May he be warn'd, whilst grace and mercy wait,
Henceforth to see his lost and guilty state.
Thus, when the herald of the grave shall come,
To call some neighbour to his latest home,
May thy unworthy servant feel that there
His end must be-consider-and prepare!
A THOUGHT ON THE SEA-SHORE.
IN every object here I see
Something, my heart, that points at thee.
Hard as the rocks that bound the strand,
Unfruitful as the barren sand,
Deep and deceitful as the ocean,
And like the tide in constant motion.
In every object here I see
Something, O Lord, that leads to thee.
Firm as the rocks thy promise stands,
Thy mercies countless as the sands,
Thy love a sea immensely wide,
Thy grace an overflowing tide.
THE insect that, with puny wing,
Just shoots along one summer ray;
The flow'ret which the breath of spring
Wakes into life for half a day:
The smallest mote, the tenderest hair,
All feel our Heavenly Father's care.
E'en from the glories of his throne
He bends to view this earthly ball,
Sees all, as if that all were one-
Loves one, as if that one were all :
Rolls the swift planets in their spheres
And counts the sinner's lowly tears.
CUNNINGHAM.
THE LAST WORDS OF AN AGED
CHRISTIAN.
IN age and feebleness extreme,
Who shall a helpless worm redeem?
Jesus, my only hope Thou art,
Strength of my failing flesh and heart.
Oh! could I catch one smile from Thee,
And drop into eternity!*
* Charles Wesley, having spoken these words, departed, on the 29th of March, 1788, aged 81 years.
ON AN INFANT.
WHAT blessings shall I ask for thee
In the sweet dawn of infancy?
That which our Saviour at his birth
Brought down with Him from heaven to earth.
What in the wayward path of youth,
Where falsehood walks abroad as truth?
By that good Spirit to be led,
Which John saw resting on His head.
What in temptation's wilderness,
When wants assail and fears oppress?
To wield, like Him, the scripture sword,
And vanquish Satan by "The Word."
What in the labour, pain, and strife,
Combats and cares of daily life?
In his cross-bearing steps to tread,
Who had not where to lay his head.
What in the agony of heart,
When foes rush in, and friends depart?
To pray, like Him, the Holy One,
Father, thy will, not mine, be done!"
What in the bitterness of death,
When the last sigh ends the last breath?
Like Him thy spirit to commend,
And up to paradise ascend.
THERE is a region lovelier far
Than sages tell, or poets sing;
Brighter than summer's beauties are,
And softer than the tints of spring.
It is not found by summer's gale;
'Tis not refreshed by vernal showers;
It never needs the moonbeam pale,-
For there are known no evening hours.
for this world is ever bright
radiance all its own:
The streams of uncreated light
Flow round it, from th' eternal throne.
It is all holy and serene,
The land of glory and repose;
No cloud obscures the radiant scene-
There not a tear of sorrow flows.
In vain the philosophic eye
May seek to view the fair abode, Or find it in the curtained sky:
THE DWELLING-PLACE OF GOD.
WATCH! for there are foes abroad,
Who would tempt thy soul from God;
Dangers in the world are found,
Evil men are all around;
Watch! or thou wilt surely stray,
Wandering from the narrow way.
And as thou art weak and frail,
How shall watchfulness avail?
But by prayer-on bended knee,
Ask the Lord to succour thee;
Watch and pray! no earthly fear
Need alarm if God is near.
Watch! thou hast a heart within,
Full of vanity and sin;
Evil wandering thoughts are there,
Thoughts of bitterness and care;
Watch! lest some unguarded hour
Yield it to corruption's power.
That deceitful heart of thine
Must be kept by power divine;
Therefore pray the God of grace
To make it his dwelling-place;
Watch and pray! thou canst not fail,
Spirit shall o'er flesh prevail.
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