Sect. I.
The deserted Believer longing for perfect freedom from sin.
Ah mournful case! what can afford
Contentment, when an absent Lord
Will now his kindness neither prove
By smiles of grace, nor lines of love!

What heart can joy, what soul can sing,
While winter over-runs the spring?
I die, yet can't my death condole;
Lord, save a dying, drooping soul.

In pain, yet unconcern'd I live,
And languish when I should believe.
Lord, if thou cease to come and stay,
My soul in sin will pine away.

In sin, whose ill no tongue can tell,
To live is death, to die is hell;
O save, if not from thrall's arrest,
Yet save me, Lord, from sin at least.

This for his merit's sake I seek,
Whose blood and wounds do mercy speak;
Who left the rank of glorious choirs,
And heav'nly flow'rs for earthly briers.

Our Samson took an holy nap
Upon our feeble nature's lap:
He wand'ring in a pilgrim's weed,
Did taste our griefs, to help our need.

Earth's fury did upon him light:
How black was Herod's cruel spite!
Who to be sure of murd'ring one,
Lest he be spar'd, did pity none!

Hell hunts the Babe; a few days old,
That came to rifle Satan's fold;
All hands pursu'd him, ev'n to death,
That came to save from sin and wrath.

O mercy! ignorant of bounds!
Which all created thought confounds;
He ran outright a saving race
For them that unto death him chase.

O sin! how heavy is thy weight,
That press'd the glorious God of might,
Till prostrate on the freezing ground,
He sweat his clotted blood around!

His hand the pond'rous globe does prop,
This weight ne'er made him sweat a drop:
But when sin's load upon him lies,
He falls, and sweats, and groans, and dies.

Alas! if God sink under sin.
How shall the man that dies therein?
How deeply down, when to the load
He adds the slighted blood of God?

Lord, let thy fall my rise obtain,
Thy grievous shame my glory gain;
Thy cross my lasting crown procure,
Thy death my endless life insure.

O send me down a draught of love,
Or take me hence to drink above;
Here Marah's water fills my cup,
But there all griefs are swallow'd up.

Love here is scarce a faint desire;
But there the spark's a flaming fire.
Joys here are drops that passing flee,
But there an ever-flowing sea.

My faith, that sees so darkly here,
Will there resign to vision clear;
My hope, that's here a weavy groan,
Will to fruition yield the throne.

Here fetters bamper freedom's wing,
But there the captive is a king:
And grace is like a bury'd seed,
But sinners there are saints indeed.

Thy portion's here a crumb at best,
But there the Lamb's eternal feast:
My praise is now a smother'd fire,
But then I'll sing and never tire.

Now dusky shadows cloud my day,
But then the shades will flee away:
My Lord will break the dimming glass,
And shew his glory face to face.

My num'rous foes now beat me down,
But then I'll wear the victor's crown;
Yet all the revenues I'll bring
To Zion's everlasting King.
Sect. II.
The deserted Believer's prayer under complaints of unbelief, darkness, deadness, and hardness.
What means this wicked, wand'ring heart?
This trembling ague of my soul?
Would Jesus but a look impart,
One look from him would make me whole.

But will he turn to me his face,
From whom he justly did withdraw?
To me who slighted all that grace
I in my past experience saw?

Lord, for thy promise sake return,
Apply thy pard'ning, cleansing blood;
Look down with pity on a worm,
With cov'nant-mercy do me good.

When thy free Sp'rit the word applies,
And kindly tells me thou art mine,
My faithless sinking heart replies,
Ah, Lord! I wish I could be thine.

My faith's so 'nighted in my doubts,
I cast the offer'd good away;
And lose, by raising vain disputes,
The wonted blessings of the day.

Was e'er one press'd with such a load,
Or pierc'd with such an unseen dart:
To find at once an absent God,
And yet, alas! a careless heart?

Such grief as mine, a griefless grief,
Did ever any mortal share?
An hopeless hope, a lifeless life,
Or such unwonted careless care?

'Tis sad, Lord! when for night's solace
Nor moon nor starry gleams appear:
Yet worse, when in this dismal case
My heart is harden'd from thy fear.

'Twas not because no show'rs did flow
Of heav'nly manna, at my door;
But by my folly I'm into
A worse condition than before.

Come, Lord, with greater pow'rs, for why?
Mine, sure, is not a common case:
Thou offer'st to unvail; yet I
Do scarce incline to see thy face.

Such languid faint desires I feel
Within this wicked stupid heart:
I should, I would, but that I will
I hardly dare with truth assert.

O to be free of that vile wrack,
That basely keeps me from my God!
I flee from thee, Lord! bring me back
By tender love, or by thy rod.

In paths of righteousness direct,
New proofs of thy remission give;
Then of thy name I'll mention make
With grateful praises while I live.

On banks of mercy's boundless deep,
With sweeter ease I'll soar and sing,
Than kings of feather'd hosts that sweep
The oozy shore with easy wing.

But if thy mind omniscient know
I'm for this absent bliss unfit,
Give grace to hate my sins, and to
Their righteous punishment submit.

