More rebellious, break it now!
Is it thus that I requite
Grace and goodness infinite?
Every trace of every boon
Cancell’d and erased so soon!
Can I grieve thee, whom I love;
Thee, in whom I live and move?
If my sorrow touch thee still,
Save me from so great an ill!
Oh! the oppressive, irksome weight,
Felt in an uncertain state;
Comfort, peace, and rest, adieu,
Should I prove at last untrue!
Still I choose thee, follow still
Every notice of thy will;
But, unstable, strangely weak,
Still let slip the good I seek.
Self-confiding wretch, I thought
I could serve thee as I ought,
Win thee, and deserve to feel
All the love thou canst reveal;
Trusting self, a bruised reed,
Is to be deceived indeed:
Save me from this harm and loss,
Lest my gold turn all to dross!
Self is earthly — faith alone
Makes an unseen world our own;
Faith relinquish’d, how we roam,
Feel our way, and leave our home!
Spurious gems our hopes entice,
While we scorn the pearl of price;
And, preferring servants’ pay,
Cast the children’s bread away.
The Acquiescence of Pure Love
Love! if thy destined sacrifice am I,
Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires;
Plunged in thy depths of mercy, let me die
The death which every soul that lives desires!
I watch my hours, and see them fleet away;
The time is long that I have languish’d here;
Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey,
With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere.
To me ’tis equal, whether love ordain
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease;
My soul perceives no real ill in pain;
In ease or health no real good she sees.
One good she covets, and that good alone,
To choose thy will, from selfish bias free;
And to prefer a cottage to a throne,
And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee.
That we should bear the cross is thy command,
Die to the world and live to self no more;
Suffer, unmoved, beneath the rudest hand,
As pleased when shipwreck’d as when safe on shore.
Repose in God
Blest! who, far from all mankind
This world’s shadows left behind,
Hears from heaven a gentle strain
Whispering love, and loves again.
Blest! who, free from self-esteem,
Dives into the great Supreme.
All desire beside discards,
Joys inferior none regards.
Blest! who in thy bosom seeks
Rest that nothing earthly breaks,
Dead to self and worldly things,
Lost in thee, thou King of kings!
Ye that know my secret fire,
Softly speak and soon retire;
Favour my divine repose,
Spare the sleep a God bestows.
Glory to God Alone
Oh loved! but not enough — though dearer far
Than self and its most loved enjoyments are;
None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free
From sensual objects, finds his all in thee.
Glory of God! thou stranger here below,
Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to know;
Our faith and reason are both shock’d to find
Man in the post of honour — Thee behind.
Reason exclaims— “Let every creature fall,
Ashamed, abased, before the Lord of all;”
And faith, o’erwhelm’d with such a dazzling blaze,
Feebly describes the beauty she surveys.
Yet man, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind,
Deaf to the dictates of his better mind,
In frantic competition dares the skies,
And claims precedence of the Only wise.
Oh, lost in vanity, till once self-known!
Nothing is great, or good, but God alone;
When thou shalt stand before his awful face,
Then, at the last, thy pride shall know his place.
Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end!
When wilt thou melt the mountains and descend?
When wilt thou shoot abroad thy conquering rays,
And teach these atoms, thou hast made, thy praise?
Thy glory is the sweetest heaven I feel;
And, if I seek it with too fierce a zeal,
Thy love, triumphant o’er a selfish will,
Taught me the passion, and inspires it still.
My reason, all my faculties, unite,
To make thy glory their supreme delight:
Forbid it, fountain of my brightest days,
That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise!
My soul! rest happy in thy low estate,
Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem’d or great,
To take the impression of a will divine,
Be that thy glory, and those riches thine.
Confess him righteous in his just decrees,
Love what he loves, and let his pleasure please;
Die daily; from the touch of sin recede;
Then thou hast crown’d him, and he reigns indeed.
Self-love and Truth Incompatible
From thorny wilds a monster came,
That fill’d my soul with fear and shame;
The birds, forgetful of their mirth,
Droop’d at the sight, and fell to earth;
When thus a sage address’d mine ear,
Himself unconscious of a fear:
“Whence all this terror and surprise,
Distracted looks and streaming eyes?
