BAXTER'S POEMS. · I '11 bear my cross and follow· thee; Let others choose tlw fairer way. My face is meeter for the spit; I am more suitable to shame; And to the taunts of scornful wit: It's uo great matter for my name. Must I be drh·en from my books, From house, and goods, and dearest friends? One of thy sweet and gracious looks, For more than this will make amends. 'I'he world's thy book: there I can read, Thy power, wisdom, and thy ·love: And thence ascend by faith, and feed Upon the better things above. I '11 read thy works of providenee : Tby spirit, conscience, and thy rod Can teach without book all the sense, To know the world, myself, and God. · Few books may serve, when thou wilt teach . Many have stolen my precious time : I'll leave my books to hear thee preach . Church-work is best when 'thou dost chime. As for my house, it was my tent, While there I waited on thy flock: That work is done; that time is spent: There neither was my home nor stock. Would I in all my journey have Still the ~!lme inn and furniture , Or ease and pleasant dwellings crave , Forgetting \Vhat thy saints endure ? 1\'ly Lord had taught· me how to " ·,w r A place whcrciu to pnt my head :
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