they go,
And what their right hand doth their left must know

This Glass, when made, was by the workman's skill
The sum of sixty minutes to fulfil.
Time, more or less, by it will out be spun,
But just an hour, and then the Glass is run.
Man's life we will compare unto this Glass ;
The number of his months he cannot pass ;
But when he has accomplished his day,
He, like a vapour, vanisheth away.

SHE goes but softly, but she goeth sure,

She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do.
Her journey's shorter, so she may endure,

Better than they which do much further

She makes no noise, but stilly seizeth on

The flower or herb appointed for her food; The which she quietly doth feed upon,

While others range, and glare, but find no good And though she doth but very softly go,

However slow her pace be, yet 'tis sure; And certainly they tha do travel so,

The prize which they do aim at they procure. Although they seem not much to stir or go,

Who thirst for Christ, and who from wrath do flee Yet what they seek for quickly they come to,

Though it doth seem the furthest off to be. One act of faith doth bring them to that flower

They so long for, that they may eat and live; Which to attain is not in others power,

Thcugh for it a king's ransom they would give.
Then let none faint, nor be at all dismay'd,

That life by Christ do seek, they shall not fail
To have it; let them nothing be afraid ;
The herb and flower are eaten by the Snail.

Who's this, that cometh from the wilderness,

Like smoky pillars thus perfumed with myrrh, Learning upon her dearest in distress,

Placed in His bosom by the Comforter? She's cloath'd with the sun, crown'd with twelve stars,

The spotted moon her footstool she hath made. The dragon her assaults, fills her with jars ;

Yet rests she under her Beloved's shade.
But whence was she? What is her pedigree?

Was not her father a poor Amorite?
What was her mother, but as others be, .

A Hittite, sinful, poor, and helpless quite ?

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