THE VAIN HOPES OF THE WICKED.
Job viii. 11-22.
THE rush may rise where waters flow,
And flags beside the stream;
But soon their verdure fades and dies
Before the scorching beam.
So is the sinner's hope cut off;
Or if it transient rise,
"Tis like the spider's airy web,
From every breath that flies.
Fix'd on his house, he leans; his house,
And all its props decay:
He holds it fast; but while he holds,
The tottering frame gives way.
Fair in his garden to the sun
His boughs with verdure smile; And, deeply fix'd, his spreading roots Unshaken stand a while.
But forth the sentence flies from heaven
That sweeps him from his place;
Which then denies him for its lord,
Nor owns it knew its face.
Lo! this the joy of wicked men,
Who heaven's high laws despise;
They quickly fall; and in their room,
As quickly others rise.
But, for the just, with gracious care
God will his power employ;
He'll teach their lips to sing his praise,
And fill their hearts with joy.
PRAYER FOR HOLINESS.-Job xix. 23.
I KNOW that my Redeemer lives.
And ever prays for me:
A token of his love He gives,
A pledge of liberty.
I find Him lifting up my head,
He brings salvation near;
His presence makes me free indeed
And He will soon appear.
He wills that I should holy be!
What can withstand his wi!!.
The counsel of his grace in me
He surely shall fulfil.
The love of Christ I long to find,
In all its depth and height;
To comprehend the Eternal Mia,
And grasp the Infinite.
When God is mine, and I am bis,
Of paradise possess'd,
I taste unutterable bliss,
And everlasting rest.
The bliss of those that fully dwell,
Fully in Thee believe,
'Tis more than angel-tongues can tell,
Or angel-minds conceive.
Thou only know'st who didst obtain,
And die to make it known
The great salvation now explain
And perfect us in one.
LIFE, DEATH, AND JUDGMENT.
Job xiv. 1-3. and 11-13.
FEW, few and evil are thy days,
Man, of a woman born!
Peril and trouble haunt thy ways;
Forth, like a flower at morn,
The tender infant springs to light,
Youth blossoms to the breeze,
Age, withering age is cropt ere night;
Man, like a shadow, flees.
And dost Thou look on such a one?
Will God to judgment call
A worm, for what a worm hath done
Against the Lord of all?
-As fail the waters from the deep,
As summer-brooks run dry,
Man lieth down in dreamless sleep,
His life is vanity.
Man lieth down, no more to wake,
Till yonder arching sphere
Shall with a roll of thunder break,
And Nature disappear,
-O hide me till thy wra h be past,
Thou who canst slay or save!
Hide me, where hope may anchor fast,
In my Redeemer's grave.
THE SOUL, THIRSTING AFTER GOD.-Psalra xlii.
As pants the wearied hart for cooling springs,
That sinks exhausted in the summer's chase;
So pants my soul for Thee, great King of kings!
So thirsts to reach thy sacred dwelling-place.
On bitter tears my pining soul hath fed,
While taunting foes deride my deep despair;
Say, where is now thy great Deliverer fled?
Thy mighty God-abandon'd wanderer, where?"
Oft dwell my thoughts on those thrice happy days,
When to thy courts I led the willing throng;
Our mirth was worship, all our pleasure praise,
And festal joys still closed with sacred song.
Why throb, my heart? Why sink, my saddening soul!
Why droop to earth with various woes oppress'd?
My years shall yet in blissful circles roll,
And peace be yet an inmate of this breast.
By Jordan's banks with devious steps I stray,
O'er Hermon's rugged rocks and deserts drear:
E'en there thy hand shall guide my lonely way,
There thy remembrance shall my spirit cheer.
In rapid floods the vernal torrents roll,
Harsh sounding cataracts responsive roar,
Thine angry billows overwhelm my soul,
And dash my shatter'd bark from shore to shore.
Yet thy sure mercies ever in my sight,
My heart shall gladden through the tedious day;
And, 'midst the dark and gloomy shades of night,
To Thee I'll duly tune the grateful lay.
Rock of my hope! great Solace of my heart!
O! why desert the offspring of thy care,
While taunting foes thus point the invidious dart-
"Where is thy God? abandon'd wanderer, where?"
Why faint, my soul? Why doubt Jehovah's aid!
Thy God, the God of mercy still shall prove;
Within his courts thy thanks shall yet be paid;-
Unquestion'd be his faithfulness and love.
THE LORD MY SHEPHERD.-Psalm xxiii.
THE Lord is my shepherd, no want shall I know;
I feed in green pastures, safe-folded I rest;
He leadeth my soul where the still waters flow,
Restores me when wandering, redeems when opprest.
Thro' the valley and shadow of death tho' I stray,
Since Thou art my guardian, no evil I fear;
Thy rod shall defend me, thy staff be my stay,
No harm can befall, with my Comforter near.
In the midst of affliction my table is spread;
With blessings unmeasured my cup runneth o'er;
With perfume and oil Thou anointest my head;
O what shall I ask of thy Providence more?
Let goodness and mercy, my bountiful God,
Still follow my steps till I meet Thee above!
I seek-by the path which my forefathers trod
Thro' the land of their sojourn-thy kingdom of love.
MAN A PILGRIM ON THE EARTH.-Psal:n xxxix.
O LET me, heavenly Lord, extend
My view to life's approaching end!
What are my days? A span their line-
And what my age, compared with thine?
Our life advancing to a close,
While yet its earliest dawn it knows,
Swift through an empty shade we run,
And vanity and man are one.
O! how thy chastisements impair
The human form however fair!
How frail the strongest frame we see
If Thou its mortal doom decree!
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