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| I LOVE thy kingdom, Lord, |
| The house of thine abode, |
| The church our blest Redeemer saved |
| With his own precious blood. |
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| I love thy church, O God! |
| Her walls before thee stand, |
| Dear as the apple of thine eye, |
| And graven on thy hand. |
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| If e’er to bless thy sons |
| My voice or hands deny, |
| These hands let useful skill forsake, |
| This voice in silence die. |
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| For her my tears shall fall, |
| For her my prayers ascend; |
| To her my cares and toils be given |
| Till toils and cares shall end. |
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| Beyond my highest joy |
| I prize her heavenly ways, |
| Her sweet communion, solemn vows, |
| Her hymns of love and praise. |
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| Jesus, thou friend divine, |
| Our Saviour and our King, |
| Thy hand from every snare and foe |
| Shall great deliverance bring. |
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| Sure as thy truth shall last, |
| To Zion shall be given |
| The brightest glories earth can yield, |
| And brighter bliss of heaven. |
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| The Smooth Divine |
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| THERE smiled the smooth Divine, unused to wound |
| The sinner’s heart with hell’s alarming sound. |
| No terrors on his gentle tongue attend; |
| No grating truths the nicest ear offend. |
| That strange new-birth, that methodistic grace, |
| Nor in his heart nor sermons found a place. |
| Plato’s fine tales he clumsily retold, |
| Trite, fireside, moral seesaws, dull as old,— |
| His Christ and Bible placed at good remove, |
| Guilt hell-deserving, and forgiving love. |
| ’T was best, he said, mankind should cease to sin: |
| Good fame required it; so did peace within. |
| Their honors, well he knew, would ne’er be driven; |
| But hoped they still would please to go to heaven. |
| Each week he paid his visitation dues; |
| Coaxed, jested, laughed; rehearsed the private news; |
| Smoked with each goody, thought her cheese excelled; |
| Her pipe he lighted, and her baby held. |
| Or placed in some great town, with lacquered shoes, |
| Trim wig, and trimmer gown, and glistening hose, |
| He bowed, talked politics, learned manners mild, |
| Most meekly questioned, and most smoothly smiled; |
| At rich men’s jests laughed loud, their stories praised, |
| Their wives’ new patterns gazed, and gazed, and gazed; |
| Most daintily on pampered turkeys dined, |
| Nor shrunk with fasting, nor with study pined: |
| Yet from their churches saw his brethren driven, |
| Who thundered truth, and spoke the voice of heaven, |
| Chilled trembling guilt in Satan’s headlong path, |
| Charmed the feet back, and roused the ear of death. |
| “Let fools,” he cried, “starve on, while prudent I |
| Snug in my nest shall live, and snug shall die.” |
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