Rides on a cloud disdainful by

A sultan or a czar,

Laughs at the worms that rise so high,
Or frowns 'em from afar:

He bids his awful chariot roll
Far downward from the skies,

To visit every humble soul,
With pleasure in his eyes.

Why should the Lord, that reigns above,
Disdain so lofty kings?

Say, Lord, and why such looks of love
Upon such worthless things?

Mortals, be dumb; what creature dares

Dispute his awful will;

Ask no account of his affairs,

But tremble and be still.

Just like his nature is his grace,

All sov❜reign, and all free;

Great God! how searchless are thy ways!

How deep thy judgments be!

THE INFINITE.

SOME seraph, lend your heavenly tongue,

Or harp of golden string, That I may raise a lofty song

To our eternal King.

Thy names, how infinite they be !
Great Everlasting One!
Boundless thy might and majesty,
And unconfin'd thy throne.

Thy glories shine of wond'rous size,
And wond'rous large thy grace;
Immortal day breaks from thine eyes,
And Gabriel veils his face.

Thine essence is a vast abyss,
Which angels cannot sound,

An ocean of infinities,

Where all our thoughts are drown'd.

The mysteries of creation lie

Beneath enlighten'd minds;

Thoughts can ascend above the sky,

And fly before the winds;

Reason may grasp the massy hills,
And stretch from pole to pole,
But half thy name our spirit fills,
And overloads our soul.

In vain our haughty reason swells,
For nothing's found in Thee
But boundless unconceivables,
And vast eternity.

CONFESSION AND PARDON.

ALAS, my aching heart!

Here the keen torment lies;

It racks my waking hours with smart, And frights my slumb'ring eyes.

Guilt will be hid no more,
My griefs take vent apace,

The crimes that blot my conscience o'er

Flush crimson in my face.

My sorrows, like a flood, Impatient of restraint, Into thy bosom, O my God,

Pour out a long complaint.

This impious heart of mine
Could once defy the Lord,
Could rush with violence on to sin,
In presence of thy sword.

How often have I stood
A rebel to the skies,

The calls, the tenders of a God,
And mercy's loudest cries!

He offers all his grace,

And all his heaven to me; Offers! but 'tis to senseless brass, That cannot feel nor see.

Jesus, the Saviour stands

To court me from above,

And looks and spreads his wounded hands, And shows the prints of love.

But I, a stupid fool,

How long have I withstood

The blessings purchas'd with his soul,

And paid for all in blood!

The heavenly Dove came down,

And tender'd me his wings

To mount me upward to a crown,

And bright immortal things.

Lord, I'm asham'd to say
That I refus'd thy Dove,

And sent thy Spirit griev'd away,

To his own realms of love.

Not all thine heavenly charms,
Nor terrors of thy hand,

Could force me to lay down my arms,

And bow to thy command.

Lord, 'tis against thy face

My sins like arrows rise,

And yet, and yet (O matchless grace!) Thy thunder silent lies.

O shall I never feel

The meltings of thy love?
Am I of such hell-harden'd steel

That mercy cannot move?

Now for one powerful glance, Dear Saviour, from thy face! This rebel heart no more withstands, But sinks beneath thy grace.

O'ercome by dying love I fall,
Here at thy cross I lie;

And throw my soul, my flesh, my all,
And weep, and love, and die.