William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works

by William Cowper

  To serve the Lord aright:

  And what she has she misapplies,

  For want of clearer light.

  How long beneath the law I lay

  In bondage and distress!

  I toil’d the precept to obey,

  But toil’d without success.

  Then, to abstain from outward sin

  Was more than I could do;

  Now, if I feel its power within,

  I feel I hate it too.

  Then, all my servile works were done

  A righteousness to raise;

  Now, freely chosen in the Son,

  I freely choose his ways.

  “What shall I do,” was then the word,

  “That I may worthier grow?”

  “What shall I render to the Lord?”

  Is my inquiry now.

  To see the law by Christ fulfill’d,

  And hear his pardoning voice,

  Changes a slave into a child,

  And duty into choice.

  LV. THE HEART HEALED AND CHANGED BY MERCY.

  Sin enslaved me many years,

  And led me bound and blind;

  Till at length a thousand fears

  Came swarming o’er my mind.

  “Where,” I said, in deep distress,

  “Will these sinful pleasures end?

  How shall I secure my peace,

  And make the Lord my friend?”

  Friends and ministers said much

  The gospel to enforce;

  But my blindness still was such,

  I chose a legal course:

  Much I fasted, watch’d, and strove,

  Scarce would show my face abroad,

  Fear’d almost to speak or move,

  A stranger still to God.

  Thus afraid to trust his grace,

  Long time did I rebel;

  Till, despairing of my case,

  Down at his feet I fell:

  Then my stubborn heart he broke,

  And subdued me to his sway;

  By a simple word he spoke,

  “Thy sins are done away.”

  LVI. HATRED OF SIN.

  Holy Lord God! I love thy truth,

  Nor dare thy least commandment slight;

  Yet pierced by sin, the serpent’s tooth,

  I mourn the anguish of the bite.

  But, though the poison lurks within,

  Hope bids me still with patience wait;

  Till death shall set me free from sin,

  Free from the only thing I hate.

  Had I a throne above the rest,

  Where angels and archangels dwell,

  One sin, unslain, within my breast,

  Would make that heaven as dark as hell.

  The prisoner, sent to breathe fresh air,

  And bless’d with liberty again,

  Would mourn, were he condemn’d to wear

  One link of all his former chain.

  But, oh! no foe invades the bliss,

  When glory crowns the Christian’s head;

  One view of Jesus as he is

  Will strike all sin for ever dead.

  LVII. THE NEW CONVERT.

  The new-born child of gospel grace,

  Like some fair tree when summer’s nigh,

  Beneath Emmanuel’s shining face

  Lifts up his blooming branch on high.

  No fears he feels, he sees no foes,

  No conflict yet his faith employs,

  Nor has he learnt to whom he owes

  The strength and peace his soul enjoys.

  But sin soon darts its cruel sting,

  And comforts sinking day by day:

  What seem’d his own, a self-fed spring,

  Proves but a brook that glides away.

  When Gideon arm’d his numerous host,

  The Lord soon made his numbers less;

  And said, “Lest Israel vainly boast,

  ‘My arm procured me this success.’”

  Thus will he bring our spirits down,

  And draw our ebbing comforts low,

  That, saved by grace, but not our own,

  We may not claim the praise we owe.

  LVIII. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS.

  O God, whose favourable eye

  The sin-sick soul revives,

  Holy and heavenly is the joy

  Thy shining presence gives.

  Not such as hypocrites suppose,

  Who with a graceless heart

  Taste not of thee, but drink a dose,

  Prepared by Satan’s art.

  Intoxicating joys are theirs,

  Who, while they boast their light,

  And seem to soar above the stars,

  Are plunging into night.

  Lull’d in a soft and fatal sleep,

  They sin, and yet rejoice;

  Were they indeed the Saviour’s sheep,

  Would they not hear his voice?

  Be mine the comforts that reclaim

  The soul from Satan’s power;

  That make me blush for what I am,

  And hate my sin the more.

  ’Tis joy enough, my All in All,

  At thy dear feet to lie;

  Thou wilt not let me lower fall,

  And none can higher fly.

  LIX. A LIVING AND A DEAD FAITH.

  The Lord receives his highest praise

  From humble minds and hearts sincere;

  While all the loud professor says

  Offends the righteous Judge’s ear.

