Oh! let me then at length be taught What I am still so slow to learn, That God is love, and changes not,

Nor knows the shadow of a turn.

Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!
But when my faith is sharply tried,
I find myself a learner yet,

Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.

But, O my Lord, one look from Thee
Subdues the disobedient will,
Drives doubt and discontent away,
And Thy rebellious worm is still.
Thou art as ready to forgive
As I am ready to repine;

Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;
Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.

XLI. MOURNING AND LONGING.

THE Saviour hides His face; My spirit thirsts to prove Renew'd supplies of pardoning grace, And never-fading love.

The favour'd souls who know What glories shine in Him, Pant for His presence as the roe Pants for the living stream.

What trifles tease me now! They swarm like summer flies; They cleave to everything I do, And swim before my eyes.

How dull the Sabbath day, Without the Sabbath's Lord! How toilsome then to sing and pray, And wait upon the Word!

Of all the truths I hear,
How few delight my taste!
I glean a berry here and there,
But mourn the vintage past.

Yet let me (as I ought)
Still hope to be supplied;

No pleasure else is worth a thought,
Nor shall I be denied.

Though I am but a worm,
Unworthy of His care,

The Lord will my desire perform,
And grant me all my prayer.

XLII. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE.

DEAR Lord! accept a sinful heart,
Which of itself complains,

And mourns, with much and frequent smart,
The evil it contains.

There fiery seeds of anger lurk,
Which often hurt my frame;
And wait but for the tempter's work,
To fan them to a flame.

Legality holds out a bribe
To purchase life from Thee;
And Discontent would fain prescribe
How Thou shalt deal with me.

While Unbelief withstands Thy grace,
And puts the mercy by;
Presumption, with a brow of brass,
Says, "Give me, or I die!”

How eager are my thoughts to roam,
In quest of what they love!

But ah! when duty calls them home,
How heavily they move!

Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood,
Transform me by Thy power,
And make me Thy beloved abode,
And let me roam no more.

XLIII. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE.

LORD, who hast suffer'd all for me,
My peace and pardon to procure,
The lighter cross I bear for Thee,
Help me with patience to endure.

The storm of loud repining hush;

I would in humble silence mourn;

Why should the unburnt, though burning bush,
Be angry as the crackling thorn?

Man should not faint at Thy rebuke,
Like Joshua falling on his face,*
When the cursed thing that Achan took
Brought Israel into just disgrace.

Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd,
Some secret sin offends my God;
Perhaps that Babylonish vest,
Self-righteousness, provokes the rod.

Ah! were I buffeted all day,

Mock'd, crown'd with thorns, and spit upon, I yet should have no right to say,

My great distress is mine alone.

Let me not angrily declare

No pain was ever sharp like mine,

Nor murmur at the cross I bear,

But rather weep, remembering Thine.

XLIV. SUBMISSION.

O LORD, my best desire fulfil,
And help me to resign

Life, health, and comfort to Thy will,
And make Thy pleasure mine.

Why should I shrink at Thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears?
Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears?

No, rather let me freely yield
What most I prize to Thee;
Who never hast a good withheld,
Or wilt withhold, from me.

Thy favour, all my journey through,
'Thou art engaged to grant;
What else I want, or think I do,
"Tis better still to want.

Wisdom and mercy guide my way,
Shall I resist them both ?

A poor blind creature of a day,
And crush'd before the moth!

* Joshua vii. 10, 11.

But ah! my inward spirit cries,
Still bind me to Thy sway;

Else the next cloud that veils the skies
Drives all these thoughts away.

XLV. THE HAPPY CHANGE.

How bless'd Thy creature is, O God,
When with a single eye,

He views the lustre of Thy Word,
The dayspring from on high!

Through all the storms that veil the skies
And frown on earthly things,
The Sun of Righteousness he eyes,

With healing on His wings.

Struck by that light, the human heart,
A barren soil no more,

Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad,
Where serpents lurk'd before.*
The soul, a dreary province once
Of Satan's dark domain,

Feels a new empire form'd within,
And owns a heavenly reign.

The glorious orb whose golden beams
The fruitful year control,

Since first obedient to Thy Word,
He started from the goal,

Has cheer'd the nations with the joys
His orient rays impart;

But, Jesus, 'tis Thy light alone

Can shine upon the heart.

XLVI. RETIREMENT.

FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem, by Thy sweet bounty made,
For those who follow Thee.

There if Thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,

Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

* Isaiah xxxv. 7.

There like the nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays;

Nor asks a witness of her song,
Nor thirsts for human praise.
Author and Guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light Divine,
And,-all harmonious names in one,-
My Saviour! Thou art mine!

What thanks I owe Thee, and what love,
A boundless, endless store,

Shall echo through the realms above,
When time shall be no more.

XLVII. THE HIDDEN LIFE.

To tell the Saviour all my wants,
How pleasing is the task!

Nor less to praise Him when He grants
Beyond what I can ask.

My labouring spirit vainly seeks
To tell but half the joy,

With how much tenderness He speaks,
And helps me to reply.

Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare;

Like precious wines their taste they lose,
Exposed to open air.

But this with boldness I proclaim,

Nor care if thousands hear,

Sweet is the ointment of His name,

Not life is half so dear.

And can you frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was,

And blame the song that thus commends
The Man who bore the cross ?

Trust me, I draw the likeness true,
And not as fancy paints;

Such honour may He give to you,
For such have all His saints.

XLVIII. JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING.

SOMETIMES a light surprises

The Christian while he sings;

It is the Lord who rises

With healing on His wings: