anger

"And is there in God's world so drear a place
Where the loud bitter cry is raised in vain?
Where tears of penance come too late for grace,
As on the uprooted flower the genial rain?"

'Tis even so: the sovereign Lord of souls
Stores in the dungeon of His boundless realm
Each bolt that o'er the sinner vainly rolls,
With gathered wrath the reprobate to whelm.

Will the storm hear the sailor's piteous cry,
Taught so mistrust, too late, the tempting wave,
When all around he sees but sea and sky,

Say not he loves me as before, as truly, dearly
As once he did... Oh no! My life
He would destroy, he does destroy - though see I clearly
The trembling of the hand that holds the knife.

Resentment, anger, tears, a pain now fierce, now muffled -
I'm wounded, stung, and yet I love... He is
All of my life, but I... I do not live - I suffer...
How bitter is existence such as this!

As to a mortal foe, in dozes scant and meagre
The air I breathe he measures out.. Each breath

Harsh is my fortune, but harsher still is the fate
dealt me by my count: he flees from me,
I follow him; others long for me,
I cannot look at another man's face.

I hate him who loves me,love him who scorns me;
against the humble lover, my heart rebels,
but I am humble to him who kill my hope;
my soul longs for such harmful food.


He constantly gives me cause for anger,
while others seek to give me comfort and peace;
these I ignore, and I cling instead to him.

High in the heav'ns, eternal God,
Thy goodness in full glory shines;
Thy truth shall break through ev'ry cloud
That veils and darkens thy designs.

For ever firm thy justice stands,
As mountains their foundations keep;
Wise are the wonders of thy hands;
Thy judgments are a mighty deep.

Thy providence is kind and large,
Both man and beast thy bounty share;
The whole creation is thy charge,
But saints are thy peculiar care.

My God! how excellent thy grace,

v.8-12
C. M.
Infirmities and mortality the effect of sin.

Lord, if thine eye surveys our faults,
And justice grows severe,
Thy dreadful wrath exceeds our thoughts,
And burns beyond our fear.

Thine anger turns our frame to dust;
By one offence to thee
Adam with all his sons have lost
Their immortality.

Life, like a vain amusement, flies,
A fable or a song;
By swift degrees our nature dies,
Nor can our joys be long.

'Tis but a few whose days amount

v.30ff
C. M.
The covenant of grace unchangeable.

"Yet," saith the Lord, "if David's race,
The children of my Son,
Should break my laws, abuse my grace,
And tempt mine anger down;

"Their sins I'll visit with the rod
And make their folly smart;
But I'll not cease to be their God,
Nor from my truth depart.

"My cov'nant I will ne'er revoke,
But keep my grace in mind
And what eternal love hath spoke
Eternal truth shall bind.

"Once have I sworn (I need no more)

The church's prayer under affliction; or, The vineyard of God wasted.

Great Shepherd of thine Israel,
Who didst between the cherubs dwell,
And lead the tribes, thy chosen sheep,
Safe through the desert and the deep;

Thy church is in the desert now,
Shine from on high and guide us through;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved and sigh no more.

Great God, whom heav'nly hosts obey,
How long shall we lament and pray,
And wait in vain thy kind return?

Melancholy assaulting, and hope prevailing.

To God I cried with mournful voice,
I sought his gracious ear,
In the sad day when troubles rose,
And filled the night with fear.

Sad were my days, and dark my nights,
My soul refused relief;
I thought on God the just and wise,
But thoughts increased my grief.

Still I complained, and still oppressed,
My heart began to break;
My God, thy wrath forbade my rest,
And kept my eyes awake.

My overwhelming sorrows grew,

Complaint in sickness.

In anger, Lord, rebuke me not;
Withdraw the dreadful storm;
Nor let thy fury grow so hot
Against a feeble worm.

My soul's bowed down with heavy cares,
My flesh with pain oppressed;
My couch is witness to my tears,
My tears forbid my rest.

Sorrow and pain wear out my days,
I waste the night with cries,
Counting the minutes as they pass,
Till the slow morning rise.

Shall I be still tormented more?
Mine eye consumed with grief?

The glory of Christ, and power of his gospel.

Now be my heart inspired to sing
The glories of my Savior King,
Jesus the Lord; how heav'nly fair
His form! how bright his beauties are!

O'er all the sons of human race
He shines with a superior grace;
Love from his lips divinely flows,
And blessings all his state compose.

Dress thee in arms, most mighty Lord,
Gird on the terror of thy sword,
In majesty and glory ride,
With truth and meekness at thy side.

Thine anger, like a pointed dart,