BAXTER'S POEMS. Whilst I forgot thee, thou didst bear: 'Thy kindness did invite me home: 0 rack me ·not with grief and fear ! Kill me not, Lord, now I am come. The silent dust speaks not thy fame, Nor in dark graves a~t thou renown'd: The living saints declare thy name, And in thy church thy praises sound. Yet let me with thy household dwell; Though I be number'd with thy poor : And with thy saints thy wonders tell, Although I sit behind thy door. Set not thy strength against frail man! 0 turn not yet this ftesli to clay ! My life, thou know'st ,. is but a span, If I should see the longest day. Break me not all to pieces, Lord; Or else let each piece have a tongue, To cry, till thou relief afford, But not to say, thou dost me wrong. Pity this poor unworthy soul, 'That here devotes itself to thee: Resolve my doubts ; my fears controul; And let me thy salvation see. . 0 let that love which gave me groans, And taught my needy soul to pray, · Remove my fears, and hear the moans Which sorrow breathes forth night and day. 67
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy OTcyMjk=