Of those sweet joys which do abound
In yon bright world of Glory,
Where I shall hear the blissful sound
Of that delightful Story,
How Jesus did our cause engage,
When he left Heaven's portal,
And stooped to conquer hellish rage,
In weakness like a mortal.
How he fulfilled in its demands
The Law that we had broken;
How God exacted at his hands
The strongest, clearest token
Of matchless Love, so that He gave
His life's blood for transgression,
And left the confines of the grave
In glorious Resurrection.
ACROSTICS.
I.——TO MR. J. P——N, IN THE STATE OF MISSOURI, 1841.
The dolorous cry, from far was heard
How groaned poor Afric's sable sons.
Our hearts with pity moved, we feared
Much evil by the monster done.
Ask ye his name? 'Tis slavery dire,
So big with crime, so red with gore.
Could Christians feel his dreadful ire
Oh how they'd wish he was no more.
Would they not send to Heaven this prayer?
Hear thou on high, O God of love;
Ere time be long thine arm make bare.
Rend him with judgment from above;
Down from his seat hurl him to dwell.
Built round with walls of fire in hell.
Raise thy strong arm and fix him deep.
Add this: in anguish make him weep.
Now hell, make room in thy domains,
This dreadful foe will soon no more
Firm bind poor slaves in galling chains,
Or lash their backs till flows their gore.
Remorseless still, he cares not for their fate,
Doom speedy, therefore, should on him await.