If life be long I will be glad, That I may long obey; If short-yet why should I be sad Christ leads me through no darker rooms Than he went through before; He that unto God's kingdom comes, Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet Thy blessed face to see; For if Thy work on earth be sweet, What will Thy glory be! Then I shall end my sad complaints, And weary, sinful days; And join with the the triumphant saints, My knowledge of that life is small, The eye of faith is dim; But 't is enough that Christ knows all, 1683. 8 12 16 20 24 Richard Baxter. THE VOICE OF THE HEAVENS THE spacious firmament on high, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Th' unwearied Sun from day to day The work of an Almighty hand. 8 Soon as the evening shades prevail, The Moon takes up the wondrous tale; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. 16 What though in solemn silence all 1712. 24 Joseph Addison. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER FATHER of all! in every age, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Thou Great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that thou art good, And that myself am blind: Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill; And binding Nature fast in Fate, Left free the human Will. What Conscience dictates to be done, 8 12 This teach me more than Hell to shun, What blessings thy free bounty gives For God is paid when man receives; Yet not to earth's contracted span Let not this weak unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land If I am right, thy grace impart, Still in the right to stay; 1738. If I am wrong, O teach my heart Save me alike from foolish Pride Teach me to feel another's woe, Mean though I am, not wholly so, Through this day's life or death! This day be bread and peace my lot: Thou know'st if best bestowed or not, And let thy will be done. To Thee, whose temple is all Space, Alexander Pope. THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL VITAL spark of heav'nly flame! Hark! they whisper; Angels say, The world recedes; it disappears! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! 1712. O Death! where is thy Sting? 6 12 18 Alexander Pope. |