5. A throne of pride and self-conceit :
6. A slaughter-house of wrath and hate :
7. A cage of birds and thoughts unclean :
8. A den of thieves and frauds unseen:
9. A heap of calumnies unspent:
10. A gulf of greed and discontent.

III. THE GLORIOUS GOSPEL;

OR, CHRIST THE END OF THE LAW FOR RIGHTEOUSNESS, (ROM. X. 4,) AND THE ABSOLUTE NEED OF THIS REMEDY

INFERRED FROM THESE PREMISES.

HENCE I Conclude and clearly see,

There's by the law no life for me;

Which damns each soul to endless thrall,

Whose heart and life fulfils not all.

What shall I do, unless for bail

I from the law to grace appeal?
She reigns through Jesus' righteousness,
Which, giving justice full redress,
On grace's door, this motto grav'd,
Let sin be damn'd, and sinners sav'd.
O, wisdom's deep mysterious way!
Lo, at this door I'll waiting stay,
Till sin and hell both pass away.

But in this bliss to show my part,

Grant, through thy law grav'd in my heart,
My life may show thy graving art.

IV. THE PRAYER OF FAITH:

WHICH MAY BE CONCEIVED IN THE FOLLOWING WORDS OF A
CERTAIN AUTHOR.

SIM tuus in vita, tua sunt mea funera, Christe :
Da, precor, imperii sceptra tenere tui.

Cur etenim, moriens, tot vulnera sæva tulisti,
Si non sum regni portio parva tui?

Cur rigido latuit tua vita inclusa sepulchro,
Si non est mea mors morte fugata tua?
Ergo mihi certam præstes, O Christe, salutem:
Meque tuo lotum sanguine, Christe, juva.

WHICH MAY BE THUS ENGLISHED:

Jesus, I'm thine in life and death,

Oh let me conqu'ring hold thy throne.
Why shar'd the cross thy vital breath,
If not to make me share thy crown?

Why laid in jail of cruel grave,

If not thy death from death me free? Then, Lord, insure the bliss I crave,

Seal'd with thy blood, and succor me.

THE DESERTED BELIEVER LONGING FOR PERFECT FREEDOM FROM SIN.

Ан, 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 overruns 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 a 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.