Here the Beginning and the End of all
I can discover; Chrift the End of all,
And Chrift the great Beginning; he my Head,
My God, my Glory, and my All in All.

O that the day, the joyful day were come,
When the firft Adam from his ancient duft
Crown'd with new honours fhall revive, and fee
Jefus his Son and Lord; while fhouting faints
Suround their King, and God's Eternal Son
Shines in the midft, but with fuperior beams,
And like himself; then the mysterious Word
Long hid behind the letter fhall appear
All fpirit and life, and in the fulleft light
Stand forth to public view: and there disclose
His Father's facred works, and wondrous ways:
Then wisdom, righteousness, and grace divine,
Through all the infinite tranfactions past
Inwrought and fhining, fhall with double blaze
Strike our aftonith'd eyes, and ever reign
Admir'd and glorious in triumphant light.

Death, and the tempter, and the man of fin,
New at the bar arraign'd, in judgment caft,
Shall vex the faints no more: but perfect love
And loudest praises perfect joy create,

While ever-circling years maintain the blissful state.

LOVE on a CROSS, and a THRONE.

Now let my faith grow strong, and rife,

And view my Lord in all his love;

Look back to hear his dying cries,
Then mount and fee his throne above.

See where he languish'd on the Cross ;
Beneath my fins he groan'd and dy'd;
See where he fits to plead my cause
By his Almighty Father's Side.

If I behold his bleeding Heart,
There love in floods of forrow reigns,
He triumphs o'er the killing smart,
And buys my pleasure with his pains.

Or if I climb th' eternal hills
Where the dear Conqueror fits enthron'd,
Still in his heart compaffion dwells,
Near the memorials of his wound.

How fhall a pardon'd rebel show
How much I love my dying God?
Lord, here I banish every foe,
I hate the fins that coft thy blood.

I hold no more commerce with hell,
My dearest lufts shall all depart;
But let thine image ever dwell
Stampt as a feal upon my heart.

A Pre

A Preparatory THOUGHT for the LORD'S SUPPER.

In Imitation of ISAIAH lxiii. 1, 2, 3.

WHAT heavenly Man, or lovely God,
Comes marching downward from the skies,
Array'd in garments roll'd in blood,
With joy and pity in his eyes.

The Lord! the Saviour! yes, 'tis he;
I know him by the fmiles he wears;
Dear glorious Man that dy'd for me,
Drench'd deep in agonies and tears!
Lo, he reveals his fhining breast;
I own those wounds, and I adore :
Lo, he prepares a royal feaft,
Sweet fruit of the fharp pangs he bore!
Whence flow thefe favours fo divine!
Lord why fo lavish of thy blood?
Why for fuch earthly fouls as mine,
This heavenly flesh, this facred food?

'Twas his own love that made him bleed,
That nail'd him to the curfed tree;
'Twas his own love this table spread
For fuch unworthy worms as we.

Then let us tafte the Saviour's love;
Come, faith, and feed upon the Lord:
With glad consent our lips shall move,
And fweet Hofannas crown the board.

CON

I'M

CONVERSE with CHRIST.

'M tir'd with vifits, modes, and forms, And flatteries paid to fellow-worms; Their converfation cloys;

Their vain amours, and empty stuff:

But I can ne'er enjoy enough

Of thy best company, my Lord, thou life of all my joys.

When he begins to tell his love,

Through every vein my paffions move,
The captives of his tongue:

In midnight shades, on frofty ground,

I could attend the pleafing found,

[long.

Nor fhould I feel December cold, nor think the darkness

There, while I hear my Saviour-God

Count o'er the fins (a heavy load)

He bore upon the tree,

Inward I biufh with fecret fhame,

And weep, and love, and bless the name [for me.

That knew not guilt nor grief his own, but bare it all Next he defcribes the thorns he wore,

And talks his bloody paffion o'er,

Till I am drown'd in tears:

Yet with the finypathetic finart

There's a ftrange joy beats round my heart;

The curfed tree has bleffings in 't, my fweetest balm it

bears.

I hear the glorious fufferer tell,
How on his cross he vanquifh'd hell,

And all the powers beneath :

Transported and inspir'd, my tongue

Attempts his triumphs in a song;

[death!"

"How has the ferpent loft his fting and where 's thy victory,

But when he fhews his hands and heart,

With those dear prints of dying fmart,

He fets my foul on fire:

Not the beloved John could reft

With more delight upon that breast,

[defire.

Nor Thomas pry into those wounds with more intense

Kindly he opens me his ear,

And bids me pour my forrow there,

And tell him all my pains :

Thus while I ease my burden'd heart,

In

every woe he bears a part,

[fuftains.

His arms embrace me, and his hand my drooping head

Fly from my thoughts, all human things,

And sporting fwains, and fighting kings,
And tales of wanton love :

My foul difdains that little fnare

The tangles of Amira's hair;

[remove.

Thine arms, my God, are fweeter hands, nor can my heart