Olney Hymns

On man, in his own image made,
How much did God bestow!
The whole creation homage paid,
And own’d him lord below.

He dwelt in Eden’s garden, stored
With sweets for every sense;
And there, with his descending Lord,
He walk’d in confidence.

But, oh by sin how quickly changed—
His honour forfeited—
His heart from God and truth estranged—
His conscience fill’d with dread!

Now from his Maker’s voice he flees,
Which was before his joy,
And thinks to hide amidst the trees
From an all-seeing eye.

Compell’d to answer to his name,
With stubbornness and pride,
He cast on God himself the blame,
Nor once for mercy cried.

But grace, unask’d, his heart subdued,
And all his guilt forgave;
By faith the promised Seed he view’d,
And felt His power to save.

Thus we ourselves would justify,
Though we the law transgress—
Like him, unable to deny,
Unwilling to confess.

But when by faith the sinner sees
A pardon bought with blood,
Then he forsakes his foolish pleas
And gladly turns to God.

When Adam fell he quickly lost
God’s image, which he once possess’d:
See all our nature since could boast,
In Cain, his first-born son, express’d!

The sacrifice the Lord ordain’d
In type of the Redeemer’s blood
Self-righteous reasoning Cain disdain’d,
And thought his own first-fruits as good.

Yet rage and envy fill’d his mind
When, with a sullen downcast look,
He saw his brother favour find,
Who God’s appointed method took.

By Cain’s own hand good Abel died,
Because the Lord approved his faith;
And, when his blood for vengeance cried,
He vainly thought to hide his death.

Such was the wicked murderer Cain,
And such by nature still are we—
Untill by grace we’re born again,
Malicious, blind, and proud as he.

Like him the way of grace we slight,
And in our own devices trust;
Call evil good, and darkness light,
And hate and persecute the just.

The saints in every age and place
Have found his history fulfill’d:
The numbers all our thoughts surpass
Of Abels whom the Cains have kill’d!

Thus Jesus fell; but, oh! his blood
Far better things than Abel’s cries—
Obtains his murderers’ peace with God,
And gains them mansions in the skies.

Oh for a closer walk with God,
A calm and heavenly frame,
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb!

Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul-refreshing view
Of Jesus and his word?

What peaceful hours I once enjoy’d!
How sweet their mem’ry still!
But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill.

Return, O holy Dove! return,
Sweet messenger of rest;
I hate the sins that made thee mourn,
And drove thee from my breast.

The dearest idol I have known,
Whate’er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from thy throne,
And worship only thee.

So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame;
So purer light shall mark the road
That leads me to the Lamb.

By faith in Christ I walk with God,
With heaven, my journey’s end, in view;
Supported by his staff and rod,
My road is safe and pleasant too.

I travel through a desert wide,
Where many round me blindly stray:
But he vouchsafes to be my guide,
And will not let me miss my way.

Though snares and dangers throng my path.
And earth and hell my course withstand,
I triumph over all by faith,
Guarded by his almighty hand.

The wilderness affords no food,
But God for my support prepares—
Provides me every needful good,
And frees my soul from wants and cares.

With him sweet converse I maintain;
Great as he is, I dare be free;
I tell him all my grief and pain,
And he reveals his love to me.

Some cordial from his word he brings
Whene’er my feeble spirit faints—
At once my soul revives and sings,
And yields no more to sad complaints.

I pity all that worldlings talk
Of pleasures that will quickly end:
Be this my choice, O Lord, to walk
With thee, my Guide, my Guard, my Friend.

How hurtful was the choice of Lot,
Who took up his abode
(Because it was a fruitful spot)
With them who fear’d not God!

A pris’ner he was quickly made,
Bereaved of all his store;
And but for Abra’m’s timely aid
He had return’d no more.

Yet still he seem’d resolved to stay,
As if it were his rest,
Although their sins from day to day
His righteous soul distress’d.

Awhile he stay’d, with anxious mind,
Exposed to scorn and strife;
At last he left his all behind,
And fled to save his life.

In vain his sons-in-law he warn’d;
They thought he told his dreams;
His daughters too of them had learn’d,
And perish’d in the flames.

His wife escaped a little way,
But died for looking back:
Does not her case to pilgrims say,
“Beware of growing slack”?

Yea, Lot himself could ling’ring stand
Though vengeance was in view;
’Twas Mercy pluck’d him by the hand
Or he had perish’d too.

The doom of Sodom will be ours
If to the earth we cleave:
Lord, quicken all our drowsy powers
To flee to thee and live.

The saints should never be dismay’d,
Nor sink in hopeless fear;
For, when they least expect his aid,
The Saviour will appear.

This Abra’m found: he raised the knife,
God saw, and said, “Forbear!
Yon ram shall yield his meaner life—
Behold the victim there.”

Once David seem’d Saul’s certain prey;
But hark! the foe’s at hand;
Saul turns his arms another way,
To save th’ invaded land.

When Jonah sunk beneath the wave
He thought to rise no more;
But God prepared a fish to save
And bear him to the shore.

Bless’d proofs of power and grace divine
That meet us in his word!
May every deep-felt care of mine
Be trusted with the Lord!

Wait for his seasonable aid,
And though it tarry, wait:
The promise may be long delay’d,
But cannot come too late.

Though troubles assail,
And dangers affright,
Though friends should all fail,
And foes all unite;
Yet one thing secures us,
Whatever betide,
The Scripture assures us
The Lord will provide.

The birds without barn
Or storehouse are fed;
From them let us learn
To trust for our bread:
His saints what is fitting
Shall ne’er be denied,
So long as ’tis written,
The Lord Will provide.

We may, like the ships,
By tempests be tost
On perilous deeps,
But cannot be lost:
Though Satan enrages
The wind and the tide,
The promise engages
The Lord will provide.

His call we obey,
Like Abr’am of old,
Not knowing our way,
But faith makes us bold:
For though we are strangers,
We have a good guide,
And trust, in all dangers,
The Lord will provide.

When Satan appears,
To stop up our path
And fill us with fears,
We triumph by faith;
He cannot take from us,
Though oft he has tried,
This heart-cheering promise,
The Lord will provide.

He tells us we’re weak,
Our hope is in vain,
The good that we seek
We ne’er shall obtain;
But when such suggestions
Our spirits have plied,
This answers all questions,
The Lord will provide.

No strength of our own
Or goodness we claim;
Yet since we have known
The Saviour’s great name,
In this our strong tower
For safety we hide,
The Lord is our power,
The Lord will provide.

When life sinks apace,
And death is in view,
This word of his grace
Shall comfort us through:
No fearing or doubting
With Christ on our side—
We hope to die shouting,
The Lord will provide.

Poor Esau repented too late
That once he his birthright despised,
And sold, for a morsel of meat,
What could not too highly be prized:
How great was his anguish when told,
The blessing he sought to obtain
Was gone with the birthright he sold,
And none could recall it again!

He stands as a warning to all
Wherever the gospel shall come;
O hasten and yield to the call
While yet for repentance there’s room!
Your season will quickly be past;
Then hear and obey it to-day,
Lest, when you seek mercy at last,
The Saviour should frown you away.

What is it the world can propose?
A morsel of meat at the best!
For this are you willing to lose
A share in the joys of the bless’d?
Its pleasures will speedily end,
Its favour and praise are but breath;
And what can its profits befriend
Your soul in the moments of death?

If Jesus for these you despise,
And sin to the Saviour prefer,
In vain your entreaties and cries
When summon’d to stand at his bar:
How will you his presence abide?
What anguish will torture your heart!
The saints all enthroned by his side,
And you be compell’d to depart.

Too often, dear Saviour, have I
Preferr’d some poor trifle to thee;
How is it thou dost not deny
The blessing and birthright to me?
No better than Esau I am,
Though pardon and heaven be mine;
To me belongs nothing but shame—
The praise and the glory be thine.

If the Lord our leader be,
We may follow without fear;
East or west, by land or sea,
Home with him is every where.
When from Esau Jacob fled,
Though his pillow was a stone,
And the ground his humble bed,
Yet he was not left alone.

Kings are often waking kept,
Rack’d with cares on beds of state:
Never king like Jacob slept,
For he lay at heaven’s gate.
Lo! he saw a ladder rear’d,
Reaching to the heavenly throne;
At the top the Lord appeared,
Spake, and claim’d him for his own:—

“Fear not, Jacob, thou art mine,
And my presence with thee goes;
On thy heart my love shall shine,
And my arm subdue thy foes:
From my promise comfort take,
For my help in trouble call;
Never will I thee forsake
Till I have accomplish’d all.”

Well does Jacob’s ladder suit
To the gospel throne of grace;
We are at the ladder’s foot,
Every hour, in every place.
By assuming flesh and blood,
Jesus heaven and earth unites;
We by faith ascend to God,
God to dwell with us delights.

They who know the Saviour’s name
Are for all events prepared;
What can changes do to them,
Who have such a guide and guard?
Should they traverse earth around,
To the ladder still they come:
Every spot is holy ground—
God is there, and he’s their home.

Nay, I cannot let thee go
Till a blessing thou bestow:
Do not turn away thy face,
Mine’s an urgent, pressing case.

Dost thou ask me who I am?
Ah, my Lord, thou know’st my name!
Yet the question gives a plea
To support my suit with thee.

Thou didst once a wretch behold,
In rebellion blindly bold,
Scorn thy grace, thy power defy,
That poor rebel, Lord, was I.

Once a sinner near despair
Sought thy mercy-seat by prayer;
Mercy heard and set him free—
Lord, that mercy came to me.

Many years have pass’d since then,
Many changes I have seen,
Yet have been upheld till now;
Who could hold me up but thou?

Thou hast help’d in every need,
This emboldens me to plead;
After so much mercy past,
Canst thou let me sink at last?

No—I must maintain my hold;
’Tis thy goodness makes me bold;
I can no denial take,
When I plead for Jesu’s sake.

My soul once had its plenteous years,
And throve, with peace and comfort fill’d,
Like the fat kine and ripen’d ears
Which Pharaoh in his dream beheld.

With pleasing frames and grace received,
With means and ordinances fed,
How happy for a while I lived,
And little fear’d the want of bread!

But famine came, and left no sign
Of all the plenty I had seen;
Like the dry ears and half-starved kine,
I then look’d wither’d, faint, and lean.

