Page:The poetical works of William Cowper (IA poeticalworksof00cowp).pdf/110

 Unfathomable wonder,
 * And mystery divine!

The Voice that speaks in thunder,
 * Says, "Sinner, I am thine!"

gives his mercies to be spent;
 * "Your hoard will do your soul no good;

Gold is a blessing only lent,
 * Repaid by giving others food.

The world's esteem is but a bribe,
 * To buy their peace you fell your own;

The slave of a vain-glorious tribe,
 * Who hate you while they make you known.

The joy that vain amusements give,
 * Oh! sad conclusion that it brings!

The honey of a crowded hive,
 * Defended by a thousand stings.

'Tis thus the world rewards the fools
 * That live upon her treacherous smiles;

She leads them, blindfold, by her rules,
 * And ruins all whom she beguiles.

God knows the thousands who go down
 * From pleasure into endless woe:

And with a long despairing groan
 * Blaspheme their Maker as they go.

O fearful thought! be timely wise;
 * Delight but in a Saviour's charms;

And God shall take you to the skies,
 * Embraced in everlasting arms.

praise thee every day Now thine anger's turned away; Comfortable thoughts arise From the bleeding sacrifice.

Here, in the fair Gospel-field, Wells of free salvation yield Streams of life, a plenteous store, And my soul shall thirst no more.

Jesus is become at length My salvation and my strength; And his praises shall prolong, While I live, my pleasant song.

Praise ye, then, his glorious name, Publish his exalted fame! Still his worth your praise exceeds; Excellent are all his deeds.

Raise again the joyful sound, Let the nations roll it round! Zion, shout! for this is he; God the Saviour dwells in thee!

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 would 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.

O make this heart rejoice or ache;
 * Decide this doubt for me;

And if it be not broken, break,
 * And heal it, if it be.

what God the Lord hath spoken:
 * "O my people, faint and few,

Comfortless, afflicted, broken,
 * Fair abodes I build for you.

Thorns of heartfelt tribulation
 * Shall no more perplex your ways:

You shall name your walls Salvation,
 * And your gates shall all be praise.