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273 results · Page 8 of 12Play this collection ▷
01c. 1765 AD
In man or woman, but far most in man, And most of all in man that ministers And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn; Object of my implacable disgust. What! Will a man play tricks, will he indulge A silly fond conceit of his fair form And just proportion, fashionable mien, And pretty face, in presence of his God? Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, As with the diamond on his lily hand, And play his brilliant parts before my eyes When I am hungry for the bread of life? He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames His noble office, and, instead of truth, Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock.
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07c. 1765 AD
Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would’st taste His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before: Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart Made pure, shall relish with divine delight Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone, And eyes intent upon the scanty herb It yields them: or recumbent on its brow Ruminate, heedless of the scene outspread Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away From inland regions to the distant main. Man views it and admires; but rests content With what he views. The landscape has his praise, But not its Author. Unconcerned who framed The Paradise he sees, he finds it such, And such well pleased to find it, asks no more. Not so the mind that has been touched from heaven, And in the schools of sacred wisdom taught To read his wonders, in whose thought the world, Fair as it is, existed ere it was. Not for its own sake merely, but for his Much more who fashioned it, he gives it praise; Praise that from earth resulting as it ought, To earth’s acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once Its only just proprietor in Him.
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08c. 1765 AD
Come then, and added to thy many crowns, Deceive yet one, the crown of all the Earth, Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine By ancient covenant, ere Nature’s birth; And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, And overpaid its value with thy blood. Thy saints proclaim thee king; and in their hearts Thy title is engraven with a pen Dipped in the fountain of eternal love. Thy saints proclaim thee king; and thy delay Gives courage to their foes, who could they see The dawn of thy last advent long desired, Would creep into the bowels of the hills And flee for safety to the falling rocks.
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11c. 1765 AD
’Tis pitiful To court a grin when you should woo a soul; To break a jest, when pity would inspire Pathetic exhortation; and to address The skittish fancy with facetious tales, When sent with God’s commission to the heart! So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip Or merry turn in all he ever wrote, And I consent you take it for your text, Your only one, till sides and benches fail. No, he was serious in a serious cause, And understood too well the mighty terms That he had taken in charge. He would not stoop To conquer those by jocular exploits, Whom truth and soberness assailed in vain.
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15c. 1765 AD
Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence, The reign of genuine charity commence. Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears, She still is kind and still she perseveres; The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme, ’Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream; The danger they discern not, they deny; Laugh at their only remedy, and die. But still a soul thus touch’d can never cease, Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild, Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child: She makes excuses where she might condemn, Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them; Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast, The worst suggested, she believes the best; Not soon provoked, however stung and teazed, And if perhaps made angry, soon appeased, She rather waives than will dispute her right, And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight.
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16c. 1765 AD
High on a throne of burnish’d gold, With rays of Godhead crown’d, Jehovah sat; His thunders roll’d, And glory sparkled round. His flowing train, of glittering white, The spacious temple fill’d; The angels, dazzled at the sight, With wings their faces veil’d. Around the throne, in burning row, The six-winged seraphs stood; While millions, flying to and fro, Tun’d all their harps to God. Thrice holy, holy, Lord, they cry, The God of Sabaoth’s Thou; Thy glory fills the worlds on high, And fills the world below.
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19c. 1765 AD
Hear the just law, the judgment of the skies; He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies; And he that will be cheated to the last, Delusions strong as hell shall bind him fast. But if the wanderer his mistake discern, Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, Bewildered once, must he bewail his loss For ever and for ever? No—the cross! There, and there only, (though the Deist rave, And Atheist, if earth bear so base a slave;) There, and there only, is the power to save. There no delusive hope invites despair; No mockery meets you, no delusion there; The spells and charms that blinded you before, All vanish there, and fascinate no more.
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22c. 1765 AD
See Judah’s promised king bereft of all: Driven out an exile from the face of Saul. To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies, To seek that peace a tyrant’s frown denies. Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice; Hear him, o’erwhelmed with sorrows, yet rejoice; No womanish or wailing grief has part, No, not a moment, in his royal heart; ’Tis manly music, such as martyrs make, Suffering with gladness for a Saviour’s sake; His soul exults; hope animates his lays; The sense of mercy kindles into praise; And wilds, familiar with the lion’s roar, Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before.
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