But let me ne'er thy Spirit lack,
That by his aid my pray'rs may come
Before him who can wisely make
Ev'n distance lead his people home.

Deep wisdom can my soul prepare
By present woes for absent bliss.
By acid griefs that now I share,
He can convey the joys I miss.

Who all from nothing's womb disclo'sd,
Can make th' amazing product cease;
With him our order is confus'd,
By him confusion brings forth peace.

Then, Lord, ne'er let me basely spurn
Against thy searchless unknown ways?
But magnify thy work, and turn
My groans and murmurs into praise.

Let me submissive, while I live,
Thy awful justice own with fear:
Yet pensive let me never grieve
Thy tender mercy by despair.

Since though by sin I foully swerv'd
And lewdly from thy glory fell,
I'm chasten'd here, and not reserv'd
To feel the weight of sin and hell.

The high right hand's once joyful days
In my distress I'll call to mind;
And own that all thy darkest ways
Will clearly prove thee good and kind.
Sect. III.
The Believer wading through depths of desertion and corruption.
Lord, when thy face thou hid'st,
And leav'st me long to plore,
I faithless doubt of all thou didst
And wrought'st for me before.

No marks of love I find,
No grains of grace, but wracks:
No track of heav'n is left behind,
No groan, nor smoking flax.

But say, if all the gusts
And grains of love he spent,
Say, Farewell Christ, and welcome lusts:
Stop, stop; I melt, I faint.

Lord, yet thou hast my heart,
This bargain black I hate;
I dare not, cannot, will not part
With thee at such a rate.

Once like a father good,
Thou didst with grace perfume;
Wast thou a father to conclude
With dreadful judge's doom?

Confirm thy former deed.
Reform what is defil'd;
I was, I am, I'll still abide
Thy choice, thy charge, thy child.

Love-seals thou didst impart,
Lock'd up in mind I have;
Hell cannot raise out of my heart
What Heav'n did there engrave.

Thou once didst make me whole
By thy almighty hand:
Thou mad'st me vow, and gift my soul;
Both vow and gift shall stand.

But, since my folly gross
My joyful cup did spill,
Make me, the captive of thy cross,
Submissive to thy will.

Self in myself I hate,
That's matter of my groan;
Nor can I rid me from the mate
That causes me to moan.

O frail unconstant flesh!
Soon trapt in ev'ry gin;
Soon turn'd, o'erturn'd, and so afresh
Plung'd in the gulph of sin.

Shall I be slave to sin,
My Lord's most bloody foe!
Feel its powerful sway within,
How long shall it be so?

How long, Lord, shall I stay?
How long in Mesech here?
Dishon'ring thee from day to day,
Whose name to me's so dear?

While sin, Lord, breeds my grief,
And makes me sadly pine;
With blinks of grace, O grant relief,
Till beams of glory shine.
Sect. IV.
Complaint of sin, sorrow, and want of love.
If black doom by desert should go,
Then, Lord, my due desert is death;
Which robs from souls immortal joy,
And from their bodies mortal breath.

But in so great a Saviour,
Can e'er so base a worm's annoy
Add any glory to thy pow'r,
Or any gladness to thy joy?

Thou justly mayst me doom to death,
And everlasting flames of fire;
But on a wretch to pour thy wrath
Can never sure be worth thine ire.

Since Jesus the atonement was,
Let tender mercy me release;
Let him be umpire of my cause,
And pass the gladsome doom of peace.

Let grace forgive and love forget
My base, my vile apostasy;
And temper thy deserved hate
With love and mercy towards me.

The ruffling winds and raging blasts
Hold me in constant cruel chace;
They break my anchors, sails, and masts,
Allowing no reposing place.

The boist'rous seas with swelling floods,
On ev'ry side against me fight.
Heaven, overcast with stormy clouds,
Dims all the planets' guiding light.

The hellish furies lie in wait,
To win my soul into their pow'r;
To make me bite at ev'ry bait,
And thus my killing bane devour.

I lie inchain'd in sin and thrall,
Next border unto black despair;
Till grace restore, and of my fall
The doleful ruins all repair.

My hov'ring thoughts would flee to glore,
And nestle safe above the sky;
Fain would my tumbling ship ashore
At that sure anchor quiet lie.

But mounting thoughts are haled down
With heavy poise of corrupt load;
And blust'ring storms deny with frown
A harbour of secure abode.

To drown with weight that wakes the blast,
Thy sin-subduing grace afford;
The storm might cease, could I but cast
This troublous Jonah over-board.

Base flesh, with fleshly pleasures gain'd,
Sweet grace's kindly suit declines;
When mercy courts me for its friend,
Anon my sordid flesh repines.

Soar up, my soul, to Tabor hill,
Cast off this loathsome pressing load;
Long is the date of thine exile,
While absent from the Lord, thy God.

Dote not on earthly weeds and toys,
Which do not, cannot suit thy taste:
The flow'rs of everlasting joys
Grow up apace for thy repast.

Sith that the glorious God above
In Jesus bears a love to thee,
How base, how brutish is thy love
Of any being less than he?

