BAXTER'S POEMS. Acquaint it with the holy place, The joys and glory where thou. art. 0 let me not be strange at home ! Strange to the sun, an'd life of souls: Choosing this low and dark'ned r·ooni; Familiar with worms and moles ! Shall I be strange unto my head·? '11le world of knowledge, love, and joys? Conversing here among the dead, And taken up wit4 dreams and toys ? Aud strange to angels, who attend On man, and in his good delight ; And though unseen, do us defend; Minist'ring for us day and night? Am I the first that go this way ? How many saints are gone before! How many enter every day Into thy kingdom by this door! Christ was once dead, and in a grave· Yet conquer'd death, and· rose again: And by this method he will save His servants that with him shall reign. Shall I draw back and fear the end Of all my sorrows, tears; and pain? To which mv life and labours tend! Without ~hich all had been in vain? Can I for ever be content Without true happiness and rest? Is earth become so excellent, r11lat I should take it for my best ·? Or can I think of finding here That which my soui so long had sought? ' bl
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