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Canft thou the promife fweet forget,

He dropt into thy heart?

Such glad'ning pow'r, and love with it,

Thy Hufband did impart.

Doft thou affect his dwelling-place,
And mak'it it thy repair;

Because thine eyes have feen, through grace,
Thy Hufband's glory there?
Doft love his great appearing day,
And thereon mufe with joy;
When dufky fhades will fly away,
Thy Hufband death destroy?
Doft long to fee his glorious face
Within the higher orb,
Where humid forrows lofing place,
Thy Hufband's rays abforb?

Long'it to be free of ev'ry fault,
To bid all fin adieu?

And mount the hill, where glad thou fhalt
Thy Hufband's glory view?

Life where it lives, love where it loves,
Will most defire to be.

Such fick-like longing plainly proves
Thy Hufband's love to thee.
What is the beft can eafe thy plaint,
Spread morning o'er thine ev'n?
Is his approach thy heart's content,
Thy Hufband's prefence heav'n?
And when deny'd this fweet relief,
Canft thou affert full well,
His hiding is thy greatest grief,
Thy Hufband's abfence hell?
Let thy experience be difclos'd;
In confcience answer, Yea,
To all the queries here propos'd,
Thy Hufband's thine for ay.
Pertain these characters to thee?
Then, foul, begin and praise
His glorious worthy name, for he
Thy Hufband is always.

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The true BELIEVER'S Humility, Dependance, Zeal, Growth, Admiration of Free Grace, and Knowledge of CHRIST's Voice.

PERHAPS a faint may sigh and say,

"I fear I'm yet to learn' "These marks of marriage-love." Yet ftay, Thy Hufband's bowels yearn.

Though darkness may the light obfcure,

And torms furmount thy calms,
Day yield to night, and thou be poor,
Thy Hufband yet has alms.

Doft fee thyself an empty brat,
A poor unworthy thing,
With heart upon the duft laid flat?
Thy Hufband there doth reign.
Art in thine own efteem a beaft,
And doft thyfelf abhor?

The more thou haft of self-distaste,
Thy Husband loves thee more.
Can hell breed no fuch wicked elf,
As thou in thine own fight?
Thou't got to fee thy filthy felf,
Thy Hufband's pureft light.
Canft find no names fo black, fo vile,
With which thou wouldst compare,
But call'ft thyfelf a lump of hell?
Thy Hufband calls thee fair.

When his kind vifits make thee fee

He's precious, thou art vile;
Then mark the hand of God with thee,
Thy Hufband gives a fmile.

He knows what vifits fuit thy ftate,
And, though moft rare they be,
It fets thee well on him to wait,
Thy Hufband waits on thee.

Doft fee thou art both poor and weak,

And he both full and ftrong?
O don't his kind delays miflake,
Thy Hufband comes ere long.
Though, during Sinai's stormy day,
Thou dread'ft the difmal blaft,
And fear'ft thou art a caft-away,
Thy Hufband comes at laft.
The glorious Sun will rife apace,
And fpread his healing wings,
In fparkling pomp of fov'reign grace,
Thy Hufband gladness brings.

Canft thou, whate'er fhould come of thee,
Yet with his Zion well,
And joy in her profperity?
Thy Hufband loves thy zeal.

Doft thou admire his love to fome,
Tho' thou fhouldst never fhare?
Mercy to thee will alfo come,

Thy Husband hath to spare.

Poor foul! doft grieve for want of grace,
And weep for want of love,
And Jefus feek'ft? O hopeful cafe!
Thy Hufband lives above.

Regretting much thy falling fhort,
Doft after more aspire?
There's hope in Ifra'l for thy fort,
Thy Hufband's thy defire.

Art thou well pleas'd that fov'reign grace
Through Chrift exalted be?

This frame denotes no hopeless cafe,
Thy Hufband's pleas'd with thee.
Couldft love to be the footstool low,
On which his throne might rife,
Its pompous grace around to fhow?
Thy Hufband does thee prize.
If but a glance of his fair face

Can chear thee more than wine?
Thou in his loving heart haft place,
Thy Hufband place in thine.

Doft make his blood thy daily bath?
His word and oath thy ftay?

His law of love thy lightfome path?
Thy Husband is thy way.

All things within earth's fpacious womb
Doft count but lofs and dung,
For one sweet word in feafon from

Thy Hufband's learned tongue?
Skill to difcern and know his voice
From words of wit and art,
Wilt clearly prove thou art his choice,
Thy Hufband thine in heart.
The pompous words that fops admire,
May vagrant fancy feaft;
But with feraphic harmless fire

Thy Hufband's burn the breast.

SECT. VI.

True BELIEVERS are willing to be tried and examined. Comforts arifing to them from CHRIST's ready Supply, real Sympathy, and relieving Names, fuiting their Needs.

OST thou upon thy trait'rous heart

Dos

Still keep a jealous eye?

Moft willing that thine inward part

Thy Hufband ftrictly try?

The thieving croud will hate the light,

Left ftol'n effects be fhown:

But truth defires what wrong or right
Thy Hufband would make known.
Doft then his trying word await,
His fearching doctrine love?
Fond, left thou err through felf-deceit,
Thy Hufband would thee prove?
Does oft thy mind with inward fmart,

Bewail thy unbelief?

And confcious fue from plagues of heart
Thy Husband for relief!

Why doubt'ft his love? And yet behold,
With him thou would not part
For thousand thoufand earths of gold:
Thy Hufband has thy heart.

Though darkness, deadness, unbelief,
May all thy foul attend;

Light, life, and faith's mature relief,
Thy Hufband has to fend.

Of wants annoying, who complain?
Supply arifes hence,

What gifts he has receiv'd for men, *
Thy Husband will difpenfe.

He got them in's exalted ftate
For rebels fuch as thou;

All then that's needful, good, or great,
Thy Hufband will allow.

Thy wants he fees, thy cries he hears;
And, marking all thy moans,
He in his bottle keeps thy tears,
Thy Husband notes thy groans.
All thine infirmties him touch,
They ftrike his feeling heart;
His kindly fympathy is such,
Thy Hufband finds the fmart.
Whatever touches thee, affects
The apple of his eye;

Whatever harms, he therefore checks,
Thy Hufband's aid is nigh.

If foes are fpar'd, thy need is fuch,
He flays them but in part:

He can do all, and will do much,
Thy Hufband acts by art.
He often for the faddelt hour
Referves the fweeteft aid:
See how fuch banners heretofore
Thy Hufband has difplay'd.
Mind where he vouched his good-will,
Sometimes at Hermon † mount,
In Jordan land, at Mizar hill;
Thy Hufband keeps the count.

* Pfalm lxviii. 18. † Pfalm xlii. 6.

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