Poems from Horae Lyricae
EARTH AND HEAVEN.
Hast thou not seen, impatient boy,
Hast thou not read, the solemn truth,
That grey experience writes for giddy youth
On ev’ry mortal joy 1
Pleasure must be dash’d xoith pain:
And yet, with heedless haste,
The thirsty boy repeats the taste, Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again. The rills of pleasure never run sincere:
(Earth has no unpolluted spring:) From the curs’d soil some dang’rous taint they bear; So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting.
In vain we seek a heav’n below the sky;
The world has false but flatt’ring charms;
Its distant joys shew big in our esteem,
But lessen still as they draw near the eye.
In our embrace the visions die;
And, when we grasp the airy forms,
We lose the pleasing dream.
Earth, with her scenes of gay delight.
Is but a landscape rudely drawn,
With glaring colours and false light;
Distance commends it to the sight,
For fools to gaze upon;
But, bring the nauseous daubing nigh,
Coarse and confus’d the hideous figures lie,
Dissolve the pleasure, and offend the eye.
Look up, my soul! pant tow’rd th’ eternal hills;
Those heav’nsare fairer than they seem; There pleasures all sincere glide on in crystal rills;
There not a dreg of guilt defiles,
Nor grief disturbs, the stream.
That Canaan knows no noxious thing,
No cursed soil, no tainted spring, Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting.
DEATH AND ETERNITY.
My thoughts, that often mount the skies,
Go search the world beneath,
Where nature all in ruin lies,
And owns her sov’reign, Death.
The tyrant, how he triumphs here
His trophies spread around!
And heaps of dust and bones appear
Through all the hollow ground.
These sculls, what ghastly figures now!
How loathsome to the eyes!
These are the heads we lately knew
So beauteous and so wise.
But where the souls, those deathless things
That left this dying clay?
My thoughts, now stretch out all your wings,
And trace eternity.
O that unfathomable sea!
Those deeps without a shore,
Where living waters gently play,
Or fiery billows roar.
Thus must we leave the banks of life,
And try this doubtful sea;
Vain. are our groans, and dying strife,
To gain a moment’s stay.
There we shall swim in heav’nly bliss,
Or sink in flaming waves,
While the pale carcase thoughtless lies
Amongst the silent graves.
Some hearty friend shall drop his tear
On our dry bones, and say:
” These once were strong, as mine appear,
And mine must be as they.”
Thus shall our mould’ring members teach
What now our senses learn:
For dust and ashes loudest preach
Man’s infinite concern.
THE ATHEIST’S MISTAKE.
Laugh, ye profane, and swell and burst
With bold impiety;
Yet shall ye live, for ever curs’d,
And seek in vain to die.
The gasp of your expiring breath
Consigns your souls to chains,
By the last agonies of death
Sent down to fiercer pains.
Ye stand upon a dreadful steep,
And all beneath is hell;
Your weighty guilt will sink you deep
Where the old serpent fell.
When iron slumbers bind your flesh,
With strange surprise you’ll find
Immortal vigour spring afresh,
And tortures wake the mind!
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Then you’ll confess, the frightful names
Of plagues, you scorn’d before,
No more shall look like idle dreams,
Like foolish tales no more.
Then shall ye curse that fatal day,
(With flames upon your tongues,)
When you exchang’d your souls away
For vanity and songs.
Behold, the saints rejoice to die,
For heav’n shines round their heads,
And angel-guards, prepar’d to fly,
Attend their fainting beds.
Their longing spirits part, and rise
To their celestial seat;
Above these ruinable skies
They make their last retreat.
Hence, ye profane! I hate your ways,
I walk with pious souls;
There’s a wide difT’rence in our race,
And distant are our goals.
THE WELCOME MESSENGER.
Lord, when we see a saint of thine,
Lie gasping out his breath,
With longing eyes, and looks divine,
Smiling and pleas’ti in death;
How we could e’en contend to lay
Our limbs upon that bed!
We ask thine envoy to convey
Our spirits in his stead.
Our souls are rising on the wing
To venture in his place;
For when grim death has lost his sting,
He has an angel’s face.
Jeans, then purge my crimes away,
‘Tis guilt creates my fears,
Tis guilt gives death its fierce array,
And all the arms it bears.
Oh! if my threat’ning sins were gone,
And death had lost his sting,
I could invite the angel on,
And chide his lazy wing.
