go BAXTER'S POEMS~ Thence came the viperous ·brood; there was the root Of all the bitter, poisonous, deadly fruit. There God should have been entertain'd in love. His will·as end and spring each wheel should move. But how unkindly was he there abused ? His tender love and healing grace refus~d ? Oft have I shut the door when he hath .come; I play'd, or slept, or would not be at home. · Should God be slighted by a stubborn heart, And not rebuke its folly by its smart? I sinn'd and laugh'd; I lightly pass'd it over Sh~uld God do so, and not his wrath di3cover ? Just is the L9rd: my sin hath found me out. I find his threat'nings true beyond all doubt: What have I done! all's now to conscience known: Its deep remorse tells me what I have done. What have I done t it's graven all in stone: This heart of flint feels now what I have done. What have I done t my pained flesh and bone, Cry out with anguish, 0 what have I done.! Wh~t have I done ! I see, I feel, I groan ! 'The sad effects proclaim, what I have done. What have I done! my friends' distress and moan, Cry to me night and day, this thou hast done. Melt sinful heart, and spare not! welcome grief! Away delights ! I'll none of your relief. Shew me the wilderness, the secret cell, Where grief and I may still together dwell. W.here hills and woods may echo all my groans, Apd hearers may not ·interrupt my moans! Wh~re mortal eyes may see no more the face, Which folly. ~ath confounded with disgrace.
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