The burden's heavy, but the back is broad,
The glorious lover is the mighty God.*
Kind bowels yearning in th' eternal Son,
He left his Father's court, his heav'nly throne:
Aside he threw his most divine array,
And wrapt his Godhead in a veil of clay.
Angelic armies, who in glory crown'd,
With joyful harps his awful throne surround,
Down to the crystal frontier of the skyt
To see the Saviour born, did eager fly;
And ever since behold with wonder fresh
Their Sov'reign and our Saviour wrapt in flesh;
Who in his garb did mighty love display,
Restoring what he never took away,
To God his glory, to the law its due,
To heav'n its honor, to the earth its hue,
To man a righteousness divine, complete,
A royal robe to suit the nuptial rite.
He in her favors, whom he lov'd so well,
At once did purchase heav'n and vanquish hell.
Oh! unexampled love! so vast, so strong,
So great, so high, so deep, so broad, so long!
* Isa. ix. 6. † Luke ii. 9-14. + Psalm Ixix. 4.
Can finite thought this ocean huge explore,
Unconscious of a bottom or a shore?
His love admits no parallel, for why,
At one great draught of love he drank hell dry.
No drop of wrathful gall he left behind;
No dreg to witness that he was unkind.
The sword of awful justice pierc'd his side,
That mercy thence might gush upon the bride.
The meritorious labors of his life,
And glorious conquests of his dying strife;
Her debt of doing, suff'ring, both cancell'd,
And broke the bars his lawful captive held.
Down to the ground the hellish host he threw,
Then mounting high the trump of triumph blew,
Attended with a bright seraphic band,
Sat down enthron'd sublime on God's right hand;
Where glorious choirs their various harps employ,
To sound his praises with confed'rate joy.
There he, the bride's strong intercessor, sits,
And thence the blessings of his blood transmits,
Sprinkling all o'er the flaming throne of God,
Pleads for her pardon his atoning blood;
Sends down his holy co-eternal Dove,
To show the wonders of incarnate love,
To woo and win the bride's reluctant heart,
And pierce it with his kindly killing dart;
By gospel light to manifest that now
She has no further with the law to do;
That her new Lord has loos'd the fed'ral tie,
That once hard bound her or to do or die;
That precepts, threats, no single mite can crave.
Thus for her former spouse he digg'd a grave;
The law fast to his cross did nail and pin,
Then bury'd the defunct his tomb within,
That he the lonely widow to himself might win.
BUT, after all, the bride's so malecontent,
No argument save pow'r is prevalent
To bow her will, and gain her heart's consent.
The glorious Prince's suit she disapproves,
The law, her old primordial husband, loves;
Hopeful in its embraces life to have,
Though dead and bury'd in her suitor's grave;
Unable to give life, as once before;
Unfit to be a husband any more.
Yet proudly she the new address disdains,
And all the blest Redeemer's love and pains;
Though now his head, that cruel thorns did wound,
Is with immortal glory circled round;
Archangels at his awful footstool bow,
And drawing love sits smiling on his brow.
Though down he sends in gospel-tidings good
Epistles of his love, sign'd with his blood:
Yet lordly she the royal suit rejects,
Eternal life by legal works affects;
In vain the living seeks among the dead,*
Sues quick'ning comforts in a killing head.
Her dead and bury'd husband has her heart,
Which can nor death remove, nor life impart.
Thus all revolting Adam's blinded race
In their first spouse their hope and comfort place.
They natively expect, if guilt them press,
Salvation by a home-bred righteousness:
They look for favor in JEHOVAH's eyes,
By careful doing all that in them lies.
"Tis still their primary attempt to draw
Their life and comfort from the vet'ran law;
They flee not to the hope the gospel gives;
To trust a promise bare, their minds aggrieves,
Which judge the man that does, the man that lives.
As native as they draw their vital breath,
Their fond recourse is to the legal path.
Why, says old nature in law-wedded man,
"Wont Heav'n be pleas'd, if I do all I can?
If I conform my walk to nature's light,
And strive, intent to practice what is right;
Thus wont I by the God of heav'n be bless'd,
And win his favor if I do my best?
Good God! (he cries) when press'd with debt and
Have patience with me, and I'll pay thee all.*"
Upon their all, their best, they 're fondly mad,
Though yet their all is naught, their best is bad,
Proud man his can does mightily exalts,
Yet are his brightest works but splendid faults.
A sinner may have shows of good, but still
The best he can, ev'n at his best, is ill.
Can Heav'n or divine favor e'er be win
By those that are a mass of hell and sin?
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