Away these interposing days,
And let the lovers meet;
The angel has a cold embrace,
But kind, and soft, and sweet:
I’d leap at once my seventy years,
I’d rush into his arms,
And lose my breath, and all my cares,
Amidst those heav’nly charms.
Joyful I’d lay this body down,
And leave the lifeless clay,
Without a sigh, without a groan,
And stretch and soar away.
THE FAREWELL.
Dead be my heart to all below,
To mortal joys and mortal cares;
To sensual bliss, that charms us so,
Be dark, my eyes, and deaf, my ears.
Here I renounce my carnal taste
Of the fair fruit that sinners prize:
Their paradise shall never waste
One thought of mine, but to despise.
All earthly joys are over-weigh’d
With mountains of vexatious care;
And where’s the sweet that is not laid
A bait to some destructive snare?
Be gone for ever, mortal things!
Thou mighty mole-hill, earth, farewell!
Angels aspire on lofty wings,
And leave the globe for ants to dwell.
Come, heaven, and fill ray vast desires,
My soul pursues the sov’reign good:
She was all made of heav’nly fires,
Nor can she live on meaner food.
LAUNCHING INTO ETERNITY.
It was a brave attempt ’ adventurous he,
Who in the first ship broke the unknown sea:
And, leaving his dear native shores behind,
Trusted his life to the licentious wind.
I see the surging brine: the tempest raves:
He on a pine-plank rides across the waves,
Exulting on the edge of thousand gaping graves:
He steers the winged boat, and shifts the sails,
Conquers the flood, and manages the gales.
Such is the soul that leaves this mortal land, Fearless, when the great Master gives command! Death is the storm: she smiles to hear it roar, And bids the tempest waft her from the shore: Then with a skilful helm she sweeps the seas, And manages the raging storm with ease;” Her faith can govern death;’-’ she spreads her wings Wide to the wind, and as she sails she sings, And loses by degrees the sight of mortal things. As the shores lessen, so her joys arise, The waves roll gentler, and the tempest dies. Now vast eternity fills all her sight, She floats on the broad deep with infinite delight, The seas for ever calm, the skies for ever bright!
HAPPY FRAILTY.
“How meanly dwells th’ immortal mind!
How vile these bodies are!
Why was a clod of earth design’d
T’ enclose a heav’nly star 1
“Weak cottage where our souls reside!
This flesh a tott’ring wall;
With frightful breaches, gaping wide,
The building bends to fall.
“All round it storms of trouble blow,
And waves of sorrow roll;
Cold waves and winter-storms beat through,
And pain the tenant-soul.
“Alas! how frail our state!” said I;
And thus went mourning on,
Till sudden, from the cleaving sky,
A gleam of glory shone.
My soul all felt the glory come,
And breath’d her native air;
Then she remember’d heaven her home,
And she a pris’ner here.
Strait she began to change her key
And joyful in her pains,
She sang the frailty of her clay
In pleasurable strains.
“How weak the pris’n is where I dwell!
Flesh but a tott’ring wall!
The breaches cheerfully foretel,
The house must shortly fall.
“No more, my friends, shall I complain,
Though all my heart-strings ache;
Welcome, disease, and every pain,
That makes the cottage shake.
“Now let the tempest blow all round,
Now swell the surges high,
And beat this house of bondage down,
To let the stranger fly.
“1 have a mansion built above
By the eternal Hand;
And, should the earth’s old basis move,
My heav’nly house must stand.
“Yes, for ’tis there my Saviour reigns,
(I long to see the God,)
And his immortal strength sustains
The courts that cost him blood!”
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Hark, from on high my Saviour calls:
“I come, my Lord, my Love:”
Devotion breaks the prison-walla,
And speeds my last remove.
THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.
When the fierce north wind with his airy forces
Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury;
And the red lightning, with a storm of hail, comes
Rushing amain down:
How the poor sailors stand amaz’d and tremble! While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet, Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters,
Quick to devour them!
Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder,
(If things eternal may be like these earthly,)
Such the dire terror, when the great arch-angel
Shakes the creation:
Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven, Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes; See the graves open, and the bones arising,
Flames all around ’em >.
Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches! Lively bright horror, and amazing anguish, Stare through their eye-lids, while the living worm lies Gnawing within them.
Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings, And the smart twinges, when their eye beholds the Lofty judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance Rolling afore him.
Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver, While devils push them to the pit wide-yawning, Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong
Down to the centre!
Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid
Doleful ideas,) come, arise to Jesus!
How he sits God-like! and the saints around him
Thron’d, yet adoring!
O may I sit there when he comes triumphant,
Dooming the nations! then ascend to glory,
While our hosannas, all along the passage,
Shout the Redeemer!
A PROSPECT OF THE RESURRECTION.
How long shall Death, the tyrant, reign
And triumph o’er the just,
While the rich blood of martyrs slain
Lies mingled with the dust 1
When shall the tedious might be gone!
When will our Lord appear 1
Our fond desires would pray him down
Our love embrace him here.
Let faith arise and climb the hills,
And from afar descry
How distant are his chariot-wheels,
And tell how fast they fly.
Lo, I behold the scatt’ring shades,
The dawn of heav’n appears,
The sweet immortal morning spreads
Its blushes round the spheres.
I see the Lord of Glory come,
And flaming guards around:
The skies divide to make him room,
The trumpet shakes the ground.
I hear the voice,” Ye dead, arise!
And, lo, the graves obey,
And waking saints, with joyful eyes,
Salute th’ expected day.
They leave the dust, and on the wing
Rise to the middle air,
In shining garments meet their king,
And low adore him there.
0 may my humble spirit stand
Amongst them, cloth’d in white!
The meanest place at his right hand
Is infinite delight.
How will our joy and wonder rise,
When our returning King
Shall hear us homeward through the skies
On love’s triumphant wing.
A SIGHT OF HEAVEN IN SICKNESS
Oft have I sat in secret sighs
To feel my flesh decay;
Then groan’d aloud, with frighted eyes,
To view the tott’ring clay.
But I forbid my sorrows now,
Nor dares the flesh complain;
Diseases bring their profits too,
The joy o’ercomes the pain.
My cheerful soul now all the day
Sits waiting here, and sings;
Looks through the ruins of her clay,
And practises her wings.
Faith almost changes into sight,
While from afar she spies
Her fair inheritance in light
Above created skies.
Had but the prison-walls been strong,
And firm without a flaw,
In darkness she had dwelt too long,
And less of glory saw.
But now the everlasting hills
Through ev’ry chink appear,
And something of the joy she feels
While she’s a pris’ner here.
The shines of heav’n rush sweetly in
At all the gaping flaws;
Visions of endless bliss are seen,
And native air she draws.
0 may these walls stand tott’ring still,
The breaches never close,
If I must here in darkness dwell,
And all this glory lose!
Or rather let this flesh decay,
The ruins wider grow,
Till, glad to see th’ enlarged way,
I stretch my pinions through.
FELICITY ABOVE.
No, ’tis in vain to seek for bliss;
For bliss can ne’er be found
Till we arrive where Jesus is,
And tread on heav’nly ground.
There’s nothing round these painted skies,
Or round this dusty clod,
Nothing, my soul, that’s worth thy joys,
Or lovely as thy God.
‘lis heav’n on earth to taste his love,
To feel his quick’ning grace;
And all the heav’n I hope above
Is but to see his face.
Why move my years in slow delay 1
0 God of ages! why]
Let the sphere cleave, and mark my way
To the superior sky.
Dear Sov’reign, break these vital strings
That bind me to my clay;
Take me, Uriel, on thy wings,
And stretch and soar away.
THE PRESENCE OF GOD WORTH DYING FOR:
OR, THE DEATH OF MOSES.
Lord, ’tis an infinite delight
To see thy lovely face,
To dwell whole ages in thy sight,
And feel thy vital rays.
This Gabriel knows, and sings thy name
With rapture on his tongue;
Moses the saint enjoys the same,
And heav’n repeats the song.
While the bright nation sounds thy praise
From each eternal hill,
Sweet odours of exhaling grace
The happy region fill.
Thy love, a sea without a shore,
Spreads life and joy abroad:
0 ’tis a heav’n worth dying for,
To see a smiling God!
Shew me thy face, and I’ll away
From all inferior things;
Speak, Lord, and here I quit my clay,
And stretch my airy wings.
Sweet was (he journey to the sky
The wond’rous prophet tried;
“Climb up the mount,” says God, “and die:”
The prophet climb’d and died.
