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That saved by grace, but not our own,
LIX.—TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS.
O God, whose favourable eye
The sin-sick soul revives,
Thy shining presence gives.
Not such as hypocrites suppose,
Taste not of thee, but drink a dose
Intoxicating joys are theirs,
Who while they boast their light,
And seem to soar above the stars,
Lulled in a soft and fatal sleep,
They sin and yet rejoice;
Would they not hear his voice?
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.
LX.—A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH.
The Lord receives his highest praise
While all the loud professor says
To walk as children of the day,
To wage the warfare, watch, and pray,
Not words alone it cost the Lord,
Nor will a soul by grace restored
With golden bells, (he priestly vest,
The need of holiness expressed,
Easy indeed it were to reach
If swelling words and fluent speech
But none shall gain the blissful place,
Who talks of free and sovereign grace,
LXI.—ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL.
Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace
In this licentious day,
They turn their own away.
Thy book displays a gracious light
That can the blind restore;
And blinded still the more.
The pardon such presume upon,
They do not beg, but steal;
Oh, where's the Spirit's seal?
Was it for this, ye lawless tribe,
The dear Redeemer bled?
From Christ the living head?
Ah, Lord, ".*."; know thy chosen few
Are fed with heavenly fare; But these, — the wretched husks they chew,
Proclaim them what they are.
The liberty our hearts implore
Is not to live in sin;
Till mercy calls us in.
LXII.-THE NARROW WAY.
What tko'sands never knew the road,
None but the chosen tribes of God
A thousand ways in ruin end,
By that my willing steps ascend,
No more I ask or hope to find
Sorrow may well possess the mind
That feeds where thorns and thistles grow.
The joy that fades is not for me,
There glory without end shall be
Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms,
But God shall fight with all his storms,
To keep the lamp alive,
'Tis water makes the willow thrive,
The Lord's unsparing hand
It is not at our own command,
Beware of Peter's word,
Nor confidently say, "I never will deny thee, Lord,"—
But,—" Grant I never may."
Man's wisdom is to seek
And e'en an angel would be weak,
Retreat beneath his wings,
This more exalts the King of kings
In Jesus is our store,
Grace issues from his throne; Whoever says, "I want no more,"
Confesses he has none.
LXIV.— NOT OF WORKS.
Grace, triumphant in the throne,
Come and bow beneath her sway!
Self, the god his soul adores,
Still the boasting heart replies,
LXV.—PRAISE FOR FAITH.
Of all the gifts thine hand bestows,
Thou Giver of all good!
Than my Redeemer's blood.
Faith, too, the blood-receiving grace;
From the same hand we gain! Else, sweetly as it suits our case,
That gift had been in vain.
Till thou thy teaching power apply,
Our hearts refuse to see,
Shut out the view of thee.
Blind to the merits of thy Son,
What misery we endure!
We could expect a cure.
We praise thee, and would praise thee more,
To thee our all we owe;
That makes him precious too.
LXVI.—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,
Forgive the song that falls so low
LXVII.—I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES.
While the Saviour's charms I read,
Spring returns, and brings along
Seems to speak his dying groans!
Summer has a thousand charms,
All expressive of his worth;
His the air that cools the earth.
What ! has autumn left to say
Nothing of a Saviour's grace?
Tell me of his smiling face.
Light appears with early dawn,
See his bleeding beauties drawn
Evening with a silent pace,