To Joseph the Egyptians went;
To Jesus I made known my case:
He, when my little stock was spent,
Open’d his magazine of grace.

For he the time of dearth foresaw,
And made provision long before;
That famish’d souls, like me, might draw
Supplies from his unbounded store.

Now on his bounty I depend,
And live from fear of dearth secure:
Maintain’d by such a mighty friend,
I cannot want till he is poor.

O sinners, hear his gracious call!
His mercy’s door stands open wide;
He has enough to feed you all,
And none who come shall be denied.

When Joseph his brethren beheld
Afflicted and trembling with fear,
His heart with compassion was fill’d;
From weeping he could not forbear.
Awhile his behaviour was rough,
To bring their past sins to their mind;
But when they were humbled enough,
He hasted to show himself kind.

How little they thought it was he
Whom they had ill-treated and sold!
How great their confusion must be,
As soon as his name he had told!
“I am Joseph, your brother,” he said,
“And still to my heart you are dear;
You sold me, and thought I was dead,
But God for your sakes sent me here.”

Though greatly distressed before,
When charged with purloining the cup,
They now were confounded much more—
Not one of them dared to look up.
“Can Joseph, whom we would have slain.
Forgive us the evil we did?
And will he our households maintain?
O this is a brother indeed!”

Thus dragg’d by my conscience I came,
And laden with guilt, to the Lord,
Surrounded with terror and shame,
Unable to utter a word.
At first he look’d stern and severe,
What anguish then pierced my heart!
Expecting each moment to hear
The sentence, “Thou cursed, depart!”

But, O what surprise when he spoke,
While tenderness beam’d in his face!
My heart then to pieces was broke,
O’erwhelm’d and confounded by grace:
“Poor sinner, I know thee full well,
By thee I was sold and was slain;
But I died to redeem thee from hell,
And raise thee in glory to reign.

“I am Jesus, whom thou hast blasphemed,
And crucified often afresh;
But let me henceforth be esteemed
Thy brother, thy bone, and thy flesh:
My pardon I freely bestow,
Thy wants I will fully supply;
I’ll guide thee and guard thee below,
And soon will remove thee on high.

“Go, publish to sinners around,
That they may be willing to come,
The mercy which now you have found,
And tell them that yet there is room.”
O sinners, the message obey!
No more vain excuses pretend;
But come without further delay,
To Jesus, our brother and friend.

Bitter indeed the waters are
Which in this desert flow;
Though to the eye they promise fair,
They taste of sin and woe.

Of pleasing draughts I once could dream;
But now, awake, I find
That sin has poison’d every stream,
And left a curse behind.

But there’s a wonder-working wood,
I’ve heard believers say,
Can make these bitter waters good,
And take the curse away.

The virtues of this healing tree
Are known and prized by few:
Reveal the secret, Lord, to me,
That I may prize it too.

The cross on which the Saviour died
And conquer’d for his saints,
This is the tree by faith applied,
Which sweetens all complaints.

Thousands have found the bless’d effect,
Nor longer mourn their lot;
While on his sorrows they reflect,
Their own are all forgot.

When they, by faith, behold the cross,
Though many griefs they meet,
They draw a gain from every loss,
And find the bitter sweet.

Heal us, Emmanuel; here we are,
Waiting to feel thy touch:
Deep-wounded souls to thee repair,
And, Saviour, we are such.

Our faith is feeble, we confess—
We faintly trust thy word;
But wilt thou pity us the less?
Be that far from thee, Lord!

Remember him who once applied
With trembling for relief;
“Lord, I believe,” with tears he cried,
“0 help my unbelief!”

She too who touch’d thee in the press,
And healing virtue stole,
Was answer’d, “Daughter, go in peace:
Thy faith hath made thee whole.”

Conceal’d amid the gathering throng,
She would have shunn’d thy view,
And if her faith was firm and strong—
Had strong misgivings too.

Like her, with hopes and fears we come,
To touch thee if we may;
Oh! send us not despairing home,
Send none unheal’d away.

Manna to Israel well supplied
The want of other bread;
While God is able to provide,
His people shall be fed.

(Thus though the corn and wine should fail,
And creature-streams be dry,
The prayer of faith will still prevail
For blessings from on high.)

Of his kind care how sweet a proof;
It suited every taste:
Who gather’d most had just enough—
Enough who gather’d least.

’Tis thus our gracious Lord provides
Our comforts and our cares;
His own unerring hand divides,
And gives us each our shares.

He knows how much the weak can bear,
And helps them when they cry;
The strongest have no strength to spare,
For such he’ll strongly try.

Daily they saw the manna come
And cover all the ground;
But what they tried to keep at home
Corrupted soon was found.

Vain their attempt to store it up,
This was to tempt the Lord:
Israel must live by faith and hope,
And not upon a hoard.

The manna, favour’d Israel’s meat,
Was gather’d day by day;
When all the host was served, the heat
Melted the rest away.

In vain to hoard it up they tried
Against to-morrow came;
It then bred worms and putrified,
And proved their sin and shame.

’Twas daily bread, and would not keep,
But must be still renewed;
Faith should not want a hoard or heap,
But trust the Lord for food.

The truths by which the soul is fed
Must thus be had afresh;
For notions resting in the head
Will only feed the flesh:

However true, they have no life
Or unction to impart;
They breed the worms of pride and strife,
But cannot cheer the heart.

Nor can the best experience past
The life of faith maintain;
The brightest hope will faint at last
Unless supplied again.

Dear Lord, while we in prayer are found,
Do thou the manna give;
Oh let it fall on all around,
That we may eat and live!

By whom was David taught
To aim the dreadful blow,
When he Goliath fought,
And laid the Gittite low?
No sword nor spear the stripling took,
But chose a peeble from the brook.

’Twas Israel’s God and King
Who sent him to the fight—
Who gave him strength to sling,
And skill to aim aright.
Ye feeble saints, your strength endures,
Because young David’s God is yours.

Who order’d Gideon forth
To storm th’ invader’s camp,
With arms of little worth—
A pitcher and a lamp?
The trumpets made his coming known,
And all the host was overthrown.

Oh! I have seen the day
When, with a single word,
God helping me to say,
My trust is in the Lord,
My soul has quell’d a thousand foes,
Fearless of all that could oppose.

But unbelief, self-will,
Self-righteousness, and pride,
How often do they steal
My weapon from my side!
Yet David’s Lord and Gideon’s friend
Will help his servant to the end.

When Israel heard the fiery law
From Sinai’s top proclaim’d,
Their hearts seem’d full of holy awe,
Their stubborn spirits tamed:

Yet, as forgetting all they knew,
Ere forty days were past,
With blazing Sinai still in view,
A molten calf they cast.

Yea, Aaron, God’s anointed priest.
Who on the mount had been,
He durst prepare the idol-beast,
And lead them on to sin!

Lord, what is man, and what are we,
To recompense thee thus?
In their offence our own we see—
Their story points at us.

From Mount Sinai we heard thee speak.
And from Mount Calv’ry too;
And yet to idols oft we seek,
While thou art in our view.

Some golden calf, or golden dream,
Some fancied creature-good,
Presumes to share the heart with Him
Who bought the whole with blood.

Lord, save us from our golden calves,
Our sin with grief we own;
We would no more be thine by halves,
But live to thee alone.

See Aaron, God’s anointed priest,
Within the veil appear,
In robes of mystic meaning dress’d,
Presenting Isr’el’s pray’r.

The plate of gold which crowns his brows
His holiness describes;
His breast displays, in shining rows,
The names of all the tribes.

With the atoning blood he stands
Before the mercy-seat;
And clouds of incense from his hands
Arise with odour sweet.

Urim and Thummim near his heart,
In rich engravings worn,
The sacred light of truth impart,
To teach and to adorn.

Through him the eye of faith descries
A greater Priest than he:—
Thus Jesus pleads above the skies
For you, my friends, and me.

He bears the names of all his saints
Deep on his heart engraved,
Attentive to the state and wants
Of all his love has saved.

In him a holiness complete—
Light and perfections shine,
And wisdom, grace, and glory meet;—
A Saviour all divine.

The blood which as a Priest he bears
For sinners is his own;
The incense of his prayers and tears
Perfumes the holy throne.

In him my weary soul has rest,
Though I am weak and vile;
I read my name upon his breast,
And see the Father smile.

How bless’d the righteous are
When they resign their breath!
No wonder Balaam wish’d to share
In such a happy death.

“Oh! let me die,” said he,
“The death the righteous do—
When life is ended, let me be
Found with the faithful few.”

The force of truth, how great!
When enemies confess,
None but the righteous, whom they hate,
A solid hope possess.

But Balaam’s wish was vain,
His heart was insincere;
He thirsted for unrighteous gain.
And sought a portion here.

He seem’d the Lord to know,
And to offend him loath;
But Mammon proved his overthrow,
For none can serve them both.

May you, my friends, and I,
Warning from hence receive,
If like the righteous we would die,
To choose the life they live.

When Joshua, by God’s command,
Invaded Canaan’s guilty land,
Gibeon, unlike the nations round,
Submission made, and mercy found.

Their stubborn neighbours who, enraged,
United war against them waged,
By Joshua soon were overthrown,
For Gibeon’s cause was now his own.

He from whose arm they ruin fear’d
Their leader and ally appear’d;
An emblem of the Saviour’s grace
To those who humbly seek his face.

The men of Gibeon wore disguise,
And gain’d their peace by framing lies;
For Joshua had no power to spare,
If he had known from whence they were.

But Jesus invitations sends,
Treating with rebels as his friends;
And holds the promise forth in view
To all who for his mercy sue.

Too long his goodness I disdain’d,
Yet went at last and peace obtain’d;
But soon the noise of war I heard,
And former friends in arms appear’d.

Weak in myself, for help I cried,
Lord, I am press’d on every side;
The cause is thine, they fight with me,
But every blow is aim’d at thee.

With speed to my relief he came,
And put my enemies to shame:
Thus saved by grace, I live to sing
The love and triumphs of my King.

Jesus, whose blood so freely stream’d
To satisfy the law’s demand,
By thee from guilt and wrath redeem’d,
Before the Father’s face I stand.

