See, from the ever-burning lake,

How like a smoky cloud they rise! With horrid blasts my soul they shake,

With storms of blasphemies and lies. Their fiery arrows reach the mark,*

My throbbing heart with anguish tear; Each lights upon a kindred spark,

And finds abundant fuel there. I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord ;

Oh! I would drive it from my breast, With thy own sharp two-edged sword,

Far as the east is from the west. Come, then, and chase the cruel host,

Heal the deep wounds I have received ! Nor let the powers of darkness boast,

That I am foild, and thou art grieved !

XL. PEACE AFTER A STORM.

When darkness long has veil’d my mind,

And smiling day once more appears ; Then, my Redeemer, then I find

The folly of my doubts and fears. Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,

And blush that I should ever be Thus prone to act so base a part, Or harbour one hard thought of thee!

Oh ! let me then at length be taught

What I am still so slow to learn ; That God is love, and changes not,

Nor knows the shadow of a turn.

Sweet truth, and easy to repeat !

But, when my faith is sharply tried, I find myself a learner yet,

Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. But, O my Lord, one look from thee

Subdues the disobedient will ; Drives doubt and discontent away,

And thy rebellious worm is still. Thou art as ready to forgive

As I am ready to repine ; Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;

Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.

XLI. MOURNING AND LONGING.

The Saviour hides his face !

My spirit thirsts to prove
Renew'd supplies of pardoning grace,

And never-fading love.
The favour'd souls who know

What glories shine in him,
Pant for his presence as the roe

Pants for the living stream!

What trifles tease me now!

They swarm like summer flies,
They cleave to every thing I do,

And swim before my eyes.
How dull the Sabbath day,

Without the Sabbath's Lord !
How toilsome then to sing and pray,

And wait upon the word !
Of all the truths I hear,

How few delight my taste !
I glean a berry here and there,

But mourn the vintage past.
Yet let me (as I ought)

Still hope to be supplied ;
No pleasure else is worth a thought,

Nor shall I be denied.

Though I am but a worm,

Unworthy of his care,
The Lord will my desire perform,
And grant me

all

my prayer.

XLII. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE.

Dear Lord ! accept a sinful heart,

Which of itself complains, And mourns, with much and frequent smart,

The evil it contains.

There fiery seeds of anger lurk,
Which often hurt

my

frame; And wait but for the tempter's work,

To fan them to a flame.

Legality holds out a bribe

To purchase life from thee;
And discontent would fain prescribe

How thou shalt deal with me.

While unbelief withstands thy grace,

And puts the mercy by;
Presumption, with a brow of brass,

Says, “ Give me, or I die.”
How eager are my thoughts to roam

In quest of what they love !
But ah! when duty calls them home,

How heavily they move !
Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood,

Transform me by thy power,
And make me thy beloved abode,

And let me rove no more.

XLIII. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE.

LORD, who hast suffer'd all for me,

My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for thee,

Help me with patience to endure.