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The God from whom it came,
But, ah! if foul and wilful sin
Farewell the joy we knew; Again the slaves of Nature's sway, In labyrinths of our own we stray, Without a guide or clue.
The chaste and pure who fear to grieve
His work distinctly trace;
Their hearts his dwelling place.
No task but that of Love.
'Tis Love unites what Sin divides; The centre, where all bliss resides;
To which the soul once brought, Reclining on the first great Cause, From his abounding sweetness draws
Peace passing human thought. Sorrow foregoes its nature there, And life assumes a tranquil air,
Divested of its woes;
There sovereign goodness soothes the breast, Till then incapable of rest,
In sacred sure repose.
DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL.
LOVE is the Lord whom I obey,
For uncreated charms I burn,
Oppress'd by slavish fear no more; For One in whom I may discern,
Even when he frowns, a sweetness I adore.
He little loves Him who complains,
Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere..
Love causes grief, but 'tis to move
And he has never tasted love
Who shuns a pang so graciously design'd.
Sweet is the cross, above all sweets,
To souls enamour'd with thy smiles; The keenest woe life ever meets,
Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles.
'Tis just that God should not be dear
Where self engrosses all the thought, And groans and murmurs make it clear, Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not.
The love of Thee flows just as much
Both cannot govern in one soul;
Then let self-love be dispossess'd; The Love of God deserves the whole, And will not dwell with so despised a guest.
SOURCE of love, and light of day,
Is it thus that I requite
If my sorrow touch thee still,
Oh! the oppressive, irksome weight
Self-confiding wretch, I thought
Self is earthly-Faith alone
THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE. LOVE! if thy destined sacrifice am I,
Come slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires; Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die
The death which every soul that lives desires! I watch my hours, and see them fleet away;
The time is long that I have languish'd here; Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey,
With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere. To me 'tis equal, whether Love ordain
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease; My soul perceives no real ill in pain;
In ease or health no real good she sees. One Good she covets, and that Good alone; To choose thy will, from selfish bias free; And to prefer a cottage to a throne,
And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee.
That we should bear the cross is thy command,
As pleased when shipwreck'd as when safe on shore.
REPOSE IN GOD.
BLEST! who, far from all mankind,