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No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
No conflict yet his faith employs,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
The strength and peace his soul enjoys.
But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
And comforts sinking day by ăy.
What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring,
Proves but a brook that glides away.
When Gideon arm'd his numerous host,
The Lord soon made his numbers less;
And said, “Lest Israel vainly boast,”
“My arm procured me this success.’”
Thus will he bring our spirits down,
And draw our ebbing comforts low,
That, saved by grace, but not our own,
We may not claim the praise we owe.
LVIII. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS,
O GoD, whose favourable eye
_The sin-sick soul revives,
Holy and heavenly is the joy
Thy shining presence gives.
Not such as hypocrites suppose,
Who with a graceless heart
Taste not of thee, but drink a dose,
Prepared by Satan's art.
Intoxicating joys are theirs,
Who, while they boast their light,
And seem to soar above the stars,
Are plunging into night.
Lull'd in a soft and fatal sleep,
They sin, and 3. rejoice;
Were they indeed the Saviour's sheep,
Would they not hear his voice?
Be mine the comforts that reclaim
The soul from Satan's power;
That make me blush for what I am,
And hate my sin the more.
'Tis joy enough, my All in All,
At thy dear feet to lie;
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly.
LIX: A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH,
THE Lord receives his highest praise
From humble minds and hearts sincere;
While all the loud professor says
Offends the righteous Judge's ear.
To walk as children of the day,
To mark the precepts’ holy light,
To wage the warfare, watch, and pray,
Show who are pleasing in his sight.
Not words alone it cost the Lord,
To purchase pardon for his own;
Nor will a soul, by grace restored,
Return the Saviour words alone.
With golden bells, the priestly vest,
And rich o: border'd round,”
The need of holiness express'd,
And call'd for fruit, as well as sound.
Easy, indeed, it were to reach
A mansion in the courts above,
If swelling words and fluent speech
Might serve, instead of faith and love.
But none shall gain the blissful place,
Or God's unclouded glory see,
Who talks of free and sovereign grace,
Unless that grace has made him free!
Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace,
In this licentious day;
And while they boast they see thy face,
They turn their own away.
Thy book displays a gracious light
That can the blind restore;
But these are dazzled by the sight,
And blinded still the more.
The pardon, such presume upon,
They do not beg, but steal;
And when they plead it at thy throne,
Oh! where's the Spirit's seal?
Was it for this, yelawless tribe,
The dear Redeemer bled?
Is this the grace the saints imbibe
From Christ the living head?
Ah, Lord, we 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;
But still to wait at wisdom's door
Till mercy calls usin.
WHAT thousands never knew the road!
What thousands hate it when 'tis known l
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;
By that my willing steps ascend,
Pleased with a journey to the sky.
No more I ask, or hope to find,
Delight or happiness below;
Sorrow may well possess the mind
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,
Contented lick your native dust,
But God shall fight with all his storms
Against the idol of your trust.
To keep the lamp alive,
With oil we fill the bowl;
'Tis water makes the willow thrive,
And grace that feeds the soul.
The Lord's unsparing hand
Supplies the living stream;
It is not at our own command,
But still derived from him.
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
His strength in God alone;
And e'en an angel would be weak,
Who trusted in his own.
Retreat beneath his wings,
And in his grace confide;
This more exalts the King of kings%
Than all your works beside.
In Jesus is our store,
Grace issues from his throne;
Whoever says, “I want no more,"
Confesses he has none.
Matthew xxvi. 33. f John vi. 29
GRACE, triumphant in the throne,
Scorns a rival, reigns alone;
Come and bow beneath her sway,
Cast your idol works .
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,
Influences all his powers;
Jesus is a slighted name,
Self-advancement all his aim:
But when God the J*. shall come,
To pronounce the final doom,
Then for rocks and hills to hide
All his works and all his pride 1
Still the boasting heart replies,
What! the worthy and the wise,
Friends to temperance and peace,
Have not these a righteousness?
Banish every vain pretence,
Built on human excellence;
Perish everything in man,
But the grace that never can.
Of all the gifts thine hand bestows,
Thou Giver of all good!
Not heaven itself a richer knows
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,
And weak, as a distemper'd eye,
Shut out the view of thee.
Blind to the merits of thy Son,
What misery we endure!
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.
LxW. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE.
ALMIGHTY King ! whose wondrous hand
Supports the weight of sea and land,
Whose grace is such a boundless store,
No heart shall break that sighs for more.
Thy providence supplies my food,
And 'tis thy blessing makes it good;
My soul is nourish’d by thy word,
Let soul and body praise the Lord.
My streams of outward comfort came
From him who built this earthly frame:
Whate'er I want his bounty gives,
By whom my soul for ever lives.
Either his hand preserves from pain,
Or, if I feel it, heals again;
From Satan's malice shields my breast,
Or overrules it for the best.
Forgive the song that falls so low
Beneath the gratitude I owe
It means thy praise, however poor;
An angel's song can do no more.
LXVI. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL Times,
WINTER has a joy for me,
While the Saviour's charms I read,
Lowly, meek, from blemish free,
In the snowdrop's pensive head.
Light appears with early dawn,
hile the sun makes haste to rise;
See his bleeding beauties drawn
On the blushes of the skies.
Evening with a silent pace,
Slowly moving in the west,
Shows an emblem of his grace,
Points to an eternal rest.