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Blinded in youth by Satan's arts,
The world to our unpractis'd hearts

A flatt'ring prospect shows;
Our fancy forms a thousand schemes
Of gay delights, and golden dreams,

And undifturb'd repose,

So in the desert's dreary waste,
By magic pow'r produc'd in hafte,

(As ancient fables say)
Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
The senses of the trav’lier meet,

And stop him in his way.

But while he listens with surprise,
The charm dissolves, the vision dies,

'Twas but enchanted ground:
Thus if the Lord our spirit touch,
The world, which promis'd us so much,

A wilderness is found.

At first we start, and feel distress'd,
Convinc'd we never can have rest

In such a wretched place;
But He whose mercy breaks the charm,
Reveals his own almighty arm,

And bids us seek his face.

Then we begin to live indeed,
When from our fin and bondage freed

By this beloved Friend;
We follow him from day to day,
Affur'd of grace thro' all the way,

And glory at the end.


God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides


the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,

And works his soy'reign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds


so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break,

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble fense, But trust him for his

grace; Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flow'r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err *,

And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter,

And he will make it plain.

• John xiii.


Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,

From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages

His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the filent shade,

With pray'r and praise agree;
And seem, by thy sweet bounty made,

For those who follow thee.

There if thy Spirit touch the soul,

grace her mcap abode, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,

She communes with her God!

There like the nightingale she

pours Her folitary lays; Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

Author and Guardian of my life,

Sweet source of light divine,
Aod (all harmonious names in one)

My Saviour, thou art mine !

What thanks I owe thee, and what love,

A boundless, endless store, Shall echo thro' the realms above

When time shall be no more.


The billows fwell, the winds are high,
Clouds overcast my wintry sky;
Out of the depths to thee I call,
My fears are great, my strength is small.

O Lord, the pilot's part perform,
And guide and guard me thro' the storm ;
Defend me from each threat'ning ill,
Controul the waves, say, “ Peace, be ftill."

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