Page:The poetical works of William Cowper (IA poeticalworksof00cowp).pdf/126

 Was it for this, ye lawless tribe,
 * The dear Redeemer bled?

Is this the grace the saints imbibe
 * From Christ the living head?

Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few
 * Are fed with heavenly fare;

But these,—the wretched husks they chew
 * Proclaim them what they are.

The liberty our hearts implore
 * Is not to live in sin;

But still to wait at Wisdom's door,
 * Till Mercy calls us in.

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,
 * One only leads to joys on high;

By that my willing steps ascend,
 * Pleased with a journey to the sky.

No more I ask or hope to find
 * Delight or happiness below;

Sorrow may well possess the mind
 * 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,
 * Contented lick your native dust!

But God shall fight with all his storms
 * Against the idol of your trust.

keep the lamp alive,
 * With oil we fill the bowl;

'Tis water makes the willow thrive,
 * And grace that feeds the soul.

The Lord's unsparing hand
 * Supplies the living stream;

It is not at our own command,
 * But still derived from him.

Beware of Peter's word,
 * Nor confidently say,

"I never will deny thee, Lord,"—
 * But,—"Grant I never may."

Man's wisdom is to seek
 * His strength in God alone;

And even 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
 * Than all your works beside.

In Jesus is our store,
 * Grace issues from his throne;

Whoever says, "I want no more,"
 * Confesses he has none.

, triumphant in the throne Scorns a rival, reigns alone; Come and bow beneath her sway, Cast your idol works away! Works of man, when made his plea, Never shall accepted be; Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm!) Are the best he can perform.

Self, the god his soul adores, Influences all his powers; Jesus is a slighted name, Self-advancement all his aim: But when God the Judge shall come To pronounce the final doom, Then for rocks and hills to hide All his works and all his pride!

Still the boasting heart replies, "What! the worthy and the wise, Friends to temperance and peace, Have not these a righteousness?" Banish every vain pretence Built on human excellence; Perish everything in man, But the grace that never can.