In evil long I took delight, Unawed by shame or fear, Till a new object struck my sight, And stopped my wild career; I saw One hanging on a Tree In agonies and Blood, Who fixed His languid eyes on me, As near His cross I stood. Sure never till my latest breath Can I forget that look: It seemed to charge me with His death, Though not a word he spoke: My conscience felt and owned the guilt, And plunged me in despair; I saw my sins His blood had spilt, And helped to nail Him there. Alas! I know not what I did! But now my tears are vain: Where shall my trembling soul be hid? For I the Lord have slain! A second look He gave, which said, 'I freely all forgive; The blood is for thy ransom paid; I die, that thou may'st live.' Thus, while His death my sin displays In all its blackest hue, Such is the mystery of grace, It seals my pardon too. With pleasing grief and mournful joy, My spirit now is filled That I should such a life destroy,-- Yet live by Him I killed. WILLIAM COWPER From TABLE TALK [THE POET AND RELIGION] Pity Religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground! The flowers would spring where'er she deigned to stray, And every muse attend her in her way. Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, And many a compliment politely penned, But unattired in that becoming vest Religion weaves for her, and half undressed, Stands in the desert shivering and forlorn, A wintry figure, like a withered thorn. The shelves are full, all other themes are sped, Hackneyed and worn to the last flimsy thread; Satire has long since done his best, and curst And loathsome Ribaldry has done his worst; Fancy has sported all her powers away In tales, in trifles, and in children's play; And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true, Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. 'Twere new indeed to see a bard all fire, Touched with a coal from heaven, assume the lyre, And tell the world, still kindling as he sung, With more than mortal music on his tongue, That He who died below, and reigns above, Inspires the song, and that his name is Love. From CONVERSATION [THE DUBIOUS AND THE POSITIVE]