BAXTER'S POEMS. Where is that faith, and hope, and love, By which thou markest all thy saints? Thy joys would all my grief remove, And raise this heart that daily faints. Am I the Jonas? dost thou mean 'fo cast me out into the deep ? It shall not drown but make me clean: Until thou raise me, there I '11 sleep. 0 death! where is thy poisonous sting? 0 grave ! where is thy victory ? ' ,.fhy dust shall shortly rise, and sing God's praise above the starry sky. My God, my love, my hope, my life! Shall I be loath to see thy face? As if this world of sin and strife, Were for my soul a better place ? 0 give my soul some sweet foretaste Of that which I shall shortly see ! Let faith and love cry to the last, Come l~ord, I trust myself to thee ... 0 let not unbelieving Thomas' words 6g Be now my answer: but my dearest Lord's. Amen . * John ii. 14 or 16.
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