On God

What tho' no object strike upon the sight, Thy sacred presence is an inward light. What tho' no sound shall penetrate the ear, To list'ning faith the voice of truth is clear. Sincere devotion wants no outward shrine, The centre of an humble soul is thine. There may I worship, and there may'st thou raise Thy seat of glory, and thy throne of grace; Yea, fix (if Christ my advocate appear) The strict tribunal of thy justice there. Let each vain thought, and each impure desire, Meet in thy wrath with a consuming fire. Thou too canst raise (tho' punishing for sin) The joys of peaceful penitence within; Thy justice and thy mercy both are sweet; Thou mak'st our sufferings and salvation meet. Befal me then, whatever God shall please, His wounds are healing and his griefs give ease; He is the true physician of the soul, Applies the med'cine that can make it whole. I'll do, I'll suffer, whatsoe'er he wills; I see his aim thro' all these transient ills: 'Tis to ensure a salutary grief, To fit the mind to absolute relief; Till purg'd from ev'ry false and finite love, Dead to the world, alive to things above; The soul renew'd, as in its first form'd youth, Shall worship God in spirit and in truth.