Classic Poem

The man to modes and times enslav'd,
His soul's conception is deprav'd,
The Christian faith to blot;
And such and such alone devise
The lowest and the last of lies,
To say that God is not.

Corrupt beyond the former times,
They are outrageous in their crimes,
And vanities pursue;
Tho' grace alike has beam'd on all,
Tho' multitudes have heard the call,
The chosen flock are few.

The Lord, at such a grievous cry,
Came down in person from on high,
His creatures to restore;
And see if they would understand,
“The heav'nly kingdom is at hand,”
And therefore sin no more.

But they are all at once astray,
And quite perverted from the way,
Their vanities pursue;
Tho' grace alike hast beam'd on all,
Tho' multitudes have heard the call,
The chosen flock are few.

And have they understanding hearts,
These dealers in detested arts,
My people to devour?
The faces of the poor they grind,
Nor have they to their God inclin'd,
Nor do they own his pow'r

The conscious traitors stood dismay'd,
Nor knew from whence they were afraid
For my belief to crown,
And circumventing guile to quell,
Lo! Satan to the depth of hell,
Like lightning, is come down.

O that salvation were receiv'd,
And, Zion, all thy doom repriev'd,
My soul is pray'r for thee!
O that the Lord would break our chains,
And where triumphant Jesus reigns,
Would make his people free!

Then Jacob should lift up his voice,
And from his jeopardy rejoice,
In festive garments clad;
And Israel's children to a man,
Through all our host from rear to van,
Should be for ever glad