TOPIC:

Can aught below engross my thoughts?
Or am I to the world confined?
Nay, let my pure affections soar
To objects of a nobler kind!

I know I’m but a pilgrim here
That seeks a better, promised land:
Then may I run and never tire,
’Till that celestial home’s obtained.

Resolved to tread the sacred way
That Jesus watered with His blood,
I bend my fixed and cheerful course
On that rough path my Master trod.

Contemptuous of the world I live,
A daily death rejoice to die:
And, while I move and walk below,
My absent heart mounts up on high.

O Light of life, still guide my steps,
Without Thy friendly aid I stray:
Lead me, my God, for I am blind,
Direct me and point out my way.

Let this vain world applaud or frown,
Still may I Heaven’s path pursue:
Still may I stand unshook, and keep
The center of my hopes in view!

What is the world’s good word to me,
If by my God from glory driv’n?
Can it redeem my soul from hell,
Or recompense my loss of Heav’n?

Tho’ Satan, earth, and self oppose,
Yet, through Thy help, I’ll persevere;
To Canaan’s hills my eyes lift up.
And choose my lot and portion there.

The way that leads to glory lies
Through ill report, contempt and loss
Assist me to deny myself,
To follow Thee and bear Thy cross.

Let Satan never come between,
Nor separate my God and me;
But may my soul, in every storm,
Find its sure resting place in Thee.

Augustus M. Toplady, 1740–1778

Behold, the awful day comes on,
When Jesus on His righteous throne
Shall in the clouds appear:
With solemn pomp shall bow the sky,
And, in the twinkling of an eye,
Arraign us at His bar.

But first th’archangel’s trump shall blow,
Our scattered dust its voice shall know,
And quicken at the sound:
The sea shall then give up her dead:
And nations, starting from their bed,
Shall cleave the opening ground.

Who shall withstand His righteous ire,
When Jesus sets the clouds on fire,
And makes the earth retreat?
In vain shall sinners then repent.
When each expiring element,
Shall melt with fervent heat.

The dead in Christ shall first awake,
The faithful few, who, for His sake,
On earth were justified:
Guarded by a seraphic band,
Aloft they mount to His right hand,
In whom they lived and died.

See next the guilty crowd arise.
Beholding, with reluctant eyes,
The glories of the Lamb;
While taunting fiends impatient wait
To hurl them from the judgment seat,
To hell’s eternal flame.

Hark, as they mount, by devils borne,
To meet their judge (on earth their scorn)
Despairingly they cry,
Fall on us, rocks, with all your load,
And screen us from the wrath of God,
And hide us from His eye.

In vain on rocks and hills ye call,
The rocks shall from their bases fall
And know their place no more:
The hills shall melt when God comes down,
And mountains crumble at His frown,
And groan beneath His power.

What thought can paint their black despair,
Who this tremendous sentence hear,
Irrevocably giv’n,
Depart, ye cursèd, into hell,
With everlasting burnings dwell,
Remote from Me and Heav’n?

But, O Thou Savior of mankind,
Display Thy power, and to the blind
Effectual light afford:
Snatch them from unbelief and sin,
And now compel them to come in,
And tremble at Thy Word.

Methinks I hear Thy mercy plead,
The voice of Him that wakes the dead
Doth over sinners mourn:
“Why do ye still your God forget,
And madly hasten to the pit
From whence is no return?

Ye reasoners, make a rational choice;
Listen, in time, to reason’s voice,
Nor dare almighty ire:
Turn, lest the hottest wrath ye feel,
And find, too late, the flames of hell
No metaphoric fire.     

Augustus M. Toplady, 1740–1778

Amplest grace in Thee I find,
Friend and Savior of mankind,
Richest merit to atone
For our sins before the throne.

Well might wondering angels cry,
Glory be to God on high,
Peace on earth, good will to men,
Lost mankind is found again.

Join, my soul, their holy song,
Emulate the brighter throng,
Hail the everlasting Word,
Welcome thy descending Lord.

Grace unequalled, love unknown!
Jesus lays aside His crown,
Clothes Himself with flesh and blood,
Takes the manhood into God.

Augustus M. Toplady, 1740–1778