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'Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth.'-(HEB. xii. 6.)


When Christ, with all His graces crown'd,
Sheds His kind beams abroad,

'Tis a young Heaven on earthly ground,
And glory in the bud.

A blooming paradise of joy

In this wild desert springs,

And every sense I straight employ
On sweet celestial things.

But ah! how soon my joys decay!
How soon my sins arise

And snatch the heavenly scene away
From these lamenting eyes!

When shall the time, dear Jesus, when
The shining day appear,

That I shall leave those clouds of sin
And guilt and darkness here?

Up to the fields above the skies
My hasty feet would go ;
There everlasting flowers arise,
And joys unwithering grow!

Isaac Watts. 1709.


O for a closer walk with God,

A calm and heavenly frame !
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb!

Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul-refreshing view
Of Jesus and His word?

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed !
How sweet their memory still!
But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill.

Return, O holy Dove! return,
Sweet messenger of rest!

I hate the sins that made Thee mourn,
And drove Thee from my breast.

The dearest idol I have known,

Whate'er that idol be,

Help me to tear it from Thy throne,
And worship only Thee!

So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame;
So purer light shall mark the road

That leads me to the Lamb!

William Cowper. 1779.


The spring-tide hour

Brings leaf and flower

With songs of life and love;

And many a lay
Wears out the day

In many a leafy grove.
Bird, flower, and tree
Seem to agree

Their choicest gifts to bring;

But this poor heart
Bears not its part,
In it there is no spring.

Dews fall apace,
The dews of grace,
Upon this soul of sin
And love Divine
Delights to shine
Upon the waste within:
Yet, year by year,

Fruits, flowers, appear,
And birds their praises sing;

But this poor heart

Bears not its part,

Its winter has no spring.

Lord, let Thy love,

Fresh from above,

Soft as the south wind blow;

Call forth its bloom,

Wake its perfume,

And bid its spices flow!

And when Thy voice

Makes earth rejoice,
And the hills laugh and sing,

Lord! make this heart

To bear its part,

And join the praise of spring!

John S. B. Monsell. 1850.



Early, my God, without delay,
I haste to seek Thy face;
My thirsty spirit faints away
Without Thy cheering grace.

So pilgrims on the scorching sand
Beneath a burning sky

Long for a cooling stream at hand,
And they must drink, or die.

I've seen Thy glory and Thy power
Through all Thy temple shine;
My God! repeat that heavenly hour
That vision so divine!

Not life itself, with all her joys,
Can my best passions move,
Or raise so high my cheerful voice,
As Thy forgiving love.

Thus till my last expiring day
I'll bless my God and King;

Thus will I lift my hands to pray,
And tune my lips to sing.

Isaac Watts 1719.


God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform ;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.


Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain ;

God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

William Cowper. 1779.


The world can neither give nor take,

Nor can they comprehend

The peace of God, which Christ has bought,
The peace which knows no end.

The burning bush was not consumed
Whilst God remained there;

The Three, when Jesus made the Fourth,
Found fire as soft as air.

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