Softly his fainting head he lay
Upon his Maker’s breast,
His Maker kiss’d his soul away,
And laid his flesh to rest.
In God’s own arms he left the breath
That God’s own spirit gave;
His was the noblest road to death,
And his the sweetest grave.
GOD’S DOMINION AND DECREES.
Keep silence, all created things
And wait your Maker’s nod;
The muse stands trembling while she sings
The honours of her God.
Life, death, and hell, and worlds unknown,
Hang on his firm decree:
He sits on no precarious throne,
Nor borrows leave to be.
Th’ almighty voice bade ancient night
Her endless realms resign;
And, lo, ten thousand globes of light
In fields of azure shine.
Now wisdom, with superior sway,
Guides the vast moving frame,
Whilst all the ranks of beings pay
Deep rev’rence to his name.
He spake: The sun obedient stood,
And held the falling day:
Old Jordan backward drives his flood,
And disappoints the sea.
Lord of the armies of the sky,
He marshals all the stars:
Red comets lift their banners high,
And wide proclaim his wars.
Chain’d to the throne, a volume lies,
With all the fates of men,
With ev’ry angel’s form and size,
Drawn by th’ eternal pen.
His providence unfolds the book,
And makes his counsels shine: ’
Each op’ning leaf, and ev’ry stroke,
Fulfils some deep design.
Here he exalts neglected worms
To scepters and a crown,
Anon the following page he turns,
And treads the monarch down.
Not Gabriel asks the reason why
Nor God, the reason gives;
Nor dares the fav’rite angel pry
Between the folded leaves.
My God, I never lnng’d to see
My fate with curious eyes;
What gloomy lines are writ for me,
Or what bright scenes shall rise.
In thy fair book of Life and grace
May I but find my name,
Recorded, in some humble place,
Beneath my Lord, the Lamb!
THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE.
Far in the heav’ns my God retires
My God, the mark of my desires,
And hides his lovely face.
When he descends within my view,
He charms my reason to pursue,
But leaves it tir’d and fainting in th’ unequal chace.
Or, if I reach unusual height,
Till near his presence brought,
There floods of glory check my flight,
Cramp the bold pinions of my wit,
And all untune my thought;
Plung’d in a sea of light I roll,
Where Wisdom, Justice, Mercy, shines
Infinite rays, in crossing lines, Beat thick confusion on my sight, and overwhelm my soul.
Come to my aid, ye fellow-minds,
And help me reach the throne;
(What single strength in vain designs
United force hath done;
Thus worms may join, and grasp the poles,
Thus atoms fill the sea;)
But the whole race of creature-souls,
Stretch’d to their last extent of thought, plunge and are lost
in thee.
Great God, behold, my reason lies
Adoring, yet my love would rise
On pinions not her own.
Faith shall direct her humble flight,
Through all the trackless seas of light,
To thee, th’ eternal Fair, the infinite Unknown!
TRUE WISDOM.
Pronounce him blest, my muse, whom Wisdom guides In her own path to her own heav’nly seat; Through all the storms his soul securely glides,
Nor can the tempests, nor the tides, That rise and roar around, supplant his steady feet.
Earth, you may let your golden arrows fly,
And seek in vain a passage to his breast,
Spread all your painted toys to court his eye,
He smiles, and sees them vainiy try
To lure his soul aside from her eternal rest.
Our head-strong lusts, like a young fiery horse,
Start, and flee raging in a violent course;
He tames and breaks them, manages and rides ’em,
Checks their career, and turns and guides ’em, And bids his reason bridle their licentious force.
Lord of himself, he rules his wildest thoughts
And boldly acts what calmly he design’d,
While he looks down and pities human faults;
Nor can he think, nor can he find, A plague like reigning passions, and a subject mind
But, oh! ’tis mighty toil to reach this height, To vanquish self is a laborious art; What manly courage to sustain the fight,
To bear the noble pain, and part With those dear charming tempters rooted in the heart
‘Tis-hard to stand when all the passions move,
Hard to awake the eye that passion blinds,
To rend and tear out this unhappy love,
That clings so close about our minds,
And where th’ enchanted soul so sweet a poison finds.
Hard; but it may be done. Come, heav’nly fire,
Home to my breast, and with one pow’rful ray
Melt off my lusts, my fetters: I can bear
A while to be a tenant here, But not be chain’d and prison’d in a cage of clay.
