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“ If God be for us, who can be against us?”—Rom. viii. 31, &c.
[Air. No. XXXV. in Jowett's Musæ Solitariæ.]
If all the world abhor us,
Or, Satan, thou arraign'st us,
If God, if God be for us,
Who then can be against us?
Whom God has justified.
Since it is Christ that died !
Yea, risen and ascended,
He now our cause is pleading ;
For ever interceding.
His saints can apprehend:
Will save them to the end.
Not present pains or evils,
Not sorest tribulations;
With all their fierce temptations ;
Nor death, nor powers above,
The ransom'd soul can sever
From Jesus and his love.
THE POOR MAN'S HYMN.
“ Hath not God chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom ?”—James ii. 5.
As much have I of worldly good
As e'er my Master had :
And am as richly clad,
As Mary's Son and Nature's Lord.
The manger was his infant bed,
His home, the mountain-cave.
He had not where to lay his head ;
He borrow'd ev'n his grave.
Earth yielded him no resting-spot,
Her Maker, but she knew him not.
As much the world's good-will I share,
Its favour and applause,
Hated without a cause,
Despised, rejected, mock'd by pride,
Why should I court my Master's foe?
Why should I fear its frown?
Or sigh for brief renown ?-
“ If any man serve me, let him follow me.”—John xii. 26.
How shall I follow Him I serve?
How shall I
Him I love?
Nor from those blessed footsteps swerve,
Which lead me to his seat above?
Privations, sorrows, bitter scorn,
The life of toil, the mean abode, The faithless kiss, the crown of thorn,
Are these the consecrated road?
'Twas thus he suffered, though a Son,
Foreknowing, choosing, feeling all; Until the perfect work was done,
And drunk the bitter cup of gall.
Oh, should my path through suffering lie,
Forbid it I should e'er repine ! Still let me turn to Calvary,
Nor heed my griefs, remembering thine.
But when, my days with comforts crown’d,
As husband and as parent bless'd, I look with tearful joy around,
And clasp my treasures to my breast;
Oh, let me think how thou didst leave
Untasted every pure delight,
The toilsome day, the houseless night:
To faint, to grieve, to die for me!
Thou camest not thyself to please! And dear as earthly comforts be,
Shall I not love thee more than these ?