THE TESTIMONY OF DIVINE ADOPTION
How happy are the new-born race;
Partakers of adopting grace,
How pure the bliss they share!
Hid from the world and all its eyes,
Within their heart the blessing lies,
And conscience feels it there.
The moment we believe, 'tis ours;
And if we love with all our powers
The God from whom it came,
And if we serve with hearts sincere
'Tis still discernible and clear,
An undisputed claim.
But, ah! if foul and wilful sin
Stain and dishonour us within,
Farewell the joy we knew ;
Again the slaves of Nature's sway,
In lab'rinths of our own we stray
Without a guide or clue.
The chaste and pure, who fear to grieve
The gracious Spirit they receive,
His work distinctly trace;
And, strong in undissembling love,
Boldly assert and clearly prove
Their hearts his dwelling-place.
O messenger of dear delight
Whose voice dispels the deepest night, Sweet peace-proclaiming Dove! With thee at hand to soothe our pains, No wish unsatisfied remains,
No task but that of Love.
'Tis Love unites what sin divides;
The centre, where all bliss resides;
To which the soul once brought,
Reclining on the first great Cause,
From his abounding sweetness draws
Peace passing human thought.
Sorrow forgoes its nature there,
And life assumes a tranquil air,
Divested of its woes;
There sovereign goodness soothes the breast
Till then incapable of rest,
DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL
LOVE is the Lord whom I obey, Whose will transported I perform; The centre of my rest, my stay, Love all in all to me, myself a worm.
For uncreated charms I burn, Oppressed by slavish fear no more; For One in whom I may discern, Even when he frowns, a sweetness I adore.
He little loves him who complains And finds him rigorous and severe; His heart is sordid, and he feigns,
Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere.
Love causes grief, but 'tis to move
And stimulate the slumbering mind;
And he has never tasted love
Who shuns a pang so graciously designed.
Sweet is the cross above all sweets
To souls enamoured with Thy smiles;
The keenest woe life ever meets
Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles.
'Tis just that God should not be dear Where self engrosses all the thought,
And groans and murmurs make it clear, Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not.
The love of Thee flows just as much As that of ebbing self subsides;
Our hearts, their scantiness is such, Bear not the conflict of two rival tides.
Both cannot govern in one soul; Then let self-love be dispossessed;
The love of God deserves the whole, And will not dwell with so despised a guest.
SOURCE of love, and light of day,
Tear me from myself away;
Every view and thought of mine
Cast into the mould of thine;
Teach, oh teach this faithless heart
A consistent, constant part;
Or, if it must live to grow
More rebellious, break it now!
Is it thus that I requite
Grace and goodness infinite?
Every trace of every boon
Cancelled and erased so soon!
Can I grieve thee, whom I love;
Thee, in whom I live and move?
If my sorrow touch thee still,
Save me from so great an ill!
Oh! the oppressive irksome weight
Felt in an uncertain state;
Comfort, peace, and rest, adieu,
Should I prove at last untrue!
Still I choose thee, follow still
Every notice of thy will;
But, unstable, strangely weak,
Still let slip the good I seek.
Self-confiding wretch, I thought
I could serve thee as I ought,
Win thee, and deserve to feel
All the Love thou canst reveal!
Trusting self, a bruised reed,
Is to be deceived indeed.
Save me from this harm and loss,
Lest my gold turn all to dross!
Self is earthly-faith alone
Makes an unseen world our own;
Faith relinquished, how we roam,
Feel our way, and leave our home!
Spurious gems our hopes entice,
While we scorn the pearl of price;
And, preferring servants' pay,
Cast the children's bread away.
THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE
LOVE! if thy destined sacrifice am I,
Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires;
Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die
The death which every soul that lives desires!
I watch my hours, and see them fleet away;
The time is long that I have languished here;
Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey
With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere.
To me 'tis equal, whether Love ordain
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease;
My soul perceives no real ill in pain;
In ease or health no real good she sees.
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 rudest hand,
As pleased when shipwrecked as when safe on shore.
BLEST! who, far from all mankind,
This world's shadows left behind,
Hears from heaven a gentle strain
Whispering Love, and loves again.
Blest who, free from self-esteem,
Dives into the great Supreme,
All desire besides discards,
Joys inferior none regards.
Blest! who in Thy bosom seeks
Rest that nothing earthly breaks,
Dead to self and worldly things,
Lost in Thee, Thou King of kings!
Ye that know my secret fire,
Softly speak and soon retire;
Favour my divine repose,
Spare the sleep a God bestows.
Oн, loved! but not enough-though dearer far
Than self and its most loved enjoyments are;
None duly loves Thee, but who, nobly free
From sensual 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 shocked to find
Man in the post of honour-thee behind.
Reason exclaims-" Let every creature fall,
"Ashamed, abased, before the Lord of all!"
And faith, o'erwhelmed with such a dazzling blaze,
Feebly describes the beauty she surveys.
Yet man, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind,
Deaf to the dictates of his better mind,
In frantic competition dares the skies,
And claims precedence of the Only Wise.
Oh, lost in vanity, till once self-known!
Nothing is great, or good, but God alone;
When thou shalt stand 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 shoot abroad thy conquering rays,
And teach these atoms thou hast made thy praise?
Thy Glory is the sweetest heaven I feel;
And, if I seek it with too fierce a zeal,
Thy Love, triumphant o'er a selfish will,
Taught me the passion, and inspires it still.
My reason, all my faculties, unite
To make thy Glory their supreme delight;
Forbid it, Fountain of my brightest days,
That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise!
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