I heard rash sceptics, scoffing at thy truth,
Deride thy Gospel, and thy deeds revile,
As the false tales of an impostor's guile:
Blest! that no impious wit had power to blind
Thy dawn of favour in my opening mind!
There, in maturer seasons, grief, and pain,
As heavenly agents, have confirmed thy reign.
My spirit's guardian! soother of my woes!
Still of my chequer'd days illume the close!
All mortals feel, their trespasses require
An Intercessor with th' eternal Sire;
And on their minds thy cheering favours shine,
Who feel, thou art an arbiter divine;
Who thy dominion o'er the soul confess,
And, as their final Judge, thy Godhead bless!
Deign to befriend me in my dying hour!
Thou clear Vicegerent of thy Father's power!
And, while, within a grateful heart, I own
My hopes to view Thee on thy heavenly throne.
With all thy merits on my soul imprest,
May faith's firm wings convey me to thy breast!
Such, friendly disputant of studious mind!
Ever to good, in active life, inclind!
Such are my thoughts, my views, my hopes, my creed,
Adverse, I own, to those, for which you plead!
And which, to speak without reserve, I deem
A rash surmise, a dark Socinian dream!
Tho' tenets diversely our fancy strike,
May both, in purity of heart alike,
Still trust the hope, to that endowment given,