To reconcile offending man,
Made Justice drop her angry rod;
What creature could have form’d the plan,
Or who fulfill it but a God?

No drop remains of all the curse
For wretches who deserved the whole;
No arrows dipp’d in wrath to pierce
The guilty but returning soul.

Peace by such means, so dearly bought,
What rebel could have hoped to see?
Peace, by his injured Sovereign wrought,
His Sovereign fasten’d to the tree!

Now, Lord, thy feeble worm prepare;
For strife with earth and hell begins;
Confirm and gird me for the war;
They hate the soul that hates his sins.

Let them in horrid league agree!
They may assault, they may distress,
But cannot quench thy love to me,
Nor rob me of the Lord my peace.

The signs which God to Gideon gave
His holy sovereignty made known,
That he alone has power to save,
And claims the glory as his own.

The dew which first the fleece had fill’d,
When all the earth was dry around,
Was from it afterwards withheld,
And only fell upon the ground.

To Isr’el thus the heav’nly dew
Of saving truth was long restrain’d;
Of which the Gentiles nothing knew,
But dry and desolate remained.

But now the Gentiles have received
The balmy dew of gospel peace;
And Isr’el, who his Spirit grieved,
Is left a dry and empty fleece.

This dew still falls at his command,
To keep his chosen plants alive;
They shall, though in a thirsty land,
Like willows by the waters thrive.

But chiefly when his people meet,
To hear his word and seek his face,
The gentle dew, with influence sweet,
Descends and nourishes their grace.

But ah! what numbers still are dead,
Though under means of grace they lie—
The dew still falling round their head,
And yet their heart untouch’d and dry.

Dear Saviour, hear us when we call;
To wrestling prayer an answer give;
Pour down thy dew upon us all,
That all may feel and all may live.

The lion that on Samson roar’d,
And thirsted for his blood,
With honey afterwards was stored,
And furnish’d him with food.

Believers as they pass along
With many lions meet,
But gather sweetness from the strong,
And from the eater meat.

The lions rage and roar in vain,
For Jesus is their shield:
Their losses prove a certain gain,
Their troubles comfort yield.

The world and Satan join their strength,
To fill their souls with fears;
But crops of joy they reap at length
From what they sow in tears.

Afflictions make them love the word,
Stir up their hearts to prayer,
And many precious proofs afford
Of their Redeemer’s care.

The lions roar but cannot kill;
Then fear them not, my friends;
They bring us, though against their will,
The honey Jesus sends.

When Hannah, press’d with grief,
Pour’d forth her soul in pray’r;
She quickly found relief,
And left her burden there:
Like her, in every trying case
Let us approach the throne of grace.

When she began to pray,
Her heart was pain’d and sad;
But ere she went away
Was comforted and glad.
In trouble what a resting-place
Have they who know the throne of grace!

Though men and devils rage,
And threaten to devour,
The saints from age to age
Are safe from all their power;
Fresh strength they gain to run their race
By waiting at the throne of grace.

Eli her case mistook;
How was her spirit moved
By his unkind rebuke!
But God her cause approved.
We need not fear a creature’s face
While welcome at the throne of grace.

She was not fill’d with wine,
As Eli rashly thought,
But with a faith divine,
And found the help she sought.
Though men despise and call us base,
Still let us ply the throne of grace.

Men have not power or skill
With troubled souls to bear;
Though they express good-will.
Poor comforters they are:
But swelling sorrows sink apace
When we approach the throne of grace.

Numbers before have tried,
And found the promise true;
Nor yet one been denied,
Then why should I or you?
Let us by faith their footsteps trace,
And hasten to the throne of grace.

As fogs obscure the light,
And taint the morning air,
But soon are put to flight
If the bright sun appear,
Thus Jesus will our troubles chase,
By shining from the throne of grace.2

When first, to make my heart his own,
The Lord reveal’d his mighty grace,
Self reign’d, like Dagon, on the throne,
But could not long maintain its place.

It fell, and own’d the power divine,
(Grace can with ease the victory gain,)
But soon this wretched heart of mine
Contrived to set it up again.

Again the Lord his name proclaim’d,
And brought the hateful idol low;
Then self, like Dagon, broken, maim’d,
Seem’d to receive a mortal blow:

Yet self is not of life bereft,
Nor ceases to oppose his will;
Though but a maimed stump be left,
’Tis Dagon—’tis an idol still.

Lord! must I always guilty prove,
And idols in my heart have room?
Oh! let the fire of heavenly love
The very stump of self consume.

The kine unguided went
By the directest road,
When the Philistines homeward sent
The ark of Israel’s God.

Lowing they pass’d along
And left their calves shut up;
They felt an instinct for their young,
But would not turn or stop.

Shall brutes, devoid of thought,
Their Maker’s will obey;
And we, who by his grace are taught.
More stubborn prove than they?

He shed his precious blood,
To make us his alone;
If wash’d in that atoning flood,
We are no more our own.

If he his will reveal,
Let us obey his call;
And think, whate’er the flesh may feel,
His love deserves our all.

We should maintain in view
His glory as our end;
Too much we cannot bear or do
For such a matchless Friend.

His saints should stand prepared
In duty’s path to run;
Nor count their greatest trials hard
So that his will be done.

With Jesus for our guide,
The path is safe, though rough,
The promise says, “I will provide;”
And faith replies, “Enough!”

When first my soul enlisted
My Saviour’s foes to fight,
Mistaken friends insisted
I was not arm’d aright:
So Saul advised David
He certainly would fail,
Nor could his life be saved
Without a coat of mail.

But David, though he yielded
To put the armour on,
Soon found he could not wield it,
And ventured forth with none.
With only sling and pebble
He fought the fight of faith:
The weapons seem’d but feeble,
Yet proved Goliath’s death.

Had I by him been guided,
And quickly thrown away
The armour men provided,
I might have gain’d the day:
But arm’d as they advised me,
My expectations fail’d;
My enemy surprised me,
And had almost prevail’d.

Furnish’d with books and notions,
And arguments and pride,
I practised all my motions,
And Satan’s power defied:
But soon perceived with trouble
That these would do no good;
Iron to him is stubble,
And brass like rotton wood.

I triumph’d at a distance,
While he was out of sight;
But faint was my resistance
When forced to join in fight:
He broke my sword in shivers,
And pierced my boasted shield;
Laugh’d at my vain endeavours,
And drove me from the field.

Satan will not be braved
By such a worm as I;
Then let me learn with David
To trust in the Most High—
To plead the name of Jesus,
And use the sling of prayer:
Thus arm’d, when Satan sees us
He’ll tremble and despair.

How David, when by sin deceived,
From bad to worse went on!
For when the Holy Spirit’s grieved,
Our strength and guard are gone.

His eyes, on Bathsheba once fix’d,
With poison fill’d his soul;
He ventured on adult’ry next,
And murder crown’d the whole.

So from a spark of fire at first,
That has not been descried,
A dreadful flame has often burst,
And ravaged far and wide.

When sin deceives it hardens too;
For though he vainly sought
To hide his crimes from public view,
Of God he little thought.

He neither would nor could repent,
No true compunction felt,
Till God in mercy Nathan sent,
His stubborn heart to melt.

The parable held forth a fact,
Design’d his case to show;
But though the picture was exact,
Himself he did not know.

“Thou art the man,” the prophet said:
That word his slumber broke;
And when he own’d his sin and pray’d,
The Lord forgiveness spoke.

Let those who think they stand, beware,
For David stood before:
Nor let the fallen soul despair,
For Mercy can restore.

Poor, weak, and worthless, though I am,
I have a rich, almighty Friend;
Jesus, the Saviour, is his name,
He freely loves, and without end.

He ransom’d me from hell with blood,
And by his power my foes control’d;
He found me wand’ring far from God,
And brought me to his chosen fold.

He cheers my heart, my want supplies,
And says that I shall shortly be
Enthroned with him above the skies:
what a Friend is Christ to me!

But ah! my inmost spirit mourns,
And well my eyes with tears may swim,
To think of my perverse returns;
I’ve been a faithless friend to him.

Often my gracious Friend I grieve,
Neglect, distrust, and disobey;
And often Satan’s lies believe
Sooner than all my Friend can say.

He bids me always freely come,
And promises whate’er I ask;
But I am straiten’d, cold, and dumb,
And count my privilege a task.

Before the world, that hates his cause,
My treach’rous heart has throbb’d with shame;
Loath to forego the world’s applause,
I hardly dare avow his name.

Sure, were not I most vile and base,
I could not thus my Friend requite!
And were not he the God of grace
He’d frown, and spurn me from his sight.

Come, my soul, thy suit prepare—
Jesus loves to answer prayer;
He himself has bid thee pray,
Therefore will not say thee nay.

Thou art coming to a King,
Large petitions with thee bring;
For his grace and power are such
None can ever ask too much.

With my burden I begin—
Lord, remove this load of sin!
Let thy blood, for sinners spilt,
Set my conscience free from guilt.

Lord! I come to thee for rest—
Take possession of my breast;
There thy blood-bought right maintain,
And without a rival reign.

As the image in the glass
Answers the beholder’s face,
Thus unto my heart appear,
Print thine own resemblance there.

While I am a pilgrim here
Let thy love my spirit cheer;
As my Guide, my Guard, my Friend,
Lead me to my journey’s end:

Show me what I have to do;
Every hour my strength renew;
Let me live a life of faith,
Let me die thy people’s death.

If Solomon for wisdom pray’d,
The Lord before had made him wise;
Else he another choice had made,
And ask’d for what the worldings prize.

Thus he invites his people still—
He first instructs them how to choose,
Then bids them ask whate’er they will,
Assured that he will not refuse.

Our wishes would our ruin prove,
Could we our wretched choice obtain—
Before we feel the Saviour’s love
Kindle our love to him again:

But when our hearts perceive his worth,
Desires, till then unknown, take place;
Our spirits cleave no more to earth,
But pant for holiness and grace.

And dost thou say, “Ask what thou wilt”?
Lord, I would seize the golden hour—
I pray to be released from guilt,
And freed from sin and Satan’s power.

More of thy presence, Lord, impart;
More of thy image let me bear;
Erect thy throne within my heart,
And reign without a rival there.

Give me to read my pardon seal’d,
And from thy joy to draw my strength—
To have thy boundless love reveal’d
In all its height and breadth and length.

