17. THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE
OVE! if thy destined sacrifice am I, Come, flay thy victim, and prepare thy
Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die The death which every foul that lives defires!
I watch my hours, and see them fleet away; The time is long that I have languish'd here; Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey, With no reluctance, cheerful and fincere.
To me 'tis equal, whether Love ordain My life or death, appoint me pain or ease ; My foul perceives no real ill in pain; In ease or health no real good she fees.
One Good she covets, and that Good alone, To choose thy will, from selfish bias free; And to prefer a cottage to a throne, And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee.
That we should bear the cross is thy command, Die to the world, and live to self no more; Suffer, unmoved, beneath the rudeft hand, As pleased when shipwreck'd as when safe on shore.
LEST! who, far from all mankind, This world's fhadows left behind,
Hears from Heaven a gentle ftrain Whispering Love, and loves again.
Bleft! who, free from felf-esteem, Dives into the great Supreme, All defire befide difcards, Joys inferior none regards.
Bleft! who in thy bofom feeks Reft that nothing earthly breaks, Dead to felf and worldly things, Loft in thee, thou King of kings!
Ye that know my fecret fire, Softly speak and foon retire; Favour my divine repofe,
Spare the fleep a God beftows.
H loved! but not enough-tho' dearer far Than felf and its moft loved enjoyments
None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free From fenfual objects, finds his all in Thee.
Glory of God! thou stranger here below,
Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to know; Our Faith and Reason are both shock'd to find Man in the poft of honour-Thee behind.
Reafon exclaims-" Let every creature fall, Ashamed, abased, before the Lord of all; And Faith, o'erwhelm'd with fuch a dazzling blaze, Feebly describes the beauty fhe furveys.
Yet man, dim-fighted man, and rafh as blind, Deaf to the dictates of his better mind, In frantic competition dares the skies, And claims precedence of the only wife. Oh loft in vanity, till once felf-known; Nothing is great, or good, but God alone; When thou shalt ftand before his awful face, Then, at the last, thy pride shall know His place.
Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end! When wilt thou melt the mountains and descend? When wilt thou fhoot abroad thy conquering rays, And teach these atoms, thou haft made, thy praise?
Thy Glory is the sweetest heaven I feel; And, if I feek it with too fierce a zeal, Thy Love, triumphant o'er a selfish will, Taught me the paffion, and infpires it ftill.
My reason, all my faculties, unite,
To make thy Glory their fupreme delight; Forbid it, fountain of my brightest days, That I should rob thee, and ufurp thy praise!
My foul! reft happy in thy low estate, Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem'd or great; To take the impreffion of a will divine, Be that thy glory, and those riches thine.
Confefs Him righteous in his just decrees, Love what he loves, and let his pleasure please; Die daily; from the touch of fin recede;
Then thou haft crown'd him, and he reigns indeed.
20. SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE.
ROM thorny wilds a monfter came, That fill'd my foul with fear and shame; The birds, forgetful of their mirth, Droop'd at the fight, and fell to earth; When thus a fage addrefs'd mine ear, Himself unconfcious of a fear.
"Whence all this terror and furprise, Distracted looks, and ftreaming eyes? Far from the world and its affairs, The joy it boasts, the pain it shares, Surrender, without guile or art, To God, an undivided heart; The favage form, so fear'd before,
Shall scare your trembling foul no more; For loathsome as the fight may be, 'Tis but the Love of felf you fee. Fix all your love on God alone,
Choose but His will, and hate your own:
No fear shall in your path be found, The dreary waste shall bloom around, And you, through all your happy days, Shall bless his name, and fing his praise."
Oh lovely folitude, how sweet
The filence of this calm retreat!
Here Truth, the fair whom I pursue, Gives all her beauty to my view; The fimple, unadorn'd difplay Charms every pain and fear away. O Truth, whom millions proudly flight; O Truth, my treasure and delight; Accept this tribute to thy name,
And this poor heart from which it came!
21. THE LOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFE.
INCE life in forrow must be spent, So be it-I am well content,
And meekly wait my last remove, Seeking only growth in love.
No blifs I feek, but to fulfill In life, in death, thy lovely will; No fuccours in my woes I want, Save what Thou art pleased to grant.
Our days are number'd, let us spare Our anxious hearts a needlefs care: "Tis thine to number out our days; Ours to give them to thy praise.
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