Томас Парнелл (Thomas Parnell)

The Convert's Love

Blessed Light of saints on high
Who fill the mansions of the sky,
Sure defence, whose mercy still
Preserves thy subjects here from ill,
O my Jesus! make me know
How to pay the thanks I owe.

As the fond sheep that id'ly strays
With wanton play thro' winding ways,
Which never hits the road of home,
O'er Wilds of danger learns to roam,
'Till weari'd out with idle fear
And passing there and turning here,
He will for rest to covert run
And meet the wolf he wish'd to shun;
Thus wretched I, thro' wanton will
Run blind and headlong on in ill:
'Twas thus from sin to sin I flew
And thus I might have perish'd too;
But mercy dropt the likeness here
And shew'd and sav'd me from my fear;
While o'er the darkness of my mind
The sacred spirit purely shin'd,
And mark'd and bright'ned all the way
Which leads to everlasting day,
And broke the thick'ning clouds of sin
And fix'd the light of love within.

From hence my ravish'd soul aspires
And dates the rise of its desires.
From hence to thee my God! I turn,
And fervent wishes say I burn,
I burn thy glorious face to see
And live in endless joy with thee.

There's no such ardent kind of flame
Between the lover and the dame,
Nor such affection parents bear
To their young and only heir,
Tho' join'd together both conspire
And boast a doubled force of fire.
My tender heart within its seat
Dissolves before the scorching heat,
As soft'ning wax is taught to run
Before the warmness of the sun.

O my flame my pleasing pain
Burn and purify my stain,
Warm me, burn me, day by day
'Till you purge my earth away,
'Till at the last I throughly shine
And turn a torch of love divine. 

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