When Gideon arm'd his numerous host, The Lord soon made his numbers less; And said, "Lest Israel vainly boast,* My arm procured me this success."" Thus will he bring our spirits down, We LVIII. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS. O GOD, whose favourable eye Not such as hypocrites suppose, Intoxicating joys are theirs, Who, while they boast their light, And seem to soar above the stars, Are plunging into night. Lull'd in a soft and fatal sleep, They sin and yet rejoice; Were they indeed the Saviour's sheep, Be mine the comforts that reclaim That make me blush for what I am, 'Tis joy enough, my All in All, LIX. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH. THE Lord receives his highest praise With golden bells, the priestly vest, And rich pomegranates border'd round, The need of holiness express'd, And call'd for fruit as well as sound. * Exod. xxviii. 33. * Easy, indeed, it were to reach A mansion in the courts above, If swelling words and fluent speech Might serve instead of faith and love. But none shall gain the blissful place, Or God's unclouded glory see, Who talks of free and sovereign grace, Unless that grace has made him free! LX. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL. Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace And while they boast they see thy face, Thy book displays a gracious light That can the blind restore; But these are dazzled by the sight, The pardon such presume upon, And when they plead it at thy throne, Was it for this, ye lawless tribe, Is this the grace the saints imbibe Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few But these, the wretched husks they chew The liberty our hearts implore But still to wait at wisdom's door, LXI. THE NARROW WAY. WHAT thousands never knew the road! What thousands hate it when 'tis known! None but the chosen tribes of God Will seek or choose it for their own. A thousand ways in ruin end, No more I ask or hope to find That feeds where thorns and thistles grow. The joy that fades is not for me, I seek immortal joys above; There glory without end shall be The bright reward of faith and love. Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms, But God shall fight, with all his storms, To keep the lamp alive, With oil we fill the bowl; 'Tis water makes the willow thrive, Beware of Peter's word,* Nor confidently say, "I never will deny thee, Lord," Man's wisdom is to seek His strength in God alone; And e'en an angel would be weak, Who trusted in his own. Retreat beneath his wings, And in his grace confide; This more exalts the King of kings + * Matthew xxvi. 33. + John vi. 29. |