Poor sportive fools! how soon does man Away! dive deep into the brine, ; My soul her bondage ill endures The incomprehensible of Love. Ye Birds! that lessen as ye fly, How blest, and how secure am I, THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED IN THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. I SUFFER fruitless anguish day by day, The more I strive the more I am withstood; My spirit finds no rest, performs no good, My happy hours, like shadows, pass'd away; What profit is there in incessant tears? Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead; Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe, Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed. Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive ; Hell seems to lose its less tremendous fires. Has Hell a pain I would not gladly bear, Is this the joy so promised?-this the love, Why did I see them? had I still remain'd Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires, Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain? Dubious and uninform'd, my soul inquires, Ought she to cherish, or shake off her pain? Suffering, I suffer not; sincerely love, Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame; I search my heart, and not a wish is there, A sea of doubts, and self the source of all. I ask not life, nor do I wish to die; And if thine hand accomplish not my cure, I groan in chains, yet want not a release ; Am sick, and know not the distemper'd part; Am just as void of purpose as of peace; Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope nor heart. My claim to life, though sought with earnest care, My soul is a forgotten thing; she sinks, Sinks and is lost without a wish to rise; Language affords not my distress a name,- When Love departs, a chaos wide and vast, And dark as Hell is open'd in the soul; Then tell me why these ages of delay ? Oh Love, all excellent, once more appear, Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day, From this abyss of night, these floods of fear! No Love is angry, will not now endure A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint; He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure; Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and faint. He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow; He flies, he reappears, and wounds again ;— Was ever heart that loved thee treated so? Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain. And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind, Thou didst distinguish and vouchsafe to choose, Before thy laws were written in my mind, While yet the world had all my thoughts and views? Now leave me? when, enamour'd of thy laws, What can have caused the change which I deplore? To draw, and place it's picture in thy view. 'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine; And loves, and seeks thee, for Thyself alone. Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare; Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust; It loves thec, even when least inclined to spare Its tenderest feelings, and avows thee just. 8.0.--5. X 'Tis all thine own; my spirit is so too, Love, holy Love! and art thou not severe, From all self-bias, generous and unmix'd. But I am silent, seeing what I see,— And fear, with cause, that I am self-deceived; Live Thou, and reign for ever, glorious Lord! Slay me, my God, and I applaud the blow. WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NIGHT SEASON. SLEEP at last has fled these eyes, Nor do I regret his flight, More alert my spirits rise, And my heart is free and light. Nature silent all around, Not a single witness near; God as soon as sought is found, And the flame of love burns clear. Interruption, all day long, Checks the current of my joys; Undisturb'd I muse all night, |