Psalm 107 part 3
Intemperance punished and pardoned.
Vain man, on foolish pleasures bent,
Prepares for his own punishment;
What pains, what loathsome maladies,
From luxury and lust arise!
The drunkard feels his vitals waste,
Yet drowns his health to please his taste;
Till all his active powers are lost,
And fainting life draws near the dust.
The glutton groans, and loathes to eat,
His soul abhors delicious meat;
Nature, with heavy loads oppressed,
Would yield to death to be released.
Then how the frighted sinners fly
To God for help with earnest cry!
He hears their groans, prolongs their breath,
And saves them from approaching death.
No med'cines could effect the cure
So quick, so easy, or so sure;
The deadly sentence God repeals,
He sends his sovereign word, and heals.
O may the sons of men record
The wondrous goodness of the Lord!
And let their thankful off'rings prove
How they adore their Maker's love
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 6
Complaint in sickness.
In anger, Lord, rebuke me not;
Withdraw the dreadful storm;
Nor let thy fury grow so hot
Against a feeble worm.
My soul's bowed down with heavy cares,
My flesh with pain oppressed;
My couch is witness to my tears,
My tears forbid my rest.
Sorrow and pain wear out my days,
I waste the night with cries,
Counting the minutes as they pass,
Till the slow morning rise.
Shall I be still tormented more?
Mine eye consumed with grief?
How long, my God, how long before
Thine hand afford relief?
He hears when dust and ashes speak,
He pities all our groans;
He saves us for his mercy's sake,
And heals our broken bones.
The virtue of his sovereign word
Restores our fainting breath;
For silent graves praise not the Lord,
Nor is he known in death.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 107 part 2
Correction for sin, and release by prayer.
From age to age exalt his name;
God and his grace are still the same;
He fills the hungry soul with food,
And feeds the poor with every good.
But if their hearts rebel and rise
Against the God that rules the skies;
If they reject his heav'nly word,
And slight the counsels of the Lord
He'll bring their spirits to the ground,
And no deliv'rer shall be found;
Laden with grief, they waste their breath
In darkness and the shades of death.
Then to the Lord they raise their cries;
He makes the dawning light arise,
And scatters all that dismal shade
That hung so heavy round their head.
He cuts the bars of brass in two,
And lets the smiling pris'ners through;
Takes off the load of guilt and grief,
And gives the lab'ring soul relief.
O may the sons of men record
The wondrous goodness of the Lord
How great his works! how kind his ways!
Let every tongue pronounce his praise.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 107 part 4
Deliverance from storms and shipwreck; or, The seaman's song.
Would you behold the works of God,
His wonders in the world abroad,
Go with the mariners, and trace
The unknown regions of the seas.
They leave their native shores behind,
And seize the favor of the wind;
Till God command, and tempests rise
That heave the ocean to the skies.
Now to the heav'ns they mount amain,
Now sink to dreadful deeps again;
What strange affrights young sailors feel,
And like a stagg'ring drunkard reel!
When land is far, and death is nigh,
Lost to all hope, to God they cry;
His mercy hears the loud address,
And sends salvation in distress.
He bids the winds their wrath assuage,
The furious waves forget their rage;
'Tis calm, and sailors smile to see
The haven where they wished to be.
O may the sons of men record
The wondrous goodness of the Lord!
Let them their private off'rings bring,
And in the church his glory sing.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 106 part 2
v.7,8,12ff
S. M.
Israel punished and pardoned; or, God's unchangeable love.
God of eternal love,
How fickle are our ways!
And yet how oft did Isr'el prove
Thy constancy of grace!
They saw thy wonders wrought,
And then thy praise they sung;
But soon thy works of power forgot,
And murmured with their tongue.
Now they believe his word
While rocks with rivers flow;
Now with their lusts provoke the Lord,
And he reduced them low.
Yet when they mourned their faults,
He hearkened to their groans,
Brought his own cov'nant to his thoughts,
And called them still his sons.
Their names were in his book,
He saved them from their foes
Oft he chastised, but ne'er forsook
The people that he chose.
Let Isr'el bless the Lord,
Who loved their ancient race
And Christians join the solemn word,
Amen, to all the praise.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 98
Christ our wisdom, righteousness, etc.
1 Cor. 1:30.
How heavy is the night
That hangs upon our eyes,
Till Christ with his reviving light
Over our souls arise!
Our guilty spirits dread
To meet the wrath of Heav'n;
But, in his righteousness arrayed,
We see our sins forgiv'n.
Unholy and impure
Are all our thoughts and ways;
His hands infected nature cure
With sanctifying grace.
