An evidence of things not seen,
A substance firm whereon to lean.
Go, search the cottager's low room,
The day scarce piercing through the gloom;
The Christian on his dying bed,
Unknown, unlettered, hardly fed;
No flattering witnesses attend,
To tell how glorious was his end;
Save in the book of life, his name
Unheard; he never dreamt of fame :
No human consolation near,
No voice to soothe, no friend to cheer;
Of every earthly stay bereft,
And nothing, but his Saviour left;
Fast sinking to his kindred dust,
The word of life is still his trust;
The joy God's promises impart
Lies like a cordial at his heart;
Unshaken faith its strength supplies,
He loves, believes, adores, and dies!
The Sinner's Petition for Time.
Y glass is half unspent ; forbear t' arrest My thriftless day too soon: my poor request Is, that my glass may run but out the rest.
My time-devoured minutes will be done, Without thy help; see, see how swift they run; Cut not my thread, before my thread be spun.
The gain's not great I purchase by this stay;
What loss sustain'st Thou by so small delay,
To whom ten thousand years are but a day?
My following eye can hardly make a shift
To count my winged hours; they fly so swift,
They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift.
The secret wheels of hurrying time do give
So short a warning, and so fast they drive,
That I am dead, before I seem to live.
And what's a life? a weary pilgrimage,
Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage
With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age.
And what's a life? the flourishing array
Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay.
Read on this dial, how the shades devour
My short-lived winter's day; hour eats up hour;
Alas, the total's but from eight to four.
Behold these lilies, (which thy hands have made,
Fair copies of my life, and open laid
To view,) how soon they droop, how soon they fade!
Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon;
My non-aged day already points to noon;
How simple is my suit, how small my boon!
Nor do I beg this slender inch to wile
The time away, or safely to beguile
My thoughts with joy; here's nothing but a smile.
No, no! 'tis not to please my wanton ears
With frantic mirth, I beg but hours, not years,
And what thou giv'st me, I will give to tears.
Draw not that soul, which would be rather led!
That seed has yet not broke my serpent's head;
Oh! shall I die before my sins are dead?
Behold these rags; am I a fitting guest
To taste the dainties of thy royal feast,
With hands and face unwashed, ungirt, unblest?
First let the Jordan streams (that find supplies
From the deep fountain of thy heart) arise,
And cleanse my spots, and clear my leprous eyes.
I have a world of sins to be lamented;
I have a sea of tears that must be vented;
Oh! spare till then, and then I die contented.
The Servants of God.
IGH on His everlasting throne,
The King of Saints His work surveys;
Marks the dear souls He calls His own,
And smiles on that peculiar race.
He rests well pleased their toil to see ;
Beneath His easy yoke they move,
With all their heart and strength agree
In the sweet labour of His love.
His eye at once the world looks through,
A vast uncultivated field;
Mountains and vales in ghastly show,
A barren, uncouth prospect yield :
Clear'd of the thorns by civil care,
A few less hideous wastes are seen;
Yet still they all continue bare,
And not one spot of earth is green.
See where the servants of their God,
A busy multitude, appear!
For Jesus day and night employ'd
His husbandry they toil to clear.
The love of Christ their hearts constrains, And strengthens their unwearied hands; They spend their blood, and sweat, and pains, To cultivate Emmanuel's lands.
Alarm'd at their successful toil,
Satan and his wild spirits rage,
They labour to tear up and spoil
And blast the rising heritage.
wilderness they sow
The seed of death, the carnal mind;
They would not let one virtue grow,
Nor leave one seed of good behind.
Yet still the servants of their Lord
Look up and calmly persevere;
Supported by the Master's word,
The adverse powers they scorn to fear;
Gladly their happy work pursue:
The labour of their hands is seen,
Their hands the face of earth renew;
Some spots at least are lively green.
To dig the ground they thus bestow
Their lives; from every soften'd clod
They gather out the stones, and sow
The immortal seed, the word of God.
They water it with tears and prayers,
Then long for the returning word;
Happy, if all their pains and cares
Can bring forth fruit to please their Lord.
Jesus their work delighted sees,
Their industry vouchsafes to crown;
He kindly gives the wished increase,
And sends the promised blessing down.
The sap of life, the Spirit's powers,
He rains incessant from above;
He all His gracious fulness showers,
To perfect their great work of love.
O multiply Thy sowers' seed,
And fruit we every hour shall bear ;
Throughout the world Thy gospel spread,
Thy everlasting grace declare:
We all in perfect love renew'd,
Shall know the greatness of Thy power,
Stand in the temple of our God
As pillars, and go out no more.
FROM THE GERMAN.
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