 | The miscellaneous works (1739) |  |
209
SOLILOQUY XVI.
Draw me, O draw me! then with eager haste
Unweary'd I shall run the sacred paths
Thy word directs; but if unmov'd by thee,
A lump of dull unanimated clay
As well might rise, and mean the lofty sky;
As well these cold, these senseless stones may wake,
May find a living voice, and call thee father.
Unweary'd I shall run the sacred paths
Thy word directs; but if unmov'd by thee,
A lump of dull unanimated clay
As well might rise, and mean the lofty sky;
As well these cold, these senseless stones may wake,
May find a living voice, and call thee father.
I live, I move, but as thy quickning pow'r
Exerts itself, and animates my being;
And longer than thou draw'st, I cannot move.
For I am weak and vain, my nature sunk
From its primæval rectitude and grace,
Helpless and destitute of all that's good:
But thus I humbly cast my self on thee,
Imploring succour at thy gracious hands;
Imploring wisdom, to evade the wiles
Of my infernal foes, that hourly watch
My steps, to tempt them into fatal snares,
And labyrinths of darkness.—Take my hand,
And gently lead me in the dang'rous road
Of mortal life, this gloomy pilgrimage.
My great directing light, if thou withdraw
I wander, and inevitably perish.
And oh! 'tis endless ruin, deep perdition;
A loss (distracting thought!) a loss that ne'er
Thro' everlasting years can be repair'd;
The loss of God, and all the boundless joys,
Th' immortal rapture that his presence gives.
Exerts itself, and animates my being;
And longer than thou draw'st, I cannot move.
For I am weak and vain, my nature sunk
From its primæval rectitude and grace,
Helpless and destitute of all that's good:
But thus I humbly cast my self on thee,
Imploring succour at thy gracious hands;
Imploring wisdom, to evade the wiles
Of my infernal foes, that hourly watch
My steps, to tempt them into fatal snares,
And labyrinths of darkness.—Take my hand,
And gently lead me in the dang'rous road
Of mortal life, this gloomy pilgrimage.
My great directing light, if thou withdraw
I wander, and inevitably perish.
And oh! 'tis endless ruin, deep perdition;
A loss (distracting thought!) a loss that ne'er
Thro' everlasting years can be repair'd;
The loss of God, and all the boundless joys,
Th' immortal rapture that his presence gives.
| The miscellaneous works (1739) | |