2 Oh! I remember well the day,
When forely wounded, nearly flain,
Like that poor man I bleeding lay,
And gron'd for help, but gron'd in vain.

3

Men faw me in this helpless cafe,
And pafs'd without compaffion by;
Each neighbour turn'd away his face,
Unmoved by my mournful cry.

4 But he whofe name had been my scorn,
(As Jews Samaritans defpife),

Came, when he faw me thus forlorn,
With love and pity in his eyes.

5 Gently he rais'd me from the ground,
Prefs'd me to lean upon his arm,
And into ev'ry gaping wound
He pour'd his own all-healing balm.

6 Unto his church my steps he led,
The houfe prepar'd for finners loft,
Gave charge 1 thould be cloth'd and fed,
And took upon him all the coft.

Thus fav'd from death, from want fecur'd,
I wait till he again fhall come,

(When I fhall be completely cur'd),
And take me to his heav'nly home.

8 There, through eternal boundless days,
When Nature's wheel no longer rolls,
How fhall I love, adore, and praise,
This good Samaritan to fouls!

I

C. MARTHA and MARY. Chap. x.

MAR

38.-42.

ARTHA her love and joy express'd
By care to entertain her guest;
While Mary fat to hear her Lord,
And could not bear to lofe a word.

2 The principle, in both the fame.
Produc'd in each a diff'rent aim;
The one to feat the Lord was led,
The other waited to be fed.

3 But Mary chofe the better part,

A

Her Saviour's words refresh'd her heart;
While buty Martha angry grew,
And loft her time and temper too.

With warmth fhe to her fifter spoke,
But brought upon herself rebuke:

"One thing is needful, and but one, Why do thy thoughts on many run?" 5 How oft are we like Martha vex'd, Encumber'd, hurried, and perplex'd? While trifles fo engrofs our thought, The one thing needtul is torgot.

6 Lord, teach us this one thing to choose, Which they who gain can never lofe; Sufficient in ittelf alone,

And needful, were the world our own.

7 Let grov'ling hearts the world admire, Thy love is all that I require!

Gladly I may the reft refign,

If the one needful thing be mine!

CI. The Heart taken. Chap. xi. 21. 22.

THE caftle of the human heart,
Strong in its native fin,

Is guarded well in every part,
By him who dwells within.

2 For Satan there in arms refides,

And calls the place his own; With care against affaults provides, And rules as on a throne.

E-3

3 Each

3 Each traitor thought, on him as chief,
In blind obedience waits;

And pride, felf-will, and unbelief,
Are pofted at the gates.

4 Thus Satan for a season reigns,
And keeps his goods in peace;
The foul is pleas'd to wear his chains,
Nor wishes a release.

5 But Jefus, ftronger far than he,
In his appointed hour
Appears to fet his people free
From the ufurper's pow'r.

"This heart I bought with blood, he fays,
And now it fhall be mine,"
His voice the strong one arm'd dismays,
He knows he must refign.

7 In spite of unbelief and pride,
And felf and Satan's art;
The gates of brass fly open wide,
And Jefus wins the heart.

8 The rebel foul that once withstood
The Saviour's kindeft call,
Rejoices now, by grace fubdu'd,
To ferve him with her all.

I

CII. The Worldling. Chap. xii. 16.-21.

MY barns are full, my stores increase,

And now, for many years,

Soul, eat and drink, and take thine ease, Secure from wants and fears."

2 Thus while a worldling boafted once, As many now prefume,

He heard the Lord himfelf pronounce

His fudden, awful doom.]

3

"This night, vain fool, thy foul must pass

Into a world unknown;

And who fhall then the ftores poffefs

Which thou has call'd thine own?" 4 Thus blinded mortals fondly scheme For happiness below;

Till death disturbs the pleafing dream,
And they awake to woe.

5 Ah! who can speak the vaft difmay
That fills the finner's mind,

When torn by Death's ftrong hand away,
He leaves his all behind.

6 Wretches, who cleave to earthly things,.
But are not rich to God;
Their dying hour is full of stings,
And hell their dark abode.

7 Dear Saviour, make us timely wife,
Thy gofpel to attend,

That we may live above the skies,
When this poor life shall end.

CIII. The Barren Fig-tree. Chap. xiii. 6.—9,

I

'HE church a garden is

ΤΗ

In which believers ftand,

Like ornamental trees

Planted by God's own hand:

His Spirit waters all their roots,

And ev'ry branch abounds with fruits.

2 But other trees there are, In this inclofure grow,

Which, tho' they promife fair,

Have only leaves to thow:

No fruits of grace are on them found,

They ftand but cumb'rers of the ground.

3 The under gard'ner grieves,
In vain his ftrength he spends,
For heaps of ufelef's leaves
Afford him fmall amends:

He hears the Lord his will make known,
To cut the barren fig-trees down.

4 How difficult his poft,

What pangs his bowels move,
To find his wishes croft,
His labours useless prove!
His laft relief, his earnest pray'r,
"Lord fpare them yet another year.
5 Spare them, and let me try
What farther means may do;
I'll fresh manure apply,

My digging I'll renew:

Who knows but yet they fruit may yield!
If not-'tis just they must be fell'd."

6 If under means of grace

No gracious fruits appear,
It is a dreadful cafe;

Tho' God may long forbear,

At length he'll strike the threat'ned blow *,
And lay the barren fig-tree low.

CIV. The Prodigal Son. Chap. xv. 11.-24.

IAFflictions, tho' they feem fevere,

In mercy oft are fent ;
They ftopp'd the prodigal's career,
And forc'd him to repent.

2 Altho' he no relentings felt,.

Till he had spent his ftore;

His ftubborn heart began to melt.
When tamine pinch'd him fore.

Book II. Hymn 26.