Fleest thou to him? O happy gate! Thy Husband is thy rest. His counsel seek'st thou still prepar'd, Canst thou produce no pleasant pawn, Or token of his love? Wont signets, bracelets, from his hand, Mind'st when he sent his healing word, Did light, and life, and joy afford? Canst thou the promise sweet forget, He dropt into thy heart? Such glad'ning pow'r, and love with it, Thy Husband did impart. Dost thou affect his dwelling-place, And mak'st it thy repair; Because thine eyes have seen through grace, Thy Husband's glory there? Dost love his great appearing day, And thereon muse with joy ; Dost long to see his glorious face Where humid sorrows, losing place, Long'st to be free of ev'ry fault, To bid all sin adieu; And mount the hill, where glad thou shalt Thy Husband's glory view? Life where it lives, love where it loves, Will most desire to be: Such love-sick longing plainly proves Thy Husband's love to thee. What is it best can ease thy plaint, And when denied this sweet relief, His hiding is thy greatest grief, Let thy experience be disclos'd; To all the queries here propos'd, Pertain these characters to thee? SECTION V. THE TRUE BELIEver's Humility, depenDENCE, ZEAL, growth, ADMIRATION OF FREE GRACE, AND KNOWLEDGE OF CHRIST'S VOICE. PERHAPS a saint may sigh and say, "I fear I'm yet to learn These marks of marriage love." Yet stay, Thy Husband's bowels yearn. Though darkness may the light obscure, Day yield to night, and thou be poor, Dost see thyself an empty brat, A poor, unworthy thing, With heart upon the dust laid flat? Art in thine own esteem a beast, The more thou hast of self-distaste, Can hell breed no such wicked elf, Canst find no name so black, so vile, When his kind visits make thee see He's precious, thou art vile, Then mark the hand of God with thee, Thy Husband gives a smile. He knows what visits suit thy state, And though most rare they be, It sets thee well on him to wait, Dost see thou art both poor and weak, O don't his kind delays mistake, Though during Sinai's stormy day, And fear'st thou art a castaway, The glorious Sun will rise apace, Canst thou, whate'er should come of thee, Yet wish his Zion well, And joy in her prosperity ? Thy Husband loves thy zeal. Dost thou admire his love to some, Mercy to thee will also come, Thy Husband hath to spare. |