Posted by: John Adams | August 22, 2009

Africa

By William Billings

Now shall my inward joys arise,
And burst into a Song;
Almighty Love inspires my Heart,
And Pleasure tunes my Tongue.

God on his thirsty Sion-Hill
Some Mercy-Drops has thrown,
And solemn Oaths have bound his Love
To show’r Salvation down.

Why do we then indulge our Fears,
Suspicions and Complaints?
Is he a God, and shall his Grace
Grow weary of his saints?

Can a kind Woman e’er forget
The Infant of her Womb,
And ‘mongst a thousand tender Thoughts
Her Suckling have no Room?

Yet, saith the Lord, should Nature change,
And Mothers Monsters prove,
Sion still dwells upon the Heart
Of everlasting Love.

Deep on the Palms of both my Hands
I have engrav’d her Name;
My Hands shall raise her ruin’d Walls,
And build her broken Frame.


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