DESERTION. From the same

Joy of my Soul, when Thou art gone, And I (which cannot be) Alone; (It cannot, Lord! for I on Thee Depend, and Thou abid'st in me.)

But when Thou dost the Sense repress, Th' extatic Influence of thy Grace; Seem to desert thy lov'd Abode, And leave me sunk beneath my Load:

O what a Damp and deadly Shade, What Horrors then my Soul invade! Less ghastly low'rs the gloomiest Night Than the Eclipse that veils thy Light.

O do not, do not thus withdraw, Lest Sin surprize me void of Awe, And when Thou dost but shine less clear, Say boldly, That Thou art not here.

Thou, Lord, and only Thou canst tell How dead the Life which then I feel; Pursu'd by Sin's insulting Boast, That "I may seek—but Thou art lost!"

I half believe (the deadly Cold Does all my Pow'rs so fast infold) That Sin says true. But while I grieve, Again I see thy Face, and Live!