Classic Poem

may 7 73 Faiths triumph, over temptation.

Whilst by temptation, I am tri'd
I shall from drose, be purifi d'

When, thou shalt bring, me forth as gold
Thy meaning I shall then unfold

Ther's no afliction, that doth seem
Joyous, att present, nay we deem

It griveous, although therby
Thou dost refine, and purifie

Tis Sattens busy time, and hee
Will not, one moment, Idle bee

The neerer his time's att an end
The thicker he his darts will send

To keep from heaven hel endevour
Or else he'l send us weeping, thither

Hee is from heaven quite cast down
And envies us the glorious crown

And though he cant us, of it rob
Hee'l make our harts to ake, and throp

He'l represent that to our sight
That may amaize us, and afright

Hee'l raise a mist, before our eyes
And throw such fears, and Jealousys

Of god, and of his love designs
As shall distract, our harts, and minds

Whilst malice he on us doth shoure
God doth make use, of it, to scoure

The saincts, and make them shine more bright
Ere they, to heaven, take their flight

Then from his rage, for ever they
Shall be set free, and still display

The riches of, that grace wherby
They have atain'd, the victory

Oh hasten Lord, that blessed time
When I thy holy hill shall climb

Hee shall not then again molest
But I from him, shall be att rest

I shall be for his reach, too high
No dart of his can thither fly