The fingle boon I would intreat,
Is to be led by thee,
To gaze upon thy bloody fweat
In fad Gethsemane :
There, mufing on thy mighty love,
I always would remain:
Or but to Calvary remove,
Which finifh'd all thy pain.
For this one favor oft I've fought :
And, if this one be giv'n,
I'ask on earth no happier lot;
No happier lot in heav'n.
255. C. M. Altered by TOPLADY.
Paul's Experience.
WHAT diff'rent pow'rs of grace and fin
Attend our mortal ftate?
I hate the thoughts that work within,
And do the works I hate.
Now I complain, and groan, and die,
While fin and fatan reign :
Now rife my fongs of triumph high,
For grace prevails again.
So darkness struggles with the light,
'Till perfect day arise :
Water and fire maintain the fight,
Until the weaker dies.
Yet, Lord, whate'er is felt or fear'd,
This thought is my repofe,
That be, my mortal frame who rear'd,
Its various weakness knows.
Thou view'ft us, with a pitying eye,
While ftruggling with our load:
In pains and danger thou art nigh,
Our Father, and our God.
Supported by thy changeless love,
We tend to realms of peace;
Where ev'ry forrow fhall remove,
And ev'ry fin fhall cease.
The more my frailty here is try'd,
The more I toil and grieve,
The more thy grace is glorify'd,
Which ball the vict❜ry give!
NCERTAIN how the way to find
Which to falvation led ;
I lift'ned long, with anxious mind,
To hear what others faid.
When fome of joys and comforts told,
I fear'd that I was wrong;
For I was ftupid, dead, and cold,
Had neither joy nor fong.
The Lord my lab'ring heart reliev'd,
And made my burden light;
Then for a moment I believ'd,
Suppofing all was right.
Of fierce temptations others talk'd,
Of anguish and dismay;
Thro' what diftreffes they had walk'd,
Before they found the way.
If once his grace renews the heart,
Jefus will there remain;
He cannot finally depart,
But muft return again.
Then, dearest Lord, teach me to wait
Thy own appointed time,
Oh! change my captive mournful state,
And witnefs thou art mine.
259. C. M
Abfence from God.
Thou, whose tender mercy hears
Coutrition's humble figh
Whofe hand, indulgent, wipes the tears
From forrow's weeping eye:
See! low before thy throne of grace,
A wretched wand'rer mourn;
Haft thou not bid me feek thy face?
Haft thou not faid, return?
And shall my guilty fears prevail
To drive me from thy feet?
O let not this dear refuge fail,
This only fafe retreat.
Abfent from thee, my guide, my light,
Without one cheering ray,
Through dangers, fears, and gloomy night,
How defolate my way!
O fhine on this benighted heart,
With beams of mercy fhine;
And let thy healing voice impart
A tafte of joys divine.
Thy prefence only can beftow
Delights which never cloy;
Be this my folace here below,
And my eternal joy.
God the only Refuge of the troubled Mind.
EAR Refuge of my weary foul, On thee, when forrows rife, On thee, when waves of trouble roll, My fainting hope relies.
To thee I tell each rifing grief,
For thou alone canft heal;
Thy word can bring a sweet relief
For ev'ry pain I feel.
But O! when gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call thee mine;
The fprings of comfort feem to fail,
And all my hopes decline.
Yet, gracious God, where fhall I flee?
Thou art my only trust';
And ftill my foul would cleave to thee, Tho' proftrate in the duft.
Haft thou not bid me feek thy face?
And fhall I feek in vain ?
And can the ear of fov'reign grace
Be deaf when I complain?
No, ftill the ear of fov'reign grace
Attends the mourner's pray'r;
O may I ever find access
To breathe my forrows there.
Thy mercy-feat is open ftill;
Here let my foul retreat;
With humble hope attend thy will,
And wait beneath thy feet.
AVIOR of finuers, deign to fhine
On this benighted foul of mine;
O fhew my wand'ring feet the way,
That leads to realms of endless day.
Reveal the path of life and peace,
The road to pure and perfect blifs :
Guide a poor pilgrim fafely home;
Be thou my fhield and constant sun.
Thro' all the dangers of the night,
Day ftar, arife, and give me light;
Shine with the beams of brightest grace,
'Till I behold thy cloudless face.
'Midft all the dangers that await
My prefent militant estate,
Be thou, dear Jefus, ever near,
My foul to keep, my heart to cheer.
And when I fhall refign my breath,
And walk the gloomy vale of death,
Then may I find the Lord my stay,
And thence to glory wing my way.
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