172 BAXTER'S POEMS. 'fhis fire men's faith tries and refines, It sepal'ates the [gold and] dross, These winds shake down false hypocrites : ~fhe church grows [better J by the cross. Praise him who give3 the church her peace, Yet [makes it] to the cross a debtor ; By one the number doth incr,ease, The other makes it [pure and] better. And though Christ 's ark be thus long tost 'Vith [pirates,] frightful storms, and waves . None of his chosen shall be lost: [Praise Christ] for he tlie faithful saves. Though Satan',s numbers, and Christ'.s few, Do now our reason [pose and] st~ll ; The vast and glorious worlds above Help faith [and !lope J to answer all. PRAISE FOR THE PROMISED GLORY. : MosT glorious God, that name of thi~e ., In heaven [and earth] must hallowed be; All upon whom thy face doth shine Praise thee with ·heart', [andtongue,] and knee. Our praises for this earthly state, Are checquer'd with [oJtr mix'd] complaints, But when heav'ns glory we relate, · Pure, [ unmix'd] praise becometh saints. Eye hath no.t seen, nor heart COilCeiv'd . What thou prepar'st [for sa~ntsJ ab~ve :
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