Regeneration.

REGENERATION.

A PARAPHRASE OF THE FIRST PSALM.

How happy the man who discards from his breast
The unhallowed passions from Nature possess'd;
Who heeds not their counsel or softest persuasion,
But treats them as foes upon every occasion.

Though the sunshine of peace such a bosom illume,
Or nights of temptation involve it in gloom;
Whatever his state be, with calm resignation,
He looks to the Word of his God for salvation.

And the Word of his God, like a river of truth,
Gives each young-budding virtue the vigour of youth;
While practical love is still temper'd by reason,
As the green leaflet decks the ripe fruit in its season.

Thus Regeneration proceeds from the Word,
If we combat our evils, and trust in the Lord;
Then prosper, dear Saviour, each humble endeavour,
And thine be the glory, for ever and ever!

The Crucifixion.

THE CRUCIFIXION.

Weeping Mary, bathed in sorrow,
Linger'd near the scene of horror,

Where the dying Saviour hung;
From whose bursting heart arising,
Groans of anguish agonizing,

Floated o'er His fever'd tongue!

O what sorrow, deep, unbounded,
That maternal bosom wounded,

Once the Saviour's couch of rest!
How she wept to see Him languish,
How she trembled for the anguish
Labouring in His guiltless breast!

Who could witness, without weeping,
Gushing streams of sorrow sweeping
Down the mother's pallid cheek?
Who with bosom unrelenting,
Could behold her thus lamenting,

Looking what no tongue could speak?

While such pangs as fiends invented,
Still her suffering Son tormented,

Scorn and bruises, stripes, and death;

The Crucifixion.

She beheld Him thus expiring,
Human friends in fear retiring,

Whilst in groans He spent His breath!

Matchless mercy! love amazing!.
Far above our feeble praising,
Far beyond our humble lays;
May its influence never vary,
Till my heart, like that of Mary,
Glow with a seraphic blaze.

Gracious Saviour, now in glory,
Be this sad affecting story,

Deeply on my soul imprest!
May the scene of such affliction,
Bring the hardest heart conviction,

Melt the most obdurate breast!

The New Jerusalem.

THE NEW JERUSALEM.

Rich in mercy, Jesus reigns,
Heaven owns no other king;
Crown Him, mortals, in your strains,
While His matchless grace you sing.

Angels wake their loftier lays,

Kindled from celestial fires; Humbler spirits bid His praise

Sweetly flow from silver lyres.

Mortals! catch the pleasing strain,
Gratitude demands the song-

Jesus builds His Church again,
Where your Babel stood so long.
Truth divine her wall supports,

Love has paved her streets of gold;
Jasper towers, and crystal courts,
Gates of pearl, that never fold.

Pilgrims! enter, and rejoice

Here your Saviour holds His throne;

'Tis the City of His choice,

"Tis the Church He calls His own.

Precious gems on every side,

Height'ning all her heavenly charms

"Tis the Lamb's celestial Bride,

Smiling in her Husband's arms.

The Incarnation.

THE INCARNATION.

O for a Seraph's golden lyre,

With chords of light, and tones of fire,
To sing that wond'rous love
Which brought a Deity below,
To save an erring race from wo,
And give them joys above.

Till such ecstatic numbers roll,

As are by angels given;
To tell Redemption's wond'rous plan,
How Heaven descended down to man,

That man might rise to Heaven.

His creatures fell-no pitying eye,
No powerful arm to save, was nigh,
Or aid our feeble powers;
He saw He came-He fought alone,
And conquered evils not his own,
That we might conquer ours.

Temptation's thorny path He trod,
In form, a man-in soul, a God,

And trod the path alone;