• In him then fave thou me from fin and fhame, And to the highest glorify thy name.

Since this bright fcene thy glories all exprefs,
And grace as emprefs reigns through righteousness;
Since merey fair runs in a crimfon flood,
'Aad vents through juflice-fatisfying blood:
Not only then for îmercy's fake I fue,
But for the glory of thy juftice too.

• And fince each letter of thy name divine
Has in fair Jefus' face the brightest shine,
This glorious Hufband be for ever mine.
• On this strong argument fo fweet, fo bleft,
With thy allowance, Lord, I must infift.
Great God, fince thou allow't unworthy me
To make thy glorious name my humble plea;
No glory worthy of it wilt thou gain

By cafting me into the burning main.
My feeble back can never fuit the load,
That speaks thy name a fin-revenging God.
• Scarce would that name feem a confuming fire
• Upon a worm unworthy of thine ire.

But fee the worthy Lamb, thy chosen Prieft, With juftice' burning-glass against his breast, Contracting all the beams of 'venging wrath, As in their centre, 'till he burnt to death. • Vengeance can never be fo much proclaim'd By scatter'd beams among the millions damn’d. Then, Lord, in him me to the utmoft fave, • And thou fhalt glory to the highest have: Glory to Wisdom, that contriv't fo well! Glory to Pow'r, that bore and bury'd hell! Glory to Holinefs, which fin defac'd, • With finlefs fervice now divinely grac'd! Glory to Juftice' fword, that flaming ftood, Now drunk to pleafure with atoning blood! Glory to Truth, that now, in fcarlet clad, Has feal'd both threats and promises with red! • Glory to Mercy, now in purple streams, So fweetly gliding through the divine flames ⚫ Of other once offended, now exalted names!

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Each attribute confpires with joint embrace,
To fhew its fparkling rays in Jefùs' face;
And thus to deck the crown of matchlefs grace.
But to thy name in hell ne'er can accrue
The thoufandth part of this great revenue.
O ravishing contrivance! light that blinds
Cherubic gazers, and feraphic minds.
They pry into the deep, and love to learn.
What yet fhould vaftly more be my concern.
Lord, once my hope moft reafonlefs could dream
• Of heav'n, with ut regard to thy great name;
But here is laid, my lafting hope to found,
• A highly rational, a lafting ground.
'Tis reafonable, I expect thou'lt take

The way that moft will for thine honour make.
Is this the plan? Lord, let me build my claim
• To life, on this high glory of thy name.
Nor let my faithlefs heart or think, or fay,
That all this glory fhall be thrown away
In my perdition; which will never raise
To thy great name fo valt a rent of praise.
O then a rebel into favour take;

• Lord, fhield and fave me for thy glory's fake.
My endlefs ruin is not worth the coft,
That fo much glory be for ever loft.
I'll of the greatest finner bear the fhame,
To bring the greatest honour to thy name.

• Small lofs, though I fhould perifh endless days,
But thoufand pities grace fhould lofe the praife.
O hear, JEHOVAH, get the glory then,

And to my fupplication fay, AMEN.'

SECT. V.

The terrible Doom of Unbelievers, and Rejecters of CHRIST, or Defpifers of the Gospel.

TH

HUS, finner, into Jefus' bofom flee,
Then there is hope in Ifra'l fure for thee.
Slight not the call, as running by in rhime,
Left thou repent for ay, if not in time.
'Tis moft unlawful to contemn and fhun

All whole fome counfels that in metre run;

Since the prime fountains of the facred writ
Much heav'nly truth in holy rhimes tranfmit.
If this d n't pleafe, yet hence it is no crime.
To verify the word, and preach in rhime,
But in whatever mould the doctrine lies,
Some erring minds will gospel-truth despise
Without remede, till heav'n anoint their eyes.
These lines pretend no conqu'ring art nor skill,
But fhew in weak attemps a ftrong good-will
To mortify all native legal pride,

