Classic Poem

Too many, Lord , abuse thy grace,
In this licentious day;
And while they boast they see thy face,
They turn their own away.

Thy Book displays a gracious light
That can the blind restore;
But these are dazzled by the sight,
And blinded still the more.

The pardon, such presume upon,
They do not beg, but steal;
And when they plead it at thy throne,
Oh, where's the Spirit's seal?

Was it for this, ye lawless tribe,
The dear Redeemer bled;
Is this the grace the saints imbibe
From C HRIST the living head?

Ah Lord , we know thy chosen few
Are fed with heav'nly fare;
But these, the wretched husks they chew,
Proclaim them what they are.

The liberty our hearts implore
Is not to live in sin;
But still to wait at Wisdom's door,
Till Mercy calls us in.