  To walk as children of the day,

  To mark the precepts’ holy light,

  To wage the warfare, watch, and pray,

  Show who are pleasing in his sight.

  Not words alone it cost the Lord,

  To purchase pardon for his own;

  Nor will a soul, by grace restored,

  Return the Saviour words alone.

  With golden bells, the priestly vest,

  And rich pomegranates border’d round,

  The need of holiness express’d,

  And call’d for fruit, as well as sound.

  Easy, indeed, it were to reach

  A mansion in the courts above,

  If swelling words and fluent speech

  Might serve, instead of faith and love.

  But none shall gain the blissful place,

  Or God’s unclouded glory see,

  Who talks of free and sovereign grace,

  Unless that grace has made him free!

  LX. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL.

  Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace,

  In this licentious day;

  And while they boast they see thy face,

  They turn their own away.

  Thy book displays a gracious light

  That can the blind restore;

  But these are dazzled by the sight,

  And blinded still the more.

  The pardon, such presume upon,

  They do not beg, but steal;

  And when they plead it at thy throne,

  Oh! where’s the Spirit’s seal?

  Was it for this, ye lawless tribe,

  The dear Redeemer bled?

  Is this the grace the saints imbibe

  From Christ the living head?

  Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few

  Are fed with heavenly fare;

  But these, the wretched husks they chew

  Proclaim them what they are.

  The liberty our hearts implore

  Is not to live in sin;

  But still to wait at wisdom’s door,

  Till mercy calls us in.

  LXI. THE NARROW WAY.

  What thousands never knew the road!

  What thousands hate it when ’tis known!

  None but the chosen tribes of God

  Will seek or choose it for their own.

  A thousand ways in ruin end,

  One, only, leads to joys on high;

  By that my willing steps ascend,

  Pleased with a
journey to the sky.

  No more I ask, or hope to find,

  Delight or happiness below;

  Sorrow may well possess the mind

  That feeds where thorns and thistles grow.

  The joy that fades is not for me,

  I seek immortal joys above;

  There glory without end shall be

  The bright reward of faith and love.

  Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms,

  Contented lick your native dust,

  But God shall fight with all his storms

  Against the idol of your trust.

  LXII. DEPENDENCE.

  To keep the lamp alive,

  With oil we fill the bowl;

  ’Tis water makes the willow thrive,

  And grace that feeds the soul.

  The Lord’s unsparing hand

  Supplies the living stream;

  It is not at our own command,

  But still derived from him.

  Beware of Peter’s word,

  Nor confidently say,

  “I never will deny thee, Lord,”

  But, “Grant I never may!”

  Man’s wisdom is to seek

  His strength in God alone;

  And e’en an angel would be weak,

  Who trusted in his own.

  Retreat beneath his wings,

  And in his grace confide;

  This more exalts the King of kings

  Than all your works beside.

  In Jesus is our store,

  Grace issues from his throne;

  Whoever says, “I want no more,”

  Confesses he has none.

  LXIII. NOT OF WORKS.

  Grace, triumphant in the throne,

  Scorns a rival, reigns alone;

  Come and bow beneath her sway,

  Cast your idol works away.

  Works of man, when made his plea,

  Never shall accepted be;

  Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm!)

  Are the best he can perform.

  Self, the god his soul adores,

  Influences all his powers;

  Jesus is a slighted name,

  Self-advancement all his aim;

  But when God the Judge shall come,

  To pronounce the final doom,

  Then for rocks and hills to hide

  All his works and all his pride!

  Still the boasting heart replies,

  What! the worthy and the wise,

  Friends to temperance and peace,

  Have not these a righteousness?

  Banish every vain pretence,

  Built on human excellence;

  Perish every thing in man,

  But the grace that never can.

  LXIV. PRAISE FOR FAITH.

  Of all the gifts thine hand bestows,

  Thou Giver of all good!

  Not heaven itself a richer knows

  Than my Redeemer’s blood.

  Faith too, the blood-receiving grace,

  From the same hand we gain;

  Else, sweetly as it suits our case,

  That gift had been in vain.

  Till thou thy teaching power apply,

  Our hearts refuse to see,

  And weak, as a distemper’d eye,

  Shut out the view of thee.

  Blind to the merits of thy Son,

  What misery we endure!

  Yet fly that hand from which alone

  We could expect a cure.

  We praise thee, and would praise thee more,

  To thee our all we owe;

  The precious Saviour, and the power

  That makes him precious too.

