CCXXIV.

The Universal Rule

The

of Equity. Matt. vii. 12.

'B

LESSED Redeemer, how divine,

How righteous is this rule of thine!

"Never to deal with others worse.

"Than we would have them deal with us."

2 This golden leffon, fhort and plain,
Gives not the mind, or mem'ry pain :
And ev'ry confcience must approve
This univerfal rule of love.

3 'Tis written in each mortal breast,
Where all our tender'st wishes reft:
We draw it from our inmoft veins,
Where love to felf refides and reigns.

4 Is reafon ever at a lofs?

Call in felf-love to judge the cause
Let our own fondeft paffions fhew,
How we should treat our neighbour too.

4 How bleft would ev'ry nation prove,
Thus rul'd by equity and love!

All would be friends, without a foe,
And form a paradife below.

CCXXV.

CCXXV.

'H

The Atonement of

Chrift.

OW is our nature spoil'd by fin! Yet nature ne'er hath found The way to make the confcience clean, Or heal the painful wound.

2. In vain we seek for peace with God,
By methods of our own :

Jefus, there's nothing but thy blood,
Can bring us near thy throne.

3 The threat'nings of thy broken law
Imprefs our fouls with dread:

If God his fword of vengeance draw.

But thy illuftrious facrifice

Hath anfwer'd thefe demands;

And peace, and pardon, from the skies,
Come down by Jefus' hands.

5

Here all the antient types agree;

The altar and the lamb :

And prophets, in their vifions, fee,

Salvation thro' his name.

6 'Tis by thy death we live, O Lord:

'Tis on thy cross we reft:

For ever be thy love ador'd,
Thy name for ever bleft.

CCXXVI.

W

HERE fhall the guilty confcience go

To find a fure relief?

Can bleeding bulls or goats beftow

A balm to eafe my grief?

2 Will popib rites and penances
Release my foul from fin?
What infufficient things are thefe,
To calm the wrath divine!

3 God, the great God, who rules the skies,
The gracious and the juft,
Makes his own fon a facrifice,
And there lies all our truft.

4 O never let my thoughts renounce
The gospel of my God!

Where vilest crimes are cleans'd at once,
In Chrift's atoning blood.

5

Here reft my faith, and ne'er remove :

Here let repentance rife;

While I behold his bleeding love,

His dying agonies.

6 With shame and forrow here I own
How great my guilt has been :

This is my way t' approach the throne,
And God forgives my fin.

CCXXVII.

CCXXVII. Chrifts Atonement improved.

'L

ORD, didft thou fend thy fon to die,
For fuch a guilty wretch as I;

And shall thy mercy not impart

The Spirit to renew my heart.

2 Lord, haft thou wash'd my garments clean,
In Jefus' blood, from fhame and fin?
Shall I not strive with all my pow'r,
That fin pollute my foul no more?

3

;

Shall I not bear Father's rod
my
The kind correction of my God?
When Chrift, on the accurfed tree,
Suftain'd a heavier curfe for me!

4 Why fhould I dread my dying day,
Since Chrift hath took the curfe away;
And taught me with my latest breath,
To triumph o'er thy terrors death?

5 O, rather let me wish and cry,

"When shall my foul get loofe, and fly
"To upper worlds? When fhall I fee
"The God, the man, that dy'd for me?"

6 I shall behold his glories there;
And pay him my eternal share
Of praise, and gratitude, and love,
Among ten thousand faints above.

CCXXVIII.

CCXXVIII The Chriftian's Treasure. I Cor. iii. 21, 22.

HO

OW vaft the treasure we poffefs!
How rich thy bounty, King of grace!
This world is ours, and worlds to come :
Earth is our lodge, and heav'n our home.

2 Paul is our teacher; while he speaks,
The fhadows flee, the morning breaks.
His words, like beams of knowledge shine,
And fill our fouls with light divine.

3 Cephas is ours; he makes us feel
The kindlings of celeftial zeal :
While sweet Apollos' charming voice
Gives us a tafte of heav'nly joys.

The fpringing corn, the ftately wood,
Grow to provide us house and food:
Fire, earth, air, water, join their force:
All nature ferves us in her course.

5 The fun rolls round, to make our day :
The moon directs our nightly way :
While angels bear us in their arms;
And fhield us from ten thousand harms.

6 O glorious portion of the faints!

Let faith fupprefs our fore complaints:
And tune our hearts, and tongues to fing
Our bounteous God, our fov'reign king.

CCXXIX.