Grant these requests—I ask no more,
But to thy care the rest resign;
Sick or in health, or rich or poor,
All shall be well if thou art mine.

Behold the throne of grace!
The promise calls me near;
There Jesus shows a smiling face,
And waits to answer pray’r.

That rich atoning blood
Which sprinkled round I see
Provides for those who come to God
An all-prevailing plea.

My soul, ask what thou wilt—
Thou canst not be too bold;
Since his own blood for thee he spilt,
What else can he withhold?

Beyond thy utmost wants
His love and power can bless;
To praying souls he always grants
More than they can express.

Since ’tis the Lord’s command,
My mouth I open wide;
Lord, open thou thy bounteous hand,
That I may be supplied.

Thine image, Lord, bestow,
Thy presence and thy love;
I ask to serve thee here below,
And reign with thee above.

Teach me to live by faith,
Conform my will to thine;
Let me victorious be in death,
And then in glory shine.

If thou these blessings give,
And wilt my portion be,
Cheerful the world’s poor toys I leave
To them who know not thee.

From Sheba a distant report
Of Solomon’s glory and fame
Invited the queen to his court,
But all was outdone when she came:
She cried with a pleasing surprise,
When first she before him appear’d,
“How much what I see with my eyes
Surpasses the rumour I heard!”

When once to Jerusalem come
The treasure and train she had brought,
The wealth she possessed at home
No longer had place in her thought:
His house, his attendants, his throne,
All struck her with wonder and awe;
The glory of Solomon shone
In every object she saw.

But Solomon most she admired,
Whose spirit conducted the whole—
His wisdom, which God had inspired,
His bounty, and greatness of soul.
Of all the hard questions she put
A ready solution he show’d—
Exceeded her wish and her suit,
And more than she ask’d him bestow’d.

Thus I, when the gospel proclaim’d
The Saviour’s great name in my ears,
The wisdom for which he is famed,
The love which to sinners he bears,
I long’d, and I was not denied,
That I in his presence might bow;
I saw, and transported I cried,
“A greater than Solomon thou!”

My conscience no comfort could find,
By doubt and hard questions opposed;
But he restored peace to my mind,
And answer’d each doubt I proposed.
Beholding me poor and distress’d,
His bounty supplied all my wants;
My pray’r could have never express’d
So much as this Solomon grants.

I heard and was slow to believe,
But now with my eyes I behold
Much more than my heart could conceive,
Or language could ever have told.
How happy thy servants must be
Who always before thee appear!
Vouchsafe, Lord, this blessing to me,
I find it is good to be here.

Elijah’s example declares,
Whatever distress may betide,
The saints may commit all their cares
To Him who will surely provide:
When rain long withheld from the earth
Occasion’d a famine of bread,
The prophet, secured from the dearth,
By ravens was constantly fed.

More likely to rob than to feed
Were ravens, who live upon prey;
But when the Lord’s people have need,
His goodness will find out a way.
This instance to those may be strange
Who know not how faith can prevail;
But sooner all nature shall change
Than one of God’s promises fail.

Nor is it a singular case
The wonder is often renew’d;
And many can say to his praise,
He sends them by ravens their food.
Thus worldlings, though ravens indeed,
Though greedy and selfish their mind,
If God has a servant to feed,
Against their own wills can be kind.

Thus Satan, that raven unclean,
Who croaks in the ears of the saints,
Compell’d by a Power unseen,
Administers oft to their wants:
God teaches them how to find food
From all the temptations they feel;
This raven, who thirsts for my blood,
Has help’d me to many a meal.

How safe and how happy are they
Who on the good Shepherd rely!
He gives them out strength for their day,
Their wants he will surely supply:
He ravens and lions can tame—
All creatures obey his command;
Then let me rejoice in his name,
And leave all my cares in his hand.

By the poor widow’s oil and meal
Elijah was sustain’d;
Though small the stock, it lasted well,
For God the store maintain’d.

It seem’d as if from day to day
They were to eat and die;
But still, though in a secret way,
He sent a fresh supply.

Thus to his poor He still will give
Just for the present hour;
But for to-morrow they must live
Upon his word and power.

No barn or storehouse they possess
On which they can depend;
Yet have no cause to fear distress,
For Jesus is their Friend,

Then let not doubts your mind assail;
Remember God has said,
“The cruse and barrel shall not fail—
My people shall be fed.”

And thus, though faint it often seems,
He keeps their grace alive;
Supplied by his refreshing streams,
Their dying hopes revive.

Though in ourselves we have no stock,
The Lord is nigh to save;
His door flies open when we knock,
And ’tis but ask and have.

Though Jericho pleasantly stood,
And look’d like a promising soil,
The harvest produced little food,
To answer the husbandman’s toil.
The water some property had
Which poisonous proved to the ground,
The springs were corrupted and bad,
The streams spread a barrenness round.

But soon by the cruse and the salt
Prepared by Elisha’s command
The water was cured of its fault,
And plenty enriched the land.
An emblem sure this of the grace
On fruitless dead sinners bestow’d;
For man is in Jericho’s case
Till cured by the mercy of God.

How noble a creature he seems!
What knowledge, invention, and skill!
How large and extensive his schemes!
How much can he do if he will!
His zeal to be learned and wise
Will yield to no limits or bars;
He measures the earth and the skies,
And numbers and marshals the stars.

Yet still he is barren of good;
In vain are his talents and art;
For sin has infected his blood,
And poison’d the streams of his heart.
Though cockatrice eggs he can hatch,
Or, spider-like, cobwebs can weave,
’Tis madness to labour and watch
For what will destroy and deceive.

But grace, like the salt in the cruse,
When cast in the spring of the soul,
A wonderful change will produce,
Diffusing new life through the whole:
The wilderness blooms like a rose,
The heart which was vile and abhorr’d
Now fruitful and beautiful grows—
The garden and joy of the Lord.

Before Elisha’s gate
The Syrian leper stood;
But could not brook to wait—
He deem’d himself too good:
He thought the prophet would attend,
And not to him a message send.

“Have I this journey come,
And will he not be seen?
I were as well at home
Would washing make me clean;
Why must I wash in Jordan’s flood?
Damascus’ rivers are as good.”

Thus, by his foolish pride,
He almost miss’d a cure;
Howe’er at length he tried,
And found the method sure:
Soon as the pride was brought to yield
The leprosy was quickly heal’d.

Leprous and proud as he,
To Jesus thus I came,
From sin to set me free,
When first I heard his fame:
Surely, thought I, my pompous train
Of vows and tears will notice gain.

My heart devised the way
Which I supposed he’d take;
And when I found delay,
Was ready to go back:
Had he some painful task enjoin’d,
I to performance seem’d inclined.

When by his word he spake,
“That fountain open’d see;
’Twas open’d for thy sake—
“Go wash, and thou art free;”
Oh! how did my proud heart gainsay—
I fear’d to trust his simple way.

At length I trial made,
When I had much endured;
The message I obey’d—
I wash’d, and I was cured.
Sinners, this healing fountain try,
Which cleansed a wretch so vile as I.

1 The prophets’ sons in times of old,
Though to appearance poor,
Were rich without possessing gold,
And honour’d though obscure.

In peace their daily bread they eat,
By honest labour earn’d;
While daily at Elisha’s feet
They grace and wisdom learn’d.

The prophet’s presence cheer’d their toil,
They watch’d the words he spoke,
Whether they turn’d the furrow’d soil,
Or fell’d the spreading oak.

Once as they listen’d to his theme
Their conference was stopp’d;
For one beneath the yielding stream
A borrow’d axe had dropp’d.

“Alas! it was not mine,” he said;
“How shall I make it good?”
Elisha heard, and when he pray’d,
The iron swam like wood.

If God in such a small affair
A miracle performs,
It shows his condescending care
Of poor unworthy worms.

Though kings and nations in his view
Are but as motes and dust,
His eyes and ear are fix’d on you
Who in his mercy trust.

Not one concern of ours is small
If we belong to him.
To teach us this, the Lord of all
Once made the iron swim.

Alas! Elisha’s servant cried,
When he the Syrian army spied;
But he was soon released from care,
In answer to the prophet’s prayer.

Straightway he saw, with other eyes,
A greater army from the skies—
A fiery guard around the hill;
Thus are the saints preserved still.

When Satan and his host appear,
Like him of old, I faint and fear;
Like him, by faith, with joy I see
A greater host engaged for me.

The saints espouse my cause by pray’r,
The angels make my soul their care;
Mine is the promise seal’d with blood,
And Jesus lives to make it good.

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound!)
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found—
Was blind, but now I see.

’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed!

Through many dangers, toils, and snares.
I have already come;
’Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promised good to me—
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call’d me here below,
Will be for ever mine.

Joy is a fruit that will not grow
In Nature’s barren soil;
All we can boast till Christ we know
Is vanity and toil.

But where the Lord has planted grace,
And made his glories known,
There fruits of heavenly joy and peace
Are found, and there alone.

A bleeding Saviour seen by faith,
A sense of pard’ning love,
A hope that triumphs over death,
Give joys like those above.

To take a glimpse within the veil,
To know that God is mine,
Are springs of joy that never fail,
Unspeakable! divine!

These are the joys which satisfy
And sanctify the mind;
Which make the spirit mount on high,
And leave the world behind.

No more, believers, mourn your lot,
But if you are the Lord’s,
Resign to them that know him not
Such joys as earth affords.

Sweet was the time when first I felt
The Saviour’s pard’ning blood
Applied, to cleanse my soul from guilt,
And bring me home to God.

Soon as the morn the light reveal’d,
His praises tuned my tongue;
And when the evening shades prevail’d,
His love was all my song:

In vain the tempter spread his wiles,
The world no more could charm;
I lived upon my Saviour’s smiles,
And lean’d upon his arm.

In pray’r my soul drew near the Lord,
And saw his glory shine;
And when I read his holy word
I call’d each promise mine.

Then to his saints I often spoke
Of what his love hath done:
But now my heart is almost broke,
For all my joys are gone.

Now when the evening shade prevails,
My soul in darkness mourns;
And when the morn the light reveals,
No light to me returns.

My pray’rs are now a chatt’ring noise,
For Jesus hides his face;
I read, the promise meets my eyes,
But will not reach my case.

