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The storm of loud repining hush,
I would in humble silence mourn ; Why should the unburnt though burning bush,
Be angry as the crackling thorn? Man should not faint at thy rebuke,
Like Joshua falling on his face, * When the curst thing that Achan took
Brought Israel into just disgrace. Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd, Some secret sin offends
my Perhaps that Babylonish vest,
Self-righteousness, provokes the rod. Ah! were I buffeted all day,
Mock’d, crown'd with thorns, and spit upon ; I yet
should have no right to say, My great distress is mine alone. Let me not angrily declare
No pain was ever sharp like mine; Nor murmur at the cross I bear,
But rather weep, remembering thine.
And help me to resign
And make thy pleasure mine.
* Joshua vii. 10, 11.
Why should I shrink at thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears ? Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears ? No, let me rather freely yield
What most I prize to thee; Who never hast a good withheld,
Or wilt withhold, from me.
Thy favour, all my journey through,
Thou art engaged to grant ; What else I want, or think I do,
'Tis better still to want.
Wisdom and mercy guide my way,
Shall I resist them both ?
And crush'd before the moth!
But ah! my inward spirit cries,
Still bind me to thy sway; Else the next cloud that veils the skies,
Drives all these thoughts away.
XLV. THE HAPPY CHANGE.
How blest thy creature is, O God,
When, with a single eye,
The dayspring from on high !
Through all the storms that veil the skies,
And frown on earthly things,
With healing on his wings.
A barren soil no more,
Where serpents lurk'd before.*
Of Satan's dark domain,
And owns a heavenly reign.
The fruitful year control,
He started from the goal;
His orient rays impart;
Can shine upon the heart.
Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
His most successful war.
* Isaiah xxxv. 7.
The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree; And seem by thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.
There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,
grace her mean abode, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God !
There like the nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays;
Nor thirsts for human praise.
Author and Guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light divine, And (all harmonious names in one)
My Saviour, thou art mine !
What thanks I owe thee, and what love,
A boundless, endless store,
When time shall be no more.
XLVII. THE HIDDEN LIFE.
To tell the Saviour all my wants,
How pleasing is the task !
Beyond what I can ask.
My labouring spirit vainly seeks
To tell but half the joy;
And helps me to reply.
Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare;
Exposed to open air.
But this with boldness I proclaim,
Nor care if thousands hear, Sweet is the ointment of his name,
Not life is half so dear.
And can you frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was ;
The man who bore the cross ?
Trust me, I draw the likeness true,
And not as fancy paints ; Such honour
he give to you, For such have all his saints.
XLVIII. JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING.
SOMETIMES a light surprises
The Christian while he sings ; It is the Lord who rises
With healing in his wings: