Oft when we did approach the throne of grace, Our hearts and thoughts were in some other place.
O shameful truth! And yet it is most true!
But conscience told us this would never do!
The nearest way to Heaven that we can go, Is cleaving close to Christ while here below; 'Tis He that can our sinking footsteps stay, And vain the man who seeks another way!
The man who truly has this race begun, Will see no time to stand, but strive to run; The night is coming, and will soon be here, He'll therefore oft betake himself to prayer:
Lest strength should fail, or he should grow luke-warm, And his weak soul, the enemy disarm!
That Book declares, whose Author is "The Truth,"
The careless soul, "He'll spew out of his mouth!"
Hence, doth he see he must be cold or hot; Must either have the Spirit of Christ, or not:- If on examination he lacks this, God's Book declares that "he is none of His!"
If not a child of God, a child of hell, And dying thus, he must with devils dwell;- And when his earthly hopes have taken flight, Be then shut up in everlasting night!
A sinner when he sees himself aright, Sees that his brightest day is turned to night; The things that once were his delight and joy, Do all his fondest hopes at once destroy!
God's Book like Sinai's mount to him appears, Its sentences like thunder stun his ears!
He strives to soothe himself, but strives in vain, Till God, to him the secret doth explain.
He sees and feels the awful load of sin, Nor can aught ease the grief that he is in, Until he hears God's cheering, still small voice, Which calms his fears, and bids his soul rejoice!
A man must know his sins on earth forgiven, Or he'll not read his title clear for Heaven; If this you think too strong to be believ'd, I'm sure, in death, that you will be deceiv'd!
I am resolv'd a pilgrim now to be, Let worldly men say what they will of me; And through the grace of God, though Hell resist, I'll live and die a faithful Methodist!
I see the pilgrim's life is far the best, Scorn'd by the world, but yet by Jesus blest!
When death shall come, the Heav'nly land in view, In peace, I'll bid this world of sin Adieu!
SABBATH MORNING MUSINGS.
"_I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord._" Psalm. cxxii. 1.
How do I love thy courts, O Lord!
What glories they unfold: The joys they do to me afford, More precious are than gold!
The very gates through which I pass, Are beautiful to me!
What numbers here beneath the grass, In silent slumber lie!
While I approach this solemn ground, My thoughts I will controul;- The tolling bell, with mournful sound, Affects my inmost soul!
While musing o'er the silent dead, What wonders do I see!
The very dust on which I tread, Once liv'd, and mov'd like me!
Here things mysterious I perceive, Things which I can't explain;- Wak'd by that voice which Heav'n shall give, This dust shall "rise again!"
Then some to everlasting life, Exultingly shall rise; While some to everlasting death, Shall go with weeping eyes!
Such as we sow, that shall we reap; The sowing time is now:- O may I watch, and faithful, keep My station at the plough!
O what's this world with all its joys, But a delusive dream; The dead, as speaking witnesses, All testify the same.
They preach in lectures loud and plain, Though silent, cold, and deep; They tell me, if the earth remain, I soon like them shall sleep!
They cry to all, "Repent, believe, And you shall pardon'd be; Unless that blessing you receive, You're lost eternally!"
The dial faithful to its task, The sun in yonder sky, Both show to us without a mask, How swift the moments fly!
"Redeem thy time!" they seem to say, "Thy life is but a span; For what are three score years and ten?
And that's the age of man!"
Here on a level all are laid, Here none the conquest have!
The robes that once the rich array'd, Are tarnish'd by the grave!
The cheek which blossom'd like the rose, Has lost its lovely charms; That beauteous form the lover chose, Is clasp'd in Death's cold arms.
All earthly hopes, and earthly joys, And prospects must decay;- But they who serve their God aright, Shall live in endless day!
How wondrously the scene is chang'd!
How lovely they appear!
I view them in their state arrang'd, With more delight than fear!
Ah! once the scene was not so fair, I scarce could read a stone!
But grace can conquer slavish fear,- With joy I look thereon!
The opening grave oft spoil'd the hinge, On which my fancy play'd; The skulls and bones would make me cringe, While I their forms survey'd.
Chill horror used to haunt my breast, While sin therein remain'd;- But Jesu's name be ever blest, I have his favour gain'd!
'Tis faith perfumes destruction's breath, Our Jesu's strong to save; 'Tis faith removes the sting of death, The terrors of the grave!
How oft have I in giddy maze, This sacred passage trod!
Not thinking 'twas so pure a place, Much less the house of God!
His mercy doth preserve me still, He doth not always chide; But waits that all His love may feel, Since he for all hath died.
Behind some lofty pillar here, In silence let me steal; And tread His courts with humble fear, And low before him kneel.
With fearful, trembling, broken heart, To him I lift mine eyes; And wait till He his love impart, And conscience bid me rise!
Then will I praise Thee, O my God, When in my heart it glows!
And gladly wait to hear thy Word, And catch it as it flows!
Then may I keep thy sabbaths pure, And still thy house attend; Until that sabbath shall commence, Which never hath an end!