BAXTER'S POEMS. 77 If a worm's fury seemeth hard to bear, Who dare before an angry God appear? I thought my God ·had blotted out my sin ; And it no more remember'tl should have been ! And wilt thou now call up what's past and gone? And charge upon me all that I have done ? Why then, where is my Saviour? where's his blood? Shall not thy promises be all made good? Where are thy tender bowels? where's that grace That shew'd me once thv reconciled face? . Dost thou repent ? or can God changed be ? 0 no ! it's I that falsely turn'd froin thee. Yet be not angry with me, 0 my God! If thy child cry, _and .plead against the rod; Not daring to accuse thy narrow path ; But humbly hold to deprecate thy wrath. Is it thy pleasure to behold my grief? When thou canst with a word send full relief? Dost thou delight to see me drench'd in tears, And overwhelm'd with doubts and horrid fears? Wilt thou stand by and see my soul thus sink, While wasting flesh doth stand ~t the pit's brink ? Shall grief and sickness leave but skin and bones ? And shall I know·no breath but sighs and groans ? Have I no passions left but griefs and fears? Are groans the only music for thine ears ? And have I sense only to feel my woe ?. And reason only misery to know ? And Wilt thou suffer sinful unbelief, To banish joy, and keep out all relief? How can that gracious .Lord my woe desire? That did so much to save me from the fire ?
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