1

The Work and Contention of Heaven,
By ERSKINE.

IN

N heav'nly choirs a question rose,
That stirr'd up strife will never close;
What rank of all the ransom'd race

Owes highest praise to sov'reign grace?
2 Babes, thither caught from womb and breast,
Claim'd right to sing above the rest
Because they found the happy shore
They never saw nor sought before.
3 Those that arriv'd at riper age,
Before they left the dusky stage,
Thought grace deserv'd yet higher praise,
That wash'd the blots of num'rous days.
4 Anon the war more close began,
What praising harp should lead the van;
And which of grace's heav'nly peers,
Was deepest run in her arrears.

5 ""Tis I," said one, "'bove all my race,
"Am debtor chief to glorious grace;"
"No," said another, "hark, I trow,
"I'm more oblig'd to grace than you."
6 "Stay," said a third, "I deepest share
"In owing praise beyond compare..
"The chief of sinners, you'll allow,
"Must be the chief of singers now."
7 "Hold," said a fourth, "I here protest,
"My praises must outvie the best ;
"For I'm of all the human race,
"The highest miracle of grace."

8 "Stop," said a fifth, "these notes forbear,
"Lo! I'm the greatest wonder here;
"For I of all the race that fell
"Deserv'd the lowest place in hell."

9 A soul that higher yet aspir'd,
With equal love to Jesus fir'd,

"Tis mine to sing the highest notes, "To love, that wash'd the foulest blots." 10 "Ho!" cry'd a mate, "'tis mine I'll prove, "Who sinn'd in spite of light and love, "To sound his praise with loudest bell, "That sav'd me from the lowest hell."

11 "Come, come," said one, "I'll hold thy plea, "That highest praise is due by me; "For mine, of all the sav'd by grace, "Was the most dreadful, desp'rate case." 12 Another rising at his side,

As fond to praise, and free of pride, Cry'd, "pray give place, for I defy "That you should own more praise than I: 13 "I'll yield to none in this debate ; "I'm run so deep in grace's debt; "That sure I am, I boldly can

"Compare with all the heav'nly clan."

14 Quick o'er their head a trump awoke,
"Your songs my very heart have spoke;
"But ev'ry note you here propale,
"Belongs to me beyond you all."
15 The list ning millions round about

With sweet resentment loudly shout-
"What voice is this, comparing notes,
"That to their song chief place allots?
16 "We can't allow of such a sound,
"That you alone have highest ground,
"To sing the royalties of grace;
"We claim the same adoring place."
17 What! will no rival-singer yield
He has a match upon the field?
"Come then, and let us all agree,
"To praise upon the highest key."
18 Then jointly all the harpers round
In mind unite, with solemn sound,