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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?
Its foes the soul contemneth,
Who is he that condemneth,
Since it is Christ that died!
Yea, risen and ascended,
He now our cause is pleading;
There, till this world be ended,
For ever interceding.
From Him no separation
His saints can apprehend:
He who is their salvation,
Will save them to the end.
Not present pains or evils,
Not sorest tribulations;
Not tyrants, no, nor devils,
With all their fierce temptations;
Nor aught of man's endeavour,
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:
I diet on as dainty food,
And am as richly clad,
Though plain my garb, though scant my board, 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;
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,
As He whose blessed name I bear,
Hated without a cause,
Despised, rejected, mock'd by pride,
Betray'd, forsaken, crucified.
Why should I court my Master's foe?
Why should I fear its frown?
Why should I seek for rest below,
Or sigh for brief renown?
A pilgrim to a better land,
An heir of joys at God's right hand.
"If any man serve me, let him follow me."-John xii. 26.
How shall I follow Him I serve?
How shall I copy Him I love?
Nor from those blessed footsteps swerve,
Privations, sorrows, bitter scorn,
The life of toil, the mean abode,
The faithless kiss, the crown of thorn,
'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
To fast, to faint, to watch, to grieve,
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?