Classic Poem

Satens malice, and the saincts victory

The livly Christian, doth alarm hell
And bring the devill, mad out of his cell
Hee's forct to come, out of his den to see
What is the news, be cannot quiet bee
Let him but see, a Christian march apace
And he'l opose him, to his very face
And call about him, all the pow'rs of hell
To see if he, the pow'r of grace can quell
But god will hear us, when we cry, and quell
And has laid help on one, mighty to save
A legion of these devils, cant withstand
His word, when he from us doth them comand
This serpents rage, and malice, is restrain'd
By him that has this roaring Lion, chain'd
On foot beyound his chain, he can not step
His bounderys he cannot overleap
This serpents head, itt is allready crusht
And into heaven, he can never thurst
How may we here, admire the pow'r of god
Whilst Saten, doth design, combine, & plod
Which way, he may, us surely overthrow
He overshoots him, still in his own bow
He dogs us att our heels, continually
But god doth gaurd us, with his wacthfull eye
Were we not kept, by thine almighty pow'r
This greedy Lion, would us soon devour
This murderor, of soulls doth hunt for bloud
And sendeth still, out of his mouth a floud
Of new temptations, & perplexetys
Which makes us run, to god with ernest crys
Who will not faill, to succour us when we
Through Christ, by faith, away to him do flee
How may we here, break forth in holy praise
And long our halalujahs, for to raise
Among the sinlese, sweet, redeemed ones
Who ar out of his reach, upon their thrones
Giving, blessing, praise, honour, and renown.
To him that doth their heads, with victory crown