Indeed we own if once they can
Dethrone the high-exalted Man ;
Then evil with us will it be,
A Profpect fad we then fhall fee.
5 But I am abfolutely fure
Our Lord will ever fit fecure ;
For ever will our Shepherd prove,
And we for ever feel his Love.
6 Thus in our Lamb we Refuge find,
Fear neither Storm, nor angry Wind
In Danger chearful, void of Care,
No Enemy can touch a Hair:
For thefe our God has number'd all,
Without his Leave not one can fall ;
If in the least He is so true,
What won't He in the greater do?
Ear glorious King, thy Church's Spouse Sole Lord and Searcher of our Breast, To Thee our Soul moft gladly goes, Like Noah's Dove, for Help and Rest.
Indeed the Waters overflow,
The World all o'er against us ftands,
Few will our Mind and Purpose know,
Few comprehend Thy fweet Commands,
2 Whither shall we poor Abjects look ?
By whom be own'd or juftified?
By him who bade us eat the Book,
By Jefus, if by none befide.
Not comfortless the Soul, to whom
The Word and Bleffing back returns,
Who difappointed ftands and dumb,
But with the inward Witness burns,
3 Yet well we hope, thy gentle Grace
Will soften many Hearts of Stone;
What Art can help loft human Race?
The fame which our bad Hearts has won.
To the mild Preaching of thy Blood,
The Virtue of thy Sacrifice,
While Reason yet difputes its Good,
By ftealth the wounded Confcience flies,
4 Thy powerful Prefence, Lord, difplay,
Or elfe in vain the Sun we fee;
Thy Name and Glory makes our Day,
We live but in Thy Ways and Thee.
Wrap all thy Servants in thy Light,
Where'er they turn them at thy Call,
Grant that thy Blood they ftill may meet,
And own it fills and conquers all.
And make thyfelf clear
To each of our Hearts;
That we may know nothing, but Thee and Thy Smarts.
2 We are thy poor Sheep,
To thy Wounds we'll keep,
In them is our Food;
Indeed there our Strength lies, and our only Good.
3 We are thy poor Clay,
Form us from this Day
For thy Ufe alone;
And let us rejoicing feel we are thy own.
Ear Lamb from everlafting flain,
Thou Servant of thy Crois's Train,
Our Souls kind Husband Thou;
We fall down humbly at thy Feet,
And clofe embrace them as 'tis meet,
As clofe as Faith's fure Arm can do.
2 Weak little Babes 'tis true we are,
Poor Sinners, but redeem'd and clear:
And of that Quintessence,
Which from thy Wounds doth richly flow,
We all have drank, and feel, and know
The quickning Pow'r of God from thence.
This the Saint's Strength and Refuge fure,
That our own Doings, vile and poor,
Are not the Means to move
The Lamb, our dearest Friend thro' Blood,
Grace to bestow and ev'ry Good;
He's wonderfully prefs'd by Love.
4 And now we nothing can reply,
But at thy Feet aftonish'd lie,
That thou vile Slaves by Birth fhouldft free,
And what is more than Liberty,
Should't deftine them a Crown and
Throne?
5 This gives us ravishing Love's Snart,
Like melting Wax we feel our Heart,
As Duft afham'd we hide ;
Tears from our Eyes moft freely flow,
And nought elfe will we ever know,
But that a Lamb was crucify'd.
D 3
Ear Lamb, in me fulfil
D Whatever is Thy Will,
I willingly refign
Myfelf, and all that's mine,
Into Thy precious Wounds,
Where Reft and Peace abounds.
2 From thence each Day impart
New Life into my Heart,
For without fresh Supplies
The former droops and dies;
Continually I've Need,
By Faith, on Thee to feed.
3 To Jefus then I'll cleave,
My Love no more I'll grieve;
For what in Heav'n, but Thee,
Can I defire to fee?
Or what in Earth and Air
Can I with Thee compare?
4 Nothing, my dearest Love;
Thy Beauty's far above
All other 'Treasures. Why?
Thou didit fo freely die
For me, and every one
That was by Sin undone.
|