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I hate the duft that fierce difputers raise,

And lofe the mind in a wild maze of thought:
What empty triflings, and what fubtle ways,

To fence and guard by rule and rote !

Our God will never charge us, That we knew them Not.
Touch, heavenly Word, O touch these curious fouls;
Since I have heard but one foft hint from Thee,
From all the vain opinions of the schools
(That pageantry of knowing fools)

I feel my powers releas'd, and stand divinely free.
'Twas this Almighty Word that all things made,
He grafps whole nature in his fingle hand
All the eternal truths in him are laid,

The ground of all things, and their head,

The circle where they move, and centre where they stand.

Without his aid I have no fure defence,

From troops of errors that befiege me round;

But he that refts his reafon and his fenfe

Faft here, and never wanders hence, Unmoveable he dwells upon unfhaken ground.

Infinite Truth, the life of my defires,

Come from the iky, and join thyself to me;
I'm tir'd with hearing, and this reading tires;
But never tir'd of telling Thee,

'Tis thy fair face alone my spirit burns to fee.

Speak to my foul, alone, no other hand
Shall mark my path out with delufive art:
All nature filent in his prefence ftand;
Creatures, be dumb at his command,

And leave his fingle voice to whisper to my heart.


Retire, my foul, within thy felf retire,
Away from fenfe and every outward show :
Now let my thoughts to loftier themes afpire,
My knowledge now on wheels of fire
May mount and fpread above, furveying all below.

The Lord grows lavish of his heavenly light,
And pours whole floods on such a mind as this:
Fled from the eyes, the gains a piercing fight,
She dives into the infinite,

And fees unutterable things in that unknown abyfs.



Ronounce him bleft, my Muse, whom Wisdom guides In her own path to her own heavenly feat; Through all the storms his foul fecurely glides,

Nor can the tempefts, nor the tides,

That rife and roar around, fupplant his steady feet.

Earth, you may let your golden arrows fly,
And feek, in vain, a paffage to his breast,
Spread all your painted toys to court his eye,
He fimiles, and fees them vainly try
To lure his foul afide from her eternal reft.

Our head-ftrong lufts, like a young fiery horse,
Start, and flee raging in a violent course;

He tames and breaks them, manages and rides them,
Checks their career, and turns and guides them,

And bids his reafon bridle their licentious force.


Lord of himself, he rules his wildest thoughts,
And boldly acts what calmly he defign'd,
Whilft he looks down and pities human faults;
Nor can he think, nor can he find

A plague like reigning paffions, and a fubject mind.

But oh! 'tis mighty toil to reach this height,
To vanquish felf is a laborious art;
What manly courage to fuftain the fight

To bear the noble pain, and part

With thofe dear charming tempters rooted in the heart!

'Tis hard to ftand when all the paffions move,
Hard to awake the eye that paffion blinds;
To rend and tear out this unhappy love,

That clings fo close about our minds,

And where th' inchanted foul fo fweet a poifon finds.

Hard; but it may be done. Come, heavenly fire,
Come to my breast, and with one powerful ray
Melt off my lufts, my fetters: I can bear
A while to be a tenant here,

But not be chain'd and prifon'd in a cage of clay.

Heaven is my home, and I must use my wings;
Sublime above the globe my flight afpires:

I have a foul was made to pity kings,

And all their little glittering things;

I have a foul was made for infinite defires.


Loos'd from the earth, my heart is upward flown;
Farewell, my friends, and all that once was mine;



Now, fhould you fix my feet on Cæfar's throne,

Crown me, and call the world my own,

The gold that binds my brows could ne'er my foul confine.

I am the Lord's, and Jefus is my love;
He, the dear God, shall fill my vast desire.
My flesh below; yet I can dwell above,
And nearer to my Saviour move;

There all my foul fhall center, all my powers conspire.

Thus I with angels live; thus half-divine

I fit on high, nor mind inferior joys:

Fill'd with his love, I feel that God is mine,

His glory is my great defign,

That everlasting project all my thoughts employs.

A SONG to Creating WISDOM.



TERNAL Wisdom, thee we praise,
Thee the creation fings :

With thy loud name, rocks, hills, and seas,
And heaven's high palace rings.

Place me on the bright wings of day

To travel with the fun;

With what amaze fhall I furvey

The wonders thou haft done!

Thy hand how wide it spread the sky!
How glorious to behold?
Ting'd with a blue of heavenly dye,
And ftarr'd with sparkling gold.



There thou haft bid the globes of light

Their endless circles run;

There the pale planet rules the night,
And day obeys the fun.


Downward I turn my wondering eyes
On clouds and ftorms below,

Thofe under-regions of the skies
Thy numerous glories fhow.

The noify winds ftand ready there
Thy orders to obey,

With founding wings they fweep the air,

To make thy chariot way.

There, like a trumpet, loud and strong,
Thy thunder shakes our coast:
While the red lightnings wave along,
The banners of thine hoft.

On the thin air, without a prop,
Hang fruitful showers around :
At thy command they fink, and drop
Their fatness on the ground.


Now to the earth I bend my fong,

And caft my eyes abroad, Glancing the British ifles along; Bleft ifles, confefs your God.

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