Heav’n is my home and I must use my wings;
Sublime above the globe my flight aspires:
I have a soul was made to pity kings,
And all their little glittering things:
I have a soul was made for infinite desires.
Loos’d from the earth, my heart is upward flown; Farewell, my friends, and all that once was mine; Now, should you fix my feet on Caesar’s throne,
Crown me, and call the world my own, The gold that binds my brows oould ne’er my soul confine
I am the Lord’s and Jesus is my love;
He, the dear God, shall fill my vast desire,
My flesh below; yet I can dwell above,
And nearer to my Saviour move; There all my soul shall centre, all my pow’rs conspire.
Thus I with angels live; thus, half divine,
1 sit on high, nor mind inferior joys:
Fill’d with his love, I feel that God is mine,
His glory is my gTeat design, That everlasting project all my thoughts employs.
CHRIST DYING, RISING, AND REIGNING.
He dies! the heav’nly Lover dies!
The tidings strike a doleful sound
On my poor heart-strings: Deep he lies
In the cold caverns of the ground!
Come, saints, and drop a tear or two
On the dear bosom of your God;
He sheds a thousand drops for you,
A thousand drops of richer blood!
Here’s love and grief beyond degree,
The Lord of glory dies for men!
But, lo, what sudden joys I see!
Jesus the dead revives again.
The rising God forsakes the tomb,
Up to his Father’s court he flies;
Cherubic legions guard him home
And shout him welcome to the skies.
Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell
How high our great deliv’rer reigns;
Sing how he spoil’d the hosts of hell,
And led the monster Death in chains.
Say, ‘• Live for ever, wond’rous King!
Bom to redeem, and strong to save!”
Then ask the monster, “Where’s his sting?
“And where’s thy victory, boasting grave 1”
THE SONG OF ANGELS ABOVE.
Earth has detain’d me prisoner long,
And I’m grown weary now:
My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue,
There’s nothing here for you.
Tir’d in my thoughts, I stretch me down,
And upward glance mine eyes;
Upward, my Father, to thy throne,
And to my native skies.
There the dear Man, my Saviour, sits,
The God, how bright he shines!
And scatters infinite delights
On all the happy minds.
Seraphs, with elevated strains,
Circle the throne around,
And move and charm the starry plains
With an immortal sound.
Jesus, the Lord, their harps employs,
Jesus, my love, they sing;
Jesus, the name of both our joys,
Sounds sweet from ev’ry string.
Hark, how, beyond the narrow bounds
Of time and space, they run,
And speak, in most majestic sounds,
The godhead of the Son.
How on the Father’s breast he lay,
The darling of his soul,
Infinite years before the day
Or heavens began to roll.
And now they sink the lofty tone,
And gentler notes they play,
And bring th’ eternal Godhead down
To dwell in humble clay.
O sacred beauties of the Man!
(The God resides within;)
His flesh all pure, without a stain,
His soul without a sin.
Then, how he look’d and how he smil’d,
What wond’rous things he said!
Sweet cherubs, stay, dwell here a while,
And tell what Jesus did.
At his command the blind awake
And feel the gladsome rays;
He bids the dumb attempt to speak,
They try their tongues in praise.
He shed a thousand blessings round
Where’er he turn’d his eye;
He spoke, and, at the sov’reign sound,
The hellish legions fly.
Thus, while, with unambitious strife,
Th’ ethereal minstrels rove
Through all the labours of his life,
And wonders of his love:
In the full choir a broken string
Groans with a strange surprise;
The rest in silence mourn their King,
That bleeds, and loves, and dies.
Seraph and saint, with dropping wings,
Cease their harmonious breath;
No blooming trees, nor bubbling springs,
While Jesus sleeps in death.
Then all at once to living strains
They summon every chord,
Break up the tomb, and burst his chains,
And shew their rising Lord.
Around, the flaming army throngs,
To guard him to the skies,
With loud hosannas on their tongues,
And triumph in their eyes.
In awful state the conqu’ring God
Ascends his shining throne
While tuneful angels sound abroad
The vict’ries he has won.
Now let me rise, and join their song,
And be an angel too;
My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue,
Here’s joyful work for you.
I would begin the music here,
And so my soul should rise
Oh for some heavenly notes, to bear
My spirit to the skies!
