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Read Ebook: Divine Songs by Watts Isaac
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Ebook has 96 lines and 11170 words, and 2 pages
Transcriber's Note.
Song 3. The Rose. 12,8,12,8
How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flower! The glory of April and May: But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, And they wither and die in a day.
Yet the Rose has one powerful virtue to boast, Above all the flowers of the field! When its leaves are all dead and fine colours are lost, Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!
So frail is the youth and the beauty of man, Though they bloom and look gay like the Rose; But all our fond care to preserve them is vain, Time kills them as fast as he goes.
Then I'll not be proud of my youth and my beauty, Since both of them wither and fade; But gain a good name by well doing my duty: This will scent like a Rose when I'm dead.
Song 4. The thief 8,7,8,7
Why should I deprive my neighbour Of his goods against his will? Hands were made for honest labour, Not to plunder, or to steal.
All that's ever got by thieving Turns to sorrow, shame, and pain.
Have not Eve and Adam taught us Their sad profit to compute, To what dismal state they brought us When they stole forbidden fruit?
Oft we see a young beginner Practice little pilfering ways, Till grown up a harden'd sinner, Then the gallows ends his days.
Theft will not be always hidden, Though we fancy none can spy: When we take a thing forbidden, God beholds it with his eye.
Guard my heart, O God of heaven, Lest I covet what's not mine; Lest I steal what is not given, Guard my heart and hands from sin.
Song 5. The ant, or emmet. 11,11,8,11,11,8
These Emmets, how little they are in our eyes! We tread them to dust, and a troop of them dies, Without our regard or concern: Yet, as wise as we are, if we went to their school, There's many a sluggard and many a fool Some lessons of wisdom might learn.
They wear not their time out in sleeping or play, But gather up corn in a sunshiny day, And for winter they lay up their stores: They manage their work in such regular forms, One would think they foresaw all the frosts and the storms, And so brought their food withindoors.
But I have less sense than a poor creeping Ant, If I take not due care for the things I shall want, Nor provide against dangers in time; When death or old age shall once stare in my face, What a wretch shall I be in the end of my days, If I trifle away all their prime!
Now, now, while my strength and my youth are in bloom, Let me think what shall serve me when sickness shall come, And pray that my sins be forgiven. Let me read in good books, and believe, and obey; That, when death turns me out of this cottage of clay, I may dwell in a palace in heaven.
Song 6. Good resolutions. 7,8,7,8
Though I'm now in younger days, Nor can tell what shall befall me, I'll prepare for every place Where my growing age shall call me.
Should I e'er be rich or great, Others shall partake my goodness: I'll supply the poor with meat, Never showing scorn or rudeness.
Where I see the blind or lame, Deaf or dumb, I'll kindly treat them: I deserve to feel the same, If I mock, or hurt, or cheat them.
When I hear them telling lies, Talking foolish, cursing, swearing, First I'll try to make them wise, Or I'll soon go out of hearing.
What though I be low or mean, I'll engage the rich to love me, While I'm modest, neat, and clean, And submit when they reprove me.
If I should be poor and sick, I shall meet, I hope, with pity; Since I love to help the weak, Though they're neither fair nor witty.
I'll not willingly offend, Nor be easily offended: What's amiss I'll strive to mend, And endure what can't be mended.
May I be so watchful still O'er my humours and my passion, As to speak and do no ill, Though it should be all the fashion.
Wicked fashions lead to hell; Ne'er may I be found complying; But in life behave so well, Not to be afraid of dying.
Song 7. Summer's evening. 11,11,11,9
How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun! How lovely and joyful the course that he run; Though he rose in a mist when his race he begun, And there followed some droppings of rain: But now the fair traveller's come to the west, His rays are all gold, and his beauties are best; He paints the skies gay as he sinks to his rest, And foretells a bright rising again.
Just such is the Christian. His course he begins Like the sun in a mist, while he mourns for his sins, And melts into tears! then he breaks out and shines, And travels his heavenly way: But when he comes nearer to finish his race, Like a fine setting sun, he looks richer in grace; And gives a sure hope, at the end of his days, Of rising in brighter array.
Song 8. Cradle hymn. 8,7,8,7
Hush, my dear! Lie still, and slumber! Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings, without number, Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe! thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied.
How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven he descended, And became a child like thee!
Soft and easy is thy cradle: Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When his birthplace was a stable, And his softest bed was hay.
Blessed Babe! what glorious features,-- Spotless fair, divinely bright! Must he dwell with brutal creatures? How could angels bear the sight?
Was there nothing but a manger Cursed sinners could afford, To receive the heavenly stranger? Did they thus affront the Lord?
Soft, my child! I did not chide thee, Though my song might sound too hard: 'Tis thy mother sits beside thee, And her arm shall be thy guard.
Yet to read the shameful story. How the Jews received their King, How they served the Lord of Glory, Makes me angry while I sing.
See the kinder shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky! Where hey sought him, there they found him, With his Virgin-mother by.
See the lovely Babe a-dressing: Lovely infant, how he smiled! When he wept, his mother's blessing Sooth'd and hush'd the holy Child.
Lo, he slumbers in a manger, Where the horned oxen fed!-- Peace, my darling, here's no danger: There's no ox a-near thy bed.
'Twas so save thee, child, from dying, Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans and endless crying, That thy blest Redeemer came.
May'st thou live to know and fear him, Trust and love him all thy days, Then go dwell for ever near him: See his face, and sing his praise!
I could give thee thousand kisses! Hoping what I most desire, Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire!
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