Tempefts fuddenly may rife,
Darknefs overspread the fkies!
Lightnings flash, and thunders roar,
E're a fhort liv'd day be o'er.
2. Often thus the child of grace,
Enters on his Christian race;
Guilt and fear have overborne,;
'Tis with him a fummer's morn;
While his new-felt joys abound,
All things feem to fmile around ;
And he hopes it will be fair,
All the day, and all the year.
3. Should we warn him of a change,
He would think the caution strange
He no change nor trouble fears,
Till the gath'ring ftorm appears,
Till dark clouds his fun conceal,
Till temptation's power he feel;
Then he trembles, and looks pale,
All his hopes and courage fail.
4. But the wonder working Lord,
Sooths the tempeft by his word!
Stills the thunder, ftops the rain,
And his fun breaks forth again;
Soon the cloud again returns,
Now he joys and now he mourns ;
Oft his fky is overcast,
Ere the day of life be past.
5. Try'd believers too can fay, In the courfe of one short day,
Tho' the the morning has been fair
Prov'd a golden hour of prayer;
Sin and Satan, long ere night,
Have their comforts put to flight;
Ah! what heart felt peace and joy
Unexpected forms destroy.
6. Dearest Saviour, call us foon
To thine high eternal noon;
Never there fhall tempefts rife
To conceal thee from our eyes:
Satan fhall no more deceive,
We no more thy Spirit grieve;
But through cloudlefs, endlefs days,
Sound, to golden harps, thy praise.
1. WHEN Israel's tribes were parch'd with
Forth from the rock the waters burst;
And all their future journey through,
Yielded them drink and gospel too.
2. In Mofes' rod a type they faw:
Of his fevere and fiery law,
The fmitten rock prefigured him,
From whole piete'd fide all bleffings Atream.
3. But ah! the types were all too faint,
His forrows or his worth to paint:
Slight was the ftroke of Mofe's rod,
But he endur'd the wrath of God.
4. Their outward rock could feel no pain,
But our's was wounded torn and flain;
The rock gave but a wat❜ry flood,
But Jefus pour'd forth streams of blood.
5. The earth is like a wilderness,
A land of drought and fore distress ;
Without one ftream from pole to pole,
To fatisfy a thirsty soul.
6. But let the Saviour's praise refound,
In him refreshing ftreams are found,..
Which pardon, ftrength, and comfort give,
And thirsty finners drink and live.
Martha and Mary.
1. MARTHA her love and joy exprefe'd,
By care to entertain her gueft;
While Mary fat to hear her Lord,
And could not bear to lose a word.
2. The principle in both the fame,
Produc'd in each a diff'rent aim;
The one to feaft her Lord was led,
The other waited to be fed.
But Mary chofe the better part,
Her Saviour's words refresh'd her heart;
While bufy Martha angry grew,
And loft her time and temper too.
4. With warmth fhe to her fifter spoke,
But brought upon herself rebuke:
"One thing is needful, and but one,
Why do thy thoughts on many run ?”
5. How oft are we like Martha vex'd,
Encumber'd, hurried, and perplex'd?
While trifles fo engross our thought,
The one thing needful is forgot."
6. Lord, teach us this on thing to choose,
Which they who gain need never lofé
Sufficient in itself alone.
And needful, were the world our own.
7. Let grov'ling hearts the world admire,
Thy love is all that I require!
Gladly I may the reft refign,
If the one needful thing be mine.
An Elegy on Sophronia, who died with the Small-Pox, 1711.
By Dr. WATTS.
SOPHRON is introduced speaking.
Forbear, my friends, forbear, and ask no more, Where all my cheerful airs are fied:
Why will
ye
My joy, my life, my comfort's dead.
make me talk my torments o'er?
Deep from my foul, mark how the fobs arise,
Hear the long groans that waste my breath,
And read the mighty forrow in my eyes,
Lovely Sophronia fleeps in death.
Unkind disease, to vail that rofy face
With tumors of a mortal pale;
While mortal purples, with their difmal grace,
And double horrors fpot the vail.
Uncomely vail, and most unkind difeafe!
Is this Sophronia, once the fair?
Are thefe the features that were born to please!
And beauty spread her enfign there?
I was all love, and fhe was all delight,
Let me run back to feafons paft;
Ah! flowery days when firft fhe charm'd my fight!
But rofes will not always last.
Yet ftill Sophronia pleas'd. Nor time nor care
Could take her youthful bloom away:
Virtue has charms which nothing can impair ;
Beauty like her's could ne'er decay.
Grace is a facred plant of heavenly birth;
The feed, defcending from above,
Roots in a foil refin'd, grows high on earth,
And blooms with life, and joy, and love,
Such was Sophronia's foul. Celeftial dew,'
And angel's food, were her repaft:
|