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Doves, and fill my Soul with thy mild Spirit:
Then I Mall need none of their Wings; Since Heaven is self will dwell in my Heart.
'Tis on the Proud thou lookest afar off; but inclinest thine Ear to the Humble and Meek :
Who delight in the Peace of a contented Mind ; and limit their Thoughts to their own little Sphere :
Never intermedling with the Actions of others; unless where Charity and Reason engage them :
But their beloved Employment is to sit in Silence; and think on the Happiness they expect hereafter.
To niedicate the Joys of Saints and Angels; and the blissful Vision of the Face of Jesus.
U how secure and sweetly do they sleep; who go to Bed with a quiet Conscience !
Who after a Day of faithful Industry, in a Course of just and pious Living,
Lay down their wearied Heads in Peace; and safely rest in the Boson of Providence :
If they awake, their Conscience comforts them in the Dark; and bids them not fear the Shadow of Death:
No, nor even Death it self; but coi fidently look up, and long for the Dawn of that Eternal Day
This too, my Soul, shou'd be our Care; to note, and cenfure, and correct our felves :
To strive for Mastery over the Passions that molest us; and dismiss from our Thoughts what no way concerns us.
Are not our own Occasions Business enough, to fill as much Time as this Life deserves ?
Does not the other, at least, deserve every Minute of Leisure we can spare from this?
Let then the Worldly pursue their Liberties; and say and do as they think fit.
What's that to Thee, my Soul! who shalt not answer for others, unless thou some way make their Faults thine own.
Thy Pity may grieve, and thy Charity endeavour; but if they will not hear, follow thou thy God.
Follow the way that leads to Truth; follow the Truth that leads to Life.
Follow the steps of thy belov’d Jesus, who alone is the way, the Truth, and the Life.
Follow his Holiness in what he did; follow his Patience in what he suffer'd.
Follow him that calls thee in a Thoufand Promises ; follow him that crowns thee with infinite Rewards.
Follow thy faithful Lord, O my Soul, to the End; and thou art sure in the End to posless him for ever.
Glory be to the Father, &c.
PSAL M XIII.
Life ; but the Heaven of Heavens,
Meekness may qualifie our Miseries here; and make our Time pass gentlier away.
But to be fully happy, we must stay till hereafter; till thy Mercy bring us all to our last great End.
That glorious End for which our Souls were made; and all things else, to serve them in their way.
'Tis not to sport our Time in Pleasures, that thou, O Lord, hast placed us here.
'Tis not to gain a fair Estate; that thy Kindness still prolongs our Days.
But to do good to our selves and others; and glorifie Thee in improving thy Creatures.
To increase every Day our longing Defires, of beholding Thee in thine own bright self.
O glorious Lord, whose infinite Sweetness provokes and satisfies all our Appetites!
May my entire Affections delight in Thee; above all the vain Employments of this World,
Above all Praise and empty Honour; a. bove all Beauty and fading Pleasure.
Above all Health and deceitful Riches ; above all Power and subtlest Knowledge.
Above all even thine own Bounty can give, and whatever is not thy very Self.
o! may my wearied Soul repose in Thee; the Home and Center of Eternal Rest.
May I forget my self to think of Thee; and fill my Memory with the Wonders of thy Love.
That infinite Love, which when my Thoughts consider ; not as they ought, alas! but as I am able,
The Goods or Ills of this World lose their Name, and yield not either Relish or Dirtaste.
O my ador’d Jesus ! let me love Thee always; because from Eternity thou hast
O let me love Thee only, gracious God! because thou alone deservest all my Heart.
Always, and only let me love Thee, O
Glory be to the Father, &c.
loved me :
Ant. All is unquiet here, till we come to Thee, and repofe at last in the Kingdom of Peace.
Ear Jesu, when, when will it be
That I no more shall break with Thee! When will this War of Pasions cease,
And let my Soul enjoy thy Peace !
Here I repent, and sin again ;
Now I revive, and now am slain : Slain with the same unhappy Dart,
Which, o, too often wounds my Heart: . When, dearest Lord, when shall I be
A Garden seal'd to all but Thee? No more expos'd, no more undone ;
But live, and grow to Thee alone?
'Tis not, alas, on this low Earth,
That such pure Flowers can find a Birth : Only they spring above the Skies,
Where none can live, till here he dies,
Then let me die, that I may go,
(grow; Where those blest Plants of Glory rise,
And make a safer Paradise.
No dangerous Fruit, no tempting Eve,
No crafty Serpent to deceive; But we like Gods indeed shall be,
O let me die that Life to see.
Thus fays my Song: But does my Heart
Joyn with the Words, and sing its Part? Am i fo thorough wise to chuse
The other World, and this refuse?