2 Knowledge, alas! 'tis all in vain, and all in vain our Fear:
Our stubborn Sins will fight and reigni
if Love be absent there.
3 'Tis Love that makes our cheerful Feet
in swift Obedience move;d
The Devils know and tremble too,
but Satah cannot love.
4 Before we quite forsake our Clay,
or leave this dark Abode,
May Wings of Love bear us away,
to see our smiling God...
5 This is the Grace that lives and sings,
when Faith and Hope shall cease:
'Tis this shall strike our joyful Strings,
in the sweet Realms of Blifs.
JESUS, I love thy charming Name,
Music to my Ear; Fain would I found it out so loud, that Earth and Heav'n might hear.
2 Yes, thou art precious to my Soul,
my Transport and my Truft;
Jewels to thee are gaudy Toys,
and Gold is fordid Dust.
3 All my capacious Powers can wish,
in thee doth richly meet;
Nor to my Eyes is Light so dear,
nor Friendship half so sweet.
+ Thy Grace shall dwell upon my Heart,
and shed its Fragrance there;
The noblest Balm of all its Wounds,
the Cordial of its Care.
5 I'll speak the Honours of thy Name,
with my last lab'ring Breath;
And dying, clasp thee in my Arms,
the Antidote of Death.
HYMN CXV.
HAD we the Tongues of Greeks and Jews,
And nobler Speech than Angels use,
If Love be wanting, we are found
Like tinkling Brass, an empty Sound.
Were we inspir'd to preach and tell
All that is done in Heav'n and Hell;
Or could our Faith the World remove,
Still we are Nothing without Love.
3 Should we distribute all our Store
To cheer the Bowels of the Poor;
Or give our Bodies to the Flame
To gain a Martyr's glorious Name:
4 If Love to God, and Love to Man
Be abfent, all our Hopes are vain:
Nor Tongues, nor Gifts, nor fiery Zeal,
The Work of Love can e'er fuitil.
HYMN CXVI.
I BLESS'D are the humble Souls that fee
Their Emptiness and Poverty:
Treafures of Grace to them are giv'n,
And Crowns of Joy laid up in Heav'n.
2 Bless'd are the Men of broken Heart,
Who mourn for Sin with inward Smart:
The Blood of Christ divinely flows,
A healing Balm for all their Woes.
3 Bless'd are the Men who thirst for Grace,
Hunger and long for Righteousness :
They shall be well fupply'd, and fed
With living Streams, and living Bread.
4 Bless'd are the Men of peaceful Life,
Who quench the Coals of growing Strife;
They shall be call'd the Heirs of Bliss,
The Sons of God, the God of Peace.
5 Bless'd are the Men whose Bowels move,
And melt with Sympathy and Love,
From Christ, their Lord, shall they obtain
Like Sympathy and Love again.
6 Bless'd are the pure, whose Hearts are clean
From the defiling Pow'rs of Sin,
With endless Pleasure shall they fee
A God of spotless Purity.
7 Bless'd are the Men who now partake
Of Shame and Pain for Jesu's Sake;
Their Souls, exulting in the Lord,
Shall share at last the great Reward.
I NOW let a true Ambition rise, and Ardor fire our Breast,
To reign in Worlds above the Skies
in heav'nly Glories drest. 2 Behold Jehovah's royal Hand a radiant Crown display, Whose Gems with vivid Lustre shine, while Stars and Suns decay.
3 Away each groveling anxious Care,
beneath a Chriftian's Thought!
We spring to seize immortal Joys,
which our Redeemer bought.
4 Ye Hearts with youthful Vigour warm,
the glorious Prize pursue;
Nor shall ye want the Goods of Earth,
while Heav'n is kept in View.
HYMN CXVIII.
A WAKE, my Soul, stretch ev'ry Nerve,
and press with Vigour on: A heav'nly Race demands thy Zeal, and an immortal Crown.
2 'Tis God's all-animating Voice that calls thee from on high;
'Tis his own Hand presents the Prize to thine atpiring Eye.
3 A Cloud of Witnesses around hold thee in full Survey; Forget the Steps already trod, and onward urge thy Way. 4 Bless'd Saviour, introduc'd by thee have we our Race begun; And, crown'd with Victory, at thy Feet we lay our Laurels down.
HYMN CXIX,
HOW happy is the Pilgrim's Lot,
How free from ev'ry anxious Thought,
From worldly Hope and Fear!
Confin'd to neither Court nor Cell,
His Soul disdains on Earth to dwell,
He only fojourns here.
2 His Happiness in Part is mine,
Already fav'd from Self-Design,
From ev'ry Creature-Love!
Bless'd with the Scorn of finite Good,
My Soul is lighten'd of its Load,
And feeks the Things above.
3 The Things eternal I pursue,
And Happiness beyond the View
Of those who bafely pant
For Things by Nature felt and seen;
Their Honours, Wealth, and Pleasures mean,
I neither havenor want.
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