68 BAXTER'S POEMS, THE THIRD PART. WHY art thou, fainting soul, cast down; And thus disquieted with fears? Art thou not passing to thy crown, Through storms of pain, and floods of tears ? Fear not, 0 thou o.f little faith! Art thou not in thy Saviour's hand? Remember what his promise saith: Life and death are at his command. To him I did myself entrust, When first I did for Heav'n embark ! And he 'hath proved kind and just: Still I ani with him in his ark. Could'st thou expect to see no seas? Nor feel no tossing wind or wave? It is enough that from all these Thy faithful pilot will thee save. Lord, let me not my covenant break ! Once 1 did all to thee resign: Only the words of comfort speak, And tell my soul that I am thine. It's no death when souls hence depart, If thou depart not from the soul : fill with thy love my fainting heart, Ar~d I '11 not fading flesh condole. Health is but sickness with thy frowns: · Life with thy wrath is worse than death: lVIy comforts thy displeasure drowns, And into groans tunes all my breath.
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