Now Satan threatens to prevail,
And make my soul his prey;
Yet, Lord, thy mercies cannot fail:
O come without delay!

Saviour, shine, and cheer my soul;
Bid my dying hopes revive;
Make my wounded spirit whole;
Far away the tempter drive;
Speak the word, and set me free;
Let me live alone to thee.

Shall I sigh and pray in vain,
Wilt thou still refuse to hear;
Wilt thou not return again;
Must I yield to black despair?
Thou hast taught my heart to pray,
Canst thou turn thy face away?

Once I thought my mountain strong,
Firmly fix’d, no more to move;
Then thy grace was all my song,
Then my soul was fill’d with love:
Those were happy golden days,
Sweetly spent in pray’r and praise.

When my friends have said, “Beware,
Soon or late you’ll find a change,”
I could see no cause for fear,
Vain their caution seem’d and strange:
Not a cloud obscured my sky,
Could I think a tempest nigh?

Little then myself I knew,
Little thought of Satan’s power;
Now I find their words were true,
Now I feel the stormy hour!
Sin has put my joys to flight,
Sin has changed my day to night.

Satan asks, and mocks my woe,
“Boaster, where is now your God?”
Silence, Lord, this cruel foe;
Let him know I’m bought with blood;
Tell him, since I know thy name,
Though I change, thou art the same.

In mercy, not in wrath, rebuke
Thy feeble worm, my God!
My spirit dreads thy angry look,
And trembles at thy rod.

Have mercy, Lord, for I am weak;
Regard my heavy groans;
O let thy voice of comfort speak,
And heal my broken bones!

By day, my busy beating head
Is fill’d with anxious fears;
By night, upon my restless bed,
I weep a flood of tears.

Thus I sit desolate and mourn,
Mine eyes grow dull with grief;
How long, my Lord, ere thou return,
And bring my soul relief?

O come and show thy power to save,
And spare my fainting breath;
For who can praise thee in the grave,
Or sing thy name in death?

Satan, my cruel envious foe,
Insults me in my pain;
He smiles to see me brought so low,
And tells me hope is vain.

But hence, thou enemy, depart!
Nor tempt me to despair;
My Saviour comes to cheer my heart,
The Lord has heard my prayer.

How tedious and tasteless the hours
When Jesus no longer I see;
Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet flowers,
Have all lost their sweetness with me:
The midsummer sun shines but dim.
The fields strive in vain to look gay,
But when I am happy in him,
December’s as pleasant as May.

His name yields the richest perfume,
And sweeter than music his voice,
His presence disperses my gloom,
And makes all within me rejoice;
I should, were he always so nigh,
Have nothing to wish or to fear;
No mortal so happy as I,
My summer would last all the year.

Content with beholding his face,
My all to his pleasure resign’d,
No changes of season or place
Would make any change in my mind:
While bless’d with a sense of his love,
A palace a toy would appear;
And prisons would palaces prove
If Jesus would dwell with me there.

Dear Lord, if indeed I am thine,
If thou art my sun and my song,
Say, why do I languish and pine,
And why are my winters so long?
O drive these dark clouds from my sky,
Thy soul-cheering presence restore;
Or take me unto thee on high,
Where winter and clouds are no more.

Incarnate God! the soul that knows
Thy name’s mysterious power
Shall dwell in undisturb’d repose,
Nor fear the trying hour.

Thy wisdom, faithfulness, and love,
To feeble, helpless worms,
A buckler and a refuge prove
From enemies and storms.

In vain the fowler spreads his net,
To draw them from thy care;
Thy timely call instructs their feet
To shun the artful snare.

When, like a baneful pestilence,
Sin mows its thousands down,
On every side, without defence,
Thy grace secures thine own.

No midnight terrors haunt their bed,
No arrow wounds by day;
Unhurt on serpents they shall tread,
If found in duty’s way.

Angels, unseen, attend the saints,
And bear them in their arms,
To cheer the spirit when it faints,
And guard their life from harms.

The angels’ Lord himself is nigh
To them that love his name—
Ready to save them when they cry,
And put their foes to shame.

Crosses and changes are their lot
Long as they sojourn here;
But since their Saviour changes not,
What have the saints to fear?

That man no guard or weapons needs
Whose heart the blood of Jesus knows;
But safe may pass, if duty leads,
Through burning sands or mountain snows.

Released from guilt, he feels no fear;
Redemption is his shield and tower;
He sees his Saviour always near
To help in every trying hour.

Though I am weak, and Satan strong,
And often to assault me tries,
When Jesus is my shield and song,
Abash’d the wolf before me flies.

His love possessing, I am blest,
Secure whatever change may come:
Whether I go to east or west,
With him I still shall be at home.

If placed beneath the northern pole,
Though winter reigns with rigour there,
His gracious beams would cheer my soul,
And make a spring throughout the year.

Or if the desert’s sun-burnt soil
My lonely dwelling e’er should prove,
His presence would support my toil,
Whose smile is life—whose voice is love.

When Israel was from Egypt freed,
The Lord, who brought them out,
Help’d them in every time of need,
But led them round about.

To enter Canaan soon they hoped;
But quickly changed their mind,
When the Red sea their passage stopp’d,
And Pharaoh march’d behind.

The desert fill’d them with alarms
For water and for food;
And Amalek, by force of arms,
To check their progress stood.

They often murmur’d by the way,
Because they judged by sight;
But were at length constrain’d to say,
The Lord had led them right.

In the Red sea, that stopp’d them first,
Their enemies were drown’d;
The rocks gave water for their thirst,
And manna spread the ground.

By fire and cloud their way was shown
Across the pathless sands;
And Amalek was overthrown
By Moses’ lifted hands.

The way was right their hearts to prove,
To make God’s glory known,
And show his wisdom, pow’r, and love,
Engaged to save his own.

Just so the true believer’s path
Through many dangers lies;
Though dark to sense, ’tis light to faith,
And leads us to the skies.

For mercies, countless as the sands,
Which daily I receive
From Jesus my Redeemer’s hands,
My soul, what canst thou give?

Alas! from such a heart as mine
What can I bring him forth?
My best is stain’d and dyed with sin,
My all is nothing worth.

Yet this acknowledgment I’ll make
For all he has bestow’d—
Salvation’s sacred cup I’ll take,
And call upon my God.

The best returns for one like me,
So wretched and so poor,
Is from his gifts to draw a plea,
And ask him still for more.

I cannot serve him as I ought,
No works have I to boast;
Yet would I glory in the thought
That I should owe him most.

What a mournful life is mine,
Fill’d with crosses, pains, and cares!
Every work denied with sin,
Every step beset with snares.

If alone I pensive sit,
I myself can hardly bear;
If I pass along the street,
Sin and riot triumph there.

Jesus! how my heart is pain’d,
How it mourns for souls deceived—
When I hear thy name profaned,
When I see thy Spirit grieved!

When thy children’s griefs I view,
Their distress becomes my own;
All I hear or see or do
Makes me tremble, weep, and groan.

Mourning thus I long had been
When I heard my Saviour’s voice:
“Thou hast cause to mourn for sin,
But in me thou may’st rejoice.”

This kind word dispell’d my grief,
Put to silence my complaints;
Though of sinners I am chief,
He has rank’d me with his saints.

Though constrain’d to dwell a while
Where the wicked strive and brawl,
Let them frown—so he but smile,
Heav’n will make amends for all.

There, believers, we shall rest,
Free from sorrow, sin, and fears;
Nothing there our peace molest
Through eternal rounds of years.

Let us then the fight endure.—
See our Captain looking down:
He will make the conquest sure,
And bestow the promised crown.

Ere God had built the mountains,
Or raised the fruitful hills,
Before he fill’d the fountains
That feed the running rills,
In me, from everlasting,
The wonderful I am
Found pleasures never wasting,
And Wisdom is my name.

When, like a tent to dwell in,
He spread the skies abroad,
And swathed about the swelling
Of ocean’s mighty flood,
He wrought by weight and measure;
And I was with him then;—
Myself the Father’s pleasure,
And mine the sons of men.

Thus Wisdom’s words discover
Thy glory and thy grace,
Thou everlasting lover
Of our unworthy race!
Thy gracious eye survey’d us
Ere stars were seen above:
In wisdom thou hast made us,
And died for us in love.

And couldst thou be delighted
With creatures such as we!
Who, when we saw thee slighted
And nail’d thee to a tree!
Unfathomable wonder,
And mystery divine,
The voice that speaks in thunder,
Says, “Sinner, I am thine!”

One there is, above all others,
Well deserves the name of Friend!
His is love beyond a brother’s,
Costly, free, and knows no end:
They who once his kindness prove,
find it everlasting love!

Which of all our friends, to save us,
Could or would have shed their blood?
But our Jesus died to have us
Reconciled in him to God:
This was boundless love indeed!
Jesus is a Friend in need.

Men, when raised to lofty stations,
Often know their friends no more;
Slight and scorn their poor relations,
Though they valued them before:
But our Saviour always owns
Those whom he redeem’d with groans.

When he lived on earth abased,
Friend of sinners was his name;
Now above all glory raised,
He rejoices in the same:
Still he calls them brethren, friends,
And to all their wants attends.

Could we bear from one another
What he daily bears from us?
Yet this glorious Friend and Brother
Loves us though we treat him thus:
Though for good we render ill,
He accounts us brethren still.

O for grace our hearts to soften!
Teach us, Lord, at length to love;
We, alas! forget too often
What a Friend we have above:
But when home our souls are brought,
We will love thee as we ought.

The evils that beset our path,
Who can prevent or cure?
We stand upon the brink of death
When most we seem secure.

If we to-day sweet peace possess,
It soon may be withdrawn;
Some change may plunge us in distress
Before to-morrow’s dawn.

Disease and pain invade our health,
And find an easy prey;
And oft, when least expected, wealth
Takes wings and flies away.

A fever or a blow can shake
Our wisdom’s boasted rule,
And of the brightest genius make
A madman or a fool.

The gourds from which we look for fruit
Produce us only pain;
A worm unseen attacks the root,
And all our hopes are vain.

I pity those who seek no more
Than such a world can give;
Wretched they are and blind and poor,
And dying while they live.

