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Wooed by the sun, swells up to be his shroud,
And from her moist womb weeps a fragrant shower,
Which, scattered in a thousand pearls, each flower
And herb partakes; where haviny stood awhile,
And something cooled the parched and thirsty isle,
The thankful earth unlocks herself, and blends
A thousand odours, which, all mixed, she sends
Up in one cloud, and so returns the skies
That dew they lent, a breathing sacrifice.
Thus soared thy soul, who, though young, didst in-

herit
Together with his blood thy father's spirit,
Whose active zeal and tried faith were to thee
Familiar ever since thy infancy.
Others were timed and trained up to’t, but thou
Didst thy swift years in piety outgrow.
Age made them reverend and a snowy head,
But thou wert so, ere time his snow could shed.
Then who would truly limn thee out must paint
First a young patriarch, then a married saint.

MAN'S FALL AND RECOVERY.
Farewell, you everlasting hills! I'm cast
Here under clouds, where storms and tempests blast

This sullied flower,
Robbed of your calm; nor can I ever make,
Transplanted thus, one leaf of his tawake;

But every hour
He sleeps and droops; and in this drowsy state
Leaves me a slave to passions and my fate.

Besides I've lost
A train of lights, which in those sunshine days
Were my sure guides; and only with me stays,

Unto my cost,

One sullen beam, whose charge is to dispense
More punishment than knowledge to my sense.

Two thousand years
I sojourned thus. At last Jeshurun's king
Those famous tables did from Sinai bring.

These swelled my fears,
Guilts, trespasses, and all this inward awe;
For sin took strength and vigour from the law.

Yet have I found
A plenteous way, (thanks to that Holy One!)
To cancel all that e'er was writ in stone.

His saving wound
Wept blood that broke this adamant, and gave
To sinners confidence, life to the grave.

This makes me span
My fathers' journeys, and in one fair step
O'er all their pilgrimage and labours leap.

For God, made man,
Reduced the extent of works of faith; so made
Of their Red Sea a spring: I wash, they wade.

As by the offence of one the fault came on all men to condemnation; so by the righteousness of one, the benefit abounded towards all men to the justification, of life.'— Rom. v. 18.

THE SHOWER.

1 'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsy lake

From her faint bosom breathed thee, the disease
Of her sick waters, and infectious ease.

But now at even,

Too gross for heaven,
Thou fall’st in tears, and weep'st for thy mistake.

2 Ah! it is so with me; oft have I pressed Heaven with a lazy breath; but fruitless this

Pierced not; love only can with quick access

Unlock the way,

When all else stray, The smoke and exhalations of the breast.

3 Yet if, as thou dost melt, and, with thy train Of drops, make soft the earth, my eyes could

weep O'er my hard heart, that's bound

up

and asleep, Perhaps at last,

Some such showers past, My God would give a sunshine after rain.

BURIAL.

1 O thou! the first-fruits of the dead,

And their dark bed,
When I am cast into that deep

And senseless sleep,
The wages of my sin,

O then,
Thou great Preserver of all men,

Watch o'er that loose

And empty house,
Which I sometime lived in!

2 It is in truth a ruined piece,

Not worth thy eyes;
And scarce a room, but wind and rain

Beat through and stain
The seats and cells within ;

Yet thou,
Led by thy love, wouldst stoop thus low,

And in this cot,

All filth and spot,

Didst with thy servant inn.

3 And nothing can, I hourly see,

Drive thee from me.
Thou art the same, faithful and just,

In life or dust.
Though then, thus crumbed, I stray

In blasts,
Or exhalations, and wastes,

Beyond all eyes,

Yet thy love spies
That change, and knows thy clay.

4 The world's thy box: how then, there tossed,

Can I be lost?
But the delay is all; Time now

Is old and slow;
His wings are dull and sickly.

Yet he
Thy servant is, and waits on thee.

Cut then the sum,

Lord, haste, Lord, come,
O come, Lord Jesus, quickly!

• And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first-fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.'— Rom. viii. 23.

CHEERFULNESS.

1 Lord, with what courage and delight

I do each thing,
When thy least breath sustains my wing!

I shine and move
Like those above,
And, with much gladness

Quitting sadness,
Make me fair days of every night.

2 Affliction thus mere pleasure is;

And hap what will,
If thou be in't, 'tis welcome still.

But since thy rays
In

sunny days
Thou dost thus lend,

And freely spend,
Ah! what shall I return for this?

3 Oh that I were all soul! that thou

Wouldst make each part
Of this poor sinful frame pure heart!

Then would I drown
My single one;
And to thy praise

A concert raise
Of hallelujahs here below.

THE PASSION.

1 O my chief good!

My dear, dear God!

When thy blest blood
Did issue forth, forced by the rod,

What pain didst thou
Feel in each blow!
How didst thou weep,

And thyself steep
In thy own precious, saving tears!

What cruel smart
Did tear thy heart !
How didst thou

it In the spirit, ( thou whom my soul loves and fears !

groan

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