Worldly prate and babble hurt me; Unintelligible prove; Neither teach me nor divert me; I have ears for none but Love. Simple souls, and unpolluted By conversing with the great, Nothing human chuse beside. 'Tis the secret fear of sinning Checks my tongue, or I should say, When I see the night beginning, I am glad of parting day : ON THE SAME. NIGHT! how I love thy silent shades, While sleep instils her poppy dews And when I feel a God immense With every proof He can dispense, My native meanness I lament, His purpose and His course he keeps ; When in the dust, its proper place, 'Tis then a deluge of His grace Bears all our sins away. Thou whom I serve, and whose I am, Whose influence from on high Refines, and still refines my flame, And makes my fetters fly; How wretched is the creature's state The night, when passed entire with Thee. My Saviour! occupy me still In this secure recess; Let reason slumber out the night; But if Thou deign to make THE JOY OF THE CROSS. LONG plunged in sorrow, I resign Without reserve or fear; That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes, My sole possession is Thy love; And though with fervent suit I pray, My rapid hours pursue the course By Thy command, where'er I stray, A never-failing friend; And if my sufferings may augment Thy praise, behold me well content,— Let sorrow still attend! It costs me no regret, that she, From all my bitter woes. Adieu, ye vain delights of earth! And Jesus thought so too. The Cross! oh, ravishment and bliss,— Its bitterness how sweet! Tastes happiness complete. Souls once enabled to disdain The fever of desire is passed, Self-love no grace in sorrow sees, 'Tis all the bliss she knows : In suffering her repose. Sorrow and Love go side by side: Their heaven-appointed bands; Jesus, avenger of our fall, The Cross hast ever borne ! Thy choice and mine shall be the same, Which must for ever blaze! JOY IN MARTYRDOM. SWEET tenants of this grove, Who sing, without design, A song of artless love, In unison with mine: These echoing shades return That wise ones cannot learn With all their boasted powers. The comforts I to all prefer Are solitude and love. Nor exile I, nor prison fear; Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep, There sorrow, for His sake, is found A Saviour doubles all my joys, SCENES FAVOURABLE TO MEDITATION. WILDS horrid and dark with o'ershadowing trees, Rocks that ivy and briers infold, Scenes Nature with dread and astonishment sees, But I with a pleasure untold; Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude, I am sick of thy splendour, O fountain of day, Ye forests, that yield me my sweetest repose, To you I securely and boldly disclose Here, sweetly forgetting, and wholly forgot Here, wandering in scenes that are sacred to night, And often the sun has spent much of his light While a mantle of darkness envelopes the sphere, To me the dark hours are all equally dear, Here I and the beasts of the desert agree; Though little is found in this dreary abode My spirit is soothed by the presence of God, Ye desolate scenes, to your solitude led, My life I in praises employ, And scarce know the source of the tears that I shed, Proceed they from sorrow or joy. There's nothing I seem to have skill to discern; I feel out my way in the dark; Love reigns in my bosom, I constantly burn, I live, yet I seem to myself to be dead ; I am nourished without knowing how I am fed, |