Since sin has fill’d the earth with woe,
And creatures fade and die,
Lord, wean our hearts from things below,
And fix our hopes on high.

God gives his mercies to be spent;
Your hoard will do your soul no good;
Gold is a blessing only lent,
Repaid by giving others food.

The world’s esteem is but a bribe;
To buy their peace you sell your own,
The slave of a vain-glorious tribe.
Who hate you while they make you known.

The joy that vain amusements give,
Oh, sad conclusion that it brings!
The honey of a crowded hive,
Defended by a thousand stings.

’Tis thus the world rewards the fools
That live upon her treach’rous smiles:
She leads them blindfold by her rules,
And ruins all whom she beguiles.

God knows the thousands who go down
From pleasure into endless woe,
And with a long despairing groan
Blaspheme their Maker as they go.

O fearful thought! be timely wise;
Delight but in a Saviour’s charms.
And God shall take you to the skies.
Embraced in everlasting arms.

Honey though the bee prepares,
An envenom’d sting he wears;
Piercing thorns a guard compose
Round the fragrant blooming rose.

Where we think to find a sweet,
Oft a painful sting we meet;
When the rose invites our eye,
We forget the thorn is nigh.

Why are thus our hopes beguiled?
Why are all our pleasures spoil’d?
Why do agony and woe
From our choicest comforts grow?

Sin has been the cause of all!
’Twas not thus before the fall:
What but pain and thorn and sting
From the root of sin can spring?

Now with every good we find
Vanity and grief entwined;
What we feel or what we fear
All our joys embitter here.

Yet, through the Redeemer’s love,
These afflictions blessings prove;
He the wounding stings and thorns
Into healing med’cines turns.

From the earth our hearts they wean,
Teach us on his arm to lean;
Urge us to a throne of grace;
Make us seek a resting-place.

In the mansions of our King
Sweets abound without a sting;
Thornless there the roses blow,
And the joys unmingled flow,

How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
In a believer’s ear!
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.

It makes the wounded spirit whole,
And calms the troubl’d breast;
’Tis manna to the hungry soul,
And to the weary rest.

Dear name! the rock on which I build,
My shield and hiding-place
My never-failing treas’ry, fill’d
With boundless stores of grace.

By thee my pray’rs acceptance gain,
Although with sin defiled;
Satan accuses me in vain,
And I am own’d a child.

Jesus! my Shepherd, Husband, Friend,
My Prophet, Priest, and King;
My Lord, my life, my way, my end,
Accept the praise I bring.

Weak is the effort of my heart,
And cold my warmest thought;
But when I see thee as thou art
I’ll praise thee as I ought.

Till then I would thy love proclaim
With every fleeting breath;
And may the music of thy name
Refresh my soul in death.

I will praise thee every day,
Now thine anger’s turn’d away!
Comfortable thoughts arise
From the bleeding sacrifice.

Here, in the fair gospel field,
Wells of free salvation yield
Streams of life, a plenteous store,
And my soul shall thirst no more.

Jesus is become at length
My salvation and my strength;
And his praises shall prolong,
While I live, my pleasant song.

Praise ye then his glorious name,
Publish his exalted fame!
Still his worth your praise exceeds,
Excellent are all his deeds.

Raise again the joyful sound,
Let the nations roll it round!
Zion, shout, for this is he,
God the Saviour dwells in thee.

He who on earth as man was known,
And bore our sins and pains,
Now, seated on the eternal throne,
The God of glory reigns.

His hands the wheels of nature guide
With an unerring skill;
And countless worlds extended wide
Obey his sovereign will.

While harps unnumber’d sound his praise
In yonder world above,
His saints on earth admire his ways,
And glory in his love.

His righteousness to faith reveal’d,
Wrought out for guilty worms,
Affords a hiding-place and shield
From enemies and storms.

This land, through which his pilgrims go,
Is desolate and dry;
But streams of grace from him o’erflow,
Their thirst to satisfy.

When troubles, like a burning sun,
Beat heavy on their head,
To this almighty Rock they run,
And find a pleasing shade.

How glorious he! how happy they
In such a glorious Friend!
Whose love secures them all the way,
And crowns them at the end.

Glorious things of thee are spoken,
Zion, city of our God!
He, whose word cannot be broken,
Form’d thee for his own abode:
On the Rock of ages founded,
What can shake thy sure repose?
With salvation’s walls surrounded,
Thou may’st smile at all thy foes.

See! the streams of living waters
Springing from eternal love,
Well supply thy sons and daughters,
And all fear of want remove:
Who can faint while such a river
Ever flows their thirst t’ assuage?
Grace, which, like the Lord, the giver,
Never fails from age to age.

Round each habitation hov’ring,
See the cloud and fire appear!
For a glory and a cov’ring,
Showing that the Lord is near:
Thus deriving from their banner
Light by night, and shade by day;
Safe they feed upon the manna
Which he gives them when they pray.

Bless’d inhabitants of Zion,
Wash’d in the Redeemer’s blood!
Jesus, whom their souls rely on,
Makes them kings and priests to God;
’Tis his love his people raises
Over self to reign as kings,
And as priests his solemn praises
Each for a thank-off’ring brings.

Saviour, if of Zion’s city
I through grace a member am,
Let the world deride or pity—
I will glory in thy name:
Fading is the worldling’s pleasure—
All his boasted pomp and show;
Solid joys and lasting treasure
None but Zion’s children know.

As the serpent raised by Moses
Heal’d the burning serpent’s bite,
Jesus thus himself discloses
To the wounded sinner’s sight:
Hear his gracious invitation,
“I have life and peace to give—
I have wrought out full salvation;
Sinner, look to me and live.

“Pore upon your sins no longer,
Well I know their mighty guilt;
But my love than death is stronger,
I my blood have freely spilt:
Though your heart has long been harden’d,
Look on me—it soft shall grow;
Past transgressions shall be pardon’d,
And I’ll wash you white as snow.

“I have seen what you were doing,
Though you little thought of me;
You were madly bent on ruin,
But I said—It shall not be:
You had been for ever wretched,
Had I not espoused your part;
Now behold my arms outstretched
To receive you to my heart.

“Well may shame and joy and wonder
All your inward passions move;
I could crush thee with my thunder,
But I speak to thee in love:
See! your sins are all forgiven—
I have paid the countless sum!
Now my death has open’d heaven,
Thither you shall shortly come.”

Dearest Saviour, we adore thee
For thy precious life and death;
Melt each stubborn heart before thee,
Give us all the eye of faith:
From the law’s condemning sentence,
To thy mercy we appeal;
Thou alone canst give repentance,
Thou alone our souls canst heal.

How lost was my condition
Till Jesus made me whole!
There is but one Physician
Can cure a sin-sick soul!
Next door to death he found me,
And snatch’d me from the grave
To tell to all around me
His wondrous power to save.

The worst of all diseases
Is light compared with sin;
On every part it seizes,
But rages most within:
’Tis palsy, dropsy, fever,
And madness—all combined;
And none but a believer
The least relief can find.

From men great skill professing
I thought a cure to gain;
But this proved more distressing,
And added to my pain:
Some said that nothing ail’d me,
Some gave me up for lost;
Thus every refuge fail’d me,
And all my hopes were cross’d.

At length this great Physician,
How matchless is his grace!
Accepted my petition,
And undertook my case;
First gave me sight to view him,
For sin my sight had seal’d,
Then bid me look unto him—
I look’d, and I was heal’d.

A dying, risen Jesus,
Seen by the eye of faith,
At once from anguish frees us,
And saves the soul from death:
Come then to this Physician,
His help he’ll freely give,
He makes no hard condition,
’Tis only—look and live.

Pensive, doubting, fearful heart,
Hear what Christ the Saviour says;
Every word should joy impart,
Change thy mourning into praise:
Yes, he speaks, and speaks to thee,
May he help thee to believe!
Then thou presently wilt see,
Thou hast little cause to grieve.

“Fear thou not, nor be ashamed,
All thy sorrows soon shall end:
I who heaven and earth have framed
Am thy Husband and thy Friend:
I the High and Holy One,
Isr’el’s God by all adored,
As thy Saviour will be known,
Thy Redeemer and thy Lord.

For a moment I withdrew,
And thy heart was fill’d with pain;
But my mercies I’ll renew—
Thou shalt soon rejoice again:
Though I seem to hide my face,
Yery soon my wrath shall cease;
’Tis but for a moment’s space,
Ending in eternal peace.

When my peaceful bow appears,
Painted on the wat’ry cloud;
’Tis to dissipate thy fears,
Lest the earth should be o’erflow’d:
’Tis an emblem too of grace,
Of my cov’nant love a sign;
Though the mountains leave their place,
Thou shalt be for ever mine.

Though afflicted, tempest-toss’d.
Comfortless awhile thou art,
Do not think thou canst be lost,
Thou art graven on my heart:
All thy wastes I will repair,
Thou shalt be rebuilt anew;
And in thee it shall appear
What a God of love can do.

The Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow:
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no?

I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;
If aught is felt, ’tis only pain
To find I cannot feel.

I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that’s good.

My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more;
But when I cry, “My strength renew,”
Seem weaker than before.

Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.

O make this heart rejoice or ache,
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken break,
And heal it if it be.

Hear what God the Lord hath spoken:
“O my people, faint and few,
Comfortless, afflicted, broken,
Fair abodes I build for you;
Thorns of heart-felt tribulation
Shall no more perplex your ways;
You shall name your walls Salvation,
And your gates shall all be Praise.

There, like streams that feed the garden,
Pleasures without end shall flow;
For the Lord, your faith rewarding,
All his bounty shall bestow:
Still in undisturb’d possession
Peace and righteousness shall reign;
Never shall you feel oppression—
Hear the voice of war again.

Ye no more your suns descending,
Waning moons no more shall see;
But, your griefs for ever ending,
Find eternal noon in me:
God shall rise, and shining o’er you,
Change to day the gloom of night;
He the Lord, shall be your glory,
God your everlasting light.”

As parched in the barren sands,
Beneath a burning sky,
The worthless bramble with’ring stands,
And only grows to die;

Such is the sinner’s awful case,
Who makes the world his trust,
And dares his confidence to place
In vanity and dust.

A secret curse destroys his root,
And dries his moisture up;
He lives awhile, but bears no fruit,
Then dies without a hope.