There, ye that love my Saviour, sit,
There I would fair, have pifece,
Among your thrones, or at your feet,
So I might see his face.
I am confin’d to earth no more,
But mount in haste above,
To bless the God that I adore,
And sino- the Man I love.
TWO HAPPY RIVALS, DEVOTION AND THE
MUSE.
Wild as the lightning, various as the n
Roves my Pindaric song”:
Here she glows, like burning noon,
In fiercest flames, and here she plays
Gentle as star-beams on the midnight seas;
Now in a smiling angel’s form,
Anon she rides upon the storm,
Loud as the noisy thunder, as a deluge strong,
Are my thoughts and wishes free,
And know no number nor degree!
Such is the muse: Lo she disdains
The links and chains, Measures and rules of vulgar strains, And o’er the laws of harmony a sov’reign queen she reigns!
If she roves
By streams or proves,
Tuning her pleasures or her pains,
My passion keeps her still in sight,
My passion holds an equal flight
Through love’s or natur;’s wide campaigns.
If, with bold attempt she sings
Of the biggest mortal things,
Tott’ring thrones and nations slain;
Or breaks the fleets of warring kings,
While thunders roar
From shore to shore,
My soul sits fast upon her wings,
And sweeps the crimson surge, or scours the purp e plain;
Still I attend her, as she flies, Round the broad globe, and all beneath the skies.
But, when from the meridian star
Long streaks of glory shine,
And heav’n invites her from afar,
She takes the hint, she knows the sign,
The muse ascends her heavenly car,
And climbs the steepy path and means the throne divine:
Then she leaves my flutt’ring mind,
Clogg’d with clay and unrefin’d;
Lengths of distance far behind,
Virtue lags with heavy wheel;
Faith has wings but cannot rise,
Cannot rise, swift and high,
As the winged numbers flyr,
And faint Devotion panting lies
Half way th’ ethereal hill.
O why is piety so weak,
And yet the muse so strong 1
When shall these hateful fetters break
That have confin’d me long 1
Inward a glowing heat I feel,
A spark of heav’nly day;
But earthly vapours damp my zeal,
And heavy flesh drags me the downward way.
Faint are the efforts of my will,
And mortal passion charms my soul astray.
Shine, thou sweet hour of dear release,
Shine from the sky,
And call me high,
To mingle with the choirs of glory and of bliss.
Devotion there begins the flight,
Awakes the song, and guides the way;
There love and zeal, divine and bright,
Trace out new regions in the world of light,
And scarce the boldest muse can follow or obey.
I’m in a dream, and fancy reigns,
She spreads her gay delusive scenes;
Or is the vision true?
Behold Religion on her throne,
In awful state descending- down,
And her dominions vast and bright within my saacious view.
She smiles, and with a courteous hand
She beckons me away; I feel mine airy pow’rs loose from the cumb’rotis clay, And with a joyful haste obey
Religion’s high command.
What lengths, and heights, and depths, unknown
Broad fields with blooming glory sown,
And seas, and skies, and stars, her own,
In an unmeasur’d sphere!
What heav’ns of joy, and light serene,
Which nor the rolling sun has seen,
Where nor the roving- Muse has been,
That greater traveller!
A long farewell to all below,
Farewell to all that sese can shew,
To golden scenes, and flow’ry fields,
To all the worlds that fancy builds,
And all that poets know.
Now the swift transports of the mind
Leave the fluttering muse behind,
A thousand loose Pindaric plumes fly scattering down the
wind.
Among the clouds I lose my breath,
The rapture grows too strong:
The feeble pow’rs that nature gave
Faint and” drop downward to the grave;
Receive their fall, thou treasurer of death;
I will no more demand my tongue,
Till the gross organ, well refin’d,
Can trace the boundless flights of an unetter’d mind,
And raise an equal song!
COME, LORD JESUS.
When shall thy lovely face be seen?
When shall our eyes behold our God?
What lengths of distance lie between,
And hills of guilt. A heavy load!
Our months are ages of delay,
And slowly every minute wears:
Fly, winged time, and roll away
These tedious rounds of” sluggish years.
Ye heav’nly gates, loose all your chains,
Let the eternal pillars bow;
Bles’, Saviour, cleave the starry plains,
And make the crystal mountains flow.
Hark, how thy saints unite their cries,
And pray and wait the general doom:
Come, thou, the soul of all our joys,
Thou, 1he desire of nations, come.
