Were you appriz'd how great he is,
His excellencies knew,

You would concur with me in this,
To love your Jefus too.

No quaint hyperboles of fpeech

His merits can difplay,

Sooner may glimm'ring glow-worms reach To equal the bright day.

Pierc'd by a dart from his bright eye,
None knows what I endure,
If he's withdrawn my comforts die,
I love, yet dread the cure.

The fhining glories of his face,
As in the word reveal'd,

Those rich displays of gospel grace,
To me true transports yield.

But oh! the kiffes of his mouth,

Thofe pledges of his love, Scal'd on my lips, in words of truth, Make mine affections move.

'Tis he maintains my life and peace, He is my conftant theme;

My happiness can never cease

While I have all in him.

His image dwells upon my heart,

My name's on both his hands, This facred union none can part, Nor death diffolve the bands.

Amidst the hurry of the day,
My faith afcends the skies,
Beholds him there, and brings away
Sweet comfort from his eyes.

When darkness covers nature's face,
As on my bed I roll,
The sweet elapfes of his grace,
Give vigour to my soul.

Soon will the happy feafon come,

When naught our love fhall fever,

But he will take me to his home,
Where I fhall live for ever.

The Complaint.

BEWILDER'D in this world of fin,

Among the shades of night,

My foul hath long a stranger been
To comfort's chearing light.

Distracting

Diftrafting thoughts in dreadful troop,
Invade me with surprise,

Affaults my fort of weak-built hope,
And interrupt my joys.

By ftrong temptations close purfu'd,
And vexing cares oppreft;

Sorrow is every day renew'd
In my tumultuous breaft.

Incensed heaven, with awful dread,
Confumes my feeble powers;
Where fhall I hide my guilty head,
While Sinai's thunder roars ?.

With grief my wretched ftate I fee,
Conceiv'd and born in fin:

Since firft I did begin to be
A finner I have been.

From a corrupted stock I came,
Whose treason taints the blood,

Thro' every vain diffuses still,

And draws the heart from God.

Hence human intellects deprav'd,
Miftaking good for ill;

And fin and fatan have enflav'd

The noble free-born will.

My

My loofe affections wildly run,
And in disorder move:

What I fhould moft defire I fhun;
What I should hate, I love.

Where shall I go to find relief?
Whose aid fhall I implore
To calm the tempeft of my grief,
And folid peace reftore?

I feek and afk in vain;

No pow'r on earth there furely lies
To mitigate my pain.

Creatures may pity one distrest,
But 'tis beyond their art

To give a troubled conscience rest,
Or cure a broken heart.

'Tis Jefus, God's eternal Son,

Who knows the pains I feel:

'Tis Jefus, and 'tis he alone,
My wounded foul can heal.

Complaining

Complaining of a wandering Heart.

WHEN fhall this wretched heart of mine,

Dear Lord, compofed be; Engag'd in exercise divine,

Or meditate on thee?

Every pow'r that art can use,
I try to make her stay;
Yet the doth every care amuse,
And flily steals away.

About the world she takes her roam,
And flips from thing to thing;
Fain would I bring the wand'rer home,
But cannot keep her in.

When public worship I frequent,

With those that fear thy name; She thrufts in thoughts impertinent, And makes devotion lame.

If to my closet I repair,

To meet my God alone;

E'en here too oft', ere I'm aware,
My treach'rous heart is gone.

Thus