Classic Poem

The soull by faith, triumphing over saten, & rejoycing in hopes of future freedome. through Christ alone.

Oh what a reall comfort tis
To think, though Saten, doth here tempt
and seek to foyle
tis but a while
And I shall be, for e're exempt
From all thosse subtletys, of his

In duty here, he will not rest
But att mine elbow, he doth stand
my soull to vex
and it perplex
But when climb'd to the holy land
Hee shall me then, no more molest

He doth whilst here, still evermore
Throw in his fire brands ore the wall
for to enflame
and play his game
But thou shalt with him quite each score
When Christ shall set thee free, from thrall