Baxter - HP PR3316 .B36 1821

BAXTER'S POEMS. Sure Pisgah was Parnassus, or the mount Where three Apostles did three glories count : Christ's living streams are the true Helicon: None make true poets but Heav'n's springs alone. What poor, low, toyish work make frothy wits ! Like Bacchus' scholars in their pot-wise fits. Like children's poppets dress'd with lace and pin; Like handsome pictures; something wants within: A painted feast, carved with a painted knife. A living soul can feel it wanteth life. Without a holy subject, end, and spirit, · True wisdom's sacred titles none can merit. 0 my dear God ! how precious is thy love! These are the drops, what are the streams above? Immortal thanks my soul doth owe my God, For his well-order'd, needful, healing rod: The book and rod do well befit thy school; Correction is the portion of the fool: 'I'he rod itself will make the sluggard rise: The rod and book make foolish children wise. I felt or fear'd no evil at the first, But my soul's misery, which is the worst. Whilst for a soul remedy 1 did look, Thy angry storm my body overtook: Languishing weakness shortens strength and breath ; Consumes my flesh, and threatens speedy death· And what I felt, revived the fears of more; For now my judgment seemed at the door: I knew not but it might be a foretaste _ Of greater woe which I might feel at last: My .new awakened soul amazed was, To think that unto judgment it must pass~