Dreadless, having thee for guide, Should I bide, For thy rod and staff uphold me. Thou my board with messes large My bowls full of wine thou pourest, Envious eyes, Balm upon my head thou showerest. Neither dures thy bounteous grace But it knows nor bound nor measure; Shall I spend In thy courts with heavenly pleasure. What Think We of Christ? WHAT think you of Christ? is the test To try both your state and your scheme; So God is disposéd to you, Some take him a creature to be, Sure these have not feelings like me, Nor know themselves wretched and lost. So guilty, so helpless am I, I durst not confide in his blood, Nor on his protection rely, Unless I were sure he is God. Some call him a Saviour, in word, But mix their own works with his plan, And hope he his help will afford, When they have done all that they can: If doings prove rather too light, (A little, they own, they may fail) They purpose to make up full weight By casting his name in the scale. Some style him the pearl of great price, And cleave to the world and its toys; Like Judas, the Saviour they kiss, And while they salute him, betray; Ah! what will profession like this Avail in the terrible day? If asked what of Jesus I think? Though still my best thoughts are but poor, I say he's my meat and my drink, My life, and my strength, and my store, My hope from beginning to end, Pleading for Pardon. SHOW pity, Lord, O Lord forgive, Are not thy mercies large and free? My crimes are great, but can't surpass O wash my soul from every sin, My lips with shame my sins confess, Should sudden vengeance seize my breath, Yet save a trembling sinner, Lord, Whose hope, still hovering round thy word, Would light on some sweet promise there, Some sure support against despair. He hath Borne our Griefs. SURELY Christ thy griefs hath borne, All thy crimes on him were laid; Weary sinner, keep thine eyes There the incarnate Deity, Numbered with transgressors, see; There, his Father's absence mourns, Nailed, and bruised, and crowned with thorns. See thy God his head bow down, Cast thy guilty soul on him, At his feet thy burden lay, Lord, thy arm must be revealed, Shine, O shine, my fears away. Che Morning Joy. MARY to her Saviour's tomb Hasted at the early dawn; Spice she brought and sweet perfume, But the Lord she loved was gone. For awhile she weeping stood, Struck with sorrow and surprise, Shedding tears, a plenteous flood, For her heart supplied her eyes. Jesus, who is always near, Though too often unperceived, Came his drooping child to cheer, Kindly asking, "Why she grieved?" Though at first she knew him not, Then her griefs were all forgot, For she found he was the same. |