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CHARLES WESLEY. 1708–1788.
HYMN OF PRAISE.
Lo! God is here! let us adore,
And own how dreadful is this place: Let all within us feel his power,
And silent bow before his face! Who know his power, his grace who prove, Serve him with awe, with rev’rence love. Lo! God is here! him day and night
Th' united choirs of angels sing : To him, enthroned above all height,
Heaven's host their noblest praises bring : Disdain not, Lord, our meaner song, Who praise thee with a stamm’ring torgue. Gladly the toils of earth we leave,
Wealth, pleasure, fame, for thee alone;
Oh take! oh seal them for thine own!
Thy courts with grateful fragrance fill:
Still hear and do thy sovereign will:
Are full, thou Source and Life of all:
(Fall prostrate, lost in wonder fall, Ye sons of men! For God is Man!) All may we lose, so thee we gain!
As flowers their op'ning leaves display,
So may thy influence us inspire;
COMMUNION WITH GOD.
THOU hidden love of God, whose height,
Thy secret voice invites me still
The sweetness of thy yoke to prove;
Seem fix'd, yet wide my passions rove;
'Tis mercy all, that thou hast brought
My mind to seek her peace in thee! Yet while I seek, but find thee not,
No peace my wand'ring soul shall see, Oh when shal all my wand'rings end, And all my steps to thee ward tend!
Is there a thing beneath the sun,
That strives with thee my heart to share! Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone, The Lord of every motion there: Then shall my neart from earth be free, When it hath found repose in thee.
Oh hide this self from me, that I
No more, but Christ in me may live! My vile affections crucify,
Nor let one darling lust survive! In all things nothing may I see, Nothing desire or seek but thee!
Oh Love, thy sovereign aid impart,
To save me from low-thoughted care; Chase this self-will through all my heart,
Through all its latent mazes there:
Thine wholly, thine alone I am:
Earth's toys, for thee his constant flame. Oh help that I may never move, From the bless'd footsteps of thy love! Each moment draw from earth away
My heart, that lowly waits thy call; Speak to my inmost soul, and say,
"I am thy Love, thy God, thy All!" To feel thy power, to hear thy voice, To taste thy love, be all my choice.
THOMAS CHATTERTON. 1752-1770.
Mie love ys dedde,
Al under the wyllowe-tree.
Mie love, &c. Swote hys tongue as the throstle's note, Quycke ynn daunce as thought canne bee, Defe hys taboure, codgelle stote, Oh! hee lyes bie the wyllowe-tree :
Mie love, &c. Harke! the ravenne flappes hys wynge, In the briered delle belowe; Harke! the dethe-owle loude dothe synge, To the nyghte-mares as heie goe;
Mie love, &c. See! the whyte moone sheenes onne hie ; Whyterre ys mie true love's shroude; Whyterre yanne the mornynge skie, Whyterre yanne
Mie love, &c.
Wythe my hondes I'll dente the brieres
Mie love, &c.
Mie love, &c.
ODE TO INDEPENDENCE.
Thy spirit, Independence, let me share !