The powers of hell agree
To hold our souls in vain;
He sets the sons of bondage free,
And breaks the cursed chain
Lord, we adore thy ways
To bring us near to God;
Thy sovereign power, thy healing grace,
And thine atoning blood.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 31
Christ's presence makes death easy.
Why should we start, and fear to die
What timorous worms we mortals are!
Death is the gate of endless joy,
And yet we dread to enter there.
The pains, the groans, and dying strife,
Fright our approaching souls away;
Still we shrink back again to life,
Fond of our prison and our clay.
O! if my Lord would come and meet,
My soul should stretch her wings in haste,
Fly fearless through death's iron gate,
Nor feel the terrors as she passed.
Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are,
While on his breast I lean my head,
And breathe my life out sweetly there.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 102 part 2
v.13-21
C. M.
Prayer heard, and Zion restored.
Let Zion and her sons rejoice,
Behold the promised hour;
Her God hath heard her mourning voice,
And comes t' exalt his power.
Her dust and ruins that remain
Are precious in our eyes;
Those ruins shall be built again,
And all that dust shall rise.
The Lord will raise Jerusalem
And stand in glory there;
Nations shall bow before his name,
And kings attend with fear.
He sits a sovereign on his throne,
With pity in his eyes;
He hears the dying pris'ners' groan,
And sees their sighs arise.
He frees the souls condemned to death,
And when his saints complain,
It shan't be said, "That praying breath
Was ever spent in vain."
This shall be known when we are dead,
And left on long record;
That ages yet unborn may read,
And trust, and praise the Lord.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Seven deadly sins
Greed 1
Those who consume more than they need.
Must surely merit punishment.
In time will suffer for their greed.
Those who consume more than they need
With selfishness their only creed
to others peoples detriment.
Those who consume more than the need
must surely merit punishment.
Envy 2
To covet that which you do not have,
leads to a life of misery
best to be content with your lot
To covet that which you have not
for envy of no matter what.
To covet that which you have not,
leads to a life of misery.
Lust 3
Succumb to lust, a foolish game.
A trap into which most may fall.
If pleasure is their only aim.
Succumb to lust a foolish game
an urge, the wise ones try to tame
.For empty pleasures soon must pall.
Succumb to lust a foolish game,
a trap into which most may fall.
Gluttony 4
A glutton will refill his plate
he lives to eat. Not eats to live
His tastes are far from delicate.
A glutton will refill his plate,
his appetite he cannot sate
He eats to prove he is alive.
A glutton will refill his plate
He lives to eat. Not eats to live
Anger. 5
Intemperate he shows his rage.
His wrath conceals his mortal fear.
His fury merely camouflage.
Intemperate he shows his rage.
He acts a part as though on stage,
his lip curled back into a sneer
Intemperate he show his rage,
his wrath conceals his mortal fear
Sloth 6
Procrastination is his way.
A life of slothful idleness,
tomorrow is another day.
Procrastination is his way
I am too tired he will say
when chided for his laziness.
Procrastination is his way
a life of slothful idleness.
Pride 7
He who is proud is sure to fall.
The grave renders all men to dust.
In death all men become equal
He who is proud is sure to fall
Wrapped in sack cloth or silken shawl
All men decay because they must
He who is proud is sure to fall.
The grave renders all men to dust
14-Aug-07
poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Psalm 89 part 6
v.47ff
L. M.
Mortality and hope. A funeral psalm.
Remember, Lord, our mortal state,
How frail our life! how short the date!
Where is the man that draws his breath
Safe from disease, secure from death'?
Lord, while we see whole nations die,
Our flesh and sense repine and cry,
"Must death for ever rage and reign?
Or hast thou made mankind in vain?
"Where is thy promise to the just?
Are not thy servants turned to dust?"
But faith forbids these mournful sighs,
And sees the sleeping dust arise.
That glorious hour, that dreadful day,
Wipes the reproach of saints away,
And clears the honor of thy word:
Awake, our souls, and bless the Lord.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 68 part 3
v.19,9,20-22
L. M.
Praise for temporal blessings; or, Common and special mercies.
We bless the Lord, the just, the good,
Who fills our hearts with joy and food:
Who pours his blessings from the skies,
And loads our days with rich supplies.
He sends the sun his circuit round,
To cheer the fruits, to warm the ground;
He bids the clouds with plenteous rain
Refresh the thirsty earth again.
'Tis to his care we owe our breath,
And all our near escapes from death;
Safety and health to God belong;
He heals the weak, and guards the strong.
He makes the saint and sinner prove
The common blessings of his love;
But the wide diff'rence that remains,
Is endless joy, or endless pains.
The Lord, that bruised the serpent's head,
On all the serpent's seed shall tread;
The stubborn sinner's hope confound,
And smite him with a lasting wound.
