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Put thy bright robes of triumph on,
And bless our eyes, and bless our ears, Thou absent Love, thou dear Unknown,
Thou Fairest of ten thousand Fairs.
Our heart-strings groan with deep complaint,
Our flesh lies panting, Lord, for thee; And every limb, and every joint,
Stretches for immortality.
Our spirits shake their eager wings,
And burn to meet thy flying throne; We rise away from mortal things,
To' attend thy shining chariot down.
Now let our cheerful eyes survey
The blazing earth and melting hills, And smile to see the lightnings play,
And flash along before thy wheels.
O for a shout of violent joys
To join the trumpet's thundering sound ! The angel herald shakes the skies,
Awakes the graves, and tears the ground.
Ye slumbering saints, a heavenly host
Stands waiting at your gaping tombs ; Let every sacred sleeping dust
Leap into life, for Jesus comes.
Jesus, the God of might and love,
New-moulds our limbs of cumbrous clay; Quick' as seraphic flames we move,
Active and young, and fair as they.
Our airy feet with unknown flight,
Swift as the motions of desire, Run up the hills of heavenly light,
And leave the weltering world in fire.
BEWAILING MY OWN INCONSTANCY, ,
I LOVE the Lord; but ah! how far
If my soul burn to see my God,
Would I enjoy my Lord alone,
But cares, or trifles, make or find
Oft I am told the Muse will prove
Strangely I lose his lovely face,
False confident! and falser breast !
This foolish heart can leave her God,
Look gently down, Almighty Grace,
Say, when shall that bright moment be,
FORSAKEN, YET HOPING,
Happy the hours, the golden days,
When I could call my Jesus mine, And sit and view his smiling face,
And melt in pleasures all divine.
Near to my heart, within my arms
He lay, till sin defild my breast,
Tir'd and provok'd my heavenly guest.
And now He's gone, (O mighty woe!)
Gone from my soul, and hides his love! Curse on you, sins, that griev'd him so,
Ye sins, that forc'd him to remove.
Break, break, my heart; complain, my tongue ;
Hither, my friends, your sorrows bring : Angels, assist my doleful song,
If you have e'er a mourning string.
But ah! your joys are ever high,
Ever his lovely face you see ; While my poor spirits pant and die,
And groan, for Thee, my God, for Thee !
Yet let my hope look through my tears,
And spy afar his rolling throne ;
Shall bring the bright Beloved down.
Swift as a roe flies o'er the hills,
My soul springs out to meet him high ; Then the fair Conqueror turns his wheels,
And climbs the mansions of the sky.
There smiling joy for ever reigns,
No more the turtle leaves the dove;
GOD EXALTED ABOVE ALL PRAISE
ETERNAL Power! whose high abode
The lowest step above thy seat
Thy dazzling beauties whilst he sings,
Lord, what shall earth and ashes do?
Earth from afar has heard thy fame,