S CXXI. · From the German. N°. 1080. Inners Redeemer whom we inly love, Father of thine below, and thine above, Brother of Worms who earthly Veffels bear, Bridegroom of happy Souls who fimple are! 2 O! let us Day by Day with Rapture feel, What Grace, what Love is, what Thy Spirit's Seal, What fervent Zeal that prudently afpires, 3 A manly Spirit too, dear Lord, impart ; I And inward Life and Chearfulness proclaim! S CXXII. Mall might it feem, if Chrift above Me who of little Ufe could prove : 2 He once hath fhed his Blood for this, A Family of Souls to gain; Of thefe, tho' mean, if he fhould mifs, His Toil, His Death would be in vain. 3 'Tis in poor Men he has defign'd His Gifts and Works to bring to Light; If none t' accept them are inclin'd, It puts a Stop to his great Might. 4 With an old Foe he is at Strife, Who hath feduc'd the human Race; That Foe prevails, where Unbelief Poffeffion holds, and Chrift where Grace. 5 Thus 'tis no longer a small Point, I That I my Heart to Chrift fhould give ; His Vict'ry, Purchase, Praise are in't, And the chief Joy he can receive. CXXIII. Uch who themfelves have known the SUch Commend his quick'ning Blood, Inviting others to the fame, Which they have found fo good. z Those who ne'er drank of living Streams, Describe not Jefus well; They paint him not with Mercy's Beams, But Terrors brought from Hell. R 3 3 Re 3 Revenge was never in Thy Heart, Thy Nature, Lord (not Man's Defert) 4 Believe or not, Chrift is the fame; But when we view that facred Flame, 5 May all, who fpread Thy Gofpel's Fame, Jefu, in Thee abide, A flaughter'd Saviour still proclaim, T CXXIV. Each me yet more of Thy bleft Ways, And fix and root me in the Grace 2 O tell me often of each Wound, 4 Answer 4 Anfwer me, tender gracious Lamb, To see me fall a Prey to Death; 6 Ingrave this deeply in iny Heart That I may, in my fmall Degree, Return Thy Love again. 7 But who can pay that mighty Debt, Thou wert, when forely wounded Thus 8 O rather give me daily mòre, CXXV. From the German. Each us, O Lord! thy Crofs's Mystery; 2 What coft Thee Life, Blood, Death, ftrong Cries and Tears, The fame remains nor waxes old by Years; 3 Thy pow'rful Word o'er Walls and Ramparts flies, Out-lafts (Thyfelf haft faid) both Earth and Skies. 4 Who to His Blood shall Bounds and Limits give? His Flock, yea all the World may drink and live. Who can produce a Time, a Day, an Hour, This Blood may not exert vindictive Pow'r? 6 'Tis no light Matter, when the Souls that lie Beneath the Altar, Vengeance! Vengeance! cry, 7 Tho' 'bove a thousand Years they thus have cried : (Patience divine! how long wilt Thou be tried).. 8 If by the Fiend this Cry can't be withstood, Much less the rufhing Stream of Jefu's Blood. 9. But hark! what Cry doth from the Saviour burst? |