  LXV. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE.

  Almighty King! whose wondrous hand

  Supports the weight of sea and land,

  Whose grace is such a boundless store,

  No heart shall break that sighs for more.

  Thy providence supplies my food,

  And ’tis thy blessing makes it good;

  My soul is nourish’d by thy word,

  Let soul and body praise the Lord.

  My streams of outward comfort came

  From him who built this earthly frame;

  Whate’er I want his bounty gives,

  By whom my soul for ever lives.

  Either his hand preserves from pain,

  Or, if I feel it, heals again;

  From Satan’s malice shields my breast,

  Or overrules it for the best.

  Forgive the song that falls so low

  Beneath the gratitude I owe!

  It means thy praise, however poor;

  An angel’s song can do no more.

  LXVI. I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALL TIMES.

  Winter has a joy for me,

  While the Saviour’s charms I read,

  Lowly, meek, from blemish free,

  In the snowdrop’s pensive head.

  Spring returns, and brings along

  Life-invigorating suns:

  Hark! the turtle’s plaintive song

  Seems to speak his dying groans!

  Summer has a thousand charms,

  All expressive of his worth;

  ’Tis his sun that lights and warms,

  His the air that cools the earth.

  What! has Autumn left to say

  Nothing of a Saviour’s grace?

  Yes, the beams of milder day

  Tell me of his smiling face.

  Light appears with early dawn,

  While the sun makes haste to rise;

  See his bleeding beauties drawn

  On the blushes of the skies.

  Evening with a silent pace,

  Slowly moving in the west,

  Shows an emblem of his grace,

  Points to an eternal rest.

  LXVII. LONGING TO BE WITH CHRIST.

  To Jesus, the Crown of my hope,

  My soul is in haste to be gone:

  O bear me, ye cherubim, up,

  And waft me away to his throne!

  My Saviour, whom absent I love,

  Whom, not having seen, I adore;

  Whose name is exalted above

  All glory, dominion, and power;

  Dissolve thou these bonds, that detain

  My soul from her portion in thee;

  Ah! strike off this adamant chain,

  And make me eternally free.

  When that happy era begins,

  When array’d in thy glories I shine,

  Nor grieve any more, by my sins,

  The bosom on which I recline:

  Oh, then shall the veil be removed,

  And round me thy brightness be pour’d;

  I shall meet him whom absent I loved,

  I shall see whom unseen I adored.

  And then, never more shall the fears,

  The trials, temptations, and woes,

  Which darken this valley of tears,

  Intrude on my blissful repose.

  Or, if yet remember’d above,

  Remembrance no sadness shall raise;

  They will be but new signs of thy love,

  New themes for my wonder and praise.

  Thus the strokes which from sin and from pain

  Shall set me eternally free,

  Will but strengthen and rivet the chain

  Which binds me, my Saviour, to thee.

  LXVIII. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.

  God moves in a mysterious way

  His wonders to perform;

  He plants his footsteps in the sea,

  And rides upon the storm.

  Deep in unfathomable mines

  Of never-failing skill,

  He treasures up his bright designs,

  And works his sovereign will.

  Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

  The clouds ye so much dread

  Are big with mercy, and shall break

  In blessings on your head.

  Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

  But tru
st him for his grace:

  Behind a frowning providence

  He hides a smiling face.

  His purposes will ripen fast,

  Unfolding every hour;

  The bud may have a bitter taste,

  But sweet will be the flower.

  Blind unbelief is sure to err,

  And scan his work in vain:

  God is his own interpreter,

  And he will make it plain.

  HYMN FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY

  Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer,

  In heaven thy dwelling-place,

  From infants, made the public care,

  And taught to seek thy face!

  Thanks for thy word and for thy day;

  And grant us, we implore,

  Never to waste in sinful play

  Thy holy Sabbaths more.

  Thanks that we hear, — but oh! impart

  To each desires sincere,

  That we may listen with our heart,

  And learn as well as hear.

  For if vain thoughts the minds engage

  Of elder far than we,

  What hope that at our heedless age

  Our minds should e’er be free?

  Much hope, if thou our spirits take

  Under thy gracious sway,

  Who canst the wisest wiser make,

  And babes as wise as they.

  Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows,

  A sun that ne’er declines;

  And be thy mercies showered on those

  Who placed us where it shines.