I was a traitor, doom'd to fire,
Bound to sustain eternal pains;

He flew on wings of strong desire,
Assum'd my guilt, and took my chains.

Infinite grace! Almighty charms!
Stand in amaze, ye whirling skies,
Jesus the God, with naked arms,
Hangs on a cross of love and dies.

Did pity ever stoop so low,
Dress'd in divinity and blood?
Was ever rebel courted so

In groans of an expiring God?

Again he lives; and spreads his hands, Hands that were nail'd to torturing smart; By these dear wounds, says he; and stands And prays to clasp me to his heart.

Sure I must love; or are my ears
Still deaf, nor will my passion move?
Then let me melt this heart to tears;
This heart shall yield to death or love.

THE HEART GIVEN AWAY.

IF there are passions in my soul,
(And passions, sure they be)
Now they are all at thy control,
My Jesus, all for thee!

If love, that pleasing power, can rest
In hearts so hard as mine,

Come, gentle Saviour, to my breast,
For all my love is thine.

Let the gay world, with treacherous art, my eyes in vain :

Allure

I have convey'd away my heart,
Ne'er to return again.

I feel my warmest passions dead
To all that earth can boast:
This soul of mine was never made

For vanity and dust.

Now I can fix my thoughts above,
Amidst their flattering charms,
Till the dear Lord that hath my

love

Shall call me to his arms.

So Gabriel, at his King's command,

From

yon celestial hill,

Walks downward to our worthless land,
His soul points upward still.

He glides along my mortal things,
Without a thought of love,
Fulfils his task, and spreads his wings
To reach the realms above.

MEDITATION IN A GROVE.

SWEET muse, descend, and bless the shade,
And bless the evening grove;
Business, and noise, and day are fled,
And every care, but love.

But hence, ye wanton young and fair,
Mine is a purer flame;

No Phyllis shall infect the air,
With her unhallow'd name.

Jesus has all my powers possess'd,
My hopes, my fears, my joys:
He, the dear Sovereign of my breast,
Shall still command my voice.

Some of the fairest choirs above

Shall flock around my song,
With joy, to hear the name they love
Sound from a mortal tongue.

His charms shall make my numbers flow,
And hold the falling floods,
While silence sits on every bough,
And bends the listening woods.

I'll carve our passion on the bark,
And every wounded tree

Shall drop and bear some mystic mark

That Jesus died for me.

The swains shall wonder, when they read,
Inscrib'd on all the grove,

That Heaven itself came down, and bled,
To win a mortal's love.

THE FAIREST AND THE ONLY BELOVED.

HONOUR to that diviner ray
That first allur'd my eyes away
From every mortal fair;

All the gay things that held my sight
Seem but the twinkling sparks of night,
And, languishing in doubtful light,
Die at the morning star.

Whatever makes the Godhead great,
And fit to be ador'd,

Whatever makes the creature sweet,
And worthy of my passion, meet
Harmonious in my Lord.

A thousand graces ever rise,

And bloom upon his face;

A thousand arrows from his eyes

Shoot through my heart, with dear surprise, And guard around the place.

All nature's art shall never cure
The heavenly pains I found,
And 'tis beyond all beauty's power
To make another wound:

Earthly beauties grow and fade;
Nature heals the wound she made,
But charms so much divine
Hold a long empire of the heart;
What heaven has join'd shall never part,
And Jesus must be mine.

In vain the envious shades of night,
Or flatteries of the day,

Would veil his image from my sight,