Restraining prayer, we cease to fight; The weakest saint upon his knees. While Moses stood with arms spread wide, Have you no words? Ah! think again, Were half the breath thus vainly spent Your cheerful song would oftener be, "Hear what the Lord has done for me." XXX. THE LIGHT AND GLORY OF THE WORD. THE Spirit breathes upon the Word, And brings the truth to sight; A glory gilds the sacred page, It gives a light to every age, The hand that gave it still supplies Let everlasting thanks be thine, As makes a world of darkness shine My soul rejoices to pursue XXXI. ON THE DEATH OF A MINISTER. His master taken from his head, And in desponding accents said, But he forgot the Lord who lifts Will soon be made his own. What! when a Paul has run his course, Or when Apollos dies, Is Israel left without resource? And have we no supplies? Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives We have a boundless store, And shall be fed with what he gives, Who lives for evermore. XXXII. THE SHINING LIGHT. My former hopes are fled, I feel, alas! that I am dead Ah, whither shall I fly! I hear the thunder roar ; The law proclaims destruction nigh, And vengeance at the door. When I review my ways, I dread impending doom: But sure a friendly whisper says, "Flee from the wrath to come." I see, or think I sce, A glimmering from afar; A beam of day, that shines for me, Forerunner of the sun,* It marks the Pilgrim's way; I'll gaze upon it while I run, And watch the rising day. * Psalm cxxx. 6. XXXIII. SEEKING THE BELOVED. To those who know the Lord I speak, The bridegroom of my soul I seek, Though once a man of grief and shame, And bears the greatest, sweetest name, Grace flies before, and love attends He speaks-obedient to his call Then love in every heart would reign, Such Jesus is, and such his grace, VOL. VIII. * Cant. v. 8. K XXXIV. THE WAITING SOUL. BREATHE from the gentle south, O Lord, I wish, thou know'st, to be resign'd, Help me to reach the distant goal, Pity the sickness of a soul That faints for love of thee. Cold as I feel this heart of mine, It yields some hope of life divine I seem forsaken and alone, I hear the lion roar ; And ev'ry door is shut but one, There, till the dear Deliv'rer come, |