"Dependence."

By William Cowper

To keep the lamp alive, 
With oil we fill the bowl; 
'Tis water makes the willow thrive, 
And grace that feeds the soul. 

The Lord's unsparing hand 
Supplies the living stream; 
It is not at our own command, 
But still derived from Him. 

Beware of Peter's word, 
Nor confidently say, 
"I never will deny Thee, Lord," -- 
But, -- "Grant I never may." 

Man's wisdom is to seek 
His strength in God alone; 
And e'en an angel would be weak, 
Who trusted in his own. 

Retreat beneath his wings, 
And in His grace confide! 
This more exalts the King of kings 
Than all your works beside. 

"Contentment."

(Phillipians, iv.11) By William Cowper

Fierce passions discompose the mind, 
As tempests vex the sea, 
But calm, content and peace we find, 
When, Lord, we turn to Thee. 

In vain by reason and by rule 
We try to bend the will; 
For none but in the Saviour's school 
Can learn the heavenly skill. 

Since at His feet my soul has sate, 
His gracious words to hear, 
Contented with my present state, 
I cast on Him my care. 

"Art thou a sinner, soul?" He said, 
"Then how canst thou complain? 
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd 
With everlasting pain! 

"If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured, 
Compare thy griefs with mine! 
Think what my love for thee endured, 
And thou wilt not repine. 

"'Tis I appoint thy daily lot, 
And I do all things well; 
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot, 
And rise with me to dwell. 

"In life my grace shall strength supply, 
Proportion'd to thy day; 
At death thou still shalt find me nigh, 
To wipe thy tears away." 

Thus I, who once my wretched days 
In vain repinings spent, 
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace, 
Have learnt to be content. 

"Gratitude."

By William Cowper

All are indebted much to thee,

But I far more than all,

From many a deadly snare set free,

And raised from many a fall.

Overwhelm me, from above,

Daily, with thy boundless love.

What bonds of gratitude I feel

No language can declare;

Beneath the oppressive weight I reel,

'Tis more than I can bear:

When shall I that blessing prove,

To return thee love for love?

Spirit of charity, dispense

Thy grace to every heart;

Expel all other spirits thence,

Drive self from every part;

Charity divine, draw nigh,

Break the chains in which we lie!

All selfish souls, whate'er they feign,

Have still a slavish lot;

They boast of liberty in vain,

Of love, and feel it not.

He whose bosom glows with thee,

He, and he alone, is free.

Oh blessedness, all bliss above,

When thy pure fires prevail!

Love only teaches what is love:

All other lessons fail:

We learn its name, but not its powers,

Experience only makes it ours. 

"I will praise the Lord at all times."

By William Cowper

Winter has a joy for me, 
While the Saviour's charms I red, Lowly, meek, from blemish free, In the snowdrop's pensive head. 

Spring returns, and brings along 
Life-invigorating suns:
Hark! the turtle's plaintive song
Seems to speak His dying groans!

Summer has a thousand charms,
All expressive of His worth;
'Tis His sun that lights and warms,
His the air the cools the earth.

What! has autumn left to say
Nothing of a Saviour's grace?
Yes, the beams of milder day
Tell me of his smiling face.

Light appears with early dawn,
While the sun makes haste to rise;
See His bleeding beauties drawn
On the blushes of the skies.

Evening with a silent pace,
Slowly moving in the west,
Shews an emblem of His grace,
Points to an eternal rest.