Far from the world and its affairs,
The joy it boasts, the pain it shares,
Surrender, without guile or art,
To God an undivided heart;
The savage form, so fear’d before,
Shall scare your trembling soul no more;
For, loathsome as the sight may be,
’Tis but the love of self you see.
Fix all your love on God alone,
Choose but his will, and hate your own:
No fear shall in your path be found,
The dreary waste shall bloom around,
And you, through all your happy days,
Shall bless his name, and sing his praise.”
Oh lovely solitude, how sweet
The silence of this calm retreat!
Here truth, the fair whom I pursue,
Gives all her beauty to my view;
The simple, unadorn’d display
Charms every pain and fear away.
O Truth, whom millions proudly slight;
O Truth, my treasure and delight;
Accept this tribute to thy name,
And this poor heart from which it came!
The Love of God the End of Life
Since life in sorrow must be spent,
So be it — I am well content,
And meekly wait my last remove,
Seeking only growth in love.
No bliss I seek, but to fulfil
In life, in death, thy lovely will;
No succours in my woes I want,
Save what thou art pleased to grant.
Our days are number’d, let us spare
Our anxious hearts a needless care:
’Tis thine to number out our days;
Ours to give them to thy praise.
Love is our only business here,
Love, simple, constant, and sincere;
O b
lessed days, thy servants see,
Spent, O Lord! in pleasing thee!
Love Faithful in the Absence of the Beloved
In vain ye woo me to your harmless joys,
Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise;
Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow,
Breathed forth in happier days, are irksome now;
Denied that smile ’twas once my heaven to see,
Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me.
In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still;
And, though I mourn, not murmur at his will;
I have no cause — an object all divine,
Might well grow weary of a soul like mine;
Yet pity me, great God! forlorn, alone,
Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gone.
Love Pure and Fervent
Jealous, and with love o’erflowing,
God demands a fervent heart;
Grace and bounty still bestowing,
Calls us to a grateful part.
Oh, then, with supreme affection
His paternal will regard!
If it cost us some dejection,
Every sigh has its reward.
Perfect love has power to soften
Cares that might our peace destroy,
Nay, does more — transforms them often,
Changing sorrow into joy.
Sovereign Love appoints the measure,
And the number of our pains;
And is pleased when we find pleasure
In the trials he ordains.
The Entire Surrender
Peace has unveil’d her smiling face,
And wooes thy soul to her embrace,
Enjoy’d with ease, if thou refrain
From earthly love, else sought in vain;
She dwells with all who truth prefer,
But seeks not them who seek not her.
Yield to the Lord, with simple heart,
All that thou hast, and all thou art;
Renounce all strength but strength divine;
And peace shall be for ever thine:
Behold the path which I have trod,
My path, till I go home to God.
The Perfect Sacrifice
I place an offering at thy shrine,
From taint and blemish clear,
Simple and pure in its design,
Of all that I hold dear.
I yield thee back thy gifts again,
Thy gifts which most I prize;
Desirous only to retain
The notice of thine eyes.
But if, by thine adored decree,
That blessing be denied;
Resign’d and unreluctant, see
My every wish subside.
Thy will in all things I approve,
Exalted or cast down;
Thy will in every state I love,
And even in thy frown.
God Hides His People
To lay the soul that loves him low,
Becomes the Only-wise:
To hide beneath a veil of woe,
The children of the skies.
Man, though a worm, would yet be great;
Though feeble, would seem strong;
Assumes an independent state,
By sacrilege and wrong.
Strange the reverse, which, once abased,
The haughty creature proves!
He feels his soul a barren waste,
Nor dares affirm he loves.
Scorn’d by the thoughtless and the vain,
To God he presses near;
Superior to the world’s disdain,
And happy in its sneer.
Oh welcome, in his heart he says,
Humility and shame!
Farewell the wish for human praise,
The music of a name!
But will not scandal mar the good
That I might else perform?
And can God work it, if he would,
By so despised a worm?
Ah, vainly anxious! — leave the Lord
To rule thee, and dispose;
Sweet is the mandate of his word,
And gracious all he does.