Who for thy love did chuse thy grief,
Content in love to live and die:
Who lov'd thy love more than his life,
And with his life thy love did buy.

Since then the God of richest love
With thy poor love enamour'd is:
How high a crime will thee reprove
If not enamour'd deep with his?

Since on the verdant field of grace
His love does thine so hot pursue:
Let love meet love with chaste embrace,
Thy mite a thousand-fold is due.

Rise love, thou early heav'n, and sing,
Young little dawn of endless day:
I'll on thy mounting fiery wing
In joyful raptures melt away.
Sect. V.
The deserted Soul's prayer for the Lord's gracious and sin-subduing presence.
Kind Jesus, come in love to me,
And make no longer stay;
Or else receive my soul to thee,
That breaths to be away.

A Lazar at thy gate I lie,
As well it me becomes,
For children's bread asham'd to cry:
O grant a dog the crumbs.

My wounds and rags my need proclaim,
Thy needful help insure:
My wounds bear witness that I'm lame,
My rags that I am poor.

Thou many at thy door dost feed
With mercy when distrest;
O wilt thou not shew an alms deed
To me among the rest?

None else can give my soul relief,
None else can ease my moan,
But he whose absence is my grief:
All other joys be gone.

How can I cease from sad complaint,
How can I be at rest?
My mind can never be content
To want my noble guest.

Drop down, mine eyes, and never tire,
Cease not on any terms,
Until I have my heart's desire,
My Lord within mine arms.

My heart, my hand, my spirits fail,
When hiding off he goes;
My flesh, my foes my lusts prevail,
And work my daily woes.

When shall I see that glorious sight
Will all my sins destroy?
That Lord of love, that lamp of light,
Will banish all annoy?

O could I but from sinning cease,
And wait on Pisgah's hill,
Until I see him face to face,
Then should my soul be still.

But since corruption cleaves to me
While I in Kedar dwell;
O give me leave to long for thee,
For absence is a hell.

Thy glory should be dear to me,
Who me so dear hast bought:
O save from rend'ring ill to thee
For good which thou hast wrought.

With fear I crave, with hope I cry,
Oh promis'd favour send;
Be thou thyself though changeling I
Ungratefully offend.

Out of thy way remove the lets,
Cleanse this polluted den;
Tender my suits, cancel my debts:
Sweet Jesus, say Amen.
Sect. VI.
The Song of Heaven desired by Saints on Earth.
Aurora veils her rosy face
When brighter Phoebus takes her place;
So glad will grace resign her room
To glory in the heav'nly home.

Happy the company that's gone
From cross to crown, from thrall to throne;
How loud they sing upon the shore,
To which they sail'd in heart before!

Bless'd are the dead, yea, saith the word,
That die in Christ the living Lord,
And on the other side of death
Thus joyful spend their praising breath.

'Death from all death has set us free,
And will our gain for ever be;
Death loos'd the massy chains of woe,
To let the mournful captives go.

Death is to us a sweet repose;
The bud was op'd to shew the rose;
The cage was broke to let us fly,
And build our happy nest on high.

Lo, here we do triumphant reign,
And joyful sing in lofty strain:
Lo, here we rest, and love to be,
Enjoying more than faith could see.

The thousandth part we now behold,
By mortal tongues was never told;
We got a taste, but now above
We forage in the fields of love.

Faith once stole down a distant kiss.
Now love cleaves to the cheek of bliss:
Beyond the fears of more mishap
We gladly rest in glory's lap.

Earth was to us a seat of war,
In thrones of triumph now we are.
We long'd to see our Jesus dear,
And sought him there, but find him here.

We walk in white without annoy,
In glorious galleries of joy:
And crown'd with everlasting bays,
We rival Cherubs in their praise.

No longer we complain of wants,
We see the glorious King of saints,
Amidst his joyful hosts around,
With all the divine glory crown'd.

We see him at his table head
With living water, living bread,
His cheerful guests incessant load
With all the plentitude of God.

We see the holy flaming fires,
Cherubic and seraphic choirs;
And gladly join with those on high,
To warble praise eternally.

Glory to God that here we came,
And glory to the glorious Lamb.
Our light, our life, our joy, our all
Is in our arms, and ever shall.

Our Lord is ours, and we are his;
Yea, now we see him as he is:
And hence we like unto him are,
And full his glorious image share.

No darkness now, no dismal night,
No vapour intercepts the light;
We see for ever face to face,
The highest Prince in highest place.

This, this does heav'n enough afford,
We are for ever with the Lord:
We want no more, for all is giv'n;
His presence is the heart of heav'n.'

While thus I laid my list'ning ear
Close to the door of heav'n to hear;
And then the sacred page did view,
Which told me all I heard was true;

Yet shew'd me that the heav'nly song
Surpasses ev'ry mortal tongue,
With such unutterable strains
As none in fett'ring flesh attains:

Then said I, 'O to mount away,
And leave this clog of heavy clay!
Let wings of time more hasty fly,
That I may join the songs on high.'