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

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

"WILL YE ALSO GO AWAY?"

WHEN any turn from Zion's way,

Alas! what numbers do! Methinks I hear my Saviour say, "Wilt thou forsake me too ?"

Ah! Lord, with such a heart as mine,
Unless thou hold me fast,

I feel I must, I shall decline,
And prove like them at last.

Yet thou alone hast power, I know,

To save a wretch like me; To whom, or whither could I

If I should turn from thee?

Beyond a doubt I rest assur'd

Thou art the Christ of God, Who hast eternal life secur'd, By promise and by blood.

go,

The help of men and angels join'd
Could never reach my case;
Nor can I hope relief to find,
But in thy boundless grace.

No voice but thine can give me rest,
And bid my fears depart;

No love but thine can make me blest,
And satisfy my heart.

What anguish has that question stirr❜d

If I will also go?

Yet, Lord, relying on thy word,
I humbly answer, "No."

THE CHILD.

As when a child, secure of harms,
Hangs at the mother's breast,
Safe folded in her anxious arms,

Receiving food and rest;

And while through many a painful path,

The travelling parent speeds,

The fearless babe, with passive faith,

Lies still and yet proceeds:

Should some short start his quiet break,
He fondly strives to fling

His little arms about her neck,

And closer seems to cling:
Poor child! maternal love alone
Preserves thee first and last;

Thy parent's arms, and not thine own,
Are those that hold thee fast.

So souls that would to Jesus cleave,
And hear his secret call,
Must every fair pretension leave,

And let the Lord be all.

"Keep close to me, thou helpless sheep,"

66

The Shepherd softly cries;

Lord, tell me what 'tis close to keep,"

The listening sheep replies.

"Thy whole dependence on me fix,

Nor entertain a thought,

Thy worthless schemes with mine to mix, But venture to be nought:

Fond self-direction is a shelf ;

Thy strength, thy wisdom, flee: When thou art nothing in thyself,

Then thou art close to me."

PSALM XIX.

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,

And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.

Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land

The works of an almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And, nightly, to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth;

Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,

Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round this dark terrestrial ball?
What though no real voice nor sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found?
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine."

"WHAT THINK YE OF CHRIST?"

WHAT think ye of Christ? is the test
To try both your state and your scheme;
You cannot be right in the rest,
Unless you think rightly of him.
As Jesus appears in your view,
As he is beloved or not,
So God is disposed to you,
And mercy or wrath is your lot.

Some take him a creature to be,
A man, or an angel at most:

Sure these have not feelings like me,

Nor know themselves wretched and lost

;

So guilty, so helpless am I,

I durst not confide in his blood,

Nor on his protection rely,

Unless I were sure he is God.

Some call him a Saviour in word,

But mix their own works with his plan,
And hope he his help will afford,

When they have done all that they can :
If doings prove rather too light,
(A little they own they may fail,)
They purpose to make up full weight,
By casting his name in the scale.

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