And court the Lamb of God a virgin bride.
If he thy conjunct match be never giv'n,
Thou'rt doom'd to hell, as fure as God's in heav'n.
If gospel-grace and goodness don't thee draw,
Thou art condemn'd already by the law.
Yea, hence damnation deep will doubly brace,
If ftill thy heart contemn redeeming grace.
No argument from fear or hope will move,
Or draw thy heart, if not the bond of love:
Nor flowing joys, nor flaming terrors chafe
To Chrift the hav'n, without the gales of grace.
O flighter then of grace's joyful found,
Thu'rt over to the wrathful ocean bound.
Anon thou'lt fink into the gulf of woes,
Whene'er thy wafting hours are at a close;
Thy falfe old legal hope will then be loft,
And with thy wretched foul give up the ghoft.
Then farewel God and Chrift, and grace and glore;
Undone th u art, undone for evermore,
For ever finking underneath the load
And preffure of a fin-revenging God.
The facred awful text afferts, "To fall
"Into his living hands, is fearful thrall;
"When no more facrifice for fin remins," *
But ever living wrath, and lafting chains;
Heav'n ftill upholding life in dreadful death,
Still throwing down hot thunderbolts of wrath,
As full of terror, and as manifold,

As finite veffels of his wrath can hold.

*Heb. x. 29. 31.

Then, then we may fuppofe the wretch to cry,
Oh! if this damning God would let me die,
And not torment me to eternity!

Why from the filent womb of ftupid earth
• Did Heav'n awake, and push me into birth?
Curs'd be the day that ever gave me life;
• Curs'd be the cruel parents, man and wife,
Means of my being, inftruments of woe;
For now I'm damn'd, I'm damn'd, and always fo!
• Curs'd be the day that ever made me hear
The gofpel-call, which brought falvation near.
The endless found of flighted mercy's bell,
Has in mine ears the moft tormenting knell.
Of offer'd grace I vain repent the lofs,
The joyful found with horror recognofce.
The hollow vault reverberates the found,
This killing echo ftrikes the despelt wound,
And with too late remorfe does now confound.
Into the dungeon of defpair I'm lock'd,

Th' once open door of hope for ever block'd:
Hopeless I fink into the dark abyfs,

Banifh'd for ever from eternal blifs.
In boiling waves of vengeance muft I lie?
O could I curfe this dreadful God, and die!
Infinite years in torments fhall I spend,
And never, never, never at an end!
Ah! muft I live in torturing despair
As many years as atoms in the air?

• When these are spent, as many thousands more
As grains of fand that croud the ebbing fhore ?
When these are done, as many yet behind
As leaves of foreft fhaken with the wind?
When these are gone, as many to enfue
As flems of grafs on hills and dales that grew ?
When these run out, as many on the march
As ftarry lamps that gild the spangled arch?
• When thefe expire, as many millions more
As moments in the millions palt before?
. When all thefe doleful years are fpent in pain,
• And multiplied by myriads again,

Tis numbers drown the thought! could I fuppofe
That then my wretched years were at a clofe,

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This would afford fome eafe: but, ah! I fhiver To think upon the dreadful found, for ever! The burning gulph, where I blafpheming ly, Is time no more, but vaft ETERNITY! • The growing torment I endure for fin, Through ages all is always to begin. How did I but a grain of pleasure fow, To reap an harvelt of immortal wo?

Bound at the bottom of the burning main, Gnawing my chains, I wish for death in vain. Juft doom! fince I that bear th' eternal load • Contemn'd the death of an eternal God.

Oh! if the God that curs'd me to the lafh,

fate!?

• Would bless me back to nothing with a dash!
But hopeless I the just avenger hate,
Blafpheme the wrathful God, and curfe my
To thefe this word of terror I direct,
Who now the great falvation dare neglect * :
To all the Chrift-defpiling multitude,
That trample on the great Redeemer's blood;
That fee no beauty in his glorious face,
But flight his offers, and refuse his grace.
A meffenger of wrath to none I am,
But thofe that hate to wed the worthy Lamb.
For though the fmalleft fins, if small can be,
Will plunge the Chriftless foul in mifery:
Yet, lo! the greatest that to mortals cleave
Shan't damn the fouls in Jefus that believe;
Because they on the very method fall
That well can make amends to God for all.
Whereas proud fouls, thro' unbelief, won't let
The glorious God a reputation get

Of all his honour, in his darling Son,
For all the great difhonours they have done.
A faithlefs foul the glorious God bereaves
Of all the fatisfaction that he craves;
Hence under divine hoteft fury lies,
And with a double vengeance juftly dies.
The blackest part of Tophet is their place,
Who flight the tenders of redeeming grace.
* Heb. ii. 3.

+ H