PART III.

Hail, holy, holy, holy Lord!
Mysterious Three in One;
For ever be thy name ador'd,
Thy will for ever done.

For this alone on earth I wait,

To glorify my God;

And suffer, since thou will'st, the state
Of sacred widowhood.

And may I, in thy strength, fulfil

My awful character;

And prove thine acceptable will,

And do thy pleasure here.

The children to thyself restore,
Whom thou to me hast giv'n;

And rule my house with all my pow'r,
And train them up for heav'n.

Be this my hospitable care,

The stranger to receive,

The burden of thy Church to bear,
And all their wants relieve.

My labour of unwearied love
With pleasure to repeat;
My faith unto thy saints to prove,
And gladly wash their feet.

The servant of thy servants bless,
With active earnest zeal;
And every work of righteousness
I shall with joy fulfil.

WOND'RING, I ask, where is the breast,
Struggling so late, and rack'd with pain;

The eyes that upward look'd for rest,
And dropt their weary lids again?

The recent horrors still appear;
O may they never cease to awe!
Still is the king of terrors near,

Whom late in all his pomp I saw.

Torture and sin prepar'd his way,

And pointed to the yawning grave; Darkness was spread o'er all the day,

No hand was seen stretch'd forth to save.

"Twas not the searching pain within,

That fill'd the coward flesh with fear;

Nor consciousuess of outward sin,

Nor sense of dissolution near.

In vain for hope he sought around,

(The fruit of righteousness alone,) His soul afar from Christ was found, And started from a God unknown.

His feeble flesh refus'd to bear

Its strong redoubled agonies;
When mercy heard his feeble prayer,
And saw him faintly gasp for ease.
Father! if I may call thee mine,
From heav'n and thee remov'd so far,
Draw near, thy pitying eye incline,
And cast not out my languid prayer.
How shall I lift my guilty eyes,
Or dare appear before thy face?
When, deaf to mercy's loudest cries,

I long have wearied out thy grace.

'Loos'd from my God, and far remov'd,
Long have I wander'd to and fro;
O'er earth in endless circles rov'd,
And sought a place of rest below.

In darkness willingly I stray'd,

I sought thee, yet from thee I rov'd; For wide my wand'ring thoughts were spread ; Thy creatures more than thee I lov❜d.

'Corrupt my will, nor half subdu'd; Can I the purer presence bear! Unchang'd, unhallow'd, unrenew'd,

Dare I before thy face appear? 'Father of mercies, hear my call,

Ere yet arrive the fatal hour; Repair my loss, retrieve my fall, And raise me by thy quick'ning power.

My nature re-exchange for thine,

Be thou my Life, my Hope, my Gain; Clothe me with righteousness divine,

And death shall shake his dart in vain. Could I the Saviour's voice but hear, And clasp him in my soul's embrace, Soon I'd dismiss my gloomy fear,

And rest on his supporting grace.

'I nothing have wherein to trust,
I nothing am-from nothing came;
Excluded is my every boast,

My glory swallow'd up in shame.

'Guilty I stand before thy face;

Thy wrath on me might well abide; 'Tis just the sentence should take place; 'Tis just,-but, oh! thy Son has died! 'Jesus, the Lamb of God, hath bled,

He bare our sins upon the tree; Beneath our curse he bow'd his head,

'Tis finish'd! He hath died for me. 'Lo! now before the throne he stands,

And pours the all-prevailing prayer; Points to his side, and lifts his hands, And shows that I am graven there.

'He ever lives for me to pray;

He prays that I with him may reign; Amen, to what my Lord doth say, Jesus, thou canst not pray in vain.

A stranger long to thee and rest,
Behold the prodigal is come:
Open for me thine arms and breast,
And take the weary wanderer home!

O draw me, Saviour, after thee!
So shall I run, and never tire;
With gracious words still comfort me,
My Life, my Hope, my sole Desire!
Fain would I leave this earth below,
Of pain and sin the dark abode;
Where shadowy joy, or solid woe,
Allures, or tears me from my God.

'Whither should now my soul aspire,
But heav'nward to my Saviour's breast;
Wafted on wings of warm desire,
To gain her everlasting rest!

Where thou, and only thou, art love;
Far from the world's insidious art;
Beyond the rage of fiends remov'd,
And safe from my deceitful heart.

'There let me rest, and sin no more; Come quickly, Lord, and end the strife;

Hasten my last, my mortal hour,

Swallow me up in endless life.

'Thankful, I take the cup from thee, Prepar'd and mingled by thy skill; Though bitter to the taste it be,

It has a sov'reign power to heal.

"When pains o'er my weak flesh prevail, With lamb-like patience arm my breast;

If fear my wounded soul assail,
O cheer me by thy promis'd rest!

'Speak to the fears that in me rise,

Say to my trembling heart, Be still; O guide my hope beyond the skies,

And fix my feet on Zion's hill.

''Tis done; life's struggle now is o'er,
Close to my Saviour now I cling;
He saves me by redeeming power,
Disarms the monster of his sting:

The Saviour's kind, he takes me home!
Amen! sweet Jesus, come, Lord, come!'
Peace, fluttering soul, the storm is o'er,
Ended at last the doubtful strife;
He flies to heav'n, returns no more;
A widow thou, no more a wife.

AND wilt thou yet be found,
And may I still draw near?
Then listen to the plaintive sound
Of a poor sinner's prayer.

Jesus, thine aid afford,

If still the same thou art;
To thee I look, to thee, my Lord,
Lift up a helpless heart.

Thou seest my tortur'd breast,

The strugglings of my will,

The griefs that interrupt my rest,

The agonies I feel.

The daily death I prove,

Saviour, to thee is known:

'Tis worse than death, my God to love,

And not my God alone.

Immoderate sorrow chide,

Who only canst control;
Canst turn the stream of nature's tide,

And calm my troubled soul.

Oh! my much-injur❜d Lord,

Restore mine inward peace;

I know, thou canst pronounce the word,
And bid the tempest cease.