Than

65. PRAISE FOR FAITH.

F all the gifts thine hand bestows,
Thou Giver of all good!

Not heaven itself a richer knows

Faith too, the blood-receiving grace,
From the fame hand we gain;
Elfe, fweetly as it fuits our cafe,
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.

66. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE.

LMIGHTY King! whose wondrous hand Supports the weight of sea and land, Whose grace is fuch a boundless store, No heart shall break that fighs for more.

Thy providence supplies my food,
And 'tis thy bleffing makes it good;
My foul is nourish'd by thy word,
Let foul 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 foul for ever lives.

Either his hand preferves from pain,
Or, if I feel it, heals again;

From Satan's malice fhields my breast,
Or overrules it for the best.

Forgive the fong that falls fo low
Beneath the gratitude I owe!

It means thy praife, however poor,
An angel's fong can do no more.

67. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL

TIMES.

INTER has a joy for me,

While the Saviour's charms I read,
Lowly, meek, from blemish free,
In the fnowdrop's penfive head.

Spring returns, and brings along
Life-invigorating funs:

Hark! the turtle's plaintive fong

Seems to speak his dying groans!

Summer has a thousand charms,
All expreffive of his worth;

'Tis his fun that lights and warms,
His the air that cools the earth.

What! has Autumn left to fay
Nothing of a Saviour's grace?
Yes, the beams of milder day
Tell me of his smiling face.

Light appears with early dawn,
While the fun makes hafte to rife;
See his bleeding beauties drawn
On the blushes of the skies.

Evening with a filent pace,
Slowly moving in the west,
Shows an emblem of his grace,
Points to an eternal rest.

FRAGMENT OF A HYMN.

O Jefus, the Crown of my Hope,
My foul is in hafte to be gone:
O bear me, ye cherubims, up,
And waft me away to his throne!

My Saviour, whom abfent I love,
Whom not having feen I adore;
Whose name is exalted above
All glory, dominion, and power.

TO THE REVEREND MR. NEWTON.

An Invitation into the Country.

HE swallows in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing,
And bees in hives as idly wait

The call of early Spring.

The keeneft froft that binds the stream,
The wildeft wind that blows,
Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,
Secure of their repose.

But man, all feeling and awake,
The gloomy scene surveys;

With prefent ills his heart must ache,
And
pant for brighter days.

Old Winter, halting o'er the mead,
Bids me and Mary mourn;
But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head,
And whispers your return.

Then April, with her fifter May,

Shall chafe him from the bowers,

And weave fresh garlands every day,
To crown the fmiling hours.

And if a tear, that speaks regret

Of happier times, appear,

A glimpse of joy, that we have met,
Shall shine, and dry the tear.

CATHARINA.

Addreffed to Mifs Stapleton, (now Mrs. Courtney.)

HE came-she is gone-we have met—
And meet perhaps never again;

The fun of that moment is fet,
And seems to have rifen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream—
(So vanishes pleasure, alas!)
But has left a regret and esteem
That will not so suddenly pass.

The last evening ramble we made,
Catharina, Maria, and I,
Our progress was often delay'd

By the nightingale warbling nigh.

We paused under many a tree,

And much she was charm'd with a tone,

Lefs fweet to Maria and me,

Who fo lately had witness'd her own.

My numbers that day fhe had fung,

And

gave them a grace fo divine,

As only her musical tongue

Could infufe into numbers of mine.