See, from the ever-burning lake,
How like a smoky cloud they rise!
With horrid blasts my soul they shake,
With storms of blasphemies and lies.

Their fiery arrows reach the mark,
My throbbing heart with anguish tear;
Each lights upon a kindred spark,
And finds abundant fuel there.

I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord;
Oh! I would drive it from my breast,
With thy own sharp two-edged sword,
Far as the east is from the west.

Come, then, and chase the cruel host,
Heal the deep wounds I have received!
Nor let the powers of darkness boast
That I am foiled, and thou art grieved!

XLI. PEACE AFTER A STORM

WHEN darkness long has veiled my mind, And smiling day once more appears,

Then, my Redeemer, then I find

The folly of my doubts and fears.

Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act so base a part,
Or harbour one hard thought of thee.

Oh! let me then at length be taught
What I am still so slow to learn;
That God is Love, and changes not,
Nor knows the shadow of a turn.

Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!
But when my faith is sharply tried,
I find myself a learner yet,

Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.

But, O my Lord, one look from thee
Subdues the disobedient will,
Drives doubt and discontent away,
And thy rebellious worm is still.

Thou art as ready to forgive

As I am ready to repine;

Thou, therefore, all the praise receive; Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.

XLII. MOURNING AND LONGING

THE Saviour hides his face!
My spirit thirsts to prove

Renewed supplies of pardoning grace,
And never-fading love.

The favoured souls who know
What glories shine in him

Pant for his presence as the roe
Pants for the living stream.

What trifles tease me now! They swarm like summer flies; They cleave to everything I do, And swim before my eyes.

How dull the Sabbath day Without the Sabbath's Lord! How toilsome then to sing and pray, And wait upon the word!

Of all the truths I hear
How few delight my taste!
I glean a berry here and there,
But mourn the vintage past.

Yet let me (as I ought)
Still hope to be supplied;

No pleasure else is worth a thought,
Nor shall I be denied.

Though I am but a worm,
Unworthy of his care,

The Lord will my desire perform,

And grant me all my prayer.

XLIII. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE

DEAR Lord! accept a sinful heart
Which of itself complains,

And mourns, with much and frequent smart,
The evil it contains.

There fiery seeds of anger lurk
Which often hurt my frame;
And wait but for the tempter's work
To fan them to a flame.

Legality holds out a bribe

To purchase life from thee;
And discontent would fain prescribe
How thou shalt deal with me.

While unbelief withstands thy grace,
And puts the mercy by;
Presumption, with a brow of brass,
Says, "Give me, or I die!"

How eager are my thoughts to roam
In quest of what they love!
But ah! when duty calls them home,
How heavily they move!

Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood,
Transform me by thy power,
And make me thy beloved abode,
And let me roam no more.

XLIV. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE

LORD, who hast suffered all for me,
My peace and pardon to procure,
The lighter cross I bear for thee
Help me with patience to endure.

The storm of loud repining hush;

I would in humble silence mourn;

Why should the unburnt, though burning bush, Be angry as the crackling thorn?

Man should not faint at thy rebuke,
Like Joshua falling on his face,

When the cursed thing that Achan took
Brought Israel into just disgrace.

Perhaps some golden wedge suppressed,
Some secret sin, offends my God:
Perhaps that Babylonish vest,
Self-righteousness, provokes the rod.

Ah! were I buffeted all day,

Mocked, crowned with thorns, and spit upon, I yet should have no right to say

My great distress is mine alone.

Let me not angrily declare

No pain was ever sharp like mine,

Nor murmur at the cross I bear,

But rather weep, remembering thine.

XLV. SUBMISSION

O LORD, my best desire fulfil,
And help me to resign

Life, health, and comfort to thy will,
And make thy pleasure mine.

Why should I shrink at thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears?
Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears?

No, rather let me freely yield
What most I prize to thee;
Who never hast a good withheld,
Or wilt withhold, from me."

Thy favour, all my journey through,
Thou art engaged to grant ;
What else I want, or think I do,
'Tis better still to want.

Wisdom and mercy guide my way,
Shall I resist them both?

A poor blind creature of a day,
And crushed before the moth!

But ah! my inward spirit cries,
Still bind me to thy sway;

Else the next cloud that veils the skies
Drives all these thoughts away.

XLVI. THE HAPPY CHANGE

How blest thy creature is, O God,
When, with a single eye,
He views the lustre of thy word,
The dayspring from on high!

Through all the storms that veil the skies
And frown on earthly things,

The Sun of Righteousness he eyes

With healing on his wings.

Struck by that light, the human heart,

A barren soil no more,

Sends the sweet smell of

grace abroad,

Where serpents lurked before.

The soul, a dreary province once

Of Satan's dark domain,

Feels a new empire formed within,
And owns a heavenly reign.

The glorious orb whose golden beams
The fruitful year control,

Since first, obedient to thy word,

He started from the goal,

Has cheered the nations with the joys

His orient rays impart;

But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone

Can shine upon the heart.

XLVII. RETIREMENT

FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.