SELF-EXAMINATION. SELF-CONDEMNATION. "If our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things." I JOHN iii. 20. L ORD, many times I am a-weary quite Of my own self, Yet be not Thou, or I my fin and vanity; am loft outright, Weary of me. And hate against myself I often bear, And enter with myself in fierce debate ;Take Thou my part against myself, nor share In that just hate. Beft friends might loathe us, if what things perverse We know of our own selves they also knew; Lord, Holy One! if Thou, who knoweft worse, Shouldft loathe us too! FOR a closer walk with God, What peaceful hours I once enjoyed! But now I find an aching void Return, O holy Dove, return, I hate the fins that made thee mourn, The dearest idol I have known, Help me to tear it from thy throne, So fhall my walk be close with God, That leads me to the Lamb. Wm. Cowper. 1779. GROWING IN GRACE. "But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ." 2 PETER iii. 18. HIS did not once so trouble me, TH That better I could not love Thee; That only when we love, we find While we had little care to call And when we gave yet flighter heed In doing is this knowledge won, And give us grace, a growing store, R. C. Trench. THE WORLD. "And when he is come, he will reprove the world of fin, and of rightcousness, and of judgment." - JOHN xvi. 8. HE world is wise, for the world is old; THE Five thousand years their tale have told; Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be, The world is kind if we afk not too much; It is sweet to the taste, and smooth to the touch; The world is ftrong, with an awful ftrength, Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be, The world is so beautiful one may fear Its borrowed beauty might make it too dear; Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be, The world is good in its own poor way, There is reft by night and high spirits by day; The Cross fhines fair, and the church-bell rings, Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be, Why is it? why is it? O, answer me! What lackest thou, world? for God made thee of old; Why, thy faith hath gone out, and thy love grown cold; Thou art not happy, as thou mighteft be, For the want of Chrift's fimplicity. It is blood that thou lackeft, thou poor old world! Who fhall make thy love hot for thee, frozen old world? Thou art not happy, as thou mighteft be, For the love of dear Jesus is little in thee. Poor world! if thou craveft a better day, Frederick Faber. |