Irksome as they seem, refuse;
Lessons of a God's inspiring,
Neither time nor place impedes ;
From our wishing and desiring,
Our unhappiness proceeds.
Night! how I love thy silent shades, My spirits they compose ;
The bliss of heav'n my soul pervades,
In spite of all my woes.
While sleep instils her poppy dews
In 'ev'ry slumb'ring eye,
I watch to meditate and muse,
In blest tranquillity.
And when I feel a God immense
Familiarly impart,
With ev'ry proof he can dispense,
His favor to my heart.
My native meanness I lament,
Though most divinely fill'd
With all th' ineffable content,
That Deity can yield.
His purpose and his course he keeps ;
Treads all my reas'nings down;
Commands me out of nature's deeps,
And hides me in his own.
When in the dust, its proper place,
Our pride of heart we lay,
'Tis then, a deluge of his grace
Bears all our sins away.
Thou, whom I serve, and whose I am,
Whose influence from on high
Refines, and still refines my flame,
And makes my fetters fly.
How wretched is the creature's state, Who thwarts thy gracious pow'r ; Crush'd under sin's enormous weight, Increasing ev'ry hour!
The night, when pass'd entire with thee
How luminous and clear!
Then sleep has no delights for me,
Lest Thou shouldst disappear.
My Saviour! occupy me still
In this secure recess;
Let Reason slumber if she will,
My joy shall not be less :
Let Reason slumber out the night ;
But if Thou deign to make
My soul th'abode of truth and light,
Ah, keep my heart awake!·
Long plunged in sorrow, I resign
My soul to that dear hand of thine,
Without reserve or fear;
That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes,
Or into smiles of glad surprise
Transform the falling tear.
My sole possession is thy love;
In earth beneath, or heav'n above,
I have no other store;
And, though with fervent suit I pray,
And importune thee night and day,
I ask thee nothing more.
My rapid hours pursue the course Prescribed them by love's sweetest force!
And I, thy sov'reign Will,
Without a wish t'escape my doom;
Though still a suff'rer from the womb,
And doom'd to suffer still.
By thy command, where'er I stray,
Sorrow attends me all my way,
A never-failing friend;
And if my suff'rings may augment
Thy praise, behold me well content-
Let sorrow still attend?
It costs me no regret, that she,
Who follow'd Christ, should follow me.
And though, where'er she goes,
Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet,
I love her, and extract a sweet
From all my bitter woes.
Adieu! ye vain delights of earth;
Insipid sports, and childish mirth,
I taste no sweets in you;
Unknown delights are in the Cross,
All joy beside, to me is dross;
And Jesus thought so too.
The Cross! Oh ravishment and bliss-
How grateful e'en its anguish is;
Its bitterness, how sweet!
There ev'ry sense, and all the mind
In all her faculties refined,
Tastes happiness complete.
Souls once enabled to disdain
Base sublunary joys, maintain
Their dignity secure ;
The fever of desire is pass'd,
And Love has all its genuine taste,
Is delicate and pure.
Self-love no grace in sorrow sees,
Consults her own peculiar ease ;
'Tis all the bliss she knows ;
But nobler aims true Love employ;
In self-denial is her joy,
In suff'ring, her repose.
Sorrow, and Love, go side by side;
Nor height, nor depth, can e'er divide
Their heav'n-appointed bands;
Those dear associates still are one,
Nor, till the race of life is run,
Disjoin their wedded hands.
Jesus, avenger of our fall,
Thou faithful lover above all,
The cross has ever borne!
Oh tell me,-life is in thy voice-
How much afflictions were thy choice,
And sloth and ease thy scorn!
Thy choice and mine shall be the same Inspirer of that holy flame,
Which must for ever blaze!
To take the cross and follow thee,
Where love and duty lead, shall be
My portion and my praise.
Sweet tenants of this grove!
Who sing, without design,
A song of artless love,
In unison with mine:
These echoing shades return
Full many a note of ours,
That wise ones cannot learn,
With all their boasted pow'rs.
O thou! whose sacred charms
These hearts so seldom love,
Although thy beauty warms
And blesses all above;
How slow are human things
To choose their happiest lot!
All-glorious King of kings,
Say, why we love thee not?
This heart, that cannot rest,
Shall thine for ever prove;
Though bleeding and distress'd,
Yet joyful in thy love:
'Tis happy, though it breaks
Beneath thy chast'ning hand;
And speechless, yet it speaks
What thou canst understand.
Still, still, without ceasing,
I feel it increasing,
This fervour of holy desire;
And often exclaim,
Let me die in the flame
Of a love that can never expire!
Had I words to explain
What she must sustain,
Who dies to the world and its ways
How joy and affright,
Distress and delight,
Alternately chequer her days;
Thou, sweetly severe !
I would make thee appear,
In all thou art pleased to award,
Not more in the sweet,
Than the bitter I meet,
-My tender and merciful Lord.
This faith in the dark,
Pursuing its mark
Through many sharp trials of love,
Is the sorrowful waste,
That is to be pass'd
In the way to the Canaan above.
THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT.
Source of Love, my brighter Sun,
Thou alone my comfort art;
See, my race is almost run ;
Hast thou left this trembling heart?
In my youth, thy charming eyes
Drew me from the ways of men ;
Then I drank unmingled joys;
Frown of thine saw never then.
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