Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
 |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
|
|
|
The Convert's Hymn.
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
215
The Convert's Hymn.
The gospel has balm for the guilt-laden heart,
Which wild boasting reason could never impart;
But man, thoughtless man! does resist her mild call,
Though kindly and graciously proffer'd to all.
How dull once the day! and how dark once the night!
And creation disclosed not one charm to my sight,
When in sin's snaring, wild, trackless path I did roam,
I found no contentment abroad nor at home:
In vain tried the sun to bring pleasure with dawn,
Or to glad my stung mind with the dew-spangled lawn!
In vain did the birds chaunt the sweet march of day,
From the green-tufted bough and the sweet blooming spray;
Or the brook rippling roll through the flower-spangled glen,
When in languor I stole from the gay haunts of men!
No: sun, birds, nor brook brought no comfort to me,
Nor from sin's chilling pangs could me ease, cure, or free.
Which wild boasting reason could never impart;
But man, thoughtless man! does resist her mild call,
Though kindly and graciously proffer'd to all.
How dull once the day! and how dark once the night!
And creation disclosed not one charm to my sight,
When in sin's snaring, wild, trackless path I did roam,
I found no contentment abroad nor at home:
In vain tried the sun to bring pleasure with dawn,
Or to glad my stung mind with the dew-spangled lawn!
In vain did the birds chaunt the sweet march of day,
From the green-tufted bough and the sweet blooming spray;
Or the brook rippling roll through the flower-spangled glen,
When in languor I stole from the gay haunts of men!
No: sun, birds, nor brook brought no comfort to me,
Nor from sin's chilling pangs could me ease, cure, or free.
'Twas when death's black banner was streaming around,
And hope's cheering lamp quite in darkness was found,
That the blood-dropping Cross rose effulgent afar,
And dispell'd with its rays all the dark foes of war;
Down prostrate I fell 'fore its life-giving blaze,
Which glared on each sin with its heart-searching rays:
How horrid the sight of a mind thus disclosed,
And to wrath and to hell's flaming torture exposed!
But how cordial the prospect to me, when I found
That a balsam prepared was for each bleeding wound:
On the death-roll of sin, which the gospel unfurl'd,
Shone pardon and peace, life and love to the world;
Who should, by repentance and faith, it embrace,
Their sins would the blood of Immanuel efface.
And hope's cheering lamp quite in darkness was found,
That the blood-dropping Cross rose effulgent afar,
And dispell'd with its rays all the dark foes of war;
Down prostrate I fell 'fore its life-giving blaze,
Which glared on each sin with its heart-searching rays:
How horrid the sight of a mind thus disclosed,
And to wrath and to hell's flaming torture exposed!
But how cordial the prospect to me, when I found
That a balsam prepared was for each bleeding wound:
On the death-roll of sin, which the gospel unfurl'd,
Shone pardon and peace, life and love to the world;
Who should, by repentance and faith, it embrace,
Their sins would the blood of Immanuel efface.
Wide, wide yawn'd the gap, on the brink of the grave,
Till the Saviour arose, me to seek and to save;
He banish'd the spectre extinction away,
And did show to me life without end or decay.
Till the Saviour arose, me to seek and to save;
He banish'd the spectre extinction away,
And did show to me life without end or decay.
Hail, glorious redemption! thy power I revere;
At thy sight death and woe, sin and hell disappear:
Thou wast plann'd ere yon golden orbs shone thro' the sky,
And thy objects shall live when yon bright lamps shall die.
Now, unmoved, I can think of the loud crack of doom,
Nor with terror I muse on the cold silent tomb;
For the trumpet's loud clang calls me up to a crown,
And the grave lights a sun that shall never go down.
At thy sight death and woe, sin and hell disappear:
Thou wast plann'd ere yon golden orbs shone thro' the sky,
And thy objects shall live when yon bright lamps shall die.
216
Nor with terror I muse on the cold silent tomb;
For the trumpet's loud clang calls me up to a crown,
And the grave lights a sun that shall never go down.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |