The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse (1735-1820): Edited by the Rev. R. I. Woodhouse |
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CHAPTER 12th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
Ye learned Levites! view not those with scorn
Not bless'd with Letters, or to Livings born;
Should they presume, with simple skill, to scan
God's ministry of Peace, propos'd to Man.
Should they attempt to construe Christ's Decrees,
Explain His Will, and claim as Legatees.
Boast not Yourselves sole Advocates between,
Alone to teach what heavenly Mysteries mean.
May not such Souls approach His Mercy-seat,
And thro' the mighty Mediator, treat?
Will not the pray'rs of Penury reach His Ears,
As well as Priests, ev'n consecrated Peers?
Will He shut up His Presence-chamber door,
With cold indifference, to exclude the Poor;
While You, with learn'd, and wise, addresses, win
Impartial Purity to let You in?
Hath He inform'd You all His Favours flow,
Alone, on Learning—Pow'r—Pomp—Riches?—No!
His Gospel, and pure Spirit, unconfin'd,
Are offer'd free, alike, for all Mankind;
And that blest Gospel clearly hath declar'd,
The better blessing's for the Poor prepar'd.
Not all reserv'd for learned Priests, alone,
Prelates, or Popes who fill the Stall, or Throne—
Nor for proud Commoners—or Peers—or Kings,
Has Christ appointed all these precious Things.
From such how little heavenly Light proceeds,
Illuminating motives, words, or deeds!
How little warmth to bring forth Wisdom's fruits,
More than in Boors—or Cannibals—or Brutes!
Their Light, fierce flashes, from thick darkness dealt!
Flashes, to fright; and darkness, deeply felt!
Fruits that would flush a Christian's cheeks with shame!
Yea, stop their tongues from offering most a Name!
Produced by graceless Clans miscall'd the Great,
Who spoil this World, and spurn the heavenly State!
As much among the priest-appointed Priests,
Who burden, flog, and fleece, Mankind like Beasts;
And, in return for all their ample pay,
Sit down to eat and drink—then rise to play—
Studying, much more, increase of Tythes, and Stocks,
Than how to edify their ignorant Flocks.
Not bless'd with Letters, or to Livings born;
Should they presume, with simple skill, to scan
God's ministry of Peace, propos'd to Man.
Should they attempt to construe Christ's Decrees,
Explain His Will, and claim as Legatees.
Boast not Yourselves sole Advocates between,
Alone to teach what heavenly Mysteries mean.
May not such Souls approach His Mercy-seat,
And thro' the mighty Mediator, treat?
Will not the pray'rs of Penury reach His Ears,
As well as Priests, ev'n consecrated Peers?
Will He shut up His Presence-chamber door,
With cold indifference, to exclude the Poor;
While You, with learn'd, and wise, addresses, win
Impartial Purity to let You in?
Hath He inform'd You all His Favours flow,
Alone, on Learning—Pow'r—Pomp—Riches?—No!
His Gospel, and pure Spirit, unconfin'd,
Are offer'd free, alike, for all Mankind;
And that blest Gospel clearly hath declar'd,
The better blessing's for the Poor prepar'd.
224
Prelates, or Popes who fill the Stall, or Throne—
Nor for proud Commoners—or Peers—or Kings,
Has Christ appointed all these precious Things.
From such how little heavenly Light proceeds,
Illuminating motives, words, or deeds!
How little warmth to bring forth Wisdom's fruits,
More than in Boors—or Cannibals—or Brutes!
Their Light, fierce flashes, from thick darkness dealt!
Flashes, to fright; and darkness, deeply felt!
Fruits that would flush a Christian's cheeks with shame!
Yea, stop their tongues from offering most a Name!
Produced by graceless Clans miscall'd the Great,
Who spoil this World, and spurn the heavenly State!
As much among the priest-appointed Priests,
Who burden, flog, and fleece, Mankind like Beasts;
And, in return for all their ample pay,
Sit down to eat and drink—then rise to play—
Studying, much more, increase of Tythes, and Stocks,
Than how to edify their ignorant Flocks.
They, once a Week, their cold Assemblies call,
To hear how Clarks can bray, and they can bawl;
Retailing pray'rs, and scraps of scriptural store,
Like close-caged Pies, or Parrots, hobbled o'er;
Displaying Pinions, gay,—or sable Gown,
In Church, and Chapel, thro' the loitering Town.
To hear how Clarks can bray, and they can bawl;
Retailing pray'rs, and scraps of scriptural store,
Like close-caged Pies, or Parrots, hobbled o'er;
Displaying Pinions, gay,—or sable Gown,
In Church, and Chapel, thro' the loitering Town.
With dull delay, when Worshippers approach,
By tardy footsteps, creeping Chaise, or Coach—
With cold indifference call'd, assume their Seats,
There to participate their Sunday's Treats,
In gentle slumbers, while the Reader's drone
Lulls them to rest, with many a melting tone,
Till Organ-pipes impel to stretch their throats,
And grunt, or squall, or scream, their scrannel notes,
To measur'd words, if possible, much worse,
Hopkins' and Sternhold's dismal, doggrel, Verse;
Devoid of tuneful cadence—rule—or rhyme—
Oft out of tune, and always out of time—
By which the ear is balk'd—the heart beguil'd—
And David's heavenly Poems doubly spoil'd.
By tardy footsteps, creeping Chaise, or Coach—
With cold indifference call'd, assume their Seats,
There to participate their Sunday's Treats,
In gentle slumbers, while the Reader's drone
Lulls them to rest, with many a melting tone,
Till Organ-pipes impel to stretch their throats,
And grunt, or squall, or scream, their scrannel notes,
To measur'd words, if possible, much worse,
Hopkins' and Sternhold's dismal, doggrel, Verse;
Devoid of tuneful cadence—rule—or rhyme—
Oft out of tune, and always out of time—
By which the ear is balk'd—the heart beguil'd—
And David's heavenly Poems doubly spoil'd.
What can Man's natural indolence excite,
But obvious hopes of interest, or delight?
And whence can profit, or delight, proceed,
While hearing Snufflers roar, and Slovens read?
Or, what keep watchful Auditors awake
But blundering slips, and, frequent, foul mistake.
But obvious hopes of interest, or delight?
And whence can profit, or delight, proceed,
While hearing Snufflers roar, and Slovens read?
Or, what keep watchful Auditors awake
But blundering slips, and, frequent, foul mistake.
If blest with Knowledge, Taste, in Sound, or Sense,
Such Mind, spontaneously, must feel offence;
While individual Ignorance gapes, and stares,
As Clarks spoil Psalms, and Coxcombs lisp the Pray'rs.
Such Mind, spontaneously, must feel offence;
While individual Ignorance gapes, and stares,
As Clarks spoil Psalms, and Coxcombs lisp the Pray'rs.
If serious, Heav'n-instructed, Souls attend,
Who fear their Father—love their Saviour—Friend—
How are they shock'd, while shameless Droll recites,
With Driveller's drawling accent, sacred Rites—
But most, when Fop, with emphasis absurd,
Mars Heav'n's blest meaning, gabbling o'er God's Word.
His breast must feel contempt, and pity, both,
To hear such Wretch, who, once, with solemn Oath,
Appear'd by Prelate's Fiat, first approv'd
Swearing the Holy Ghost his Mind had mov'd
To take the sacred office on Himself,
Without regard to honour—pow'r—or pelf—
Was well-enlighten'd with Heav'n's holy Ray,
To teach Mankind Christ's pure, and perfect, Way!
How can such perjur'd Monsters, pertly, stand,
With sacrilegeous lies in either hand—
Mid mimic airs, and attitudes, declaim,
Yet scarce e'er mention their kind Master's Name!
Ne'er preach obedience to His holy Will,
But speak to catch applause for taste and skill—
To prove the strength of intellectual pow'r,
And fill the office of their hard half-hour!
Who, tho' they ne'er devour the Widow's house,
Oppress the Peasant, or the Orphan chouse;
Still dissipate in sport, and spend in spoil,
The Farmer's profits and the Tradesman's toil.
None feels the shame, or reprehension shares,
From Christ's impeachment, for prolonging Pray'rs—
More fond themselves, than starving Flocks to feed,
Each spouts the Forms with most familiar speed;
And, having learnt, “Life's but a span in length,”
They cut each Sermon short, to save their strength;
That all their Heart, and Spirit, may apply,
To reach, and relish, more congenial joy!
Who fear their Father—love their Saviour—Friend—
How are they shock'd, while shameless Droll recites,
With Driveller's drawling accent, sacred Rites—
But most, when Fop, with emphasis absurd,
Mars Heav'n's blest meaning, gabbling o'er God's Word.
His breast must feel contempt, and pity, both,
To hear such Wretch, who, once, with solemn Oath,
Appear'd by Prelate's Fiat, first approv'd
Swearing the Holy Ghost his Mind had mov'd
To take the sacred office on Himself,
Without regard to honour—pow'r—or pelf—
Was well-enlighten'd with Heav'n's holy Ray,
To teach Mankind Christ's pure, and perfect, Way!
How can such perjur'd Monsters, pertly, stand,
With sacrilegeous lies in either hand—
Mid mimic airs, and attitudes, declaim,
Yet scarce e'er mention their kind Master's Name!
Ne'er preach obedience to His holy Will,
But speak to catch applause for taste and skill—
To prove the strength of intellectual pow'r,
And fill the office of their hard half-hour!
Who, tho' they ne'er devour the Widow's house,
Oppress the Peasant, or the Orphan chouse;
Still dissipate in sport, and spend in spoil,
The Farmer's profits and the Tradesman's toil.
None feels the shame, or reprehension shares,
From Christ's impeachment, for prolonging Pray'rs—
More fond themselves, than starving Flocks to feed,
Each spouts the Forms with most familiar speed;
And, having learnt, “Life's but a span in length,”
They cut each Sermon short, to save their strength;
That all their Heart, and Spirit, may apply,
To reach, and relish, more congenial joy!
The listless Congregation, gather'd round,
Seek not for sense, but only soothing sound;
More pleas'd with folly, pour'd in pompous phrase
Than sad recitals of their wicked ways;
Abhorring solemn Lectures, tho' sublime,
That seriously recount one single crime.
They'd sooner let lov'd sins in secret lurk,
Then wail one fault, and set their Souls to work;
Yet o'er a little work would feel rejoic'd
Rather than stoop to crave a dole of Christ—
In painful tracks of Superstition plod,
Than own one obligation to their God!
Best pleas'd with Preachers from St. James's mart,
Who trouble not the head, or touch the heart;
But let the quiet Conscience, dormant, doze,
And calm Reflection happily repose.
Ne'er harrass pleasing Hope, or fillip Fear,
But, like their Organ's notes, just stir the Ear,
With dulcet sounds, to lullaby the Breast,
To drown their doubts, and rock their fears to rest;
While sooth'd with Drone's uninteresting Theme
Thro' hum-drum, sing-song, Sermon, doze and dream.
Seek not for sense, but only soothing sound;
More pleas'd with folly, pour'd in pompous phrase
Than sad recitals of their wicked ways;
Abhorring solemn Lectures, tho' sublime,
That seriously recount one single crime.
They'd sooner let lov'd sins in secret lurk,
Then wail one fault, and set their Souls to work;
225
Rather than stoop to crave a dole of Christ—
In painful tracks of Superstition plod,
Than own one obligation to their God!
Best pleas'd with Preachers from St. James's mart,
Who trouble not the head, or touch the heart;
But let the quiet Conscience, dormant, doze,
And calm Reflection happily repose.
Ne'er harrass pleasing Hope, or fillip Fear,
But, like their Organ's notes, just stir the Ear,
With dulcet sounds, to lullaby the Breast,
To drown their doubts, and rock their fears to rest;
While sooth'd with Drone's uninteresting Theme
Thro' hum-drum, sing-song, Sermon, doze and dream.
Sometimes rude Beadles, in such sober place
With false officiousness, not genuine Grace,
Fond of their pow'r, and of their office proud,
Or, quite provok'd to see the sleepy Crowd
Indifferent to the Cleric's fine Discourse,
Deliver'd with such prompt pathetic force;
And jealous for his Credit, gently creeps,
Where, in some Dormitory, Dullard sleeps,
Then with a wanton, or intemperate, rap,
Abruptly breaks a comfortable Nap.
With false officiousness, not genuine Grace,
Fond of their pow'r, and of their office proud,
Or, quite provok'd to see the sleepy Crowd
Indifferent to the Cleric's fine Discourse,
Deliver'd with such prompt pathetic force;
And jealous for his Credit, gently creeps,
Where, in some Dormitory, Dullard sleeps,
Then with a wanton, or intemperate, rap,
Abruptly breaks a comfortable Nap.
But rustic Beadle's, only, now so rude—
In Town, become polite, none, thus, intrude,
But keep due distance, in some snug Recess,
And, like their Betters, let bright Visions bless;
Who here, and there, in Church, or Chapel, loll,
Like molten Image, or dress'd maiden Doll—
Recumbent Devotees—male slumb'ring Saints,
Or deck'd Madonnas, plaster'd o'er with paints;
Each like lone Medal, or Medallion, set
In youthful Virtuoso's Cabinet;
Cloister'd, recluse, in each respective place,
Waiting for other Coins to fill the Case.
There each, distinct, in wide seclusion dwells,
All thinly scatter'd thro' their separate Cells;
And these, sublime Originals! alive,
Like dormant Bees coop'd up in wintry hive—
None like the labouring-Bees, but Queens, and Drones,
Reclin'd and thoughtless, on their timber Thrones.
In Town, become polite, none, thus, intrude,
But keep due distance, in some snug Recess,
And, like their Betters, let bright Visions bless;
Who here, and there, in Church, or Chapel, loll,
Like molten Image, or dress'd maiden Doll—
Recumbent Devotees—male slumb'ring Saints,
Or deck'd Madonnas, plaster'd o'er with paints;
Each like lone Medal, or Medallion, set
In youthful Virtuoso's Cabinet;
Cloister'd, recluse, in each respective place,
Waiting for other Coins to fill the Case.
There each, distinct, in wide seclusion dwells,
All thinly scatter'd thro' their separate Cells;
And these, sublime Originals! alive,
Like dormant Bees coop'd up in wintry hive—
None like the labouring-Bees, but Queens, and Drones,
Reclin'd and thoughtless, on their timber Thrones.
At intervals, if rouz'd from torpid state
To hear the Piper play, or Preacher prate;
Or, with a vague, insipid, stupid look
Like gibberish, babble pray'rs from gilded Book—
Look round, on all, with Hope, or Envy, fir'd;
With flattering Hope that idol Self's admir'd,
Or Envy, in each glaring glance exprest,
O'er all with brighter charms, or better drest—
Eye crossing Eye, from each thin-peopled Pew,
With frequent turns to look for something new;
Uncouth, or comely; ludicrous, or odd;
The grossest Object superseding God!
None feeling for the Spirit's work, within,
But make mock-Worship a new source of Sin!
Men idolizing Women; Women, Men,
When tir'd, close their dull lids and doze agen:
With Parson's pipe in concert, snuffling, snore,
Till silence tells the twentieth minute's o'er;
Then instant start, and feel their Souls rejoice
To hear no longer Lecturer's vexing voice;
For sudden silence, like all sudden sounds,
Lov'd reveries, or fondest dreams confounds—
But should the numby nerves withstand the shock,
And still continue, like a brother block,
The Organ blows again a brisker blast,
To tell with jaunty Jigg, their Labour's past;
Calling these Dreamers from Christ's dulling Courts,
To Feasts more friendly, and more sprightly Sports.
To hear the Piper play, or Preacher prate;
Or, with a vague, insipid, stupid look
Like gibberish, babble pray'rs from gilded Book—
Look round, on all, with Hope, or Envy, fir'd;
With flattering Hope that idol Self's admir'd,
Or Envy, in each glaring glance exprest,
O'er all with brighter charms, or better drest—
Eye crossing Eye, from each thin-peopled Pew,
With frequent turns to look for something new;
Uncouth, or comely; ludicrous, or odd;
The grossest Object superseding God!
None feeling for the Spirit's work, within,
But make mock-Worship a new source of Sin!
Men idolizing Women; Women, Men,
When tir'd, close their dull lids and doze agen:
With Parson's pipe in concert, snuffling, snore,
Till silence tells the twentieth minute's o'er;
Then instant start, and feel their Souls rejoice
To hear no longer Lecturer's vexing voice;
For sudden silence, like all sudden sounds,
Lov'd reveries, or fondest dreams confounds—
But should the numby nerves withstand the shock,
And still continue, like a brother block,
The Organ blows again a brisker blast,
To tell with jaunty Jigg, their Labour's past;
Calling these Dreamers from Christ's dulling Courts,
To Feasts more friendly, and more sprightly Sports.
When first the scatter'd few appear at Church,
And cross the threshold, each eye sends a search,
With strict attention every face to scan,
Of Friend—Relation—Stranger—Woman—Man.
Now, eagerly, intenser glances, darts,
Swift circling round, thro' all remoter parts,
With keen pursuit Acquaintances to trace
And catch responses from each speaking face—
While on each side are seen the simpering lips,
Low bow, or curtsy; slighter nods, or dips;
Degrees of Rank, and lower shades, to suit,
With due devoirs, where friendly looks salute.
Nor only practis'd thus, ere Priests' approach,
By pompous Worshippers, in Chair, or Coach;
But each, low Creature the mix'd mass compose
From introductory clause till Sermon's close:
Yea, Priests, themselves, who ought to feel, and know,
The fullest interest of their flocks below,
Will, from their desks, tho' devilish vain, and proud,
Oft ape the conduct of the polish'd crowd—
Look, with a formal face, and humbly bend
To compliment some Courtier—Patron—Friend—
Or more familiar smile, or slightly nod,
With some kind token greeting all—but God.
So, when this false religious farce is o'er,
And the mute Organ swells gay trills no more,
Like salutation passes round the spot,
And Heav'n—and Hell—and God; are all forgot!
And cross the threshold, each eye sends a search,
With strict attention every face to scan,
Of Friend—Relation—Stranger—Woman—Man.
Now, eagerly, intenser glances, darts,
Swift circling round, thro' all remoter parts,
With keen pursuit Acquaintances to trace
And catch responses from each speaking face—
While on each side are seen the simpering lips,
Low bow, or curtsy; slighter nods, or dips;
Degrees of Rank, and lower shades, to suit,
With due devoirs, where friendly looks salute.
Nor only practis'd thus, ere Priests' approach,
By pompous Worshippers, in Chair, or Coach;
But each, low Creature the mix'd mass compose
From introductory clause till Sermon's close:
Yea, Priests, themselves, who ought to feel, and know,
The fullest interest of their flocks below,
Will, from their desks, tho' devilish vain, and proud,
Oft ape the conduct of the polish'd crowd—
Look, with a formal face, and humbly bend
To compliment some Courtier—Patron—Friend—
226
With some kind token greeting all—but God.
So, when this false religious farce is o'er,
And the mute Organ swells gay trills no more,
Like salutation passes round the spot,
And Heav'n—and Hell—and God; are all forgot!
Is this Religion? this the reverence, pure,
Man ought to render? or his God endure?
The God by whom he was to being brought?
With Sense supplied, and wonderous pow'rs of Thought!
Whose Will impels those mental pow'rs to move,
And all Things round to spurn, or to approve.
The God who, every instant Life supplies,
With all the objects of its Hopes and Joys;
The fount from whence all pains and pleasures flow,
That exercise the Soul of Man below.
Who, when Man forfeited His favour, strove
To gain his heart, agen, by Acts of Love.
Love, inconceivable! too vast for Man,
Or all created Intellects to scan!
Who His own, only, Son, to Death, could doom,
To rescue Rebels from eternal Tomb!
Yea, from a Sentence, infinitely worse
From boundless wrath, inflicting endless curse!
And will such hypocritic Worship stay
Christ's dreadful Verdict, at the Judgment-day?
Or bring the best delights of Life beneath,
From Him in whom we live—and move—and breathe?
Is this the Incense Rebels ought to bring,
And offer up, to Heav'n's eternal King?
These the fresh fumes, sweet-smelling, which ascend
To greet a God? a Father? and a Friend?
Such as Heav'n's Mediator may present
Before that God, when Prodigals repent?
These the best fruits fall'n Creatures can afford
For such forgiving Father—Friend—and Lord?
The Mind's pure perfumes, that should, fervent, fly,
To the great Governor of Earth and Sky?
The Soul's sweet aloes, frankincense, and myrrh,
That Sovereign will to slaughter'd beasts prefer?
The Heart's free Gifts that Father-God receives,
While in the Saviour not a Soul believes?
Are such fit Sacrifices for the Son,
Whose gracious Goodness hath such wonders done!
For all His Love the Spirit's best return,
Which makes pure Cherubs chaunt! bright Seraphs burn!
Rejoicing o'er a sinful Race, forlorn,
For whom Heav'n's Best-belov'd on Earth was born;
And, what should wake all praise—suppress all pride
For whom that best-belov'd Redeemer died!
And will His holy Spirit well respect
Such offerings as just Mortals must reject?
Who, yet, stands ready, still, to help their Pray'rs,
And make them meet for Heav'n, as holy Heirs!
Man ought to render? or his God endure?
The God by whom he was to being brought?
With Sense supplied, and wonderous pow'rs of Thought!
Whose Will impels those mental pow'rs to move,
And all Things round to spurn, or to approve.
The God who, every instant Life supplies,
With all the objects of its Hopes and Joys;
The fount from whence all pains and pleasures flow,
That exercise the Soul of Man below.
Who, when Man forfeited His favour, strove
To gain his heart, agen, by Acts of Love.
Love, inconceivable! too vast for Man,
Or all created Intellects to scan!
Who His own, only, Son, to Death, could doom,
To rescue Rebels from eternal Tomb!
Yea, from a Sentence, infinitely worse
From boundless wrath, inflicting endless curse!
And will such hypocritic Worship stay
Christ's dreadful Verdict, at the Judgment-day?
Or bring the best delights of Life beneath,
From Him in whom we live—and move—and breathe?
Is this the Incense Rebels ought to bring,
And offer up, to Heav'n's eternal King?
These the fresh fumes, sweet-smelling, which ascend
To greet a God? a Father? and a Friend?
Such as Heav'n's Mediator may present
Before that God, when Prodigals repent?
These the best fruits fall'n Creatures can afford
For such forgiving Father—Friend—and Lord?
The Mind's pure perfumes, that should, fervent, fly,
To the great Governor of Earth and Sky?
The Soul's sweet aloes, frankincense, and myrrh,
That Sovereign will to slaughter'd beasts prefer?
The Heart's free Gifts that Father-God receives,
While in the Saviour not a Soul believes?
Are such fit Sacrifices for the Son,
Whose gracious Goodness hath such wonders done!
For all His Love the Spirit's best return,
Which makes pure Cherubs chaunt! bright Seraphs burn!
Rejoicing o'er a sinful Race, forlorn,
For whom Heav'n's Best-belov'd on Earth was born;
And, what should wake all praise—suppress all pride
For whom that best-belov'd Redeemer died!
And will His holy Spirit well respect
Such offerings as just Mortals must reject?
Who, yet, stands ready, still, to help their Pray'rs,
And make them meet for Heav'n, as holy Heirs!
Oh! mock not God! mock not His heavenly Son!
Without whose Death your Souls had sunk, undone!
Nor mock that Spirit, who, with special Grace
Is ready to restore Man's wretched Race!
God is a Spirit! Hear it, Age and Youth!
And will be worshipp'd both in Heart and Truth!
Not mere lip-labour, and unmanly yell,
Which Birds would sing, or, speak; Beasts act, as well;
Much less with idol lusts, and needless lies;
Which while Heav'n spurns—all honest Men despise.
Without whose Death your Souls had sunk, undone!
Nor mock that Spirit, who, with special Grace
Is ready to restore Man's wretched Race!
God is a Spirit! Hear it, Age and Youth!
And will be worshipp'd both in Heart and Truth!
Not mere lip-labour, and unmanly yell,
Which Birds would sing, or, speak; Beasts act, as well;
Much less with idol lusts, and needless lies;
Which while Heav'n spurns—all honest Men despise.
Mortals, attend! hear what the Scriptures speak—
“Such Worshippers Christ condescends to seek,”
And will bestow, on such blest Souls, alone,
The richest Comforts flowing from His Throne;
While all beside, proud—obstinate—and blind,
Shall ne'er in Earth, or Heav'n, such Comforts find!
Consider who your trifling tongues address!
Your mouths thus mock! Your lying lips confess!
Tho' with your ears unheard—Your eyes unseen—
God marks your words—your actions—manners—mien!
Can each close purpose, and pursuit, explore,
And see Thoughts—wishes—motives—long before!
“Such Worshippers Christ condescends to seek,”
And will bestow, on such blest Souls, alone,
The richest Comforts flowing from His Throne;
While all beside, proud—obstinate—and blind,
Shall ne'er in Earth, or Heav'n, such Comforts find!
Consider who your trifling tongues address!
Your mouths thus mock! Your lying lips confess!
Tho' with your ears unheard—Your eyes unseen—
God marks your words—your actions—manners—mien!
Can each close purpose, and pursuit, explore,
And see Thoughts—wishes—motives—long before!
Think Ye that Being, Holy! Just! and True!
Can welcome what such Self-deceivers do?
That One who Martyrs, blest, in Heav'n, obey,
Regards what graceless Hypocrites can say?
One to whom high'st Archangels humbly bow,
What Profligates confess, or Liars vow?
Will He whom heavenly Hierarchies laud
Accept the praise of Fools? The pray'rs of Fraud?
Will not His boundless indignation burn,
Such mockery punish, and such mummery spurn?
From His blest Seat, of purity sublime,
Thro' all the past, and all approaching Time;
In all Man's reasoning Race, from first, to last,
Such crimes condemn—such base endeavours blast!
Can welcome what such Self-deceivers do?
That One who Martyrs, blest, in Heav'n, obey,
Regards what graceless Hypocrites can say?
One to whom high'st Archangels humbly bow,
What Profligates confess, or Liars vow?
Will He whom heavenly Hierarchies laud
Accept the praise of Fools? The pray'rs of Fraud?
Will not His boundless indignation burn,
Such mockery punish, and such mummery spurn?
From His blest Seat, of purity sublime,
Thro' all the past, and all approaching Time;
In all Man's reasoning Race, from first, to last,
Such crimes condemn—such base endeavours blast!
227
Would temporal Prince, from any Knaves He hires,
Admit such Services? such dull Devoirs?
Be pleas'd with those he clothes, protects, and feeds,
For such indifference? such unduteous Deeds?
Such slothful, such inert, returns, from those
On whom He Titles—Wealth—and Pow'r, bestows?
Be pleas'd with mere formality, and phlegm,
Were He a deep Dissembler, such as Them?
Admit such Services? such dull Devoirs?
Be pleas'd with those he clothes, protects, and feeds,
For such indifference? such unduteous Deeds?
Such slothful, such inert, returns, from those
On whom He Titles—Wealth—and Pow'r, bestows?
Be pleas'd with mere formality, and phlegm,
Were He a deep Dissembler, such as Them?
Should such attend a Drawing-Room of State,
Before the Throne of earthly Potentate?
How anxious would each Worshipper appear
To prove profoundest adoration there.
All circumspect within! all wing without!
Lest faith, or fealty, such Dupe should doubt.
How all punctilious Devotees observe
To shine each compliment, and shape each curve!
No phrase—no emphasis—no look, neglect,
But yield their mortal Monarch prompt respect!
To fellow-Sinner—upper-Servant—show,
How much they honour, and how much they owe,
But lounge, and loll, and slumber, at the shrine
Of Pow'r, supreme—and Majesty, divine!
Still with feign'd praise, and false petitions, call
On Him who ever lives the Lord of All!
Before the Throne of earthly Potentate?
How anxious would each Worshipper appear
To prove profoundest adoration there.
All circumspect within! all wing without!
Lest faith, or fealty, such Dupe should doubt.
How all punctilious Devotees observe
To shine each compliment, and shape each curve!
No phrase—no emphasis—no look, neglect,
But yield their mortal Monarch prompt respect!
To fellow-Sinner—upper-Servant—show,
How much they honour, and how much they owe,
But lounge, and loll, and slumber, at the shrine
Of Pow'r, supreme—and Majesty, divine!
Still with feign'd praise, and false petitions, call
On Him who ever lives the Lord of All!
How dare Fools, thus, with pharisaic face,
And graceless Pride, approach the Throne of Grace;
With sinful, sacrilegious lips, to lie,
Forgetting God, the blest Omniscient's by!
And graceless Pride, approach the Throne of Grace;
With sinful, sacrilegious lips, to lie,
Forgetting God, the blest Omniscient's by!
How would it wound a King's, or Prince's, pride,
To note, at Court, such negligent outside—
Each Minister would feel the fault immense,
To see such apathy—such poor pretence;
And Peers, and Pensioners, would name it Sin—
Thro' treachery, or treason, hid within.
And will rank Hypocrites presume to bring
Base mimicry before all Nature's King!
Presume to gaze and giggle; yawn, and nod,
In Presence-Chamber of Almighty God!
Within His Drawing-Room play Apish pranks,
Instead of gracious thoughts, and grateful thanks!
Present such counterfeited praise, and pray'r,
To Him who gives them all they have, or are!
To Him, for all, pert mockery repay,
Who, instantly, could call each Life away;
And what's far worse, their false respects repel,
By sinking Soul and Body both in Hell!
To note, at Court, such negligent outside—
Each Minister would feel the fault immense,
To see such apathy—such poor pretence;
And Peers, and Pensioners, would name it Sin—
Thro' treachery, or treason, hid within.
And will rank Hypocrites presume to bring
Base mimicry before all Nature's King!
Presume to gaze and giggle; yawn, and nod,
In Presence-Chamber of Almighty God!
Within His Drawing-Room play Apish pranks,
Instead of gracious thoughts, and grateful thanks!
Present such counterfeited praise, and pray'r,
To Him who gives them all they have, or are!
To Him, for all, pert mockery repay,
Who, instantly, could call each Life away;
And what's far worse, their false respects repel,
By sinking Soul and Body both in Hell!
Such are the Wretches that surround a Court—
Whom childish Princes deem their chief support—
But pious Christians give much clearer proof,
The qualms of Conscience keep them far aloof—
For Piety and Truth feel no delights
In false professions, and mere idol rites;
Yet, by pure pray'rs, from Heav'n's supernal Throne,
Whence earthly Kings derive all pow'r, alone;
Their pow'rful influence brings more blessings down,
Than all the Courtiers that adore a Crown!
Whom childish Princes deem their chief support—
But pious Christians give much clearer proof,
The qualms of Conscience keep them far aloof—
For Piety and Truth feel no delights
In false professions, and mere idol rites;
Yet, by pure pray'rs, from Heav'n's supernal Throne,
Whence earthly Kings derive all pow'r, alone;
Their pow'rful influence brings more blessings down,
Than all the Courtiers that adore a Crown!
On mere externals Man's opinions rest—
On what adorns the brow, and decks the breast.
His ear can catch the flattery floating round
But not perceive the Soul that prompts the sound.
His eye may mark the fashions, and the face,
Yet ne'er can dark desires, or motives, trace;
But God's deep glance discriminates the Whole,
The devious Deed, and all the secret Soul—
The latent thoughts that feed the fostering roots
Whence every look, and word, and action, shoots.
The ghostly sap, by which the branches grow,
Producing fruits for use, and flow'rs for show.
Sees cunning Courtiers act their specious parts,
And set up Idols in their Sovereigns' hearts;
To make each Monarch deem Himself a God,
That they may share his rights, and shake his rod—
And while these Panders, thus, approach His Throne,
They nurse the like delusion in their own.
He notes these Knaves, beneath fair Friendship's mask,
Endeavouring to atchieve some selfish task—
Why springs the flattering speech, the fawning smile
Which these deputed Gods, on Earth, beguile;
And why such Worshippers with views as vain,
Debase Christ's favours, and debauch His Fane.
But he reviews, and will revenge, each feint,
Which tends to hurt His Truth; His Honour taint;
In public practice, or in private sport,
At Church or Chamber; College—Camp—or Court—
That injures Happiness, or Grace aggrieves,
In hordes of Hypocrites, or throngs of Thieves—
For His pure Spirit must as much abhor
The craft of Courts, and wickedness of War,
As crimes of Crowds assembled in His Name;
Whose impious hearts ev'n decency disclaim.
Eternal Truth and Love, alike, must hate
The Falsehoods—Crafts—and Cruelties, of State—
His Laws, true Justice must alike, maintain,
O'er Taught and Teacher—Sovereign and Swain!
On what adorns the brow, and decks the breast.
His ear can catch the flattery floating round
But not perceive the Soul that prompts the sound.
His eye may mark the fashions, and the face,
Yet ne'er can dark desires, or motives, trace;
But God's deep glance discriminates the Whole,
The devious Deed, and all the secret Soul—
The latent thoughts that feed the fostering roots
Whence every look, and word, and action, shoots.
The ghostly sap, by which the branches grow,
Producing fruits for use, and flow'rs for show.
Sees cunning Courtiers act their specious parts,
And set up Idols in their Sovereigns' hearts;
To make each Monarch deem Himself a God,
That they may share his rights, and shake his rod—
And while these Panders, thus, approach His Throne,
They nurse the like delusion in their own.
He notes these Knaves, beneath fair Friendship's mask,
Endeavouring to atchieve some selfish task—
Why springs the flattering speech, the fawning smile
Which these deputed Gods, on Earth, beguile;
And why such Worshippers with views as vain,
Debase Christ's favours, and debauch His Fane.
But he reviews, and will revenge, each feint,
Which tends to hurt His Truth; His Honour taint;
In public practice, or in private sport,
At Church or Chamber; College—Camp—or Court—
That injures Happiness, or Grace aggrieves,
In hordes of Hypocrites, or throngs of Thieves—
For His pure Spirit must as much abhor
The craft of Courts, and wickedness of War,
As crimes of Crowds assembled in His Name;
Whose impious hearts ev'n decency disclaim.
Eternal Truth and Love, alike, must hate
The Falsehoods—Crafts—and Cruelties, of State—
228
O'er Taught and Teacher—Sovereign and Swain!
Will Pow'r supreme so condescend to scan,
And rectify the Ways of Man with Man—
Weigh with His balance, and inflict His rod,
Alike, on Beggar, base, and golden God—
The Clown that ploughs, and Prince who claims his Coin,
And yet forego His own just dues divine?
Will boundless Love with cold indifference, look
O'er gross blasphemers of His gracious Book?
Let ostentatious profanation lurch
Within the boundaries of His blessed Church?
His perfect purity feel no disgust
Address'd by Drunkenness, or mock'd by Lust?
Truth, uncontaminated, ne'er despise
Fictitious sentiments, when leagu'd with lies?
Will Wisdom, infinite, affect those Walls
Where Pride petitions, and Vain-glory bawls?
No! all His Attributes must needs unite
To punish Traytors, and support His Right!
And rectify the Ways of Man with Man—
Weigh with His balance, and inflict His rod,
Alike, on Beggar, base, and golden God—
The Clown that ploughs, and Prince who claims his Coin,
And yet forego His own just dues divine?
Will boundless Love with cold indifference, look
O'er gross blasphemers of His gracious Book?
Let ostentatious profanation lurch
Within the boundaries of His blessed Church?
His perfect purity feel no disgust
Address'd by Drunkenness, or mock'd by Lust?
Truth, uncontaminated, ne'er despise
Fictitious sentiments, when leagu'd with lies?
Will Wisdom, infinite, affect those Walls
Where Pride petitions, and Vain-glory bawls?
No! all His Attributes must needs unite
To punish Traytors, and support His Right!
But if the mingled Multitude offends
The best of Fathers, and the best of Friends—
If Lawyers—Scribes—and Pharisees, pervert
Both Law and Gospel to their endless hurt—
How can the Priesthood possibly escape
His heaviest vengeance in the sharpest shape?
How shall they 'scape His Pow'r with vengeful Sword,
Who grieve His Spirit, and despise His Word?
Who by vain babblings, and by impious Pride,
Degrade His Glory, and His Truth deride;
And by licentious Lust, and Passion, still
Refuse His Favours, and withstand His Will!
How shall their Souls receive His offer'd Grace
Who fling back Mercy in their Maker's face?
How shall they deprecate eternal blame
Who thus expose Him to an open shame;
How find acceptance at Christ's Judgment Seat,
Who thro' His Followers wound His Hands and Feet?
How 'scape pure Conscience's perpetual smart,
Who every Sabbath pierce the Saviour's Heart?
E'er hope to shun the sharpest pangs of Hell,
Who every Hour against His Grace rebel?
Or, when become Court Parasites, and Pimps,
Find any Company but Fiends, and Imps?
The best of Fathers, and the best of Friends—
If Lawyers—Scribes—and Pharisees, pervert
Both Law and Gospel to their endless hurt—
How can the Priesthood possibly escape
His heaviest vengeance in the sharpest shape?
How shall they 'scape His Pow'r with vengeful Sword,
Who grieve His Spirit, and despise His Word?
Who by vain babblings, and by impious Pride,
Degrade His Glory, and His Truth deride;
And by licentious Lust, and Passion, still
Refuse His Favours, and withstand His Will!
How shall their Souls receive His offer'd Grace
Who fling back Mercy in their Maker's face?
How shall they deprecate eternal blame
Who thus expose Him to an open shame;
How find acceptance at Christ's Judgment Seat,
Who thro' His Followers wound His Hands and Feet?
How 'scape pure Conscience's perpetual smart,
Who every Sabbath pierce the Saviour's Heart?
E'er hope to shun the sharpest pangs of Hell,
Who every Hour against His Grace rebel?
Or, when become Court Parasites, and Pimps,
Find any Company but Fiends, and Imps?
Are those the blest Ambassadors of Heav'n,
Whose Lives are lumps of sour Satanic leav'n?
Who their pure Saviour's Love, and Wisdom, spurn,
Too good to be forgiv'n—too learn'd to learn?
At clear credentials of their Captain, scoff,
And, from their Lord, throw all allegiance off?
Their Prince's orders proudly disobey,
And simple Subjects draw a devious way?
Whose Lives are lumps of sour Satanic leav'n?
Who their pure Saviour's Love, and Wisdom, spurn,
Too good to be forgiv'n—too learn'd to learn?
At clear credentials of their Captain, scoff,
And, from their Lord, throw all allegiance off?
Their Prince's orders proudly disobey,
And simple Subjects draw a devious way?
Are those Enforcers of Heav'n's holy Law
Whose faulty Conduct's one continual flaw;
With grievous burdens make their Neighbours groan,
But furnish not one finger of their own?
Who close up Heav'n from poor uncultur'd Elves
Nor e'er attempt to enter in Themselves?
Whose faulty Conduct's one continual flaw;
With grievous burdens make their Neighbours groan,
But furnish not one finger of their own?
Who close up Heav'n from poor uncultur'd Elves
Nor e'er attempt to enter in Themselves?
Can such dead Salt corruption's pow'r prevent—
And save Men's Lives from all unsavoury scent—
If oft applied make every Soul secure,
And keep their Consciences, and Spirits, pure?
They rather make some foul miasmus fly,
To taint their Bodies, and their Souls destroy.
Do their Examples shine both bright and clear,
Like Cities, that on hills their turrets rear?
More like some Pagan Temple, fall'n, forlorn,
The Owner's scandal, and each Christian's scorn!
Are They not like false ignis fatuus' light,
Which leaves Believers bogg'd in Nature's Night
More than blest Morning's bright celestial beam,
Which wakes the Soul, and drives each senseless dream?
Or like some burning Beacon seen from far,
Inviting Friends to join religious jar;
To kindle Choler in each natural Heart,
And call Pride—Envy—Spite—to take a part—
To light their firebrands at the bickering Pyre,
And set the Church, yea, all the World, on fire!
And save Men's Lives from all unsavoury scent—
If oft applied make every Soul secure,
And keep their Consciences, and Spirits, pure?
They rather make some foul miasmus fly,
To taint their Bodies, and their Souls destroy.
Do their Examples shine both bright and clear,
Like Cities, that on hills their turrets rear?
More like some Pagan Temple, fall'n, forlorn,
The Owner's scandal, and each Christian's scorn!
Are They not like false ignis fatuus' light,
Which leaves Believers bogg'd in Nature's Night
More than blest Morning's bright celestial beam,
Which wakes the Soul, and drives each senseless dream?
Or like some burning Beacon seen from far,
Inviting Friends to join religious jar;
To kindle Choler in each natural Heart,
And call Pride—Envy—Spite—to take a part—
To light their firebrands at the bickering Pyre,
And set the Church, yea, all the World, on fire!
They show not Conscience where all evils lurk,
That stir foul Hearts and set frail Tongues to work,
Nor try from heav'nly stores to furnish stocks,
Of perfect knowledge, for Themselves and Flocks;
But still bewilder'd in dark, dangerous Way,
They lose Themselves, and lead their Flocks astray!
That stir foul Hearts and set frail Tongues to work,
Nor try from heav'nly stores to furnish stocks,
Of perfect knowledge, for Themselves and Flocks;
But still bewilder'd in dark, dangerous Way,
They lose Themselves, and lead their Flocks astray!
Unfaithful Stewards of Christ's Heritage!
Graceless expounders of the Gospel page!
Who keep cold Hearers in their darkling State
Till both lie buried in the Gulph of Fate!
Still stretching far prerogative, and pow'r,
The Widow's house, and Orphan's hopes, devour;
Nor ev'n the Pharisees' pretension share
Of lengthening out one dull, cold, pow'rless pray'r.
Keep not their conduct with a clean outside
But each bold act's debas'd by Lust or Pride—
Not white without, like tombs, while foul within,
But each external stinks with filth and sin.
In this unlike that base, but strenuous Band,
They neither cross, nor compass, Sea, nor Land,
To do what Wisdom deems most meet and right,
By labour to procure one Proselyte;
But leave untutor'd all the ignorant Race,
To grope their way to Heav'n by special Grace,
From consecrated Fanes all work withhold,
And view the virtue only in the Gold.
No merit in the sacred Altar own
But look for Graces in the Gifts alone.
Graceless expounders of the Gospel page!
Who keep cold Hearers in their darkling State
Till both lie buried in the Gulph of Fate!
Still stretching far prerogative, and pow'r,
The Widow's house, and Orphan's hopes, devour;
Nor ev'n the Pharisees' pretension share
Of lengthening out one dull, cold, pow'rless pray'r.
229
But each bold act's debas'd by Lust or Pride—
Not white without, like tombs, while foul within,
But each external stinks with filth and sin.
In this unlike that base, but strenuous Band,
They neither cross, nor compass, Sea, nor Land,
To do what Wisdom deems most meet and right,
By labour to procure one Proselyte;
But leave untutor'd all the ignorant Race,
To grope their way to Heav'n by special Grace,
From consecrated Fanes all work withhold,
And view the virtue only in the Gold.
No merit in the sacred Altar own
But look for Graces in the Gifts alone.
Ye wilful Fools! ye obstinately blind!
In Heav'n's pure Temples is the Gold refin'd.
And would your Mind each Scripture mystery sift,
You'd find God's Altar sanctified the Gift—
For, if Man's Heart no purity supplies,
All pray'r and praise is loathsome Sacrifice!
In Heav'n's pure Temples is the Gold refin'd.
And would your Mind each Scripture mystery sift,
You'd find God's Altar sanctified the Gift—
For, if Man's Heart no purity supplies,
All pray'r and praise is loathsome Sacrifice!
Such are too many Priests in modern Times.
Vile, vipery pests! long catalogues of crimes!
In whom each Sin receives its grossest growth,
Begins in Perjury, and proceeds in Sloth;
Full-fed with Lust, and Luxury, ripens fast,
Then ends in deep despondency at last!
Vile, vipery pests! long catalogues of crimes!
In whom each Sin receives its grossest growth,
Begins in Perjury, and proceeds in Sloth;
Full-fed with Lust, and Luxury, ripens fast,
Then ends in deep despondency at last!
How dare their lips pronounce that impious boast
Their Hearts feel influenc'd by the Holy Ghost!
Have they ne'er heard, or read; or, now, forgot
False Ananias' and Sapphira's lot?
Who, for like falshood, felt Heav'n's wrath severe,
Nor found a time for one repentant tear;
Warning Blasphemers, in all future days,
To shun such shameless—wicked—impious—Ways!
Their Hearts feel influenc'd by the Holy Ghost!
Have they ne'er heard, or read; or, now, forgot
False Ananias' and Sapphira's lot?
Who, for like falshood, felt Heav'n's wrath severe,
Nor found a time for one repentant tear;
Warning Blasphemers, in all future days,
To shun such shameless—wicked—impious—Ways!
How dare they touch the emblematic Bread
For fear an angry God should strike them dead!
Or how the blest, symbolic liquor sip,
Lest Christ, with wine, tho' cold, should scald their lip—
Strange! that their perjur'd Conscience ne'er appals,
Till trembling plate, and quivering chalice, falls!
For fear an angry God should strike them dead!
Or how the blest, symbolic liquor sip,
Lest Christ, with wine, tho' cold, should scald their lip—
Strange! that their perjur'd Conscience ne'er appals,
Till trembling plate, and quivering chalice, falls!
Have not their Nurses taught, or Parents told
What fates befel the spurious Priests of old?
Or have not Tutors, in the times of Youth,
Taught them these Lessons from the Tomes of Truth,
How Aaron's Sons, by God's displeasure, fell,
Who dar'd against His order'd Rules rebel;
Offering strange Fire before their holy Lord,
In vile inebriate state, by Heav'n abhorr'd?
Not that pure Fire the Deity pours down,
To consecrate the Priest—the King—the Clown!
That warms the human Heart with due desires;
And kindles up pure Songs of heavenly Choirs,
But such false flames as graceless Minds misguide,
And Hearts impel by sacrilegious Pride;
Till, led, at length, by deep, delusive, glare,
They stumble—fall—and fell destruction share!
Or did they never hear some Friend relate
That other instance of alarming fate,
Penn'd by some Preach'r, in the sacred page,
As warning, full, for every future Age,
How Reuben's rebel Offspring felt the Rod,
Made Priests by fleshly Self, but not by God!
Who dar'd, in company with Friends, profane,
Alike presumptuous, insolent, and vain,
Against the Statutes of their Maker, strive;
Earth opening, large, and swallowing all, alive—
The gaping Glebe, with wide-extended jaws,
Avenging Heav'n's sublime and broken Laws!
What fates befel the spurious Priests of old?
Or have not Tutors, in the times of Youth,
Taught them these Lessons from the Tomes of Truth,
How Aaron's Sons, by God's displeasure, fell,
Who dar'd against His order'd Rules rebel;
Offering strange Fire before their holy Lord,
In vile inebriate state, by Heav'n abhorr'd?
Not that pure Fire the Deity pours down,
To consecrate the Priest—the King—the Clown!
That warms the human Heart with due desires;
And kindles up pure Songs of heavenly Choirs,
But such false flames as graceless Minds misguide,
And Hearts impel by sacrilegious Pride;
Till, led, at length, by deep, delusive, glare,
They stumble—fall—and fell destruction share!
Or did they never hear some Friend relate
That other instance of alarming fate,
Penn'd by some Preach'r, in the sacred page,
As warning, full, for every future Age,
How Reuben's rebel Offspring felt the Rod,
Made Priests by fleshly Self, but not by God!
Who dar'd, in company with Friends, profane,
Alike presumptuous, insolent, and vain,
Against the Statutes of their Maker, strive;
Earth opening, large, and swallowing all, alive—
The gaping Glebe, with wide-extended jaws,
Avenging Heav'n's sublime and broken Laws!
Tho' wonders now ne'er interrupt His plan,
Still God's pure Spirit strives with maniac Man,
While Justice waits for Time's departing hour,
To testify His Truth, and prove His Pow'r—
Then must such ingrate minist'ry sustain
More than Chorazin's, or Capernaum's, pain,
And all such congregations undergo
Worse than Bethsaida's misery and woe!
Still God's pure Spirit strives with maniac Man,
While Justice waits for Time's departing hour,
To testify His Truth, and prove His Pow'r—
Then must such ingrate minist'ry sustain
More than Chorazin's, or Capernaum's, pain,
And all such congregations undergo
Worse than Bethsaida's misery and woe!
What numbers, now, on pow'r, and plunder, bent,
Live, pamper'd, by profuse Establishment!
Extending far and wide its iron sway
To make Mankind an universal prey.
Their Bodies, and their Souls, becoming Slaves,
From opening matrices to closing graves;
Yet, while they wallow in their illgot wealth,
They ne'er regard Men's Souls', or Bodies', health.
Rest not on Learning—Diligence—or Skill—
Their Flocks' Appointment—or their pure goodwill—
But hoisted to their place, for private Ends,
By Infidels, in Pow'r, or partial Friends.
Live, pamper'd, by profuse Establishment!
Extending far and wide its iron sway
To make Mankind an universal prey.
Their Bodies, and their Souls, becoming Slaves,
From opening matrices to closing graves;
Yet, while they wallow in their illgot wealth,
They ne'er regard Men's Souls', or Bodies', health.
Rest not on Learning—Diligence—or Skill—
Their Flocks' Appointment—or their pure goodwill—
But hoisted to their place, for private Ends,
By Infidels, in Pow'r, or partial Friends.
Establishments might prove of pow'rful Use,
By helping Worth, and branding wild Abuse,
Did they on Merit, or on Morals rest,
Instead of lying tongue, in legal Test—
On Learning—Knowledge—Gravity, and Grace;
And only patronize the pious Race;
But then, how few, among the modern Host,
Would keep their credit, or maintain their Post!
By helping Worth, and branding wild Abuse,
Did they on Merit, or on Morals rest,
Instead of lying tongue, in legal Test—
230
And only patronize the pious Race;
But then, how few, among the modern Host,
Would keep their credit, or maintain their Post!
Deceptive Teachers! who, devoid of sight,
Affect to lead, and guide all others right!
Presume to show the track to Shiloh's dome,
Yet never went one furlong from their home.
Far worse than finger-posts, which fairly show
The way all ignorant wanderers ought to go;
While these ne'er point the proper path-way out,
But teach their followers wrong, or far about.
In this they're like, with neither wit, nor will,
While teaching others they themselves stand still—
But, if they move, their notions clearly say,
They're wandering round, a devious, downward, way.
Affect to lead, and guide all others right!
Presume to show the track to Shiloh's dome,
Yet never went one furlong from their home.
Far worse than finger-posts, which fairly show
The way all ignorant wanderers ought to go;
While these ne'er point the proper path-way out,
But teach their followers wrong, or far about.
In this they're like, with neither wit, nor will,
While teaching others they themselves stand still—
But, if they move, their notions clearly say,
They're wandering round, a devious, downward, way.
Mere quack Physicians! who can scarcely tell,
Whether Themselves, or Friends, are ill—or well—
Unable to pronounce, or yield relief,
When heart, or Conscience, feels regret, or grief—
Discern no symptoms of a Soul's disease;
Completely skill'd, alone, in forcing fees,
Scarce one, among the high, doctorial, Tribe,
Knows when they're sane, or can, when sick, prescribe—
Untaught the troubled Spirit's pulse to try,
Which beats too quick, or slow, too low, or high—
Trace no distinctions when they note the Tongue,
Or when its aspect proves it right, or wrong—
How then can Understrapper-Clerks declare,
What Minds' chief maladies and med'cines are?
For thro' each College scarce can two agree
What mental sickness, pains, and troubles, be;
Much less point out, to Sinners, or to Saints.
Right recipes for Spirits' cramp complaints.
Whether Themselves, or Friends, are ill—or well—
Unable to pronounce, or yield relief,
When heart, or Conscience, feels regret, or grief—
Discern no symptoms of a Soul's disease;
Completely skill'd, alone, in forcing fees,
Scarce one, among the high, doctorial, Tribe,
Knows when they're sane, or can, when sick, prescribe—
Untaught the troubled Spirit's pulse to try,
Which beats too quick, or slow, too low, or high—
Trace no distinctions when they note the Tongue,
Or when its aspect proves it right, or wrong—
How then can Understrapper-Clerks declare,
What Minds' chief maladies and med'cines are?
For thro' each College scarce can two agree
What mental sickness, pains, and troubles, be;
Much less point out, to Sinners, or to Saints.
Right recipes for Spirits' cramp complaints.
Presumptuous Pilots! who, with Learning, blind,
Consult not Seasons—Climates—Tide—or Wind.
The use of Chart, or Compass, never know,
Or which way Nature's secret Currents flow;
Yet, impudently still attempt to clear
What Track untutor'd Sailors ought to steer—
Still make mere theory their paltry plea
Who never went one single knot at Sea.
Consult not Seasons—Climates—Tide—or Wind.
The use of Chart, or Compass, never know,
Or which way Nature's secret Currents flow;
Yet, impudently still attempt to clear
What Track untutor'd Sailors ought to steer—
Still make mere theory their paltry plea
Who never went one single knot at Sea.
Can they point out the Course to distant Parts
Who keep no Reckonings? nor e'er conn'd their Charts?
Ne'er tried to understand their Captain's plan
Nor, in His track, one single furlong ran?
Can they show how to shun shoals—rocks—or shelves—
Who ne'er got grounded—bulg'd—or wreck'd, Themselves?
But Sailor-like, on Land, in spoil or sport,
Spend all their pence, nor care for King, or Court.
Who keep no Reckonings? nor e'er conn'd their Charts?
Ne'er tried to understand their Captain's plan
Nor, in His track, one single furlong ran?
Can they show how to shun shoals—rocks—or shelves—
Who ne'er got grounded—bulg'd—or wreck'd, Themselves?
But Sailor-like, on Land, in spoil or sport,
Spend all their pence, nor care for King, or Court.
What Soul would make such Mariners his guides,
To steer his Vessel safe, thro' treacherous Tides?
Where, not alone, the stormy Winds, and Waves,
May raise misfortunes, or dig watery graves—
Where Scylla and Charybdis wildly roar,
To stop his progress tow'rd the promis'd shore—
And secret Current—Sand—Rock—shifting Shoal—
Distract—endanger—or ingulph the Soul!
To steer his Vessel safe, thro' treacherous Tides?
Where, not alone, the stormy Winds, and Waves,
May raise misfortunes, or dig watery graves—
Where Scylla and Charybdis wildly roar,
To stop his progress tow'rd the promis'd shore—
And secret Current—Sand—Rock—shifting Shoal—
Distract—endanger—or ingulph the Soul!
Can such point out the Saviour's perfect path?
Or teach poor Pupils how to 'scape Heav'n's Wrath?
Such lov'd Disciples of the holy Lamb,
Whose chief attention's but to clothe and cram—
Race—hunt—and gamble; Run to Operas—Plays—
Balls—Routs—Fêtes—Concerts—ev'n on Sabbath-days!
Or teach poor Pupils how to 'scape Heav'n's Wrath?
Such lov'd Disciples of the holy Lamb,
Whose chief attention's but to clothe and cram—
Race—hunt—and gamble; Run to Operas—Plays—
Balls—Routs—Fêtes—Concerts—ev'n on Sabbath-days!
Did e'er one fathful Follower doat on Dress?
Seek Goat's indulgence, or Dog's gross excess?
Like Dives live, luxurious—deck, and dine—
And suck expensive swill, like sordid Swine?
Seek Goat's indulgence, or Dog's gross excess?
Like Dives live, luxurious—deck, and dine—
And suck expensive swill, like sordid Swine?
Did They indulge in frantic Fiend's delight,
By urging Beasts, beyond their force, in flight?
Lash their lank sides, and pierce the spouting vein,
Till sinking, prostrate, on the sanguine plain?
On prancing Steeds patrole each fertile Farm,
To risque Limbs—Lives—and work their Neighbour's harm—
Despite of decency, and sober Sense,
Break down dead barrier—leap thro' living fence—
Destroying Crops, in part, like Maniacs, wild,
Then taking tenths of all the parts unspoil'd;
To murder Animals for sport, or prey,
More harmless, and less hurtful, far, than They!
By urging Beasts, beyond their force, in flight?
Lash their lank sides, and pierce the spouting vein,
Till sinking, prostrate, on the sanguine plain?
On prancing Steeds patrole each fertile Farm,
To risque Limbs—Lives—and work their Neighbour's harm—
Despite of decency, and sober Sense,
Break down dead barrier—leap thro' living fence—
Destroying Crops, in part, like Maniacs, wild,
Then taking tenths of all the parts unspoil'd;
To murder Animals for sport, or prey,
More harmless, and less hurtful, far, than They!
Did They poor simple Females' faith trapan,
Their Vanity to feed, or Lusts to fan?
Or darken darkness with a Lie, or Oath,
To gain Men's persons, and their purses, both?
Their Vanity to feed, or Lusts to fan?
Or darken darkness with a Lie, or Oath,
To gain Men's persons, and their purses, both?
Did They, 'mid Crowds, frequent dramatic Schools,
To hear their Fellows stigmatiz'd as Fools?
Men branding brother Men as Dupes, or Knaves;
As Clowns, or Coxcombs; Tyrants, Tools, or Slaves?
Not with an honest, open, true intent,
To purge their foibles, or more faults prevent,
But to amuse an Evening's murder'd hours,
To laugh at Weakness—weep o'er prostrate Pow'rs—
Pow'rs, peradventure, making misery groan,
And mocking other's crimes, much more their own;
Despising every weak, and wicked Elf,
Compar'd with wise, prudential, upright, Self:
Spending their precious time in base abuse,
Neglecting Life's best End, and happiest Use,
Instead of counteracting all the crimes,
And monstrous trifling of these modern times?
To hear their Fellows stigmatiz'd as Fools?
Men branding brother Men as Dupes, or Knaves;
As Clowns, or Coxcombs; Tyrants, Tools, or Slaves?
Not with an honest, open, true intent,
To purge their foibles, or more faults prevent,
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To laugh at Weakness—weep o'er prostrate Pow'rs—
Pow'rs, peradventure, making misery groan,
And mocking other's crimes, much more their own;
Despising every weak, and wicked Elf,
Compar'd with wise, prudential, upright, Self:
Spending their precious time in base abuse,
Neglecting Life's best End, and happiest Use,
Instead of counteracting all the crimes,
And monstrous trifling of these modern times?
Did they fair opportunities neglect,
To rectify mistakes, or crimes correct?
Each gracious ordinance of God despise,
And break His Rest with levity and noise?
Pursue vain fashion and procure vile fame,
Then mock at sin, and glory in their shame?
To rectify mistakes, or crimes correct?
Each gracious ordinance of God despise,
And break His Rest with levity and noise?
Pursue vain fashion and procure vile fame,
Then mock at sin, and glory in their shame?
Did e'er their coadjutor, humble Paul,
Attempt to climb a Primate's princely Stall?
Did He in pomp, and Luxury, idly lurk,
And leave weak Underlings to do his work?
Attempt to climb a Primate's princely Stall?
Did He in pomp, and Luxury, idly lurk,
And leave weak Underlings to do his work?
Did Timothy, or Titus, quit their charge,
To loll in idleness, and live at large;
And proud Archdeacon, or poor Dean depute,
While they enjoy'd rich rent, and fat first-fruit?
To loll in idleness, and live at large;
And proud Archdeacon, or poor Dean depute,
While they enjoy'd rich rent, and fat first-fruit?
Did Whitfield, or did Wesley lounge at ease
Their pride to pamper, or their flesh to please;
And send their Understrappers far from home,
To find some field, or providential dome,
Where they might preach to ignorant Age and Youth,
Christ's gospel doctrines, back'd by moral truth?
Can any Christian, like these lazy Clerks,
While Conscience keeps alive Heav'n's holy sparks,
Appoint Inferiors to fulfil their trusts,
While they indulge their idleness and lusts;
From Primates, downward, to the very least,
Town-starving Curate, or pinch'd country-Priest?
Their pride to pamper, or their flesh to please;
And send their Understrappers far from home,
To find some field, or providential dome,
Where they might preach to ignorant Age and Youth,
Christ's gospel doctrines, back'd by moral truth?
Can any Christian, like these lazy Clerks,
While Conscience keeps alive Heav'n's holy sparks,
Appoint Inferiors to fulfil their trusts,
While they indulge their idleness and lusts;
From Primates, downward, to the very least,
Town-starving Curate, or pinch'd country-Priest?
These are the Shepherds prophecies foretold,
Who watch the Sheep, and strongly fence their Fold;
Not to secure flocks' happiness, or peace,
But, to devour their flesh, or shear their fleece!
Not entering in, by Jesus Christ, the door,
To nurse the feeble, and to feed the poor—
To tend the Lambs, or bear them in their arms,
Protecting all from prowling Wolves' alarms;
But climb to Office any other way
To make the whole, or any part their prey—
Like Thieves and Robbers, legally to steal,
Regardless of the Christian-Commonweal—
Aspiring still to some superior Post,
In spite of Father—Son—and Holy Ghost!
Who watch the Sheep, and strongly fence their Fold;
Not to secure flocks' happiness, or peace,
But, to devour their flesh, or shear their fleece!
Not entering in, by Jesus Christ, the door,
To nurse the feeble, and to feed the poor—
To tend the Lambs, or bear them in their arms,
Protecting all from prowling Wolves' alarms;
But climb to Office any other way
To make the whole, or any part their prey—
Like Thieves and Robbers, legally to steal,
Regardless of the Christian-Commonweal—
Aspiring still to some superior Post,
In spite of Father—Son—and Holy Ghost!
Behold them, white, or sable, wings, expand;
Like Magpies, Rooks, and Crows, o'er all the Land!
Devouring tenths of all kind Nature yields,
In Forests—Woods—cropp'd Meads, and cultur'd Fields—
Whate'er, from Providence, spontaneous flows,
And all to care and toil Creation owes—
When Woods or Forest's fall, or Meads are shorn,
Or labour'd clods produce their crops of Corn—
All that grows up from Rain—and Sun—and Sweat—
All Orchards bear, or Garden-plats beget—
The plough—the spade—the sickle—and the scythe—
Enlarging lazy Rectors' cruel Tythe.
Like Magpies, Rooks, and Crows, o'er all the Land!
Devouring tenths of all kind Nature yields,
In Forests—Woods—cropp'd Meads, and cultur'd Fields—
Whate'er, from Providence, spontaneous flows,
And all to care and toil Creation owes—
When Woods or Forest's fall, or Meads are shorn,
Or labour'd clods produce their crops of Corn—
All that grows up from Rain—and Sun—and Sweat—
All Orchards bear, or Garden-plats beget—
The plough—the spade—the sickle—and the scythe—
Enlarging lazy Rectors' cruel Tythe.
Mark the proud Parson! fed on dainty fare—
Enlarg'd from labour and excus'd from care—
Anxious, alone, like each unhumbled, breed,
How he may propagate—clothe—fence—and feed—
To ascertain his rents, and hated rights—
To add new livings, and find fresh delights—
Alike on working days and days of rest,
In costly broad-cloth—silks—and beaver—drest—
Complete provision, fully fix'd by Law,
To clothe his carcase, and to cram his maw;
And, for his offspring, clear of care, and toil,
Amassing fortunes from the teeming Soil.
Whene'er his Reverence wanders round, on foot,
In aldermanic style behold him strut!
If he, in Carriage, or on Steed, approach,
His Person, and his Pride, load Horse, or Coach;
While, well-replenish'd with his Neighbour's store,
His Belly, boldly, travels on before,
Proud Courier-like! where'er he walk, or ride,
To tell his needs with notice to provide.
Enlarg'd from labour and excus'd from care—
Anxious, alone, like each unhumbled, breed,
How he may propagate—clothe—fence—and feed—
To ascertain his rents, and hated rights—
To add new livings, and find fresh delights—
Alike on working days and days of rest,
In costly broad-cloth—silks—and beaver—drest—
Complete provision, fully fix'd by Law,
To clothe his carcase, and to cram his maw;
And, for his offspring, clear of care, and toil,
Amassing fortunes from the teeming Soil.
Whene'er his Reverence wanders round, on foot,
In aldermanic style behold him strut!
If he, in Carriage, or on Steed, approach,
His Person, and his Pride, load Horse, or Coach;
While, well-replenish'd with his Neighbour's store,
His Belly, boldly, travels on before,
Proud Courier-like! where'er he walk, or ride,
To tell his needs with notice to provide.
He lives in Paradise, at less expence
Than Adam, in his state of innocence;
Who was commanded His Domain to dress;
And keep, with care, that He might still possess.
Not with a flaunting, fashionable, Eve,
The benefits, as bounties, so receive;
Idling, each day, amidst his lawns and bow'rs,
Collecting chiefest—fairest—sweetest—flow'rs;
Or wandering, gaily, in each grove, and wood,
To gather every fruit, fair—choice, and good!
On wine, and oil, and milk, and honey, feed,
Yet neither plant, nor prune, nor watch, nor weed—
But, heedless as a Pagan—Jew—or Turk—
Appoint some Hireling to his watch, and work.
Those Dupes thus doom'd to till the sacred soil,
Share little comfort for continual toil;
But labour, endlessly, with anxious care,
For scanty clothing, and for starving fare!
Still try to propagate all useful plants,
For self-necessities, and neighbours' wants,
To banish noisome broods; ply spades, and hoes;
Yet gather scarce one esculent that grows!
They press no cluster, tho' they prune the vine,
To nerve their frames, and make each feature shine;
But, while their hands their Master's vineyards dress,
Scarce earn fig-leaves to hide their nakedness!
