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The calm retreat, the silent shade,
And seem, by thy sweet bounty made,
There if thy Spirit touch the soul,
There like the nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays;
Nor thirsts for human praise.
Author and guardian of my life,
And (all harmonious names in one)
What thanks I owe thee, and what love,
A boundless, endless store,
When time shall be no more.
XLVII. THE HIDDEN LIFE.
To tell the Saviour all my wants, How pleasing is the task!
My labouring spirit vainly seeks
To tell but half the joy;
And helps me to reply.
Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare; Like precious wines their taste they lose,
Exposed to open air.
But this with boldness I proclaim,
Nor care if thousands hear, Sweet is the ointment of his name,
Not life is half so dear.
And can you frown, my former friends, Who knew what once I was; And blame the song that thus commends The Man who bore the cross?
Trust me, I draw the likeness true,
And not as fancy paints;
For such have all his saints.
XLVIII. JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING.
Sometimes a light surprises
When comforts are declining, He grants the soul again
In holy contemplation,
We sweetly then pursue
And find it ever new;
We cheerfully can say,
Bring with it what it may.
It can bring with it nothing,
But he will bear us through;
Will clothe his people too;
No creature but is fed;
Will give his children bread.
Though vine nor fig tree neither2
Their wonted fruit shall bear,
Nor flocks nor herds be there:
His praise shall tune my voice;
I cannot but rejoice. 1 Matthew vi. 34. 2 Habakkuk iii. 17,18. XLIX. TRUE PLEASURES.
Lord, my soul with pleasure springs When Jesus' name I hear;
Clothed in sanctity and grace,
How sweet it is to see
Or when they wait on thee!
What we owe to love divine; Till our bosoms grateful swell,
And eyes begin to shine.
Those the comforts I possess, Which God shall still increase,
And all his paths are peace.
And find his burden light.
i Prov. iii. 17. 2 Matt. xi. 30.
Voia III. 5
L. THE CHRISTIAN.
Honour and happiness unite To make the Christian's name a praise; How fair the scene, how clear the light, That fills the remnant of his days!
A kingly character he bears,
No change his priestly office knows;Unfading is the crown he wears,
Adorn'd with glory from on high,
Inferior honours he disdains,
Nor stoops to take applause from earth; The King of kings himself maintains
The expenses of his heavenly birth.
The noblest creature seen below,
My soul is ravish'd at the thought!
Methinks from earth I see him rise! Angels congratulate his lot,
And shout him welcome to the skies!