Soul Inspiring Poems

Be gone, ye gilded vanities,
I seek substantial good:
To real bliss my wishes rise—
The favour of my God.

Thy smiles immortal joys impart,
Heaven dawns in ev'ry ray;
One glimpse of thee will cheer my heart,
And turn my night to day.

Not all the good which earth bestows
Can fill the craving mind:
Its highest joys have mingled woes,
And leave a sting behind.

Should boundless wealth increase my store,
Can wealth my cares beguile?
I should be wretched still, and poor,
Without thy blissful smile.

Let the sweet hope that thou art mine,
My life and death attend;
Thy presence through my journey shine,
And crown my journey's end.

Grant, O my Father and my God,
This sweet, this one request;
Be thou my guide to thine abode,
And mine eternal rest.
                        Mrs. Anne Steele
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In vain the giddy world inquires,
Forgetful of their God,
“Who will supply our vast desires,
Or show us any good?”

Through the wide circuit of the earth,
Their eager wishes rove,
In chase of honour, wealth, and mirth,
The phantoms of their love.

But oft these shadowy joys elude
Their most intense pursuit:
Or, if they seize the fancied good,
There’s poison in the fruit.

Lord, from this world, call off my love,
Set my affections right;
Bid me aspire to joys above,
And walk no more by sight.

O let the glories of thy face,
Upon my bosom shine;
Assur’d of thy forgiving grace,
My joys will be divine.
                Needham
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I ask’d the Lord that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace,
Might more of his salvation know,
And seek more earnestly his face.

‘Twas he who taught me thus to pray,
And he, I trust, has answer’d prayer;
But it has been in such a way
As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favour’d hour,
At once he’d answer my request,
And by his love’s constraining power,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, he made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart,
And let the angry powers of hell
Assault my soul in every part.

Yea, more, with his own hand he seem’d
Intent to aggravate my woe,
Cross’d all the fair designs I schem’d,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

“Lord, why is this?” I trembling cried:
“Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?”
“‘Tis in this way,” the Lord replied,
“I answer prayer for grace and faith!

“These inward trials I employ,
From self and pride to set thee free:
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou mayest seek thy all in me.”
                                   John Newton
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Oft have I turn’d my eye within,
And brought to light some latent sin;
But pride, the vice I most detest,
Still lurks securely in my breast.

Here with a thousand arts she tries
To dress me in a fair disguise,
To make a guilty, wretched worm,
Put on an angel’s brightest form.

She hides my follies from mine eyes,
And lifts my virtues to the skies;
And, while the specious tale she tells
Her own deformity conceals.

Rend, O my God, the veil away,
Bring forth the monster to the day;
Expose her hideous form to view,
And all her restless power subdue.

So shall humility divine
Again possess this heart of mine;
And form a temple for my God,
Which he will make his lov’d abode.
                         Dr. S. Stennett