But happy he whose hopes depend
Upon the Lord alone;
The soul that trusts in such a Friend
Can ne’er be overthrown.

Though gourds should wither, cisterns break.
And creature-comforts die,
No change his solid hope can shake,
Or stop his sure supply.

So thrives and blooms the tree whose roots
By constant streams are fed;
Array’d in green, and rich in fruits,
It rears its branching head.

It thrives though rain should be denied,
And drought around prevail;
’Tis planted by a river side
Whose waters cannot fail.

My God, how perfect are thy ways!
But mine polluted are;
Sin twines itself about my praise,
And slides into my prayer.

When I would speak what thou hast done
To save me from my sin,
I cannot make thy mercies known
But self-applause creeps in.

Divine desire, that holy flame,
Thy grace creates in me;
Alas! impatience is its name
When it returns to thee.

This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts,
How does it overflow!
While self upon the surface floats,
Still bubbling from below.

Let others in the gaudy dress
Of fancied merits shine,
The Lord shall be my righteousness,
The Lord for ever mine.

My God, till I received thy stroke,
How like a beast was I!
So unaccustom’d to the yoke,
So backward to comply.

With grief my just reproach I bear,
Shame fills me at the thought;
How frequent my rebellions were!
What wickedness I wrought!

3 Thy merciful restraint I scorn’d,
And left the pleasant road;
Yet turn me, and I shall be turn’d:
Thou art the Lord my God.

Is Ephraim banish’d from my thoughts,
Or vile in my esteem?
No, saith the Lord, with all his faults
I still remember him.

Is he a dear and pleasant child?
Yes, dear and pleasant still;
Though sin his foolish heart beguiled.
And he withstood my will.

My sharp rebuke has laid him low,
He seeks my face again;
My pity kindles at his woe,
He shall not seek in vain.

From pole to pole let others roam,
And search in vain for bliss;
My soul is satisfied at home,
The Lord my portion is.

Jesus, who on his glorious throne,
Rules heaven and earth and sea,
Is pleased to claim me for his own,
And give himself to me.

His person fixes all my love,
His blood removes my fear;
And while he pleads for me above,
His arm preserves me here.

His word of promise is my food,
His Spirit is my guide;
Thus daily is my strength renewed,
And all my wants supplied.8

For him I count as gain each loss,
Disgrace for him renown;
Well may I glory in his cross,
While he prepares my crown!

Let worldlings then indulge their boast,
How much they gain or spend;
Their joys must soon give up the ghost,
But mine shall know no end.

Once perishing in blood I lay;
Creatures no help could give;
But Jesus pass’d me in the way,
He saw, and bade me live.

Though Satan still his rule maintain’d,
And all his arts employ’d;
That mighty word his rage restrain’d,
I could not be destroy’d.

At length the time of love arrived,
When I my Lord should know;
Then Satan, of his power deprived,
Was forced to let me go.

O can I e’er that day forget,
When Jesus kindly spoke!
“Poor soul, my blood has paid thy debt,
And now I break thy yoke.

“Henceforth I take thee for my own,
And give myself to thee;
Forsake the idols thou hast known,
And yield thy heart to me.”

Ah, worthless heart! it promised fair,
And said it would be thine;
I little thought it e’er would dare
Again with idols join.

Lord, dost thou such backslidings heal,
And pardon all that’s past?
Sure, if I am not made of steel,
Thou hast prevail’d at last.

My tongue, which rashly spoke before,
This mercy will restrain;
Surely I now shall boast no more,
Nor censure, nor complain.

The Lord proclaims his grace abroad!
“Behold, I change your hearts of stone;
Each shall renounce his idol-god,
And serve, henceforth, the Lord alone.

“My grace, a flowing stream, proceeds
To wash your filthiness away;
Ye shall abhor your former deeds,
And learn my statutes to obey.

“My truth the great design ensures,
I give myself away to you;
You shall be mine, I will be yours,
Your God unalterably true.

“Yet not unsought or unimplored
The plenteous grace shall I confer;
No—your whole hearts shall seek the Lord,
I’ll put a praying spirit there.

“From the first breath of life divine,
Down to the last expiring hour,
The gracious work shall all be mine,
Begun and ended in my power.”

As birds their infant brood protect,
And spread their wings to shelter them;
Thus saith the Lord to his elect,
“So will I guard Jerusalem.”

And what then is Jerusalem—
This darling object of his care?
Where is its worth in God’s esteem?
Who built it? who inhabits there?

Jehovah founded it in blood.
The blood of his incarnate Son;
There dwell the saints, once foes to God—
The sinners whom he calls his own.

There, though besieged on every side,
Yet much beloved and guarded well,
From age to age they have defied
The utmost force of earth and hell.

Let earth repent and hell despair,
This city has a sure defence;
Her name is call’d “The Lord is there,”
And who has power to drive him thence?

Supported by the word,
Though in himself a worm,
The servant of the Lord
Can wondrous acts perform:
Without dismay he boldly treads
Where’er the path of duty leads.

The haughty king in vain,
With fury on his brow,
Believers would constrain
To golden gods to bow:
The furnace could not make them fear,
Because they knew the Lord was near.

As vain was the decree
Which charged them not to pray:
Daniel still bow’d his knee,
And worshipp’d thrice a day.
Trusting in God, he fear’d not men,
Though threaten’d with the lions’ den.

Secure they might refuse
Compliance with such laws;
For what had they to lose
When God espoused their cause?
He made the hungry lions crouch;
Nor durst the fire his children touch.

The Lord is still the same,
A mighty shield and tower,
And they who trust his name
Are guarded by his power;
He can the rage of lions tame,
And bear them harmless through the flame.

Yet we too often shrink
When trials are in view,
Expecting we must sink,
And never can get through:
But could we once believe indeed,
From all these fears we should be freed.

Poor sinners! little do they think
With whom they have to do!
But stand securely on the brink
Of everlasting woe.

Belshazzar thus, profanely bold,
The Lord of hosts defied;
But vengeance soon his boasts control’d,
And humbled all his pride.

He saw a hand upon the wall
(And trembled on his throne),
Which wrote his sudden dreadful fall
In characters unknown.

Why should he tremble at the view
Of what he could not read?
Foreboding conscience quickly knew
His ruin was decreed.

See him o’erwhelm’d with deep distress;
His eyes with anguish roll;
His looks and loosen’d joints express
The terrors of his soul.

His pomp and music, guests and wine,
No more delight afford:
O sinner, ere this case be thine,
Begin to seek the Lord.

The law like this hand-writing stands,
And speaks the wrath of God;
But Jesus answers its demands,
And cancels it with blood.

As once for Jonah, so the Lord,
To sooth and cheer my mournful hours,
Prepared for me a pleasing gourd,
Cool was its shade, and sweet its flowers.

To prize this gift was surely right;
But through the folly of my heart,
It hid the Giver from my sight,
And soon my joy was changed to smart.

While I admired its beauteous form,
Its pleasant shade and grateful fruit,
The Lord, displeased, sent forth a worm,
Unseen to prey upon the root.

I trembled when I saw it fade,
But guilt restrain’d the murm’ring word;
My folly I confess’d, and pray’d—
Forgive my sin, and spare my gourd.

His wondrous love can ne’er be told—
He heard me and relieved my pain;
His word the threat’ning worm control’d,
And bid my gourd revive again.

Now, Lord, my gourd is mine no more,
’Tis thine, who only couldst it raise;
The idol of my heart before
Henceforth shall flourish to thy praise.

Son of God, thy people shield!
Must we still thine absence mourn?
Let thy promise be fulfill’d,
Thou hast said, “I will return!”

Gracious leader, now appear,
Shine upon us with thy light!
Like the spring, when thou art near,
Days and suns are doubly bright.

As a mother counts the days
Till her absent son she see,
Longs and watches, weeps and prays,
So our spirits long for thee.

Come and let us feel thee nigh,
Then thy sheep shall feed in peace;
Plenty bless us from on high,
Evil from amongst us cease.

With thy love and voice and aid,
Thou canst every care assuage;
Then we shall not be afraid,
Though the world and Satan rage.

Thus each day for thee we’ll spend,
While our callings we pursue;
And the thoughts of such a friend
Shall each night our joy renew.

Let thy light be ne’er withdrawn,
Golden days afford us long!
Thus we pray at early dawn,
This shall be our evening song.

With Satan, my accuser, near,
My spirit trembled when I saw
The Lord in majesty appear,
And heard the language of his law.

In vain I wish’d and strove to hide
The tatter’d filthy rags I wore:
While my fierce foe insulting cried,
“See what you trusted in before!”

Struck dumb, and left without a plea,
I heard my gracious Saviour say,
“Know, Satan, I this sinner free—
I died to take his sins away.

“This is a brand which I in love
To save from wrath and sin design;
In vain thy accusations prove;
I answer all, and claim him mine.”

At this rebuke the tempter fled;
Then He removed my filthy dress;
“Poor sinner, take this robe,” He said,
“It is thy Saviour’s righteousness.

“And see a crown of life prepared!
That I might thus thy head adorn;
I thought no shame of suff’ring hard,
But wore for thee a crown of thorn.”

O, how I heard these gracious words!
They broke and heal’d my heart at once;
Constrained me to become the Lord’s,
And all my idol-gods renounce.

Now, Satan, thou hast lost thy aim;
Against this brand thy threats are vain;
Jesus has pluck’d it from the flame,
And who shall put it in again?

Jesus Christ, the Lord’s Anointed,
Who his blood for sinners spilt,
Is the Stone by God appointed,
And the church is on him built:
He delivers all who trust him from their guilt.

Many eyes at once are fix’d
On a person so divine;
Love, with awful justice mix’d,
In his great redemption shine:
Mighty Jesus! give me leave to call thee mine.

By the Father’s eye approved,
Lo, a voice is heard from heaven,
“Sinners, this is my Beloved,
For your ransom freely given:
All offences for his sake shall be forgiven,”

Angels with their eyes pursued him
When he left his glorious throne;
With astonishment they view’d him
Put the form of servant on;
Angels worshipp’d Him who was on earth unknown.

Satan and his host, amazed,
Saw this Stone in Zion laid;
Jesus, though to death abased,
Bruised the subtle Serpent’s head
When, to save us, on the cross his blood he shed.

