There fiery seeds of anger lurk, Which often hurt my frame; And wait but for the tempter's work, Legality holds out a bribe To purchase life from thee; While unbelief withstands thy grace, How eager are my thoughts to roam In quest of what they love! But ah! when duty calls them home, Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood, And make me thy beloved abode, XLIII. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE. LORD, who hast suffer'd all for me, My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for thee, Help me with patience to endure. The storm of loud repining hush, I would in humble silence mourn; Why should the unburnt, though burning bush, Man should not faint at thy rebuke, Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd, Ah! were I buffeted all day, Mock'd, crown'd with thorns, and spit upon; I yet should have no right to say, My great distress is mine alone. Let me not angrily declare No pain was ever sharp like mine, Nor murmur at the cross I bear, But rather weep, remembering thine. O LORD, my best desire fulfill, And help me to resign Life, health, and comfort to thy will, And make thy pleasure mine. * Joshua vii. 10, 11. Why should I shrink at thy command, Or tremble at the gracious hand No, rather let me freely yield Thy favour, all my journey through, Wisdom and mercy guide my way, A poor blind creature of a day, And crush'd before the moth! But ah! my inward spirit cries, Else the next cloud that veils the skies, XLV. THE HAPPY CHANGE. How blest thy creature is, O God, He views the lustre of thy word, The dayspring from on high! Through all the storms that veils the skies, And frown on earthly things, The Son of Righteousness he eyes, With healing on his wings. Struck by that light, the human heart, A barren soil no more, Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad, The soul a dreary province once The glorious orb, whose golden beams Has cheer'd the nations with the joys His orient rays impart ; Can shine upon the heart. FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee, * Isaiah xxxv. 7. The calm retreat, the silent shade, There if thy Spirit touch the soul, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, There like the nightingale she pours Her solitary lays; Nor asks a witness of her song, Nor thirsts for human praise. Author and guardian of my life, My Saviour, thou art mine! What thanks I owe thee, and what love, Shall echo through the realms above XLVII. THE HIDDEN LIFE. To tell the Saviour all my wants, Nor less to praise him when he grants |