The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree;

And seem, by thy sweet bounty made,
For those who follow thee.

There if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

There like the nightingale she pours

Her solitary lays;
Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

Author and guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light divine,

And (all harmonious names in one)
My Saviour, thou art mine!

What thanks I owe thee, and what love,

A boundless, endless store,
Shall echo through the realms above

When time shall be no more.


To tell the Saviour all my wants, How pleasing is the task!
Nor less to praise him when he grants Beyond what I can ask.

My labouring spirit vainly seeks

To tell but half the joy;
With how much tenderness he speaks,

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;
Such honour may he give to you,

For such have all his saints.


Sometimes a light surprises
The Christian while he sings;It is the Lord who rises
With healing in his wings:

When comforts are declining, He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining, To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation,

We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation,

And find it ever new;
Set free from present sorrow,

We cheerfully can say,
E'en let the unknown to-morrow1

Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing,

But he will bear us through;
Who gives the lilies clothing,

Will clothe his people too;
Beneath the spreading heavens

No creature but is fed;
And he who feeds the ravens

Will give his children bread.

Though vine nor fig tree neither2

Their wonted fruit shall bear,
Though all the field should wither,

Nor flocks nor herds be there:
Yet God the same abiding,

His praise shall tune my voice;
For, while in him confiding,

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;
And when God the Spirit brings The word of promise near:
Beauties too, in holiness, Still delighted I perceive;
Nor have words that can express The joys thy precepts give.

Clothed in sanctity and grace,

How sweet it is to see
Those who love thee as they pass,

Or when they wait on thee!
Pleasant too, to sit and tell

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,
All his ways are pleasantness,1

And all his paths are peace.
Nothing Jesus did or spoke, Henceforth let me ever slight;
For I love his easy yoke,2

And find his burden light.

i Prov. iii. 17. 2 Matt. xi. 30.

Voia III. 5


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,
His joys can never reach a close.

Adorn'd with glory from on high,
Salvation shines upon his face;His robe is of the ethereal dye,
His steps are dignity and grace.

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,
Ordain'd to fill a throne above;God gives him all he can bestow,
His kingdom of eternal love!

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!

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