My soul perceives no real Ill in pain;
In ease, or health, no real Good she sees.
One Good she covets, and that Good alone;
To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;
And to prefer a cottage to a throne,
And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee.
That we should bear the cross, is thy command,
Die to the world, and live to self no more;
Suffer unmov'd, beneath the rudest hand,
As pleas'd when shipwreck'd, as when safe on shore.
Vol. 2, Cantique 17.
BLEST! who far from all mankind,
This world's shadows left behind,
Hears from Heav'n a gentle strain
Whisp'ring Love, and loves again.
Blest! who free from self-esteem,
Dives into the Great Supreme,
All desire beside discards,
Joys inferior none regards.
Blest! who in thy bosom seeks
Rest that nothing earthly breaks,
Dead to self and worldly things,
Lost in Thee, thou King of Kings !!
Ye that know my secret fire,.
Softly speak, and soon retire ;
Favor my divine repose,
Spare the sleep a God bestows.
OH lov'd but not enough-though dearer far
Than self and its most lov'd enjoyments are;
None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free
From sensual objects, finds his all in Thee.
Glory of God! thou stranger here below,
Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to know
Our Faith and Reason are both shock'd to find
Man in the post of honor-Thee behind.
Reason exclaims-" Let ev'ry creature fall,
"Asham'd, abas'd, before the Lord of all;"
And Faith, o'erwhelm'd with such a dazzling blaze,
Feebly describes the beauty she surveys.
Yet man, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind,
Deaf to the dictates of his better mind,
In frantic competition dares the skies,
And claims precedence of the Only Wise.
Oh! lost in vanity till once self-known!
Nothing is great, or good, but God alone,
When thou shalt stand before his awful face,
Then, at the last, thy pride shall know his place.
Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end!
When wilt thou melt the mountains, and descend?
When wilt thou shoot abroad thy conqu'ring rays,
And teach these atoms, thou hast made, thy praise?
Thy Glory is the sweetest heav'n I feel;
And if I seek it with too fierce a zeal,
Thy Love, triumphant o'er a selfish will,
Taught me the passion, and inspires it still.
My Reason, all my faculties, unite,
To make thy Glory their supreme delight;
Forbid it, Fountain of my brightest days,
That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise!
My soul rest happy in thy low estate,
Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem'd, or great;
To take th' impression of a will divine,
Be that thy glory, and those riches thine.
Confess Him righteous in his just decrees,
Love what he loves, and let his pleasure please;
Die daily; from the touch of Sin recede;
Then thou hast crown'd him, and he reigns indeed.
SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE.
SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE.
FROM thorny wilds, a Monster came,
That fill'd my soul with fear and shame;
The birds, forgetful of their mirth,
Droop'd at the sight, and fell to earth;
When thus a sage address'd mine ear,
Himself unconscious of a fear.
"Whence all this terror and surprise,
"Distracted looks, and streaming eyes?
"Far from the world and its affairs,
"The joy it boasts, the pain it shares,
"Surrender without guile or art,
"To God, an undivided heart;
"The savage form, so fear'd before,
"Shall fright your trembling soul no more;
"For loathsome as the sight may be,
""Tis but the Love of self you see.
"Fix all your Love on God alone,
"Choose but His will, and hate your own;
"No fear shall in your path be found,
"The dreary waste shall bloom around,
"And you, through all your happy days,
"Shall bless his name, and sing his praise."
Oh lovely Solitude, how sweet,
The silence of this calm retreat!
Here Truth, the fair whom I pursue,
Gives all her beauty to my view;
THELOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFE.
The simple, unadorn'd display,
Charms ev'ry pain and fear away.
O Truth! whom millions proudly slight,
O Truth! my treasure and delight,
Accept this tribute to thy name,
And this poor heart, from which it came!
THE LOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFE.
SINCE life in sorrow must be spent,
So be it-I am well content,
And meekly wait my last remove,
Seeking only growth in Love.
No bliss I seek, but to fulfill
In life, in death, thy holy will;
No succours in my woes I want,
Save what thou art pleas'd to grant.
Our days are number'd, let us spare
Our anxious hearts a needless care:
'Tis thine, to number out our days;
Ours, to give them to thy praise.
Love is our only bus'ness here,
Love, simple, constant, and sincere ;
O blessed days, thy servants see!
Spent, O Lord! in pleasing Thee.
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