THE world with stones, instead of bread, Our hungry souls has often fed; It promised health,-in one short hour They made them wings and fled away; Lord! with the barren service spent, A joy its children never know. "FOOLS MAKE A MOCK AT SIN!" WHO laughs at sin, laughs at his Maker's frowns; Laughs at the sword of vengeance o'er his head Laughs at the great Redeemer's tears and wounds, Who, but for sin, had never wept or bled. Who laughs at sin, laughs at the numerous woes Who laughs at sin, laughs at his own disease; Welcomes approaching torments with his smiles; Dares at his soul's expense his fancy please, Affronts his God, himself of bliss beguiles. Who laughs at sin, sports at his guilt and shame; Expressive of a folly so refined. ; 66 HE KEEPETH THE FEET OF HIS SAINTS." THRICE comfortable hope, That calms the troubled breast; My Father's hand prepares the cup, And what He wills is best. His His skill infallible, His providential grace, power and truth, that never fail, Shall order all my ways. The fancied powers of chance And fortune, I defy; My life's minutest circumstance Is subject to His eye. He hears the raven's call; T O may I doubt no more, But in His pleasure rest; Built on His love, His truth and My soul is truly blest: T'accomplish His design, power, HE HATH PREPARED FOR THEM A CITY." JERUSALEM, my happy home! Name ever dear to me, When shall my labours have an end, When shall these eyes Thy heaven-built walls And pearly gates behold? Thy bulwarks with salvation strong, And streets of shining gold? O when, thou city of my God, Shall I thy courts ascend, And sabbaths have no end? There happier bowers than Eden's, bloom, Nor sin nor sorrow know: Blest seats! through rude and stormy scenes, I onward press to you. |