Olney Hymns (1840)/Poems
POEMS.
THE KITE ; OR, PRIDE MUST HAVE A FALL.
My waking dreams are best conceal d ;
Much folly, little good they yield ;
But now and then I gain, when sleeping,
A friendly hint, that s worth the keeping ;
Lately I dream d of one who cried,
" Beware of self, beware of pride ;
When you are prone to build a Babel,
Recall to mind this little fable."
ONCE on a time a paper kite
Was mounted to a wondrous height,
Where, giddy with its elevation,
It thus express d self-admiration :
"See how yon crowds of gazing people
Admire my flight above the steeple ;
How would they wonder if they knew
All that a kite like me can do ?
Were I but free, I d take a flight,
And pierce the clouds beyond their sight
But, ah ! like a poor pris ner bound,
My string confines me near the ground :
I d brave the eagle s towering wing
Might I but fly without a string."
It tugg d and pull d, while thus it spoke,
To break the string at last it broke.
Deprived at once of all its stay,
In vain it tried to soar away ;
Unable its own weight to bear,
It flutter d downward through the air;
Unable its own course to guide,
The winds soon plunged it in the tide.
Ah ! foolish kite, thou hadst no wing,
How couldst thou fly without a string?
My heart replied, "0 Lord, I see
How much this kite resembles me!
Forgetful that by thee I stand,
Impatient of thy ruling hand ;
How oft I ve wish d to break the lines
Thy wisdom for my lot assigns !
How oft indulged a vain desire
For something more, or something higher !
And, but for grace and love divine,
A fall thus dreadful had been mine."
A THOUGHT ON THE SEA-SIIOKE.
1 IN every object here I see
Something, Lord, that leads to thee :
Firm as the rocks thy promise stands,
Thy mercies countless as the sands,
Thy love a sea immensely wide,
Thy grace an ever-flowing tide.
2 In every object here I see
Something, my heart, that points at thee
Hard as the rocks that bound the strand,
Unfruitful as the barren sand,
Deep and deceitful as the ocean,
And, like the tides, in constant motion.
THE SPIDER AND TOAD.
SOME author (no great matter who,
Provided what he says be true,)
Relates he saw, with hostile rage,
A spider and a toad engage :
For though with poison both are stored.
Each by the other is abhorr'd ;
It seems as if their common venom
Provoked an enmity between'em.
Implacable, malicious, cruel,
Like modern hero in a duel,
The spider darted on his foe,
Infixing death at every blow.
The toad by ready instinct taught,
An antidote, when wounded, sought
From the herb plaintain, growing near,
Well known to toads its virtues rare,
The spider s poison to repel ;
It cropp d the leaf, and soon was well.
This remedy it often tried,
And all the spider s rage defied.
The person who the contest view d,
While yet the battle doubtful stood,
Removed the healing plant away
And thus the spider gain d the day ;
For when the toad return d once more
Wounded, as it had done before,
To seek relief, and found it not,
It swell d and died upon the spot.
In every circumstance but one
(Could that hold too I were undone)
No glass can represent my face
More justly than this tale my case.
The toad s an emblem of my heart,
And Satan acts the spider s part.
EnvenomM by his poison, I
Am often at the point to die ;
But He who hung upon the tree,
From guilt and woe to set me free,
Is like the plaintain leaf to me.
To him my wounded soul repairs,
He knows my pain and hears my pray rs ;
From him I virtue draw by faith,
Which saves me from the jaws of death;
From him fresh life and strength I gain,
And Satan spends his rage in vain.
No secret arts or open force
Can rob me of this sure resource ;
Though banish d to some distant land,
My med cine would be still at hand ;
Though foolish men its worth deny,
Experience gives them all the lie ;
Though Deists and Socinians join,
Jesus still lives, and still is mine.
Tis here the happy difference lies,
My Saviour reigns above the skies,
Yet to my soul is always near,
For he is God, and every where.
His blood a sov reign balm is found
For every grief and every wound ;
And sooner all the hills shall flee
And hide themselves beneath the sea,
Or ocean, starting from its bed,
Rush o er the cloud-topt mountain s head,
The sun, exhausted of its light,
Become the source of endless night,
And ruin spread from pole to pole,
Than Jesus fail the tempted soul.