I wonder oft, with wakeful eye, And think it might be so, Some Spirit then was passing by, And beckon'd thee to go!
I recollect with other things, Which I have felt and fear'd, Once something like the sound of wings, Within the room was heard!
Hast thou in infant vision seen The city of our God?
Or on those holy mountains been, By saints and angels trod?
Or hast thou heard the melody Which fills the courts above?
Or has thy Saviour shown to thee The tokens of his love?
If so,-no wonder thou should'st look So light on all below;- If thou hast tasted of the brook Where living waters flow!
No wonder thou with such delight, Didst view the rising sun: Then glance on us thine eye so bright, And flutter to be gone!
If thou hast seen among heaven's choirs, The crown that thou shalt wear, Forgive a parent's fond desires, To keep thee longer here.
If thou among earth's griefs and joys, Hadst any longer stayed, With other rude and wicked boys, Hadst into evil strayed;-
Hadst thou thy Saviour disobey'd, Who died thy soul to save, Thy parents' heads might have been laid, With sorrow in the grave.
If it be wrong to mourn for thee, The Lord that wrong forgive, And grant us grace each day, that we In him may walk and live.
O could our faith but pierce the gloom That hovers round our clay, We might prefer an early tomb, To one that's old and grey!
Could we but hear the songs they sing, Or see the robes they wear, 'Twould give our resolutions wing, With longings to be there.
To see those heavenly harpers young, Light up the sacred fires; To see their nimble fingers run Along the golden wires;
Would make a man forget his grief, His conflicts here below, And give a mother's soul relief, With languishings to go!
Would make us all forsake our sin, And Jesus Christ adore, And bring the resolution in, To grieve our God no more.
Would make us to His house resort, To weep, and watch, and pray, Until we gain that blissful port Where tears are wiped away.
ON THE FIRST TEXT HEARD SPIRITUALLY.
("My heart is fixed."-Psalm lvii. 7.)
By grace divine I sing, "My heart is fix'd!"
(Fix'd on the corner stone in Zion laid:) He spoke, I wept, and heard the blessed text, And all my wavering, wandering thoughts were stay'd.
He to me spoke, as with an angel's voice, And all my fears at once like lightning fled!
O how my troubled soul did then rejoice!
I was as one new risen from the dead!
Thrice happy bard who wrote such words as these, So applicable to a case like mine; Such music surely never reach'd my ears, Nor words did ever with such lustre shine!
Though all who read, may not that beauty see, Nor feel the truths that sin sick hearts console, Yet, O, it was a blessed text to me, By which the Lord spoke peace unto my soul!
'Tis mystery all! 'Tis like the wind that blows!
I hear its sound, as it sweeps through the wood, I feel it come, but know not where it goes,- And so is every one that's born of God!
Now I can sing, "My soul is sick of love!"- Of love to God, and every one I see; Nor smiles, nor frowns, my happy soul can move, A friend or stranger is alike to me!
But will the Lord such rebels still receive?
Can angels sing for such a wretch as I?
Did Jesus die, that one so vile might live?
So vile, so full of sin and misery!
Yes! He the sinner doth invite to come; For rich, for poor, for all his grace is free!
Fly, sinners, fly to Christ, there yet is room For all who feel their guilt and misery.
The King is now my Friend, I cannot doubt, For he His witness doth to me impart; He'll bind the strong man arm'd, and cast him out, And pour the living stream into my heart!
O happy soul, when thus to life restor'd, Let folly end, where genuine hope begins; He finds a heaven, who truly finds the Lord, But he that finds this heaven, must lose his sins!
O may I learn to do the thing that's right, My love to God, by true obedience show; And read, and wrestle, strive, rebuke, and fight, And watch, and pray, and to perfection grow!
So when my warfare here on earth is past, And Death on me his chilling hand shall lay, God will receive my ransom'd soul at last, To live and reign with Him, in endless day!
TO A SQUIRREL IN A CAGE.
Little spinner, blithe and gay, Dancing thus thy life away!
A King his palace might resign, For a couch as soft as thine!
Thou canst choose, as suits thee best, When to toil, and when to rest: Free from earthly care and strife, Merrily doth pass thy life.
Ere the day begins to dawn, Thou art at thy work alone; By the early riser seen, Turning round thy light machine.
Quick thou tip'st the slender wires, Which more art than strength requires;- Be the weather foul or fair, Heart and foot are light as air!
Joyful in thy little jail, Thou dost spread thy bushy tail: Playing many a curious prank, Tumbling like a mountebank!
When awful thunders o'er thee break, And earth's foundations seem to shake, Free from terror and dismay, Thou heed'st it not, but spin'st away.
Separated now for good, From thy cronies of the wood, Thou no more dost wander free, Skipping light from tree to tree.
Though once with thee things better went, Thou seemest happy and content, If some kind friend supply thy lack, By giving thee a nut to crack.
And when thou hast it in thy paw, In face of either friend or foe, The beamings of thine eye impart The motions of a grateful heart.
Alone, confin'd within thy cage, Thou fearest not the battle's rage; Of courage bold, and action brave, Though in prison-thou'rt not a slave!