I would not ask to climb the sky, ASCENDING TO HIM IN HEAVEN. 'Tis pure delight without alloy, Jesus, to hear thy name; My passions hold a pleasing reign, This is the grace must live and sing Let life immortal seize my clay, Can bring me near my God. Swift I ascend the heavenly place, Sink down, ye separating hills, THE PRESENCE OF GOD WORTH DYING FOR OR, THE DEATH OF MOSES. LORD, 'tis an infinite delight To see thy lovely face, To dwell whole ages in thy sight, And feel thy vital rays. This Gabriel knows, and sings thy name With rapture on his tongue; Moses, the saint, enjoys the same, And heaven repeats the song. While the bright nation sounds thy praise From each eternal hill, Sweet odours of exhaling grace The happy region fill. Thy love, a sea without a shore, Show me thy face, and I'll away From all inferior things; Speak, Lord, and here I quit my clay, Sweet was the journey to the sky The wondrous prophet tried; "Climb up the mount," says God," and die;" The prophet climb'd and died. Softly his fainting head he lay Upon his Maker's breast; In God's own arms he left the breath His was the noblest road to death, And his the sweetest grave. LONGING FOR HIS RETURN. 'TWAS a mournful parting day! "Farewell, my spouse," he said; How tedious, Lord, is thy delay! How long my Love hath staid! "Farewell!" at once he left the ground, Round the creation wild I rove, And search the globe in vain; There's nothing here that's worth my love Till thou return again. My passions fly to seek their King, With inward pain my heart-strings sound, My soul dissolves away; Dear Sovereign, whirl the seasons round, And bring the promis'd day. HOPE IN DARKNESS. YET, gracious God, Yet will I seek thy smiling face. What though a short eclipse his beauties shroud, And bar the influence of his rays? 'Tis but a morning vapour, or a summer cloud: He is my Sun, though he refuse to shine; Though for a moment he depart, I dwell for ever on his heart, For ever he on mine. Early before the light arise Dear Sovereign, hear thy servant pray; Or shall I breathe in vain and pant my hours away? Aloft their sooty banners rear Round my poor captive soul, and dare |