This for his merit's fake I feek,

Whose blood and wounds do mercy speak;
Who left the rank of glorious choirs,
And heav'nly flow'rs for earthly briars.
Our Samfon took an holy nap
Upon our feeble nature's lap:
He wand'ring in a pilgrim's weed,
Did taste our griefs, to help our need:
Earth's fury did upon him light;
How black was Herod's cruel fpite!
Who, to be sure of murd'ring one,
Left he be fpar'd did pity none!
Hell hunts the babe a few days old,
That came to rifle Satan's fold:
All hands purfu'd him ev'n to death,
That came to fave from fin and wrath.
O mercy! ignorant of bounds!
Which all created thought confounds;
He ran outright a faving race
For them that unto death him chafe.
O fin! how heavy is thy weight,
That prefs'd the glorious God of might,
Till proftrate on the freezing ground,
He fweat his clotted blood around!
His hand the pond'rous globe does prop,
This weight ne'er made him sweat a drop:
But when fin's load upon him lies,
He falls and fweats, and grones and dies.

Alas! if God fink under fin,

How fhall the man that dies therein?
How deeply down, when to the load
He adds the flighted blood of God?
Lord, let thy fall my rife obtain,
Thy grievous fhame my glory gain;
Thy crofs my lafting crown procure,
Thy death my endlefs life insure.
O fend me down a draught of love,
Or take me hence to drink above:
Here Marah's water fills my cup,
But there all griefs are fwallow'd up.

Love here is fearce a faint defire;

But there the fparks a flaming fire.
Joys here are drops that paffing flee;
But there an ever-flowing sea.
My faith, that fees fo darkly here,
Will there refign to vision clear:
My hope, that's here a weary groan,
Will to fruition yield the throne.
Here fetters hamper freedom's wing;
But there the captive is a king:
And grace is like a bury'd feed;
But finners there are faints indeed.
My portion's here a crumb at best;
But there the Lamb's eternal feaft:
My praise is now a fmother'd fire;
But then I'll fing and never tire..
Now dufky fhadows cloud my day;
But then the fhades will flee away:
My Lord will break the dimming glafs,
And fhew his glory face to face.

My num'rous foes now beat me down;
But then I'll wear the victor's crown:
Yet all the revenues I'll bring
To Zion's everlasting King.

SECT. II.

The deferted BELIEVER's Prayer under Complaints of Unbelief, Darkness, Deadness, and Hardness.

i. WHAT

HAT means this wicked wand'ring heart?
This trembling ague of my foul?

Would Jefus but a look impart ;

One look from him would make me whole.

But will he turn to me his face,

From whom he juflly did withdraw?
To me who flighted all that grace
I in my past experience faw?
Lord, for thy promife fake return,

Apply thy pard'ning, cleanfing blood;
Look down with pity on a worm,

With cov'nant-mercy do me good.

When thy free Sp'rit the word applies,
And kindly tells me thou art mine,
My faithless finking heart replies,
Ah, Lord! I wish I could be thine.
My faith's fo 'nighted in my doubts,
I caft the offer'd good away;
And lofe, by railing vain difputes,

The wonted bleflings of the day.
Was e'er one prefs'd with fuch a load,
Or pierc'd with fuch an unfeen dart;
To find at once an abfent God,

And yet, alas! a carelefs heart?
Such grief as mine, a griefiefs grief,
Did ever any mortal fhare?
An hopeless hope, a lifelefs life,

Or fuch unwonted carelefs care? 'Tis fad, Lord! when for night's folace Nor moon, nor ftarry gleams appear; Yet worse, when in this difmal cafe My heart is hard'ned from thy fear. 'Twas not becaufe no fhow'rs did flow Of heav'nly manna at my door;

But by my folly I'm into

A worfe condition than before.

Come, Lord, with greater pow'r; for why, Mine, fure, is not a common cafe:

Thou offer'ft to unvail; yet I

Do fcarce incline to fee thy face. Such languid faint defires I feel Within this wicked ftupid heart; I fhould, I would; but that I will I hardly dare with truth affert, O to be free of that vile wrack, That bafely keeps me from my God! I flee from thee, Lord; bring me back By tender love, or by thy rod. In paths of righteoufnefs direct, New proofs of thy remiffion give; Then of thy name I'll mention make With grateful praifes while I live: + Q

On banks of mercy's boundless deep'
'With sweeter eafe I'll foar and fing,
Than kings of feather'd hofts, that sweep
The oozy fhore with eafy wing.
But if thy mind omnifcient know
I'm for this abfent blefs unfit,
Give grace to hate my fins, and to
Their righteous punishment fubmit.
But let me ne'er thy Spirit lack,

That by his aid my pray'rs may come
Before him, who can wifely make
Ev'n diflance lead his people home.
Deep wifdom can my foul prepare
By prefent woes for abfent blifs.
By acid griefs that now I fhare,
He can convey the joys I mifs.
Who all from nothing's womb difclos'd,
Can make th'amzing product ceafe;
With him our order is confus'd,

By him confufion brings forth peace. Then, Lord, ne'er let me bafely fpurn Against thy fearchlefs unknown ways; But magnify thy work, and turn My groans and murmurs into praise. Let me fubmiffive, while I live, Thy awful juftice own with fear: Yet penfive let me never grieve Thy tender mercy by despair. Since though by fin I foully fwerv'd, And lewdly from my glory fell;

I'm chaften'd here, and not referv'd

To feel the weight of fin in hell:

Thy high right hand's once joyful days In my distress I'll call to mind;

And own that all thy darkest ways

Will clearly prove thee good and kind.

SECT. III.

The BELIEVER wading through Depths of Defertion and Corruption.

LORD, when thy face thou hid❜ft,

And leav'ft me long to plore,

I faithlefs doubt of all thou didst
And wrought it for me before.
No marks of love I find,

No grains of grace, but wracks;
No track of heav'n is left behind,
N groan, no fmoaking flax.
But fay, if all the gufts

And grains of love be spent,
Say, Farewel Chrift, and welcome lufts;
Stop, ftop, I melt, I faint.

Lord, yet thou haft my heart,
This bargain black I hate;
I dare not, cannot, will not part
With thee at fuch a rate.
Once, like a Father good,

Thou didit with grace perfume; Waft thou a Father to conclude With dreadful judge's doom? Confirm thy former deed,

Reform what is defil'd;

I was, I am, I'll ftill abide

Thy choice, thy charge, thy child.
Love-feals thou didst impart,

Lock'd up in mind I have;
Hell cannot rafe out of my heart
What heav'n did there engrave.

Thou once didft make me whole
By thy almighty hand;

Thou mad'ft me vow and gift my foul;
Both vow and gift fhall ftand.

But fince my folly grofs

My joyful cup did spill,

Make me the captive of thy crofs,

Submiffive to thy will.