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CXXX.

My God, permit me not to be
A stranger to myself and Thee;
Amidst a thousand thoughts I rove,
Forgetful of my highest love,
Why should my passions mix with earth,
And thus debase my heavenly birth?
Why should I cleave to things below,
And let my God, my Saviour, go?
Call me away from flesh and sense,
One sov'reign word can draw me thence:
I would obey the voice divine,
And all inferior joys resign.
Be earth with all her scenes withdrawn,
Let noise and vanity be gone;
In secret silence of the mind
My God, and there my Heaven I find.

CXXXI.

Do not I love Thee, O my Lord ?

Behold my heart, and see; And turn each hateful idol out,

Which dares to rival Thee.

Do not I love Thee from

ту

soul? Then let me nothing love! Dead be my heart to every joy,

When Jesus cannot move.

Is not thy Name melodious still

To mine attentive ear? Doth not each pulse with pleasure bound

My Saviour's voice to hear?

Hast Thou a lamb in all thy flock,

I would disdain to feed ?
Hast thou a foe, before whose face

I fear thy cause to plead ?

Would not my ardent spirit vie

With angels round the throne, To execute thy sacred will,

And make thy glory known?

pour

Would not my

heart forth its blood In honour of thy Name, And challenge the cold hand of death

To damp th' immortal flame?
Thou know'st I love Thee, dearest Lord !

But, oh! I long to soar,
Far from the sphere of mortal joys,

And learn to love Thee more.

CXXXII.

A SAINT! Oh, would that I could claim
The privileged, the honoured name,
And confidently take my stand,
Though lowest, in the saintly band !

Would, though it were in scorn applied,
That term the test of truth could bide!
Like kingly salutations given
In mockery to the King of Heaven.

A Saint! And what imports the name Thus bandied in derision's game? “Holy, and separate from sin; To good, nay, even to God akin."

Is such the meaning of a name,
From which a Christian shrinks with shame?
Yes, dazzled with the glorious sight,
He owns his crown is all too bright.

And ill might son of Adam dare
Alone such honour's weight to bear ;
But fearlessly he takes the load,
United to the Son of God.

A Saint! Oh! give me but some sign,
Some seal to prove the title mine,
And warmer thanks Thou shalt command,
Than bringing kingdoms in thine hand.

Oh! for an interest in that name,
When hell shall ope its jaws of flame,
And scorners to their doom be hurled,
While scorned saints shall judge the world!

How shall the name of saints be prized,
Tho' now neglected and despised,
When truth shall witness to the word,
That none but saints shall see the Lord !

CXXXIII.

My stock lies dead, and no increase

Doth my dull husbandry improve : O let Thy graces,

without

cease, Drop from above.

If still the sun should hide His face,

Thy house would but a dungeon prove, Thy works, nights' captives : 0 let grace

Drop from above.

The dew doth every morning fall;

And shall the dew outstrip thy dove ? The dew, for which grass cannot call,

Drops from above.

Death is still working like a mole,

And digs my grave at each remove: Let grace work too, and on my soul

Drop from above.

Sin is still hammering my heart,

Unto a hardness void of love :
Let suppl'ing grace, to cross his art,

Drop from above.

O come! for Thou dost know the way;

Or, if to me Thou wilt not move, Remove me where I need not say

Drop from above !

CXXXIV

As o'er the past my memory strays,

Why heaves the secret sigh? 'Tis that I mourn departed days,

Still unprepared to die.

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