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SHALL foolish, weak, short-sighted man
Beyond archangels go,
Or to perfection know?
Above the creature's sight, And prostrate seraphim adore
The glorious infinite. Jehovah's everlasting days,
They cannot number'd be,
Of Thine immensity ;
İn vain we strive to sound,
Omnipotence a bound.
Description far below;
How deep thy mercies flow;
And dazzles all above ;
The treasures of thy love.
Thou God of glorious majesty,
A worm of earth, I cry:
A sinner born to die !
Lo! on a narrow neck of land, 'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand,
Secure, insensible : A point of time, a moment's space Removes me to that heavenly place,
Or shuts me up in hell. O God mine inmost soul convert ! And deeply on my thoughtless heart
Eternal things impress : Give me to feel their solemn weight, And tremble on the brink of fate,
And wake to righteousness. Before me place in dread array The
pomp of that tremendous day, When thou in clouds shalt come, To judge the nations at thy bar; And tell me, Lord, shall I be there
To meet a joyful doom?
Be this my one great business here,
Eternal bliss t'insure :
And to the end endure.
And reign with thee above !
And everlasting love.
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow, Long had I watched the glory moving on,
O’er the still radiance of the lake below: Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow,
E'en in its very motion there was rest, While every breath of eve that chanc'd to blow,
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll
Right onward to the golden gates of heaven.
0, Thoy great power! in whom I move,
By whom I live, to whom I die,
Whilst on this couch of tears I lie,.
No rags of saints, no purging fire;
Was worlds of seas to querch thine ire; Oh precious ransom! which once paid, That consummatum est was said ; And said by him, that said no more,
But sealed it with his sacred breath: Thou then, that has dispunged my score,
And, dying, wert the death of death,
Thou holy Paschal Lamb,
Whose blood for us was shed, Through whom we out of Egypt came,
Thy ransomed people led.
Angel of gospel grace,
Fulfil thy character,
In Israel's camp appear.
Conduct us by thy light :
A cheering fire by night.
With blessings from above, And ever on thy people rain
The manna of thy love.
And let this feeble body fail,
And let it faint or die ! My soul shall quit the mournful vale,
And soar to worlds on high : Shall join the disembodied saints,
And find its long-sought rest,
In the Redeemer's breast.
I would not now complain,
And smile at toil and pain :
Till my deliverer come,
And take his exile home.