Classic Poem

July 11 73

The nations, of the world do reell
What work is now, upon the whell.

Though great storms, yet, we may endure
Thine interest, thou wilt cecure.

The sky is black, & overcast
But thus, it shall not always last.

Thou wilt cause itt, again to clear
And in thy glory, wilt appear.

When all the world's in an uproar
Thy people, they may find a door.

Att which they may, by faith goe in
And shroud themselfs, under thy wing.

The Canopy, of thy great pow'r
Will keep them dry, in'th greatest shoure.

Ther is a faithfull, word wherby
Wee may abide, confidently.

Thy word asures us, that thou wilt
Avenge the bloud, that has been spilt.

By that sad generation
Which doe delight, to feed upon.

The flesh of thine, and drink ther bloud
Thou wilt upon them, pour the floud.

Of pure unmixt, vengeance wherby
Thy great name, thou wilt glorifie.

That shall be read, in history
Which is now write, in prophecy.

That babilon, that city great
Is thrown from her emperyall seat.

And is quite fallen down, & sunk
Who make her self, soe often drunk.

With larg draughts, of the bloud of thine.
As with most sweet, delicious, wine.

The nations, blinded, by this whore
Shall be deceiv'd by her no more.

Thy gospell then must needs shine clear
When her delusions, shall apear.

And be made manifest, to all
The nations, both great, and small.

Oh hasten (Lord), this blessed day
And throw this block, out of the way.

This mistery, of inniquity
Which always, in the way doth ly.

For to apose, thine interest
And of thy glory, thee devest.

Then shall those halalujahs, be
For that, sung out, by thine, to thee.