But his right hand his saints shall raise
From the deep earth, or deeper seas,
And bring them to his courts above;
There shall they taste his special love.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 103 part 1
v.1-7
L. M.
Blessing God for his goodness to soul and body.
Bless, O my soul, the living God,
Call home thy thoughts that rove abroad;
Let all the powers within me join
In work and worship so divine.
Bless, O my soul, the God of grace;
His favors claim thy highest praise:
Why should the wonders he hath wrought
Be lost in silence and forgot?
'Tis he, my soul, that sent his Son
To die for crimes which thou hast done;
He owns the ransom, and forgives
The hourly follies of our lives.
The vices of the mind he heals,
And cures the pains that nature feels
Redeems the soul from hell, and saves
Our wasting life from threat'ning graves.
Our youth decayed, his power repairs;
His mercy crowns our growing years;
He satisfies our mouth with good,
And fills our hopes with heav'nly food.
He sees th' oppressor and th' oppressed,
And often gives the suff'rers rest;
But will his justice more display
In the last great rewarding day.
[His power he showed by Moses' hands,
And gave to Isr'el his commands;
But sent his truth and mercy down
To all the nations by his Son.
Let the whole earth his power confess,
Let the whole earth adore his grace;
The Gentile with the Jew shall join
In work and worship so divine.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 119 part 16
Prayer for quickening grace.
ver. 25,37
My soul lies cleaving to the dust;
Lord, give me life divine;
From vain desires and every lust
Turn off these eyes of mine.
I need the influence of thy grace
To speed me in thy way,
Lest I should loiter in my race,
Or turn my feet astray.
ver. 107
When sore afflictions press me down,
I need thy quick'ning powers;
Thy word that I have rested on
Shall help my heaviest hours.
ver. 156,40
Are not thy mercies sovereign still,
And thou a faithful God?
Wilt thou not grant me warmer zeal
To run the heav'nly road?
ver. 159,40
Does not my heart thy precepts love,
And long to see thy face?
And yet how slow my spirits move
Without enliv'ning grace!
ver. 93
Then shall I love thy gospel more,
And ne'er forget thy word,
When I have felt its quick'ning power,
To draw me near the Lord.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 78 part 3
The punishment of luxury and intemperance.
When Isr'el sins, the Lord reproves
And fills their hearts with dread;
Yet he forgives the men he loves,
And sends them heav'nly bread.
He fed them with a lib'ral hand,
And made his treasures known;
He gave the midnight clouds command
To pour provision down.
The manna, like a morning shower,
Lay thick around their feet
The corn of heav'n, so light, so pure,
As though 'twere angels' meat.
But they in murm'ring language said,
"Manna is all our feast;
We loathe this light, this airy bread;
We must have flesh to taste."
"Ye shall have flesh to please your lust,"
The Lord in wrath replied,
And sent them quails like sand or dust,
Heaped up from side to side.
He gave them all their own desire,
And greedy as they fed,
His vengeance burnt with secret fire,
And smote the rebels dead.
When some were slain, the rest returned
And sought the Lord with tears;
Under the rod they feared and mourned,
But soon forgot their fears.
Oft he chastised and still forgave,
Till, by his gracious hand,
The nation he resolved to save
Possessed the promised land.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 35 part 1
Faith the way to salvation.
Rom. 1:16; Eph. 2:8,9.
Not by the laws of innocence
Can Adam's sons arrive at heav'n;
New works can give us no pretence
To have our ancient sins forgiv'n.
Not the best deeds that we have done
Can make a wounded conscience whole;
Faith is the grace, and faith alone,
That flies to Christ, and saves the soul.
Lord, I believe thy heav'nly word,
Fain would I have my soul renewed;
I mourn for sin, and trust the Lord
To have it pardoned and subdued.
O may thy grace its power display,
Let guilt and death no longer reign;
Save me in thine appointed way,
Nor let my humble faith be vain.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 146
Praise to God for his goodness and truth.
Praise ye the Lord, my heart shall join
In work so pleasant, so divine;
Now, while the flesh is mine abode,
And when my soul ascends to God.
Praise shall employ my noblest powers,
While immortality endures;
My days of praise shall ne'er be past,
While life, and thought, and being last.
Why should I make a man my trust?
Princes must die and turn to dust;
Their breath departs, their pomp, and power,
And thoughts, all vanish in an hour.
Happy the man whose hopes rely
On Isr'el's God; he made the sky,
And earth, and seas, with all their train,
And none shall find his promise vain.
His truth for ever stands secure;
He saves th' oppressed, he feeds the poor;
He sends the lab'ring conscience peace,
And grants the pris'ner sweet release.
The Lord hath eyes to give the blind;
The Lord supports the sinking mind;
He helps the stranger in distress,
The widow and the fatherless.
