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Self in myself I hate,

That's matter of my groan;

Nor can I rid me from the mate
That caufes me to moan.
O frail, unconftant flesh!
Soon trapt in ev'ry gin;
Soon turn'd, o'erturn'd, and fo afrefh
Plung'd in the gulph of fin.
Shall I be flave to fin,

My Lord's most bloody foe?
I feel its pow'rful fway within;
How long fhall it be fo?

How long, Lord, fhall I ftay?
How long in Mefech here?
Dishon'ring thee from day to day,
Whofe name's to me fo dear?
While fin, Lord, breeds my grief,
And makes me fadly pine;
With blinks of grace, O grant relief,
Till beams of glory fhine!

SECT. IV.

COMPLAINT of Sin, Sorrow, and want of Love.

F black doom by defert fhould go,

IF

Then, Lord, my due defert is death;
Which robs from fouls immortal joy,

And from their bodies mortal breath.

But in fo great a Saviour,

Can e'er fo bafe a worm's annoy

Add any glory to thy pow'r,

Or any gladness to thy joy?

Thou jufly mayft me doom to death.
And everlasting flames of fire;
But on a wretch to pour thy wrath
Can never fure be worth thine ire.

Since Jefus the atonement was,
Let tender mercy me releafe;

Let him be umpire of my cause,

And pass the glad fome doom of peace,

Let grace forgive, and love forget

My bafe, my vile apoftacy; And temper thy deferved hate

With love and mercy toward me. The ruffling winds and raging blafts Hold me in conftant cruel chace; They break my anchors, fails and mafts, Allowing no repofing place.

The boift'rous feas with fwelling floods,
On ev'ry fide against me fight.
Heav'n, overcast with ftormy clouds,
Dims all the planet's guiding light.
The hellish furies ly in wait

To win my foul into their pow'r;
To make me bite at ev'ry bait,
And thus my killing bane devour:
I lie inchain'd in fin and thrall,
Next border unto black despair;
Till grace restore, and of my fall
The doleful ruins all repair.

My hov'ring thoughts would flee to glore,
And neftle fafe above the fky;
Fain would my tumbling fhip afhore
At that fure anchor quiet lie.
But mounting thoughts are haled down.
With heavy poife of corrupt load;
And bluft'ring florms deny with frown
An harbour of fecure abode.

To drown the wight that wakes the blaft,
Thy fin-fubduing grace afford;
The ftorm might ceafe, could 1 but caft
This troublous Jonah over-board.
Bafe flesh, with flefhly pleasures gain'd,
Sweet grace's kindly fuit declines;
When mercy courts me for its friend,
Anon my fordid fleth repines.

Soar up, my foul, to Tabor hill,

Caft off this loath fome preffing load;

Long is the date of thine exile,

While abfent from the Lord, thy God.

Dote not on earthy weeds and toys,

. Which do not, cannot fuit thy tafte: The flow'rs of everlafling joys

Grow up apace for thy repaft.
Sith that the glorious God above
In Jefus bears a love to thee;
How bale, how brutifh is thy love
Of any being lefs than he?

Who for thy love did chufe thy grief,
Content in love to live and die:

Who lov'd thy love more than his life,
And with his life thy love did buy.
Since then the God of richest love
With thy poor love enamour'd is;
How high a crime will thee reprove,
If not enamour'd deep with his?
Since on the verdant field of grace

His love does thine fo hot pursue;
Let love meet love with challe embrace,
Thy mite a thoufand-fold is due.
Rife, love, thou early heav'n, and fing,
Young little dawn of endlefs day:
I'll on the mounting fiery wing
In joyful raptures melt away.

SECT. V.

The deferted Soul's PRAYER for the Lord's gracious

K!

and fin-fubduing prefence.

IND Jefus, come in love to me,
And make no longer ftay;

Or elfe receive my foul to thee,
That breathes to be away.

A Lazar at thy gate I ly,

As well it me becomes,

For childrens bread afham'd to cry:
O grant a dog the crumbs.

My wounds and rags my need proclaim,

Thy needful help infure:

My wounds bear witnefs that I'm lame;

My rags, that I am poor.

Thou many at thy door doft feed,

With mercy when diftreft ;

O wilt thou not fhew an alm's deed
To me among the reft.

None else can give my foul relief,
None elfe can cafe my moan,
But he whofe abfence is my grief:
All other joys be gone.

How can I ceafe from fad complaint?

How can I be at reft?

My mind can never be content

To want my noble guest.

Drop down, mine eyes, and never tire,
Ceafe not on any terms,
Until I have my heart's defire,

My Lord within my arms.

My heart, my hand, my fpirits fail, When hiding off he goes;

My fleth, my foes, my lufts prevail,
And work my daily woes.

When fhall I fee that glorious fight
Will all my fins destroy?

That Lord of love, that lamp of light,
Will banish all annoy!

O could I but from finning cease,
And wait on Pifgah's hill,
Until I fee him face to face,
Then thould my foul be fill.
But fince corruption cleaves to me,
While I in Kedar dwell;

O give me leave to long for thee,
For ablence is a hell.

Thy glory fhould be dear to me,
Who me fo dear has bought:
O fave from rend'ring ill to thee

For good which thou haft wrought. With fear I crave, with hope I cry, Oh promis'd favour fend!

Be thou thyfelf, though chang'ling I Ungratefully offend.

Out of the way remove the lets,

Cleanfe this polluted den;

Tender my fuits, cancel my debts:
Sweet Jefus, fay, AMEN.

SEC T. vi.

The SONG of Heaven defired by Saints on Earth.

AURORA vails her rofy face,

When brighter Phoebus takes her place;

So glad will grace refign her room
To glory in the heav'nly home.

Happy the company that's gone

From crofs to crown, from thrall to throne;
How loud they fing upon the fhore,

To which they fail'd in heart before!
Blefs'd are the dead, yea, faith the word,
That die in Chrift the living Lord.
And on the other fide of death

Thus joyful fpend their praifing breath:
"Death from all death hath fet us free,
"And will our gain for ever be ;
"Death loos'd the maffy chains of woe,
"To let the mournful captives go.
"Death is to us a fweet repofe;
"The bud was op'd to fhew the rofe;
"The cage was broke to let us fly,
"And build our happy neft on high.
"Lo! here we do triumphant reign,
"And joyful fing in lofty ftrain.
"Lo! here we reft, and love to be,
"Enjoying more than faith could fee,
"The thousandth part we now behold,
"By mortal tongues was never told;
"We got a tafte, but now above
"We forage in the fields of love.

"Faith once ftole down a diftant kifs;
"Now love cleaves to the cheek of blifs
"Beyond the fears of more mifhap
"We gladly reft in glory's lap.

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