And is there hope, or ought that can
Turn the captivity of man?
His debt discharge and right bestow,
Eternal life and bliss to know?
Yes, Jesus came! was born to die,
That he our debt might satisfy;
His blood and righteousness alone,
Can wrath appease and guilt atone.
And who their plea his suff'rings make,
Tho' greatest sinners, for his sake,
Have faith and true repentance given,
Pardon on earth and joy in heaven.
YOUTHFUL THOUGHTS ON ENTERING LIFE.
My youthful spirit longs to know
What scenes of future bliss or woe
Await my path. With eager eye,
I fain would scan futurity.
And all the prospect seems so fair,
I scarce can think that ought is there
The pleasing scene to overcast;
And change its beauty to a waste.
The clouds that rise upon the view
Are often dark, but fleeting too;
The sun of happiness shall soon,
Chasing their shades, restore the noon.
Sweet are the plants that flourish there;
Strong antidotes against despair:
Tho' many a pois'nous weed is found,
And many a thorn infests the ground.
But has anticipation's hand,
In tints too glowing cloth'd the land?
His fancy with officious touch,
Heighten'd the colours all too much?
And has experience yet to teach,
That this is not a faithful sketch?
Shall blight and tempest yet to be,
Disclose the sad reality?
Viewing the landscape from afar,
Does distance make the scene appear
So lovely? Does illusion's veil,
All but the fair from view conceal?
Shall travellers, weary and distrest,
Find no delights, no joys, no rest?
The path which seems so fraught with bliss,
Is it a dreary wilderness?
It is a wilderness; and yet
The Christian tells without regret,
That thorns and briars strew the road,
Which leads him to his Saviour God.
Though clouds and tempests often rise,
Veiling heaven's glories from his eyes,
Casting on all a dreary shade—
The Christian still is undismay'd.
Tho' overcast his brightest noon,
He knows, that thro' the thickest gloom
The sun of righteousness will shine,
Piercing the clouds with rays divine.
The transient flowers of earthly bliss,
He often longs to call them his :
Seizes their beauties as his own,-
But soon they wither, and are gone.
This leads his thoughts to scenes on high,
Where beauty blooms, but not to die;
No with'ring plants, no fading flowers,
No storms are there, no tempest lowers.
The travellers that pursue the road,
Which leads them to this blest abode,
They shall not find it void of bliss,
Nor destitute of happiness.
It is a wilderness,—yet fair,
Tempests arise,-but light is there,
Thorns strew the road,-yet flowers are found, And sweets are scatter'd all around.
Yes-and the thought of Him "who made
Summer and Winter" should possess
This heart, and cares no more invade
To dash my cup with bitterness.
Pride shall not tempt me, while I view
In fairer garb the "lilies" spring,
Hope shall not fail:-for He'll renew
The yellow leaf now withering.
Care shall not come across the breast-
He "clothes the glass"--and shall I need?-
Doubts shall no more my peace molest-
Since He who made vouchsafes to feed-
Grief shall not vex :-the sun goes down
To rise again with brighter ray;
So, this world's dreaded clouds o'erblown,
We joy in one eternal day.
Though the following beautiful lines have appeared in a periodical work, we think our readers cannot but like to be put in possession of them. Richard Langhorn was one of the many who suffered death on the faise evidence of Titus Oates.
THE AFFECTIONS OF MY SOUL
After judgment given against me in a Court of Justice upon the evidence of False Witnesses.
[From the State Trials.]
It is told me I must die.
() happy news!
Be glad, O my soul,
And rejoice in thy Saviour.
If he intended thy perdition,
Would he have laid down his life for thee?
Would he have expected thee with so much patience,
And given thee so long a time for penance?
Would he have called thee with so much love,
And illuminated thee with the light of his Spirit?
Would he have drawn thee with so great force
And favoured thee with so many graces?
Would he have given thee so many good desires
Would he have set the seal of the Predestinate upon thee,
And dressed thee in his own livery?
Would he have given thee his own cross,
And given thee shoulders to bear it with patience?
It is told me I must die.
O happy news!
Come on, my dearest soul,
Behold thy Jesus calls thee!
He prayed for thee upon his cross;
There he extended his arms to receive thee,
There he bow'd down his head to kiss thee;
There he cried out with a powerful voice,
Father, receive him, he is mine!
There he opened his heart to give thee entrance;
There he gave up his life to purchase life for thee.
It is told me I must die.
O happy news!
I shall be freed from misery,
I shall no more suffer pain,
I shall no more be subject to sin,
I shall no more be in danger of being damned.
But from henceforth
I shall see and I shall live,
I shall praise and I shall bless,
And this I shall always do,
Without ever being weary
Of doing what I always am to do.
It is told me I must die.
O what happiness!
I am going
To the place of my rest;
To the land of the living;
To the haven of security;
To the kingdom of peace;
To the palace of my God;
To the nuptials of the Lamb;
To sit at the table of my King;
To feed on the bread of Angels;
To see what no eye hath seen;
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