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“ Is Ephraim banish'd from my thoughts,
Or vile in my esteem ?
I still remember him.
“ Is he a dear and pleasant child ?
Yes, dear and pleasant still ;
• My sharp rebuke has laid him low,
He seeks my face again ; My pity kindles at his woe,
He shall not seek in vain.”
XIII. THE COVENANT. Ezek. xxxvi. 25.-28.
The Lord proclaims his grace abroad!
My grace, a flowing stream, proceeds
My truth the great design ensures,
Yet not unsought, or unimplored,
XIV. JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH. Esek. xlviii. 35.
As birds their infant brood protect,
There, though besieged on every side,
* Verse 37.
+ Isaiah xxxi. 5.
Let earth repent, and hell despair,
XV. PRAISE FOR THE FOUNTAIN OPENED.
Zec. xiii, 1.
THERE is a fountain fill’d with blood
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
Lose all their guilty stains.
That fountain in his day ;
Wash'd all my away:
Shall never lose its power,
Be saved to sin no more.
Thy flowing wounds supply,
And shall be till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing thy power to save ;
Lies silent in the grave.
Lord, I believe thou hast prepared
(Unworthy though I be) For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me!
'Tis strung, and tuned, for endless years,
And form'd by power divine,
No other name but thine.
XVI. THE SOWER. Matt. xiii. 3.
YE sons of earth, prepare the plough,
Break up the fallow ground; The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round.
The seed that finds a stony soil,
Shoots forth a hasty blade ; But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.
The thorny ground is sure to balk
All hopes of harvest there; We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.
The beaten path and highway side
Receive the trust in vain
And pick up all the grain,
But where the Lord of
grace Has bless'd the happy field, How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield !
Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Provide a fruitful place.
XVII. THE HOUSE OF PRAYER. Mark xi. 17.
Thy mansion is the Christian's heart,
O Lord, thy dwelling-place secure! Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door.
Devoted as it is to thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place; They steal away my joys from me,
And rob my Saviour of his praise.
There, too, a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the world maintain ; Nor cease to press me, and persuade
To part with ease, and purchase pain.
I know them, and I hate their din,
Am weary of the bustling crowd ; But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve thee as I would.