Put thy bright robes of triumph on,
And bless our eyes, and bless our ears,
Thou absent Love, thou dear unknown,
Thou fairest of ten thousand fairs.
Our heart-strings groan with deep complaint,
Our flesh lies panting, Lord, for thee,
And every limb, and every joint,
Stretches for immortality.
Our spirits shake the’r eager wings,
And burn to meet thy flying throne:
We rise away from mortal things
T’ attend thy shining chariot down.
Now let our cheerful eyes survey
The blazing earth and melting hills,
And smile to see the lightnings play,
And flash along before thy wheels.
0 for a shout of violent joys
To join the trumpet’s thund’ring sound!
The angel herald shakes the skies,
Awakes the graves, and tears the ground.
Ye slumb’ring saints, a heav’nly host
Stands waiting at your gaping tombs;
Let every sacred sleeping dust
Leap into life, for Jesus comes.
Jesus, the God of might and love,
New moulds our limbs of cumb’rous clay;
Quick as seraphic flames we move,
Active, and young, and fair, as they.
Our airy feet with unknown flight,
Swift as the motions of desire,
Run up the hills of heav’nly light,
And leave the welt’ring world in fire.
A SIGHT OF CHRIST.
Angels of light, your God and King surround
With noble songs; in his exalted flesh
He claims your worship; while his saints on earth
Bless their Redeemer-God with humble tongues.
Angels, with lofty honours crown his head;
We, bowing at his feet by faith, may feel
His distant influence, and confess his love.
Once I beheld his face, when beams divine Broke from his eye-lids, and unusual light Wrapt me at once in glory and surprise. My joyful heart, high-leaping in my breast, With transport cried, “This is the Christ of God!” Then threw my arms around in sweet embrace, And clasp’d,and bow’d, adoring low, till I was lost in him.
While he appears, no other charms can hold
Or draw my soul, asham’d of former things,
Which no remembrance now deserve, or name,
Though with contempt; best in oblivion hid.
But the bright shine and presence soon withdrew;
I sought him whom I love, but found him not;
I felt his absence; and with strongest cries
Proclaim’d, “Where Jesus is not, all is vain!”
Whether I hold him with a full delight,
Or seek him panting with extreme desire,
‘Tis he aldne can please my wond’ring soul;
To hold or seek him is my only choice.
If he refrain on me to cast his eye
Down from his palace, nor my longing soul
“With upward look can spy my dearest Lord
Through his blue pavement, I’ll behold him still
With sweet reflection, on the peaceful cross,
All in his blood and anguish groaning deep
Gasping and dying there!
This sight I ne’er can lose, by it I live:
A quick’ning virtue, from his death inspired,
Is life and breath to me: his flesh my food;
His vital blood I drink, and hence my strength.
I live, I’m strong, and now eternal life
Beats quick within my breast; my vigorous mind
Spurns the dull earth, and on her fiery wings
Reaches the mount of purposes divine,
Counsels of peace betwixt th’ almighty Three,
Conceiv’d at once, and sign’d without debate,
In perfect union of th’ eternal mind.
With vast amaze I see th’ unfathom’d thoughts,
Infinite schemes, and infinite designs,
Of God’s own heart, in which he ever rests.
Eternity lies open to my view;
Here the beginning and the end of all
I can discover; Christ the end of all,
And Christ the great beginning; he my head,
My God, my glory, and my all in all.
O that the day, the joyful day, were come,
When the first Adam from his ancient dust,
Crown’d with new honours, shall revive, and see
Jesus his son and lord; while shouting saints
Surround their King,, and God’s eternal Son
Shines in the midst i.ut with surperior beams,
And like himself; then the mysterious Word,
Long hid behind the letter, shall appear
All spirit and life, and in the fullest light
Stand forth to public view; and there disclose
His Father’s sacred works, and wond’rous ways:
Then wisdom, righteousness, and grace divine,
Through all the infinite transactions past,
Inwrought and shining, shall with double blaze
Strike our astonish’d eyes, and ever reign,
Admir’d and glorious, in triui iphant light.
Death, and the tempter, and the man of sin,
Now at the bar arraign’d, in judgment rast,
Shall vex the saints no more: but perfect love
And loudest praises perfect joy create,
While ever circling years maintain the blissful state