He loves his saints, he knows them well,
But turns the wicked down to hell:
Thy God, O Zion! ever reigns;
Praise him in everlasting strains.
poem by Isaac Watts
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To A Lady On The Death Of Her Husband
GRIM monarch! see, depriv'd of vital breath,
A young physician in the dust of death:
Dost thou go on incessant to destroy,
Our griefs to double, and lay waste our joy?
Enough thou never yet wast known to say,
Though millions die, the vassals of thy sway:
Nor youth, nor science, not the ties of love,
Nor ought on earth thy flinty heart can move.
The friend, the spouse from his dire dart to save,
In vain we ask the sovereign of the grave.
Fair mourner, there see thy lov'd Leonard laid,
And o'er him spread the deep impervious shade.
Clos'd are his eyes, and heavy fetters keep
His senses bound in never-waking sleep,
Till time shall cease, till many a starry world
Shall fall from heav'n, in dire confusion hurl'd
Till nature in her final wreck shall lie,
And her last groan shall rend the azure sky:
Not, not till then his active soul shall claim
His body, a divine immortal frame.
But see the softly-stealing tears apace
Pursue each other down the mourner's face;
But cease thy tears, bid ev'ry sigh depart,
And cast the load of anguish from thine heart:
From the cold shell of his great soul arise,
And look beyond, thou native of the skies;
There fix thy view, where fleeter than the wind
Thy Leonard mounts, and leaves the earth behind.
Thyself prepare to pass the vale of night
To join for ever on the hills of light:
To thine embrace this joyful spirit moves
To thee, the partner of his earthly loves;
He welcomes thee to pleasures more refin'd,
And better suited to th' immortal mind.
poem by Phillis Wheatley
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Psalm 69 part 2
v.14-21,26,29,32
C. M.
The passion and exaltation of Christ.
Now let our lips with holy fear
And mournful pleasure sing
The suff'rings of our great High Priest,
The sorrows of our King.
He sinks in floods of deep distress;
How high the waters rise!
While to his heav'nly Father's ear
He sends perpetual cries.
"Hear me, O Lord, and save thy Son,
Nor hide thy shining face;
Why should thy fav'rite look like one
Forsaken of thy grace?
"With rage they persecute the man
That groans beneath thy wound,
While for a sacrifice I pour
My life upon the ground.
"They tread my honor to the dust,
And laugh when I complain;
Their sharp insulting slanders add
Fresh anguish to my pain.
"All my reproach is known to thee,
The scandal and the shame
Reproach has broke my bleeding heart,
And lies defiled my name.
"I looked for pity, but in vain;
My kindred are my grief:
I ask my friends for comfort round,
But meet with no relief.
"With vinegar they mock my thirst,
They give me gall for food;
And sporting with my dying groans,
They triumph in my blood.
"Shine into my distressed soul,
Let thy compassions save;
And though my flesh sink down to death,
Redeem it from the grave.
"I shall arise to praise thy name,
Shall reign in worlds unknown;
And thy salvation, O my God,
Shall seat me on thy throne."
poem by Isaac Watts
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D.e.a.t.h
The death is calling for you dear,
Your heart trembles in fear,
The soul starts to cries and shiver,
Bit by bit the body gain suffer,
Tumble around for death is a pain,
Struggling to live your effort is in vain,
Your body is a rotting meat you want to live?
Fools can cure death and you fools believe,
Acting foolish to avoid the death,
Planning to live till the aftermath,
To fools the plan is a flawless sound,
But death shall eat you like a flawless hound,
Just endure and not to cry,
All you can do is say goodbye.
Ah, how sweet it is to love!
AH, how sweet it is to love!
Ah, how gay is young Desire!
And what pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach Love's fire!
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.
Sighs which are from lovers blown
Do but gently heave the heart:
Ev'n the tears they shed alone
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart:
Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Bleed away in easy death.
Love and Time with reverence use,
Treat them like a parting friend;
Nor the golden gifts refuse
Which in youth sincere they send:
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.
Love, like spring-tides full and high,
Swells in every youthful vein;
But each tide does less supply,
Till they quite shrink in again:
If a flow in age appear,
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.
poem by John Dryden
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The Kiss of Death
I
There she lay
Her soul astray
Her cruel lips
Where my soul slips
Into the taste of death
To find her breath
The breath of pain,
Where souls are slain
Death does not kill pain!
It lives in the one who suffer from it.
II
Death is the ultimate symbol of life
Its deadly kiss pierces harder
Than the plunge of a sharpen knife….
Death comes to us all
We know not when
Or where death will call
So our souls
Slowly slip
Into death's kiss
On her lip
Where we slowly sip
Death's dead breath
The kiss of Death
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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