Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing thy power to save;
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.
Lord, I believe thou hast prepared
(Unworthy though I be)
For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me!
'Tis strung and tuned for endless years,
And form'd by power divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but thine.
XVI. THE SOWER. Matt. xiii. 3.
YE sons of earth, prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground;
The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round.
The seed that finds a stony soil
Shoots forth a hasty blade;
But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.
The thorny ground is sure to balk
All hopes of harvest there;
We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.
The beaten path and highway side
Receive the trust in vain;
The watchful birds the spoil divide,
And pick up all the grain.
But where the Lord of grace and power
Has bless'd the happy field,
How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield!
Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Let the same hand that gives the seed
Provide a fruitful place!
XVII. THE HOUSE OF PRAYER. Mark, xi. 17.
THY mansion is the Christian's heart,
O Lord, thy dwelling-place secure! Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door.
Devoted as it is to thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place;
They steal away my joys from me,
And rob my Saviour of his praise.
There, too, a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the World maintain;
Nor cease to press me, and persuade
To part with ease, and purchase pain.
I know them, and I hate their din;
Am weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve thee as I would.
Oh! for the joy thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when thou art there!
Thy presence makes this den of thieves
A calm delightful house of prayer.
And if thou make thy temple shine,
Yet, self-abased, will I adore ;
The gold and silver are not mine ;
I give thee what was thine before.
XVIII. LOVEST THOU ME? John, xxi. 16.
HARK, my soul! it is the Lord;
'Tis thy Saviour, hear his word;
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee,
Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me ?
"I deliver'd thee when bound,
And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,
Turn'd thy darkness into light.
"Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember thee.
"Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above,
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.
"Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done;
Partner of my throne shalt be ;-
Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me ?"
Lord, it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint;
Yet I love thee and adore,-
Oh for grace to love thee more!
XIX. CONTENTMENT. Phil. iv. 11.
FIERCE passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea;
But calm content and peace we find,
When, Lord, we turn to thee.
In vain by reason and by rule
We try to bend the will;
For none but in the Saviour's school
Can learn the heavenly skill.
Since at his feet my soul has sate,
His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,
I cast on him my care.
"Art thou a sinner, soul ?" he said,
"Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!
"If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured, Compare thy griefs with mine;
Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.
""Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot, And rise with me to dwell.
"In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away."
Thus I, who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent,
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learnt to be content.
XX. OLD TESTAMENT GOSPEL. Heb. iv. 2.
ISRAEL in ancient days
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass,
In which they saw a Saviour's face.
The paschal sacrifice
And blood-besprinkled door,*
Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.
The lamb, the dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,†
Whose blood of matchless worth
Should be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of his own.
The scape-goat on his head
The people's trespass bore,
And to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more :
In him our Surety seem'd to say,
Behold, I bear your sins away.'
Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bird went free ;*
The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea ;
Described a guilty soul enlarged,
And by a Saviour's death discharged.
Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page,
The footsteps of thy grace,
The same in every age!
O grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me!
XXI. SARDIS. Rev. iii. 1-6.
"WRITE to Sardis," saith the Lord, "And write what he declares, He whose Spirit, and whose word, Upholds the seven stars : All thy works and ways I search, Find thy zeal and love decay'd, Thou art call'd a living church, But thou art cold and dead. "Watch, remember, seek, and strive, Exert thy former pains;
Let thy timely care revive,
And strengthen what remains; Cleanse thine heart, thy works amend, Former times to mind recall,
Lest my sudden stroke descend,
And smite thee once for all.
"Yet I number now in thee
A few that are upright;
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