Page:The poetical works of William Cowper (IA poeticalworksof00cowp).pdf/117

 The hand that gave it still supplies
 * The gracious light and heat;

His truths upon the nations rise,
 * They rise, but never set.

Let everlasting thanks be thine,
 * For such a bright display,

As makes a world of darkness shine
 * With beams of heavenly day.

My soul rejoices to pursue
 * The steps of him I love,

Till glory break upon my view
 * In brighter worlds above.

master taken from his head,
 * Elisha saw him go;

And in desponding accents said,
 * "Ah, what must Israel do?"

But he forgot the Lord, who lifts
 * The beggar to the throne;

Nor knew that all Elijah's gifts
 * Would soon be made his own.

What! when a Paul has run his course,
 * Or when Apollos dies,

Is Israel left without resource?
 * And have we no supplies?

Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives,
 * We have a boundless store,

And shall be fed with what he gives,
 * Who lives for evermore.

former hopes are fled,
 * My terror now begins;

I feel, alas! that I am dead
 * In trespasses and sins.

Ah, whither shall I fly?
 * I hear the thunder roar;

The law proclaims destruction nigh,
 * And vengeance at the door.

When I review my ways,
 * I dread impending doom:

But sure a friendly whisper says,
 * "Flee from the wrath to come."

I see, or think I see,
 * A glimmering from afar;

A beam of day, that shines for me,
 * To save me from despair.

Forerunner of the sun,
 * It marks the pilgrim's way;

I'll gaze upon it while I run,
 * And watch the rising day.

from the gentle south, O Lord,
 * And cheer me from the north;

Blow on the treasures of thy word,
 * And call the spices forth!

I wish, thou know'st, to be resigned,
 * And wait with patient hope;

But hope delayed fatigues the mind,
 * And drinks the spirit up.

Help me to reach the distant goal;
 * Confirm my feeble knee;

Pity the sickness of a soul
 * That faints for love of thee!

Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
 * Yet, since I feel it so,

It yields some hope of life divine
 * Within, however low:

I seem forsaken and alone,
 * I hear the lion roar;

And every door is shut but one,
 * And that is Mercy's door.

There, till the dear Deliverer come,
 * I'll wait with humble prayer;

And when he calls his exile home,
 * The Lord shall find him there.

those who know the Lord I speak;
 * Is my Beloved near?

The Bridegroom of my soul I seek,
 * Oh! when will he appear?

Though once a man of grief and shame,
 * Yet now he fills a throne,

And bears the greatest, sweetest name
 * That earth or heaven has known.