GRACE fhining, and NATURE fainting.
Sol. Song i. 3. & ii. 5. & vi. 5.

LL me, faireft of thy kind,

TL

Tell me Shepherd, all divine,
Where this fainting head reclin'd
May relieve fuch cares as mine:
Shepherd, lead me to thy grove;
If burning noon infect the sky,
The fickening fheep to covert fly,
The fheep not half fo faint as I,

Thus overcome with love.

Say, thou dear Sovereign of my breaft,
Where doft thou lead thy flock to rest:
Why should I appear like one
Wild and wandering all alone,
Unbeloved and unknown?
O my Great Redeemer, fay,
Shall I turn my feet astray !
Will Jefus bear to see me rove,
To fee me feek another love?

Ne'er had I known his deareft name,

Ne'er had I felt this inward flame,

Had not his heart-strings firft began the tender found : Nor can I bear the thought, that He

Should leave the sky,

Should bleed and die,

Should love a wretch fo vile as me

Without returns of paffion for his dying wound.

3

His

His eyes are glory mix'd with grace;

In his delightful awful face Sits majefty and gentleness. So tender is my bleeding heart

That with a frown he kills; His abfence in perpetual smart Nor is my foul refin'd enough To bear the beaming of his love,

And feel his warmer fmiles.

Where fhall I reft this drooping head?

I love, I love the fun, and yet I want the shade..

My finking fpirits feebly ftrive

T'endure the extasy ;

Beneath these rays I cannot live,.
And yet without them die.

None knows the pleasure and the pain

That all my inward powers fuftain

But fuch as feel a Saviour's love, and love the God again..

Oh, why should beauty heavenly bright

Stoop to charm a mortal's fight,

And torture with the sweet excess of light?
Our hearts, alas! how frail their make!
With their own weight of joy they break,

Oh, why is love fo ftrong, and nature's felf fo weak?

Turn, turn away thine eyes,

Afcend the azure hills, and fine

Amongst the happy tenants of the skies,

They can fuftain a vision so divine.

1

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 still

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 ftate of things fhall 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 abfent.

O'

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 foft my cares,
When the celestial flame I feel;

In all my hopes, and all my fears,
There's fomething kind and pleasing 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 strait 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 stays,
The grief and comfort of my mind..
While of his abfence I complain,
And long, and weep as lovers do,
There's a strange pleasure in the pain,.
And tears have their own fweetnefs 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 prefence of his grace..

The ABSENCE of CHRIST..

OME, lead me to fome lofty fhade

COME,

Where turtles moan their loves; Tall fhadows were for lovers made; And grief becomes the groves.

'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 Everlasting Fair,

Heaven's ornament, and heaven's delight,
I 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 ftill 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 sighs,
Till pitying winds shall hear,
And gently bear them up the skies,

And gently wound his ear.

Defiring