O turn thy lovely glories from me,
The joys are too intenfe, the glories overcome me.
Dear Lord, forgive my rash complaint,
And love me ftill
Against my froward will ;
Unvail thy beauties, though I faint.
Send the great herald from the sky,
And at the trumpet's awful roar
This feeble state of things shall fly,
And pain and pleasure mix no more :
Then fhall I gaze with ftrengthned fight
On glories infinitely bright,
My heart fhall all be love, my Jefus all delight.
LOVE to CHRIST prefent or absent.
F all the joys we mortals know,
Jefus, thy love exceeds the reft;
Love, the best bleffing here below,
And nearest image of the bleft.
Sweet are my thoughts, and soft my cares,
When the celestial flame I feel;
In all my hopes, and all my fears,
There's fomething kind and pleafing still.
While I am held in his embrace,
There's not a thought attempts to rove;
Each smile he wears upon his face
Fixes, and charms, and fires my love.
He speaks, and ftrait immortal joys
Run through my ears, and reach my heart;
My foul all melts at that dear voice,
And pleasure shoots through every part.
If he withdraw a moment's space,
He leaves a facred pledge behind;
Here in this breaft his image ftays,
The grief and comfort of my mind.
While of his absence I complain,
And long, and weep as lovers do,
There's a ftrange pleasure in the pain,
And tears have their own sweetness too.
When round his courts by day I rove,
Or ask the watchmen of the night
For fome kind tidings of my love,
His very name creates delight.
Jefus, my God; yet rather come;
Mine eyes would dwell upon thy face;
'Tis beft to fee my Lord at home,
And feel the presence of his grace.
The ABSENCE of CHRIST.
COME, lead me to fome lofty shade
Where turtles moan their loves ;
Tall fhadows were for lovers made j
And grief becomes the groves.
L 3
'Tis no mean beauty of the ground
That has inflay'd mine eyes;
I faint beneath a nobler wound,
Nor love below the fkies.
Jefus, the fpring of all that's bright,
The Everlafting Fair,
Heaven's ornament, and heaven's delight,
Is my eternal care.
But, ah! how far above this grave
Does the bright charmer dwell ?
Abfence, thou keeneft wound to love,
That sharpest pain, I feel.
Penfive I climb the facred hills,
And near him vent my woes;
Yet his fweet face he ftill conceals,
Yet fill my paffion grows.
I murmur to the hollow vale,
I tell the rocks my flame,
And blefs the echo in her cell
That beft repeats her name.
My paffion breathes perpetual fighs,
Till pitying winds fhall hear,
And gently bear them up the skies,
And gently wound his ear.
Defiring his Defcent to EARTH.
JESUS, I love. Come, deareft name,
Come and poffefs this heart of mine;
I love, though 'tis a fainter flame,
And infinitely less than thine.
O! if my Lord would leave the skies,
Dreft in the of mildeft grace,
My foul fhould hasten to my eyes
To meet the pleasures of his face.
How would I feaft on all his charms,
Then round his lovely feet entwine!
Worship and love, in all their forms,
Should honour beauty fo divine.
In vain the tempter's flattering tongue,
The world in vain fhall bid me move,
In vain; for I fhould gaze fo long
Till I were all transform'd to love.
Then (mighty God) I'd fing and fay,
"What empty names are crowns and kings!
Amongst them give thefe worlds away,
"Thefe little defpicable things."
I would not ask to climb the fky
Nor
envy angels their abode,
I have a heaven as bright and high
In the bleft vifion of my God.
Afcending to him in HEAVEN.
"TIS pure delight, without alloy,
Τ Jefus, to hear thy name,
My spirit leaps with inward joy,
I feel the facred flame.
My paffions hold a pleafing reign,
While love infpires my breast,
Love, the divinest of the train,
The fovereign of the rest.
This is the grace must live and fing,
When faith and fear fhall cease,
Muft found from every joyful string
Through the sweet groves of blifs.
Let life immortal feize my clay;
Let love refine my blood;
Her flames can bear my foul away,
Can bring me near my God.
Swift I afcend the heavenly place,
And haften to my home,
I leap to meet thy kind embrace,
I come, O Lord, I come.
Sink down, ye feparating hills,
Let guilt, and death remove :
"Tis love that drives my chariot-wheels,
And death muft yield to love.
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