Return, O holy dove, return,
Sweet messenger of rest;

I hate the sins that made thee mourn,

And drove thee from my

breast.

The dearest idol I have known,

Whate'er that idol be,

Help me to tear it from thy throne,
And worship only thee.

So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame;
So purer light shall mark the road
That leads me to the Lamb.

XXI.

[An entreaty for the comforts of increased faith.]

HEAL us, Emmanuel, here we are,
Waiting to feel thy touch:
Deep-wounded souls to thee repair,
And, Saviour, we are such.

Our faith is feeble, we confess,
We faintly trust thy word;
But wilt thou pity us the less?
Be that far from thee, Lord!

Remember him who once applied
With trembling for relief;

"Lord, I believe," with tears he cried, * "O help my unbelief!"

She, too, who touch'd thee in the press, And healing virtue stole,

Was answer'd, "Daughter, go in peace, Thy faith hath made thee whole.” †

* Mark, ix. 24.

† Mark, v. 34.

Conceal'd amid the gathering throng,
She would have shunn'd thy view,
And if her faith was firm and strong,
Had strong misgivings too.

Like her, with hopes and fears we come,
To touch thee if we may;
Oh! send us not despairing home,

Send none unheal'd away.

XXII.

[Imploring to be recalled from a state of indifference to the means of grace: "One of those hymns which allude to infirmities the most difficult to be described, but often the source of excruciating anguish to the tender conscience, which thousands daily suffer, and are sometimes tempted to think that they suffer alone."]

THE Lord will happiness divine

On contrite hearts bestow:

Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no?

I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;

If aught is felt, 'tis only pain
To find I cannot feel.

I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that's good.

My best desires are faint and few,
I fain woul strive for more;
But when I cry, "My strength renew,"
Seem weaker than before.

Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;

I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.

Oh, make this heart rejoice to ache!
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken, break,

And heal it, if it be.

XXIII.

[Confession of shortcomings and of false hopes in self-righteousness: a practical composition of great usefulness, as proving how closely the Christian ought to interrogate his own heart concerning even its best purposes, and seemingly most self-denying affections.]

My God, how perfect are thy ways!

But mine polluted are;

Sin twines itself about my praise,

And slides into my prayer.

When I would speak what thou hast done

To save me from my sin,

I cannot make thy mercies known

But self-applause creeps in.

Divine desire, that holy flame
Thy grace creates in me;
Alas! impatience is its name,
When it returns to thee.

This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts,
How does it overflow!

While self upon the surface floats,

Still bubbling from below.

Let others in the gaudy dress
Of fancied merit shine,

The Lord shall be my righteousness,

The Lord for ever mine.

XXIV.

[For aid against the occupation of the heart by carnal thoughts and desires" a perfect allegory in miniature," it has been called, without a failing point, or confusion of metaphor, from beginning to end."]

THY mansion is the Christian's heart :

O Lord, thy dwelling-place secure!

Bid the unruly throng depart,

And leave the consecrated door.

Devoted as it is to thee,

A thievish swarm frequents the place;
They steal away my joys from me,

And rob my Saviour of his praise.

There, too, a sharp designing trade,

Sin, Satan, and the world maintain ;
Nor cease to press me, and persuade,
To part with ease, and purchase pain.

I know them, and I hate their din,

Am weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve thee as I would.

Oh! for the joy thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when thou art here!
Thy presence makes this den of thieves
A calm delightful house of prayer.

And if thou make thy temple shine,
Yet, self-abased, will I adore ;
The gold and silver are not mine,

I give thee what was thine before.

XXV.

[For the religious edification of youth. Composed by Cowper to be sung before an annual sermon which was delivered on the first evening of the new year to the young people of Olney parish.] BESTOW, dear Lord, upon our youth

The gift of saving grace;
And let the seed of sacred truth
Fall in a fruitful place.

Grace is a plant, where'er it grows,
Of pure and heavenly root;
But fairest in the youngest shows,
And yields the sweetest fruit.

Ye careless ones, oh, hear betimes
The voice of sovereign love!

Your youth is stain'd with many crimes,
But mercy reigns above.

True, you are young, but there's a stone
Within the youngest breast;
Or half the crimes which you have done,
Would rob you of your rest.

For you the public prayer is made,
Oh, join the public prayer!
For you the secret tear is shed,
Oh, shed yourselves a tear!

We pray that you may early prove
The Spirit's power to teach;
You cannot be too young to love
That Jesus whom we preach.

XXVI.

[Imploring a blessing on the rising generation, that they may grow up, fearing to sin, and mindful of judgment; composed for a similar occasion.]

SIN has undone our wretched race,

But Jesus has restored,

And brought the sinner face to face
With his forgiving Lord.