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Such fuccour keeps him clear of ill,
Still firm to good, and dauntless still.
So, fix'd by Providence's hands,
A rock amidst an ocean stands;
So bears without a trembling dread,
The tempeft beating round its head;
And with its fide repels the wave,
Whose hollow feems a coming grave
The skies, the deeps, are heard to roar ;
The rock ftands fettled as before.

I, all with whom he has to do,
Admire the life which bleffes you,
That feeds a foe, that aids a friend,
Without a bye defigning end;
Its knowing real interest lies

On the bright fide of yonder skies,
Where, having made a title fair,

It mounts, and leaves the world to care;
While he that feeks for pleafing days,
In earthly joys and evil ways,

Is but the fool of toil or fame,

(Though happy be the fpacious name)

And made by wealth, which makes him great,
A more confpicuous wretch of state.

THE

THE WAY TO HAPPINESS.

H

OW long, ye miserable blind,

Shall idle dreams engage your mind;
How long the paffions make their flight
At empty. fhadows of delight.

No more in paths of error ftray,
The Lord thy Jefus is the way,
The spring of happinefs, and where
Should men feek happiness but there?
Then run to meet him at your need,
Run with boldness, run with fpeed,
For he forfook his own abode

To meet thee more than half the road.
He laid afide his radiant crown,

And love for mankind brought him down
To thirst and hunger, pain and woe,
To wounds, to death itself below;

And he, that fuffer'd thefe alone
For all the world, defpifes none.

To bid the foul, that 's fick, be clean,
To bring the loft to life again;

To comfort thofe that grieve for ill,
Is his peculiar goodness still.
And, as the thoughts of parents run
Upon a dear and only fon,

So kind a love his mercies fhow,

Sa kind and more extremely fo.

Thrice happy men! (or find a phrase That speaks your blifs with greater praise)

Who most obedient to thy call,

Leaving pleasures, leaving all,

With heart, with foul, with strength incline,

O fweetest Jefu! to be thine.

Who know thy will, obferve thy ways,

And in thy fervice spend their days :
Ev'n death, that feems to fet them free,
But brings them clofer ftill to thee.

THE CONVERT'S LOVE.

BLESSED light of faints on high,

Who the manfions of the fky;

Sure defence, whofe mercy ftill
Preferves thy fubjects here from ill;
Oh, my Jefus ! make me know
How to pay the thanks I owe.

As the fond sheep that idly ftrays,
With wanton play, through winding ways,
Which never hits the road of home,
O'er wilds of danger learns to roam,
Till, wearied out with idle fear,
And paffing there, and turning here,
He will, for reft, to covert run,
And meet the wolf he wish'd to fhun.
Thus wretched I, through wanton will,
Run blind and headlong on in ill:
"Twas thus from fin to fin I flew,
And thus I might have perish'd too;

But

But mercy dropt the likeness here,

And fhew'd, and fav'd me from my fear.
While o'er the darkness of my mind
The facred spirit purely shin'd,

And mark'd and brighten'd all the way
Which leads to everlasting day;

And broke the thickening clouds of fin,
And fix'd the light of love within.

From hence my ravish'd foul afpires,
And dates the rife of its defires.

From hence to thee, my God! I turn,
And fervent wishes fay I burn;
I buru, thy glorious face to fee,
And live in endless joy with thee.
There's no fuch ardent kind of flame
Between the lover and the dame;
Nor fuch affection parents bear
To their young and only heir,
Though, join'd together, both confpire,
And boast a doubled force of fire,
My tender heart, within its feat,
Diffolves before the scorching heat;
As foftening wax is taught to run
Before the warmnefs of the fun.

Oh, my flame, my pleafing pain,
Burn and purify my stain,
Warm me, burn me, day by day,

Till you purge my
earth away;
Till at the last I throughly thine,
And turn a torch of love divine.

A DE

A DESIRE TO PRAISE.

PROPITIOUS Son of God, to thee,

With all my foul, I bend my knee;
My wish I fend, my want impart,
And dedicate my mind and heart:
For, as an abfent parent's fon,
Whofe fecond year is only run,
When no protecting friend is near,
Void of wit, and void of fear,
With things that hurt him fondly plays,
Or here he falls, or there he strays;
. So fhould my foul's eternal guide,
The facred fpirit be deny'd,

Thy fervant foon the lofs would know,
And fink in fin, or run to woe.

O, fpirit bountifully kind,
Warm, poffefs, and fill my mind;
Difperfe my fins with light divine,
And raise the flames of love with thine;
Before thy pleafures rightly priz'd,
Let wealth and honour be despis'd;
And let the Father's glory be
More dear than life itfelf to me.
Sing of Jefus! Virgins, fing
. Him, your everlasting King!
Sing of Jefus chearful youth,
Him, the God of love and truth!

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