Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few But these, the wretched husks they chew The liberty our hearts implore Is not to live in sin; But still to wait at wisdom's door, LXI. THE NARROW WAY. WHAT thousands never knew the road! What thousands hate it when 'tis known! None but the chosen tribes of God Will seek or choose it for their own. A thousand ways in ruin end, One, only, leads to joys on high; No more I ask, or hope to find, 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. Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms, But God shall fight with all his storms LXII. DEPENDENCE. To keep the lamp alive, The Lord's unsparing hand Beware of Peter's word,* "I never will deny thee, Lord," Man's wisdom is to seek His strength in God alone; And e'en an angel would be weak, Retreat beneath his wings, This more exalts the King of kings † Than all your works beside. Matthew xxvi. 33. ↑ 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, Come and bow beneath her sway, your Works of man, when made his plea, Never shall accepted be; Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm!) Are the best he can perform. 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, Faith too, the blood-receiving grace, Till thou thy teaching power apply, Blind to the merits of thy Son, 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 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 LXVI. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES. WINTER has a joy for me, While the Saviour's charms I read, Spring returns, and brings along Hark! the turtle's plaintive song Seems to speak his dying groans! |