The Works of Samuel Stennett

Early piety, Matt. xii. 20.
How soft the words my Saviour speaks !
How kind the promises he makes!
A bruised reed he never breaks,
Nor will he quench the smoking flax.
The humble poor he won't despise,
Nor on the contrite sinner frown:
His ear is open to their cries,
He quickly sends salvation down.
When piety in early minds,
Like tender buds, begins to shoot,
He guards the plants from threatening winds,
And ripens blossoms into fruit.
With humble souls he bears a part
In all the sorrows they endure:
Tender and gracious is his heart,
His promise is for ever sure.
He sees the struggles that prevail
Between the powers of grace and sin;
He kindly listens while they tell
The bitter pangs they feel within.
Tho' press'd with fears on every side,
They know not how the strife

may

end;
Yet he will soon the cause decide,
And judgment unto vict'ry send.

Divine Mercies in constant Succession, Lam. iii. 22, 23.

How various and how new

Are thy compassions, Lord !
Each morning shall thy mercies shew,-

Each night thy truth record.

Thy goodness, like the sun,

Dawn'd on our early days,
Ere infant reason had begun

To form our lips to praise.
Each object we beheld

Gave pleasure to our eyes;
And nature all our senses held

In bands of sweet surprise,
But pleasures more refin’d

Awaited that bless'd day,
When light arose upon our mind,

And chas'd our sins away.
How new thy mercies, then !

How sovereign, and how free!
Our souls that had been dead in sin

Were made alive to thee.
Now we expect a day

Still brighter far than this,
When death shall bear our souls away

To realms of light and bliss.
There rapt'rous scenes of joy

Shall burst upon our sight;
And every pain, and tear, and sigh,

Be drown'd in endless light.
Beneath thy balmy wing,

O Sun of Righteousness !
Our happy souls shall sit and sing

The wonders of thy grace.
Nor shall that radiant day,

So joyfully begun,
In evening shadows die away,

Beneath the setting sun.
How various and how new

Are thy compassions, Lord!
Eternity thy love shall shew,

And all thy truth record.

Children dying in their Infancy, in the Arms of Jesus, Matt.

xix. 14.
Thy life I read, my dearest Lord,
With transport all divine;
Thine image trace in every word, —
Thy love in every line.
Methinks I see a thousand charms
Spread o'er thy lovely face,
While infants in thy tender arms
Receive the smiling grace.
I take these little lambs, said he,
And lay them in my breast :
Protection they shall find in me
In me be ever blest.
Death may the bands of life unloose,
But can't dissolve

my
Millions of infant-souls compose
The family above.
Their feeble frames my pow'r shall raise,
And mould with heavenly skill:
I'll give them tongues to sing my praise,
And hands to do

will.
His words the happy parents hear,
And shout with joys divine,
Dear Saviour ! all we have and are
Shall be for ever thine.

love;

The Last Judgment.
He comes ! he comes ! to judge the world,

Aloud th' archangel cries !
While thunders roll from pole to pole,

And lightnings cleave the skies.
Th' affrighted nations hear the sound,

And upward lift their eyes:
The slumb’ring tenants of the ground

In living armies rise.
Amid the shouts of numerous friends,

Of hosts divinely bright,
The Judge in solemn pomp descends,

Array'd in robes of light.

His head and hairs are white as snow,

His eyes a fiery flame,
A radiant crown adorns his brow,

And Jesus is his name.
Writ on his thigh his name appears,

And scars his vict'ries tell:
Lo-in his hand the conqu’ror bears

The keys of death and hell.
So he ascends the judgment-seat,

And at his dread command,
Myriads of creatures round his feet

In solemn silence stand. Princes and peasants here expect

Their last, their righteous doom; The men who dar'd his grace reject,

And they who dar'd presume.
Depart, ye sons of vice and sin,

The injur'd Jesus cries !
While the long-kindling wrath within

Flashes from both his eyes.
And now in words divinely sweet,

With rapture in his face, Aloud his sacred lips repeat The sentence of his

grace: Well done, my good and faithful sons,

The children of my love! Receive the sceptres, crowns, and thrones, Prepar'd for

you

above.

The promised Land.
On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,

And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan's fair and happy land,

Where my possessions lie.
O the transporting rapt'rous scene

That rises to my sight!
Sweet fields, array'd in living green,

And rivers of delight!
There generous fruits, that never fail,

On trees immortal grow:

« Anterior Continuar »

Libros

The Works of Samuel Stennett, Volumen3