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Thy choice and mine shall be the same,
Inspirer of that holy flame

Which must for ever blaze !
To take the Cross and follow thee,
Where love and duty lead, shall be

My portion and my praise.

JOY IN MARTYRDOM.

Sweet tenants of this grove,

Who sing, without design,
A song of artless love,

In unison with mine:
These echoing shades return

Full many a note of ours,
That wise ones cannot learn

With all their boasted powers.

O Thou ! whose sacred charms

These hearts so seldom love,
Although thy beauty warms

And blesses all above;
How slow are human things

To choose their happiest lot!
All-glorious King of kings,

Say why we love thee not?

This heart, that cannot rest,

Shall thine for ever prove;
Though bleeding and distress'd,

Yet joyful in thy love:

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Still, still, without ceasing,

I feel it increasing,
This fervour of holy desire;

And often exclaim,

Let me die in the flame
Of a love that can never expire !

Had I words to explain

What she must sustain
Who dies to the world and its ways:

How joy and affright,

Distress and delight, Alternately chequer her days.

Thou, sweetly severe !

I would make thee appear,
In all thou art pleased to award,

Not more in the sweet

Than the bitter I meet,
My tender and merciful Lord.

This Faith, in the dark

Pursuing its mark
Through many sharp trials of Love,

Is the sorrowful waste

That is to be pass'd
In the way to the Canaan above.

THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT.

SOURCE of love, my brighter sun,

Thou alone my comfort art; See, my race is almost run;

Hast thou left this trembling heart?

In my youth thy charming eyes
Drew me from the

ways

of men; Then I drank unmingled joys;

Frown of thine saw never then.

Spouse of Christ was then my name;

And devoted all to thee, Strangely jealous, I became

Jealous of this Self in me.

Thee to love, and none beside,

Was my darling, sole employ; While alternately I died,

Now of grief, and now of joy. Through the dark and silent night

On thy radiant smiles I dwelt; And to see the dawning light

Was the keenest pain I felt.

Thou my gracious teacher wert;

And thine eye, so close applied, While it watch'd thy pupil's heart,

Seem'd to look at none beside.

Conscious of no evil drift,

This, I cried, is Love indeed 'Tis the Giver, not the Gift,

Whence the joys I feel proceed.

But soon humbled, and laid low,

Stript of all thou hast conferr'd, Nothing left but sin and woe,

I perceived how I had errd.

Oh the vain conceit of man,

Dreaming of a good his own, Arrogating all he can,

Though the Lord is good alone!

He the graces thou hast wrought

Makes subservient to his pride ; Ignorant, that one such thought

Passes all his sin beside.

Such his folly,-proved, at last,

By the loss of that repose Self-complacence cannot taste,

Only Love Divine bestows. "Tis by this reproof severe,

And by this reproof alone, His defects at last appear,

Man is to himself made known.

Learn, all Earth! that feeble man,

Sprung from this terrestrial clod, Nothing is, and nothing can;

Life and power are all in God.

LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING.

I LOVE the Lord,” is still the strain

This heart delights to sing;
But I reply,--your thoughts are vain,

Perhaps 'tis no such thing.

Before the power of Love Divine

Creation fades away;
Till only God is seen to shine

In all that we survey.

In gulfs of aweful night we find

The God of our desires; 'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,

And doubles all its fires.

Flames of encircling love invest,

And pierce it sweetly through ; 'Tis fill'd with sacred joy, yet press'd

With sacred sorrow too.

Ah Love! my heart is in the right

Amidst a thousand woes, To thee, it's ever new delight, And all its peace

it owes.

Fresh causes of distress occur

Where'er I look or move; The comforts I to all prefer

Are solitude and love.

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