II. If thou my darling flight forbid, III. Her slender reed inspired by thee, IV. She mocks the trumpet's loud alarms, V. But when she tastes her Saviour's love, Aims at a sweeter song. Divine Judgment. I. TOT from the dust my sorrows spring, NOT Nor drop my comforts from the lower skies; Their mingled curses on my head, How vain their curses, if th' Eternal King Are but his slaves, and must obey; II. 'Tis by a warrant from his hand The gentler gales are bound to sleep: Old Boreas with his freezing pow'rs And chains them moveless to their shores; The grazing ox, lows to the gelid skies, Walks o'er the marble meads with withering eyes, Walks o'er the solid lakes, snuffs up the wind, and dies. III. Fly to the polar world, my song, A troop of statues on the Russian plains, And magazines of frost, and magazines of flame. Shall pierce thee to the soul,and shake thy mortal frame. He rides in arms along the sky, And flocks and herds, and nations die; Grow pale; and quiv'ring at his dreadful cold, IV. The mischiefs that infest the earth, When the dog-star fires the realms on high, Drought and diseases, the cruel dearth, In vain our parching palates thirst, The verdant fields are burnt to dust. V. Hail, whirlwinds, hurricanes, and floods That all the leafy standards strip, And bear down with a mighty sweep The riches of the fields, and honours of the woods; Storms that ravage o'er the deep, And bury millions in the waves: Earthquakes, that in midnight-sleep Turns cities into heaps,and makes our beds our graves; While you dispense your mortal harms, 'Tis the Creator's voice that sounds your loud alarms, When guilt with louder cries provokes a God to arms. VI. O for a message from above To bear my spirits up! Some pledge of my Creator's love To calm my terrors and support my hope! Be thou my GOD, and the whole world is mine; I shall be rich till thou art poor; [thine. For all I fear, and all I wish, heaven, earth, and hell, are Heaven and Earth. I. HAST thou not seen, impatient boy? Hast thou not read the solemn truth, The thirsty boy repeats the taste, Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again. The rills of pleasure never run sincere; (Earth has no unpolluted spring) From the curs'd soil; some dangerous taint they bear; So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting. II. In vain we seek a heaven below the sky; III. Earth, with her scenes of gay delight, But bring the nauseous daubing nigh, IV. Look up, my soul, point tow'rd th' eternal hills; Those heav'ns are fairer than they seem; There pleasures all sincere glide on in chrystal rills, There not a dreg of guilt defiles, Nor grief disturbs the stream. That Canaan knows no noxious thing, No cursed soil, no tainted spring, Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting, Felicity Above. I. N 0, bliss 'tis in vain to seek for For bliss can ne'er be found Till we arrive where JESUS is, And tread on heav'nly ground. II. There's nothing round these painted skies, Nothing, my soul, that's worth thy joys, III. 'Tis heaven on earth to taste his love, IV. Why move my years in slow delay? . O GOD of ages! why? Let the spheres cleave, and mark my way |