"I PRESS TOWARDS THE MARK."
IS not too hard, too high an aim,
Secure, thy part in Christ to claim;
The sensual instinct to control,
And warm with purer fires the soul.
Nature will raise up all her strife,
Foe to the flesh-abasing life,
Loth in a Saviour's death to share,
Her daily cross compell'd to bear;
But grace omnipotent at length
Shall arm the saint with saving strength;
Through the sharp war with aids attend,
And his long conflict sweetly end.
Act but the infant's gentle part,
Give up to love thy willing heart;
No fondest parent's tender breast
Yearns like thy God's to make thee blest :
Taught its dear mother soon to know,
The simplest babe its love can show;
Bid bashful, servile fear retire,
The task no labour will require.
The sovereign Father, good and kind,
Wants but to have His child resign'd;
Wants but thy yielded heart, no more,
With His rich gifts of grace to store.
He to thy soul no anguish brings,
From thy own stubborn will it springs;
That foe but crucify, the bane,—
Nought shalt thou know of frowns or pain.
Shake from thy soul, o'erwhelm'd, deprest,
The encumbering load that galls its rest,
That wastes its strength with bondage vain;
With courage break the enslaving chain!
Let faith exert its conquering power,
Say, in thy fearing, trembling hour,
"Father, thy pitying aid impart!"
'Tis done! a sigh can reach His heart.
Yet if, more earnest plaints to raise,
Awhile His succours He delays;
Though His kind hand thou canst not feel,
The smart let lenient patience heal:
Or if corruption's strength prevail,
And oft thy pilgrim footsteps fail,
Lift for His grace thy louder cries,
So shalt thou cleansed and stronger rise.
If haply still thy mental shade
Deep as the midnight's gloom be made,
On the sure faithful arm divine
Firm let thy fastening trust recline.
The gentlest Sire, the best of friends,
To thee nor loss nor harm intends;
Though tost on the most boisterous main,
No wreck thy vessel shall sustain.
Should there remain of rescuing grace
No glimpse, no shadow left to trace,
Hear thy Lord's voice, ""Tis Jesus' will;"
Believe, thou dark lost pilgrim, still !
Then, thy sad night of terrors past,
Though the dread season long may last,
Sweet peace shall from the smiling skies
Like a new dawn before thee rise;
Then shall thy faith's firm grounds appear,
Its eyes shall view salvation clear.
Be hence encouraged more, when tried,
On thy best Father to confide.
O my too blind but nobler part,
Be moved! Be won by these, my heart ;-
See of how rich a lot, how blest,
The true believer stands possest.
Come, backward soul, to God resign;
Peace, His best blessing, shall be thine
Boldly recumbent on His care,
Cast thy full burden only there.
Moses Browne (from the German).
ESUS, and shall it ever be!
A mortal man ashamed of Thee!
Ashamed of Thee, whom angels praise;
Whose glories shine to endless days.
Ashamed of Jesus! sooner far
Let evening blush to own a star:
He sheds His beams of light divine
O'er this benighted soul of mine.
Ashamed of Jesus! just as soon
Let midnight be ashamed of noon :
'Tis midnight with my soul till He,
Bright Morning Star, bids darkness flee.
|