By thy grace, those passions, troubles,
And those wants that me opprest,
Have appeared as water-bubbles,
Or as dreams, and things in jest:
For, thy leisure still attending,
I with pleasure saw their ending.
Those afflictions and those terrors,
Which to others grim appear,
Did but show me where my errors
And my imperfections were;
But distrustful could not make me
Of thy love, nor fright nor shake me.
Those base hopes that would possess me,
And those thoughts of vain repute
Which do now and then oppress me,
Do not, Lord, to me impute;
And though part they will not from me,
Let them never overcome me.
He has written another similar volume, but much larger, and of a somewhat
extraordinary character. It consists of no fewer than two hundred and
thirty-three hymns, mostly long, upon an incredible variety of subjects,
comprehending one for every season of nature and of the church, and one
for every occurrence in life of which the author could think as likely to
confront man or woman. Of these subjects I quote a few of the more
remarkable, but even from them my reader can have little conception of
the variety in the book: _A Hymn whilst we are washing_; _In a clear
starry Night_; _A Hymn for a House-warming_; _After a great Frost or
Snow_; _For one whose Beauty is much praised_; _For one upbraided with
Deformity_; _For a Widower or a Widow delivered from a troublesome
Yokefellow_; _For a Cripple_; _For a Jailor_; _For a Poet_.
Pages:
150
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