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Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches!
Lively bright horror and amazing anguish

Stare through their eyelids, while the living worm lies

Gnawing within them.

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings,

And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the
Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance
Rolling afore him.

Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid
Doleful ideas:) come, arise to Jesus!

How he sits, God-like! and the saints around him

Thron'd, yet adoring!

O may I sit there when he comes triumphant,
Dooming the nations! then ascend to glory,
While our Hosannas all along the passage

Shout the Redeemer.

THE SONG OF ANGELS ABOVE.

EARTH has detained me prisoner long,
And I'm grown weary now:

My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue,
There's nothing here for you.

Tir'd in my thoughts I stretch me down,
And upward glance mine eyes;

Upward, my Father, to thy throne,
And to my native skies.

L

There the dear man, my Saviour, sits,

The God, how bright he shines! And scatters infinite delights

On all the happy minds.

Seraphs with elevated strains

Circle the throne around,

And move and charm the starry plains With an immortal sound.

Hark, how beyond the narrow bounds
Of time and space they run,
And speak in most majestic sounds,
The Godhead of the Son.

How on the Father's breast he lay,
The darling of his soul,
Infinite years before the day
Or heavens began to roll.

And now they sink the lofty tone,
And gentler notes they play,

And bring th' Eternal Godhead down
To dwell in humble clay.

O sacred beauties of the Man!

(The God resides within ;)

His flesh all pure, without a stain,

His soul without a sin.

Then, how he look'd, and how he smil'd, What wondrous things he said!

Sweet cherubs, stay, dwell here awhile, And tell what Jesus did.

At his command the blind awake,
And feel the gladsome rays;

He bids the dumb attempt to speak,
They try their tongues in praise.

He shed a thousand blessings round
Where'er he turn'd his eye;

He spoke, and at the sov'reign sound
The hellish legions fly.

Thus while with unambitious strife
Th' ethereal minstrels rove
Through all the labours of his life,
And wonders of his love;

In the full choir a broken string
Groans with a strange surprise;
The rest in silence mourn their King,
That bleeds, and loves, and dies.

Seraph and saint, with drooping wings,
Cease their harmonious breath;
No blooming trees, nor bubbling springs,
While Jesus sleeps in death.

Then all at once to living strains

They summon every chord,

Break up the tomb, and burst his chains, And show their rising Lord.

Around the flaming army throngs

To guard him to the skies,

With loud Hosannas on their tongues,

And triumph in their eyes.

In awful state the conquering God
Ascends his shining throne,

While tuneful angels sound abroad.
The victories he has won.

Now let me rise, and join their song,

And be an angel too;

My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue, Here's joyful work for you.

I would begin the music here,
And so my soul should rise:

Oh, for some heavenly notes to bear
My spirit to the skies!

There, ye that love my Saviour, sit,
There I would fain have place,
Amongst your thrones, or at your feet,
So I might see his face.

I am confin'd to earth no more,
But mount in haste above,
To bless the God that I adore,
And sing the man I love.

THE FAREWELL.

DEAD be my heart to all below,
To mortal joys and mortal cares;

To sensual bliss that charms us so

Be dark mine eyes, and deaf mine ears.

Here I renounce my carnal taste
Of the fair fruit that sinners prize:
Their paradise shall never waste

One thought of mine, but to despise.

All earthly joys are over-weigh'd
With mountains of vexatious care;
And where's the sweet that is not laid
A bait to some destructive snare?

Begone for ever, mortal things!

Thou mighty mole-hill, earth, farewell! Angels aspire on lofty wings,

And leave the globe for ants to dwell.

Come, heaven! and fill my vast desires,
My soul pursues the sov'reign good;

She was all made of heavenly fires,
Nor can she live on meaner food.

SOVEREIGNTY AND GRACE.

THE Lord, how fearful is his name!
How wide is his command!
Nature, with all her moving frame,
Rests on his mighty hand.

Immortal glory forms his throne,
And light his awful robe;

Whilst with a smile, or with a frown,
He manages the globe.

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