He draws from human littleness
His grandeur and renown;
And generous hearts with joy confess
The triumph all his own.
Down, then, with self-exalting thoughts;
Thy faith and hope employ,
To welcome all that he allots,
And suffer shame with joy.
No longer, then, thou wilt encroach
On his eternal right;
And he shall smile at thy approach,
And make thee his delight.
The Secrets of Divine Love Are To Be Kept
Sun! stay thy course, this moment stay —
Suspend the o’er flowing tide of day,
Divulge not such a love as mine,
Ah! hide the mystery divine;
Lest man, who deems my glory shame,
Should learn the secret of my flame.
O night! propitious to my views,
Thy sable awning wide diffuse;
Conceal alike my joy and pain,
Nor draw thy curtain back again,
Though morning, by the tears she shows,
Seems to participate my woes.
Ye stars! whose faint and feeble fires
Express my languishing desires,
Whose slender beams pervade the skies,
As silent as my secret sighs,
Those emanations of a soul,
That darts her fires beyond the Pole;
Your rays, that scarce assist the sight,
That pierce, but not displace the night;
That shine indeed, but nothing shew
Of all those various scenes below,
Bring no disturbance, rather prove
Incentives to a sacred love.
Thou moon! whose never-failing course
Bespeaks a providential force,
Go, tell the tidings of my flame
To Him who calls the stars by name;
Whose absence kills, whose presence cheers;
Who blots, or brightens, all my years.
While, in the blue abyss of space,
Thine orb performs its rapid race;
Still whisper in his listening ears
The language of my sighs and tears;
Tell him, I seek him, far below,
Lost in a wilderness of woe.
Ye thought-composing, silent hours,
Diffusing peace o’er all my powers;
Friends of the pensive, who conceal,
In darkest shades, the flames I feel;
To you I trust, and safely may,
The love that wastes my strength away.
In sylvan scenes and caverns rude,
I taste the sweets of solitude;
Retired indeed, but not alone,
I share them with a spouse unknown,
Who hides me here from envious eyes,
From all intrusion and surprise.
Imbowering shades and dens profound!
Where echo rolls the voice around;
Mountains! whose elevated heads
A moist and misty veil o’erspreads;
Disclose a solitary bride
To him I love — to none beside.
Ye rills, that, murmuring all the way,
Among the polish’d pebbles stray;
Creep silently along the ground,
Lest, drawn by that harmonious sound,
Some wanderer, whom I would not meet,
Should stumble on my loved retreat.
Enamell’d meads, and hillocks green,
And streams that water all the scene,
Ye torrents, loud in distant ears,
Ye fountains, that receive my tears,
Ah! still conceal, with caution due,
A charge I trust with none but you!
If, when my pain
and grief increase
I seem to enjoy the sweetest peace,
It is because I find so fair,
The charming object of my care,
That I can sport and pleasure make
Of torment suffer’d for his sake.
Ye meads and groves, unconscious things!
Ye know not whence my pleasure springs;
Ye know not, and ye cannot know,
The source from which my sorrows flow:
The dear sole cause of all I feel, —
He knows, and understands them well.
Ye deserts, where the wild beasts rove,
Scenes sacred to my hours of love;
Ye forests, in whose shades I stray,
Benighted under burning day;
Ah! whisper not how blest am I,
Nor while I live, nor when I die.
Ye lambs, who sport beneath these shades,
And bound along the mossy glades;
Be taught a salutary fear,
And cease to bleat when I am near:
The wolf may hear your harmless cry,
Whom ye should dread as much as I.
How calm, amid these scenes, my mind;
How perfect is the peace I find!
Oh hush, be still, my every part,
My tongue, my pulse, my beating heart!
That love, aspiring to its cause,
May suffer not a moment’s pause.
Ye swift-finn’d nations, that abide
In seas, as fathomless as wide;
And, unsuspicious of a snare,
Pursue at large your pleasures there;
Poor sportive fools! how soon does man
Your heedless ignorance trepan.
Away! dive deep into the brine,
Where never yet sunk plummet line;
Trust me, the vast leviathan
Is merciful, compared with man;
William Cowper- Collected Poetical Works Page 67
