HYMN XLVIII.

Thou hast o'ercome: Lord, who can prove
Invincible to heav'nly love?
My conquer'd soul I must resign
To that victorious arm of thine.

Thy grace, whose wond'rous pow'r imparts
The tend'rest sense to flinty hearts,
My inmost soul with love inspires,
And mixes joy with pure desires.

For who, my Lord, can love like thee?
Whose love was e'er so great, so free?
Angels may well admire the flame:
But they have never felt the same:

Nor men whom nature has ally'd,

HYMN XXVIII.

O Lord, thou dost a broken heart
And contrite mind approve,
Wilt humble penitents receive
With pity, joy, and love.

Teach us o'er all our sins to weep,
And in thy grace rejoice;
To mix confessions of our guilt
With a thanksgiving voice.

O let thy spirit's convincing power
Dispose us to repent;
That holy oil will soften rocks,

HYMN XXV.

Lord, all the works thy hand has form'd
In earth and heaven above,
And all thy tracks of providence
Shew thee a God of love .

But thy surprizing acts of grace,
To Adam 's guilty seed,
Loudly proclaim to all the world,
That God is love indeed.

To object who deserve thy wrath
Thy boundless love extends;
Thou'rt kinder to thy enemies

HYMN XXII.

M Y blessed Saviour, is thy love
So great, so full, so free?
Behold I give my love, my heart,
My life, my all, to thee.

I love thee for the glorious worth
In thy great self I see:
I love thee for that shameful cross
Thou hast endur'd for me.

No man of greater love can boast
Than for his friend to die:
But for thy enemies thou wast slain:

HYMN XVIII.

O Lord , how shall we frame a song
To celebrate thy fame!
Our highest flights are all too low
To reach thy loftier name.

Yet should the objects of thy love
Thy praises cease to shout,
To censure such ingratitude,
The stones would soon cry out.

What was there, Lord , in sinful man
That could thy pity move,
To draw him from the gates of hell

PART II.

The Daughters of Jerusalem .

Who's this that from the desart moves,
Leaning upon the arm she loves?

The B RIDEGROOM .

At first, my love, I rais'd up thee
Under the fruitful apple-tree;
There many a pang, and many a throw
Did thy fair mother undergo;
But after many pangs and throws,
Did her blest fruit at last disclose.

The B RIDE .

O let my name be deep imprest,
Like a fair signet, on thy breast!

PART III.

The Daughters of Jerusalem .

O thou, who hast more charms ingrost,
Than all our sex beside can boast!
What charms in thy beloved dwell,
To make him other loves excel!
Describe his beauties, let us know,
Fair one, why thou adjur'st us so?

The B RIDE .

In my love's cheeks, pure white and red
In just degrees their mixture spread.
Under his standard marshal'd are
Ten thousand youths, but none so fair.
His head with finest gold is crown'd,

PART II.

All beauties reign, my love, in thee:
From every biemish thou art free.
From Leb'non come with me, my bride;
From Leb'non come with me, thy guide,
From high Amana take thy view,
From Shenir's top, and Hermon's too;
From dens where lions do reside,
From hills where savage leopards hide.
My sister and my lovely bride,
(To me by many ties ally'd)
My heart is ravish'd with thy charms;
My heart is conquer'd by thy arms.
One glance of love shot from thy eye
Has won the easy victory:

Oh ! speech is poor to paint a difference
I feel so vast! Trust, honour, tenderness —
The all that friendship asks — compose not love!
Friendship still keeps distinction. Friends are twain,
But lovers one!
Friends are two kings in dear confederance join'd,
That still rule separate empires; but in love
Both realms united, take one name, one tongue,
One law, one faith, one consequence, one crown!
Friends are two banks a kindly stream divides;
Lovers — twin clouds into each other blent
And bath'd in the same beam. Friends are like trees

FLORENCE DELMAR, UNDER A FICTITIOUS NARRATIVE, TAXES HER SUITOR WITH HIS ESTRANGED AFFECTION .

Tem. What moves you thus?
Flo. That which I read. And yet,
'Tis a stale sorrow; but a woman's wrong.
Tem. You give these moods of sentiment, these dreams
Of fancy too much sway. I pray you, Florence,
Follow example and conform your course
To custom, and the fashion of the times.
What air-spun grief o'erwrought you?
Flo. I have said,