Strike our astonish'd eyes, and ever reign
Admir'd and glorious in triumphant light.

Death and the tempter, and the man of sin Now at the bar arraign'd, in judgment cast, Shall vex the saints no more; but perfect love And loudest praises perfect joy create,

While ever-circling years maintain the blissful

state.

LOVE ON A CROSS, AND A THRONE.

Now let my faith grow strong, and rise,
And view my Lord in all his love;
Look back to hear his dying cries,
Then mount and see his throne above.

See where he languish'd on the cross;
Beneath my sins he groan'd and died;
See where he sits to plead my cause
By his almighty Father's side.

If I behold his bleeding heart,
There love in floods of sorrow reigns,
He triumphs o'er the killing smart,
And buys my pleasure with his pains.

Or if I climb the eternal hills

Where the dear Conqueror sits enthroned,
Still in his heart compassion dwells,

Near the memorials of his wound.

How shall a pardon'd rebel show
How much I love my dying God?
Lord, here I banish every foe,
I hate the sins that cost thy blood.

I hold no more commerce with hell,
My dearest lusts shall all depart;
But let thine image ever dwell
Stamp'd as a seal upon my heart.

A PREPARATORY THOUGHT FOR THE LORD'S SUPPER.

AN IMITATION OF ISAIAH, LXIII. 1, 2, 3.

WHAT heavenly Man, or lovely God,
Comes marching downward from the skies,
Array'd in garments roll'd in blood,
With joy and pity in his eyes!

The Lord! the Saviour! yes, 'tis he;
I know him by the smiles he wears;
Dear glorious Man, that died for me,
Drench'd deep in agonies and tears!

Lo, he reveals his shining breast ;
I own those wounds, and I adore:
Lo, he prepares a royal feast,

Sweet fruit of the sharp pangs he bore!

Whence flow these favours so divine!
Lord! why so lavish of thy blood?
Why for such earthly souls as mine,
This heavenly flesh, this sacred food?

"Twas his own love that made him bleed, That nail'd him to the cursed tree; 'Twas his own love this table spread For such unworthy worms as we.

Then let us taste the Saviour's love; Come, faith, and feed upon the Lord: With glad consent our lips shall move, And sweet hosannas crown the board.

CONVERSE WITH CHRIST.

I'm tir'd with visits, modes, and forms,
And flatteries made to fellow-worms:
Their conversation cloys;

Their vain amours, and empty stuff:
But I can ne'er enjoy enough

Of thy best company, my Lord, thou life of all my joys.

When he begins to tell his love,

Through ev'ry vein my passions move,
The captives of his tongue:

In midnight shades, on frosty ground,
I could attend the pleasing sound,

Nor should I feel December cold, nor think the darkness long.

There, while I hear my Saviour-God

Count o'er the sins (a heavy load)

He bore upon the tree,

Inward I blush with secret shame,

And weep, and love, and bless the name

That knew not guilt nor grief his own, but bare

it all for me.

Next he describes the thorns he wore,
And talks his bloody passion o'er,

Till I am drown'd in tears:

Yet, with the sympathetic smart,

There's a strange joy beats round my heart; The cursed tree has blessings in 't, my sweetest balm it bears.

I hear the glorious Sufferer tell,
How on his cross he vanquish'd hell,
And all the powers beneath;
Transported and inspir'd, my tongue
Attempts his triumphs in a song:

"How has the serpent lost his sting, and where's thy victory, death?"

But when he shows his hands and heart,
With those dear prints of dying smart,

He sets my soul on fire:

Not the beloved John could rest

With more delight upon that breast,

Nor Thomas pry into those wounds with more intense desire.

Kindly he opens me his ear,

And bids me pour my sorrow there,

And tell him all my pains:

Thus while I ease my burden'd heart,

In every woe he bears a part,

His arms embrace me, and his hand my drooping

head sustains.