Here the Beginning and the End of all O that the day, the joyful day were come, Death, and the tempter, and the man of fin, While ever-circling years maintain the blissful state. LOVE on a CROSS, and a THRONE. Now let my faith grow strong, and rife, And view my Lord in all his love; Look back to hear his dying cries, See where he languish'd on the Cross ; If I behold his bleeding Heart, Or if I climb th' eternal hills How fhall a pardon'd rebel show I hold no more commerce with hell, A Pre A Preparatory THOUGHT for the LORD'S SUPPER. In Imitation of ISAIAH lxiii. 1, 2, 3. WHAT heavenly Man, or lovely God, The Lord! the Saviour! yes, 'tis he; 'Twas his own love that made him bleed, Then let us tafte the Saviour's love; CON I'M CONVERSE with CHRIST. 'M tir'd with vifits, modes, and forms, And flatteries paid to fellow-worms; Their converfation cloys; Their vain amours, and empty stuff: But I can ne'er enjoy enough Of thy best company, my Lord, thou life of all my joys. When he begins to tell his love, Through every vein my paffions move, In midnight shades, on frofty ground, I could attend the pleafing found, [long. Nor fhould I feel December cold, nor think the darkness There, while I hear my Saviour-God Count o'er the fins (a heavy load) He bore upon the tree, Inward I biufh with fecret fhame, And weep, and love, and bless the name [for me. That knew not guilt nor grief his own, but bare it all Next he defcribes the thorns he wore, And talks his bloody paffion o'er, Till I am drown'd in tears: Yet with the finypathetic finart There's a ftrange joy beats round my heart; The curfed tree has bleffings in 't, my fweetest balm it bears. I hear the glorious fufferer tell, And all the powers beneath : Transported and inspir'd, my tongue Attempts his triumphs in a song; [death!" "How has the ferpent loft his fting and where 's thy victory, But when he fhews his hands and heart, With those dear prints of dying fmart, He fets my foul on fire: Not the beloved John could reft With more delight upon that breast, [defire. Nor Thomas pry into those wounds with more intense Kindly he opens me his ear, And bids me pour my forrow there, And tell him all my pains : Thus while I ease my burden'd heart, In every woe he bears a part, [fuftains. His arms embrace me, and his hand my drooping head Fly from my thoughts, all human things, And sporting fwains, and fighting kings, My foul difdains that little fnare The tangles of Amira's hair; [remove. Thine arms, my God, are fweeter hands, nor can my heart |