Why laid in jail of cruel grave, If not thy death from death me free? Then, Lord, infure the blifs I crave, Seal'd with thy blood, and fuccour me. GOSPEL SONNETS. PART V. The BELIEVER'S SOLILOQUY; especially in times of desertion, temptation, affliction, SECT. I. c. The deferted believer longing for perfect freedom A1 from fin. H! mournful cafe! what can afford Contentment, when an absent Lord Will now his kindness neither prove By fmiles of grace, nor lines of love! What heart can joy, what foul can fing, While winter over-runs the spring? I die, yet can't my death condole; Lord, fave a dying, drooping foul. In pain, yet unconcern'd I live, And languifh when I fhould believe. Lord, if thou ceafe to come and stay, My foul in fin will pine away. In fin, whofe ill ne tongue can tell, To live is death, to die, is hell; O fave, if not from thrall's arreft, Yet fave me, Lord, from fin at least. This for his merit's fake I feek, Whofe blood and wounds do mercy fpeak; And heav'nly flow'rs for earthly briers. For them that unto death him chase. How fhall the man that dies therein! Thy cross my lafting crown procure, But, finners there are faints indeed. To Zion's everlasting King, The deferted Believer's prayer under complaints of unbelief, darkness, deadness, and hardness. THAT means this wicked, wand'ring heart? WHA This trembling ague of my foul? Would Jefus but a look impart, One look from him would make me whole. But will he turn to me his face, From whom he justly did withdraw? Ah, Lord! I wish I could be thine. And yet, alas! a careless heart? Or fuch unwonted careless care? Yet worse, when in this difmal cafe My heart is harden'd from thy fear. 'Twas not because no show'rs did flow Of heav'nly manna at my door; But by my folly I'm into A worse condition than before. Come, Lord, with greater pow'r; for why, Mine, fure, is not a common cafe: Thou offer it to unvail; yet I Do scarce incline to fee thy face. Such languid faint defires I feel Within this wicked stupid heart : I fhould, I would, but that I will I hardly dare with truth affert. O to be free of that vile wrack, That bafely keeps me from my God! I flee from thee, Lord; bring me back by tender love, or by thy rod. In paths of righteoufnefs direct, New proofs of thy remiffion give; Then of thy name I'll mention make With grateful praises while I live. On banks of mercy's boundless deep, With sweeter eafe I'll foar and fing, Than kings of feather'd hofts, that sweep The oozy fhore with easy wing. But if thy mind omnifcient know I'm for this absent bliss unfit, Give grace to hate my fins, and to Their righteous punishment fubmit. But let me ne'er thy Spirit lack, That by his aid my pray'rs may come Before him, who can wifely make Ev'n distance lead his people home. |