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Converse wil Clrif.
1. I'm tir'd with vifits, modes, and forms, And flatt'ries paid to fellow-worms; Their conversation cloys, Their vain amours and empty stuff, But I can ne'er enjoy enough Ofthy best company, my Lord, thoulife of all myjoys.
II. When he begins to cell his love
7 Thro' ev'ry vein my passions move, The captives of his tongue : In midnight shades on frosty ground I could attend the pleasing sound, Nor should I feel December cold nor think the darkness long
III. There, while I hear
Saviour-God Count o'er the sins (a heavy load!) He bore upon the tree, Jaward I blush with facred shame, And weep, and love, and bless the name That knew not guilt nor grief his own, but bare it all
92 IV. Next he describes the thorns he wore, And talks his bloody pallion o'er,
Till I am drown'd in tears,
I hear the glorious Suff'rer tell How on his cross he vanquish'd hell And all the pow'rs beneath: Transported and inspir'd, my tongue Attempts his triumphs in a song, “How has the ferpent lost his sting, and where's "thy vi&t'ry death?”
VI. But when he shows his hands apd heart With those dear prints of dying smart He sets my fuul on fire; Not the beloved John could rest With more delight upon that breast, Nor Thomas pry into those wounds with more intense desire.
VII. Kindly he opes to me his ear, And bids me pour my sorrow chere, And tell him all my pains: Thus while I ease my burden'd heart, In ev'ry wo he bears a part, His arms embrace nie, and his hand my drooping head
VIII. Fly from my thoughts all human things, And sporting swains and fighting kings, And tales of wanton love; My soul disdains that little snare, The ringlets of Amira's hair : Thine arnis my God are sweeter bands, nor can my
Grace shining, and nature fainting.
Ell me fairest of thy kind,
O my great Redeemer say,
IS Shall I turn my feet astray? Will Jesus bear to see me rove, To see me seek another love!
JII. Ne'er had I known his dearest name, Ne'er had I felt this inward flame, Had not his heart-strings first began the tender found: Nor can I bear the thought that he Should leave the sky, Should bleed and die, Should love a wretch so vile as me,
25 Without returns of pallion for his dying wound.
Beneath these rays I cannot live,
55 The joys are too intense tbe glories overcome me.