Classic Poem

O thou that hearest Prayer, unto thee shall all flesh come.

With calm attention lo! I heard,
My heart the sage divine rever'd,
While he with holy zeal explain'd
The gracious words the text contain'd.
I'll bid the muse the theme prolong,
And form the substance in a song.

To G OD the L ORD shall man repair
By public and by private pray'r;
Thus humbly his dependance own
On thee, thou infinite, unknown.
Where two or three are met in pray'r;
Lo! G OD hath promis'd to be there;
He's there a present help to bless,
Crown each petition with success,
Or in his wiser way our wants redress.

If warm'd by pure devotion's fire,
We to our closet should retire;
There, unperceiv'd by human eye,
Pour fourth to G OD our plaintive cry,
Or send before the throne a contrite sigh;
Lo! he'll on wings of love descend,
And to our various wants attend.
Here we may get our hearts renew'd,
And each unruly lust subdu'd:
Here virtue draw from J ESU'S blood,
And hold sweet intercourse with G OD :
Here we may all our griefs reveal,
Nor one beloved sin conceal;
For, 'ere we speak, Omniscience knows
What all our words and tears disclose?
Then some celestial cordial gives,
And lo the contrite sinner lives.

Not all the wealth the Indies own,
Crowns, or the most exalted throne,
Should counterpoise the bliss of pray'r,
When G OD is by his presence there.
In pray'r seraphic joys we find,
Which quite transform the earthly mind.
The man who always, 'ere he pray'd,
From the bright path of duty stray'd,
Lo! now he gladly runs therein,
And hates the garments stain'd by sin.

This change is in himself alone,
For changes are to G OD unknown;
(Fixt as his own eternal name)
To-day and yesterday the same:
With endless glory to reward
Each humble follower of the Lord;
And fix'd his purpose to disdain
The soul who will in sin remain;
Who slights the offers of his grace,
And never bows to seek his face.

As soon may man by air exist,
Or brutes without their food subsist;
The feather'd warblers live in floods,
Or the finn'd tribes amid the woods;
As soon may Satan burn with love,
Or G OD a fount of envy prove,
As shall the soul to heav'n ascend,
Who without pray'r his days shall end.

When man has misimprov'd his time,
And spent his youth, and health, and prime,
Only his G OD to disobey;
When death advances, he may pray:
But then his pray'r may be in vain,
G OD justly may his suit disdain.
He may, 'tis true, his grace extend,
And ev'n in death commence his friend.
So let the dying not despair,
But oh! let all the living fear;
For, on an awful chance depends
A world of bliss, that never ends.
G OD may accept, — and he may not —
He may thy name for ever blot
Out of his book of life divine,
And thy sad soul to hell consign.

Then form your hearts, in health, to pray,
Not let appearances dismay
Your seeking souls: — Though good men lie
On beds of languishment, and die;
And though the wicked seem to rise
On tow'ring pinions to the skies,
Think not the just has no reward,
Or is forgotten by his L ORD ,
Or that his wrath does not remain
On those who do his grace disdain;
The wicked lives but to fulfil
The direful measure of his ill;
Each day still makes the sinner worse,
And life by sin becomes a curse;
The greater his iniquity,
The more his punishment will be.
The good man dies, leaves earth and pain,
A crown of glory to obtain;
And if through life G OD try'd his grace,
'Twas but his glory to increase.

Let man before his G OD be still,
Pray with submission to his will:
If what we ask be for our good,
'Twill not be by our L ORD withstood;
But if he e'er our suit denies
'Twas wrong — for he's immensely wise.
Nature would ask for health and rest,
When pain and sickness may be best;
Our drossy nature to refine; —
If so, be pain and sickness mine.
The chast'ning rod I'll ne'er dispise,
'Tis a rich blessing in disguise.

Be thus resign'd and passive found,
In works of holiness abound.
Let ev'ry word, and work, and thought,
Be into strict obedience brought:
But here beware of a mistake,
Left that be fatal which you make.
Think not by this thy heav'n to gain,
Or all thy righteousness is vain;
Nought but a Saviour's precious blood
Can give thy soul access to G OD ;
Nought but his spotless righteousness,
(And not thy works) must be thy dress.
'Twas he that first thy soul inspir'd,
Thy heart with pure devotion fir'd;
He gave thee faith, and faith's increase;
Purchas'd thy pardon, seal'd thy peace,
And bid thee live and grow in grace.
He is the first, and he alone
The last, the great, and corner stone;
Who builds upon this rock shall stand,
Who builds without it, builds on sand;
And be his fabric ne'er so tall,
'Twill in the day of trial fall.

Then wou'd you live and learn to die,
Live holy, yet your works decry;
And only hope a seat above,
Thro' boundless grace and dying love.