HYMN. EAR JESU, when, when will it be That I no more shall break with Thee! When shall this war of passions cease! Here I repent, and sin again; Now I revive, and now am slain— Slain with the same unhappy dart Which, oh too often, wounds my heart. When, dearest Lord, when shall I be 'Tis not, alas, on this low earth That such poor flowers can find a birth; They only spring above the skies Where none can live, till here he dies! F Then let me die that I may go And dwell where those bright lilies grow, No dangerous fruit, no tempting Eve, Thus says my song: But does my heart Why should I not? What do I find What is this meat, and drink, and sleep, That such poor things from heaven should keep? What is this honour, or great place, Or bag of money, or fair face? What's all the world, that thus we should Still long to dwell with flesh and blood? Fear not, my soul, stand to thy word Which thou hast sung to thy dear Lord. Let but thy love be firm and true, And with more heat thy wish renew. Oh may this dying life make haste Great, ever-living God, to Thee, In essence One, in Persons Three, May all Thy works Thy tribute bring, And every age Thy glory sing. PSALM. HAPPY are they, O glorious Lord, who everywhere adore Thy presence; Happy, who live on earth, as in the sight of the King of heaven, and every moment say in their heart, "Our God is here!" Here in the centre of our souls, to witness all our thoughts, and judge exactly our most secret intents. Though His Throne of State is established above, and the splendour of His glory shine only on the blessed, yet His unlimited eye looks down to this lower world, and beholds all the ways of the children of Adam. If we go out, He marks our steps, and when we retire, our closet excludes not Him; While we are alone, He minds our contrivings, and the ends we aim at in all our studies; When we converse with others, He observes |