When a guilty sinner sees him,
While he looks his soul is heal’d;
Soon this sight from anguish frees him,
And imparts a pardon seal’d:
May this Saviour be to all our hearts reveal’d!

With desire and admiration,
All his blood-bought flock behold
Him who wrought out their salvation,
And enclosed them in his fold:
Yet their warmest love and praises are too cold.

By the eye of carnal reason
Many view him with disdain;
How will they abide the season
When he comes with all his train?
To escape him then they’ll wish, but wish in vain.

How their hearts will melt and tremble
When they hear his awful voice
But his saints he’ll then assemble,
As his portion and his choice,
And receive them to his everlasting joys.

There is a fountain fill’d with blood
Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, as vile as he,
Wash’d all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power
Till all the ransom’d church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.

E’er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I’ll sing thy power to save—
When this poor lisping stamm’ring 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.

When sinners utter boasting words,
And glory in their shame,
The Lord, well pleased, an ear affords,
To those who fear his name.

They often met to seek his face;
And what they do or say
Is rioted in his book of grace
Against another day.

For they, by faith, a day descry,
And joyfully expect,
When he, descending from the sky,
His jewels will collect.

Unnoticed now, because unknown,
A poor and suff’ring few;
He comes to claim them for his own,
And bring them forth to view.

With transport then their Saviour’s care
And favour they shall prove;
As tender parents guard and spare
The children of their love.

Assembled worlds will then discern
The saints alone are blest,
When wrath shall like an oven burn,
And vengeance strike the rest.

Encouraged by thy word
Of promise to the poor,
Behold a beggar, Lord,
Waits at thy mercy’s door!
No hand, no heart, O Lord, but thine,
Can help or pity wants like mine.

The beggar’s usual plea,
Relief from men to gain,
If offer’d unto thee,
I know thou wouldst disdain;
And pleas which move thy gracious ear
Are such as men would scorn to hear.

I have no right to say,
That though I now am poor,
Yet once there was a day
When I possessed more:
Thou know’st that from my very birth
I’ve been the poorest wretch on earth.

Nor can I dare profess,
As beggars often do,
Though great is my distress,
My faults have been but few:
If thou shouldst leave my soul to starve,
It would be what I well deserve.

’Twere folly to pretend
I never begg’d before;
Or if thou now befriend,
I’ll trouble thee no more;
Thou often hast relieved my pain,
And often I must come again.

Though crumbs are much too good
For such a dog as I,
No less than children’s food
My soul can satisfy.
O do not frown and bid me go—
I must have all thou canst bestow!

Nor can I willing be
Thy bounty to conceal
From others who, like me,
Their wants and hunger feel:
I’ll tell them of thy mercy’s store,
And try to send a thousand more.

Thy thoughts, thou Only Wise,
Our thoughts and ways transcend,
Far as the arched skies
Above the earth extend:
Such pleas as mine men would not bear,
But God receives a beggar’s pray’r.

Oft as the leper’s case I read,
My own described I feel:
Sin is a leprosy indeed
Which none but Christ can heal.

Awhile I would have pass’d for well,
And strove my spots to hide,
Till it broke out incurable,
Too plain to be denied.

Then from the saints I sought to flee,
And dreaded to be seen;
I thought they all would point at me.
And cry, “Unclean, unclean!”

What anguish did my soul endure
Till hope and patience ceased!
The more I strove myself to cure,
The more the plague increased.

While thus I lay distress’d, I saw
The Saviour passing by;
To him, though fill’d with shame and awe,
I raised my mournful cry.

Lord, thou canst heal me if thou wilt,
For thou canst all things do;
O cleanse my leprous soul from guilt,
My filthy heart renew.

He heard, and with a gracious look
Pronounced the healing word;
“I will—be clean,” and while he spoke
I felt my health restored.

Come, lepers, seize the present hour,
The Saviour’s grace to prove;
He can relieve, for he is power—
He will, for he is love.

Physician of my sin-sick soul,
To thee I bring my case;
My raging malady control,
And heal me by thy grace.

Pity the anguish I endure,
See how I mourn and pine;
For never can I hope a cure
From any hand but thine.

I would disclose my whole complaint,
But where shall I begin?
No words of mine can fully paint
That worst distemper, sin.

It lies not in a single part,
But through my frame is spread;
A burning fever in my heart,
A palsy in my head.

It makes me deaf and dumb and blind,
And impotent and lame;
It overclouds and fills my mind
With folly, fear, and shame.

A thousand evil thoughts intrude
Tumultuous in my breast;
Which indispose me for my food,
And rob me of my rest.

Lord, I am sick, regard my cry,
And set my spirit free:
Say, canst thou let a sinner die,
Who longs to live to thee?

When Jesus claims the sinner’s heart,
Where Satan ruled before,
The evil spirit must depart,
And dares return no more.

But when he goes without constraint,
And wanders from his home,
Although withdrawn, ’tis but a feint—
He means again to come.

Some outward change perhaps is seen
If Satan quit the place;
But though the house seem swept and clean.
’Tis destitute of grace.

Except the Saviour dwell and reign
Within the sinner’s mind,
Satan, when he returns again,
Will easy entrance find.

With rage and malice sevenfold
He then resumes his sway;
No more by checks to be control’d,
No more to go away.

The sinner’s former state was bad,
But worse the latter far;
He lives possessed, blind, and mad,
And dies in dark despair.

Lord, save me from this dreadful end!
And from this heart of mine
O drive and keep away the fiend
Who fears no voice but thine.

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 baulk
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.

Though in the outward church below
The wheat and tares together grow,
Jesus ere long will weed the crop,
And pluck the tares in anger up.

Will it relieve their horrors there
To recollect their stations here—
How much they heard, how much they knew,
How long amongst the wheat they grew?

Oh! this will aggravate their case;
They perish’d under means of grace;
To them the word of life and faith
Became an instrument of death.

We seem alike when thus we meet,
Strangers might think we all are wheat;
But to the Lord’s all-searching eyes
Each heart appears without disguise.

The tares are spared for various ends;
Some for the sake of praying friends,
Others the Lord, against their will,
Employs his counsels to fulfill.

But though they grow so tall and strong,
His plan will not require them long;
In harvest, when he saves his own,
The tares shall into hell be thrown.

A word from Jesus calms the sea,
The stormy wind controls,
And gives repose and liberty
To tempest-tossed souls.

To Peter on the waves he came,
And gave him instant peace;
Thus he to me reveal’d his name,
And bade my sorrows cease.

Then fill’d with wonder, joy, and love.
Peter’s request was mine;
Lord, call me down, I long to prove
That I am wholly thine.

Unmoved at all I have to meet
On life’s tempestuous sea,
Hard shall be easy, bitter sweet,
So I may follow thee.

He heard and smiled, and bade me try;
I eagerly obey’d;
But when from him I turn’d my eye,
How was my soul dismay’d!

The storm increased on every side,
I felt my spirit shrink!
And soon, with Peter, loud I cried,
“Lord, save me, or I sink.”

Kindly he caught me by the hand,
And said, “Why dost thou fear
Since thou art come at my command.
And I am always near?

“Upon my promise rest thy hope,
And keep my love in view;
I stand engaged to hold thee up,
And guide thee safely through.”

Prayer an answer will obtain,
Though the Lord awhile delay;
None shall seek his face in vain,
None be empty sent away.

When the woman came from Tyre,
And for help to Jesus sought,
Though he granted her desire,
Yet at first he answer’d not.

Could she guess at his intent
When he to his foll’wers said,
“I to Israel’s sheep am sent;
Dogs must not have children’s bread’?

She was not of Israel’s seed,
But of Canaan’s wretched race;
Thought herself a dog indeed;
Was not this a hopeless case?

Yet although from Canaan sprung,
Though a dog herself she styled,
She had Israel’s faith and tongue,
And was own’d for Abram’s child.

From His word she draws a plea:
“Though unworthy children’s bread,
’Tis enough for one like me
If with crumbs I may be fed.”

Jesus then his heart reveal’d:
“Woman, canst thou thus believe?
I to thy petition yield,
All that thou canst wish receive.”

’Tis a pattern set for us,
How we ought to wait and pray;
None who plead and wrestle thus
Shall be empty sent away.

What think you of Christ is the test
To try both your state and your scheme;
You cannot be right in the rest
Unless you think rightly of him.
As Jesus appears in your view,
As he is beloved or not,
So God is disposed to you,
And mercy or wrath are your lot.

Some take him a creature to be,
A man, or an angel at most:
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 say he’s the fountain of joys;
Yet feed upon folly and vice,
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 his terrible day?

If ask’d 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 Shepherd, my Husband, my Friend,
My Saviour from sin and from thrall,
My hope from beginning to end,
My portion, my Lord, and my all.

When descending from the sky
The Bridegroom shall appear,
And the solemn midnight cry
Shall call professors near,
How the sound our hearts will damp—
How will shame o’erspread each face
If we only have a lamp
Without the oil of grace!

Foolish virgins then will wake
And seek for a supply;
But in vain the pains they take
To borrow or to buy:
Then with those they now despise
Earnestly they’ll wish to share;
But the best among the wise
Will have no oil to spare.

Wise are they, and truly blest,
Who then shall ready be!
But despair will seize the rest,
And dreadful misery:
Once, they’ll cry, we scorn’d to doubt,
Though in lies our trust we put;
Now our lamp of hope is out—
The door of mercy shut.

If they then presume to plead,
“Lord, open to us now;
We on earth have heard and pray’d,
And with thy saints did bow:”
He will answer from his throne
“Though you with my people mix’d,
Yet to me you ne’er were known;
Depart, your doom is fix’d.”

Oh that none who worship here
May hear that word, depart!
Lord, impress a godly fear
On each professor’s heart:
Help us, Lord, to search the camp,
Let us not ourselves beguile,
Trusting to a dying lamp,
Without a stock of oil.

When Peter boasted, soon he fell,
Yet was by grace restored;
His case should be regarded well
By all who fear the Lord.

A voice it has, and helping hand,
Backsliders to recall;
And cautions those who think they stand,
Lest suddenly they fall.

He said, “Whatever others do,
With Jesus I’ll abide;”
Yet soon amidst a murd’rous crew
His suff’ring Lord denied.