They may associate with mere birds, and beasts—
On herbs and fruits, found wild, make summer feasts;
But, in the winter of their weary Lives,
With puny Offsprings pinch, and weakly Wives—
May sip the springs of Eden's fourfold stream:
Of Gold—of Onyxes—of Bdellium—dream;
But ne'er see Havilah's delightful Land,
Nor get one grasp of Pison's pleasant sand!
Than Adam, in his state of innocence;
Who was commanded His Domain to dress;
And keep, with care, that He might still possess.
Not with a flaunting, fashionable, Eve,
The benefits, as bounties, so receive;
Idling, each day, amidst his lawns and bow'rs,
Collecting chiefest—fairest—sweetest—flow'rs;
Or wandering, gaily, in each grove, and wood,
To gather every fruit, fair—choice, and good!
232
Yet neither plant, nor prune, nor watch, nor weed—
But, heedless as a Pagan—Jew—or Turk—
Appoint some Hireling to his watch, and work.
Those Dupes thus doom'd to till the sacred soil,
Share little comfort for continual toil;
But labour, endlessly, with anxious care,
For scanty clothing, and for starving fare!
Still try to propagate all useful plants,
For self-necessities, and neighbours' wants,
To banish noisome broods; ply spades, and hoes;
Yet gather scarce one esculent that grows!
They press no cluster, tho' they prune the vine,
To nerve their frames, and make each feature shine;
But, while their hands their Master's vineyards dress,
Scarce earn fig-leaves to hide their nakedness!
They may associate with mere birds, and beasts—
On herbs and fruits, found wild, make summer feasts;
But, in the winter of their weary Lives,
With puny Offsprings pinch, and weakly Wives—
May sip the springs of Eden's fourfold stream:
Of Gold—of Onyxes—of Bdellium—dream;
But ne'er see Havilah's delightful Land,
Nor get one grasp of Pison's pleasant sand!
Such is the Rector's, such the Curate's, lot,
In lordly Dwelling, or in cribbing Cot,
These, for a sparing pittance, strive—and starve—
Those in proud ease recline—on plenty carve—
Grow red, and bloated with rich blood of grapes,
And share all Earth's delights, in all their shapes;
While these, weak milk-and-water-beverage quaff,
Tread out the corn, yet chew but straw and chaff—
Like labouring Cattle, every Season, seen
In endless duty—shabby, lank, and lean—
Those from each useful occupation loose,
Degenerate into sloth and base abuse;
Like fattening Oxen, doze, and drink, and feed,
In rankest clover, or in richest mead—
Rambling, at large, or stretching in their stalls,
Till Time's dread butcher, Death, unwelcome, calls;
And with resistless—sharp-wet—slaughtering knife,
Soon puts a period to such useless Life—
Thence to their graves each glutted Corpse consigns,
On which Corruption daily sups and dines—
While the loath'd worms thro' heart, and entrails, creep—
Make banquets on their brains while fast asleep,
And every moulder'd bone in atoms lies,
Till Christ's loud clarion calls the Dead to rise;
To show how gen'rous loans, thro' Life enjoy'd,
Were portions well improv'd—and well employ'd—
How all the great and gracious talents lent,
Were idly buried, or were basely spent—
Then will His sentence awfully decide
The endless lot of Poverty, and Pride;
That endless Blessing, or that endless Curse,
No Sovereign can prevent—no Pope reverse!
Meantime each Mortal who will watch, and pray
May ward off Evil from that fateful Day—
May husband, so, Will—Talents—Wealth—and Time—
That Virtue may avoid condemning Crime;
Which, carried on, by Christ's forgiving Grace,
Their Love must long to see the Saviour's face.
But—ah! how few, among deprav'd Mankind,
Can hope that Judge's face in smiles to find;
Or in His sentence look with certain trust
While here so selfish—impious—and unjust!
In lordly Dwelling, or in cribbing Cot,
These, for a sparing pittance, strive—and starve—
Those in proud ease recline—on plenty carve—
Grow red, and bloated with rich blood of grapes,
And share all Earth's delights, in all their shapes;
While these, weak milk-and-water-beverage quaff,
Tread out the corn, yet chew but straw and chaff—
Like labouring Cattle, every Season, seen
In endless duty—shabby, lank, and lean—
Those from each useful occupation loose,
Degenerate into sloth and base abuse;
Like fattening Oxen, doze, and drink, and feed,
In rankest clover, or in richest mead—
Rambling, at large, or stretching in their stalls,
Till Time's dread butcher, Death, unwelcome, calls;
And with resistless—sharp-wet—slaughtering knife,
Soon puts a period to such useless Life—
Thence to their graves each glutted Corpse consigns,
On which Corruption daily sups and dines—
While the loath'd worms thro' heart, and entrails, creep—
Make banquets on their brains while fast asleep,
And every moulder'd bone in atoms lies,
Till Christ's loud clarion calls the Dead to rise;
To show how gen'rous loans, thro' Life enjoy'd,
Were portions well improv'd—and well employ'd—
How all the great and gracious talents lent,
Were idly buried, or were basely spent—
Then will His sentence awfully decide
The endless lot of Poverty, and Pride;
That endless Blessing, or that endless Curse,
No Sovereign can prevent—no Pope reverse!
Meantime each Mortal who will watch, and pray
May ward off Evil from that fateful Day—
May husband, so, Will—Talents—Wealth—and Time—
That Virtue may avoid condemning Crime;
Which, carried on, by Christ's forgiving Grace,
Their Love must long to see the Saviour's face.
But—ah! how few, among deprav'd Mankind,
Can hope that Judge's face in smiles to find;
Or in His sentence look with certain trust
While here so selfish—impious—and unjust!
Could heav'nly Love establish partial plan,
To destine Man a Despot over Man?
Could Providence enforce as fix'd decree
One Soul should be a Slave, another free?
Much less that Millions of the human Race,
Should be excluded from Christ's saving Grace;
And when His Will recalls their temporal breath,
Consign their Souls to everlasting Death;
Or, infinitely worse, make all remain
With serpent Spirits, in eternal pain!
He who looks down on all with equal Eye,
That sway proud Sceptres, or, in dungeons die,
With all the numerous intermediate Ranks,
Which, for small doles, yield unreserved Thanks,
Or prodigally spend each ampler Loan,
Nor e'er the gracious Gifts, or, Giver, own!
Can He, with calm complacency, behold
Foul Scenes which Vice, and Villainy, unfold?
Or, with cold, heedless, unconcern survey,
Proud Hypocrites make honest Need their prey?
The hard oppressions practis'd, every hour,
On prostrate Penury, by Knaves, in pow'r?
To destine Man a Despot over Man?
Could Providence enforce as fix'd decree
One Soul should be a Slave, another free?
Much less that Millions of the human Race,
Should be excluded from Christ's saving Grace;
And when His Will recalls their temporal breath,
Consign their Souls to everlasting Death;
Or, infinitely worse, make all remain
With serpent Spirits, in eternal pain!
He who looks down on all with equal Eye,
That sway proud Sceptres, or, in dungeons die,
With all the numerous intermediate Ranks,
Which, for small doles, yield unreserved Thanks,
Or prodigally spend each ampler Loan,
Nor e'er the gracious Gifts, or, Giver, own!
Can He, with calm complacency, behold
Foul Scenes which Vice, and Villainy, unfold?
Or, with cold, heedless, unconcern survey,
Proud Hypocrites make honest Need their prey?
The hard oppressions practis'd, every hour,
On prostrate Penury, by Knaves, in pow'r?
Could He appoint each Potentate should reign,
With cut-throat Thousands in His haughty Train?
In Gold and Gems to swagger, strut, and shine,
While Misery dug materials from the Mine?
With waste the products of the Earth consume,
While Want must urge the plough, and ply the loom;
Still reft of half their earnings too support
The domineering Dolts that crowd a Court?
That Nimrod Monarchs should so madly ride,
In supercilious Pomp, and trampling Pride;
Surrounded by their fawning, flattering, Bands,
To spoil the produce of the labour'd Lands;
While the sad Vassal sees, with watery eye,
Such noisy Centaurs his best hopes destroy!
With cut-throat Thousands in His haughty Train?
In Gold and Gems to swagger, strut, and shine,
While Misery dug materials from the Mine?
233
While Want must urge the plough, and ply the loom;
Still reft of half their earnings too support
The domineering Dolts that crowd a Court?
That Nimrod Monarchs should so madly ride,
In supercilious Pomp, and trampling Pride;
Surrounded by their fawning, flattering, Bands,
To spoil the produce of the labour'd Lands;
While the sad Vassal sees, with watery eye,
Such noisy Centaurs his best hopes destroy!
Did He design a proud imperious Race,
Devoid of every Christian Gift, and Grace,
Should all His Church's wealth—pow'r—honour—seize,
To live in vicious Luxury, Lust, and Ease?
Grasp large Revenues for their sole delights,
Where thousands throng'd before for equal rights;
On which both Piety and Penury fed,
And Age and Infancy found needful Bread?
Claim tenths of produce from the manag'd sod,
The forest, fenc'd, and cultivated clod,
With all that graze the irrigated soil,
Without one moment's care or muscle's toil?
No! tho' awhile He suffer Fools or Knaves!
To cheat His Children, make His Offspring Slaves;
Distress a Rustic, or disturb a Realm,
He sits supreme at Providence's Helm—
Steers Earth's vast Vessel and commands the Crew,
With every individual full in view;
And will, at length, with retribution, just,
Condemn each Culprit who betrays his trust!
Devoid of every Christian Gift, and Grace,
Should all His Church's wealth—pow'r—honour—seize,
To live in vicious Luxury, Lust, and Ease?
Grasp large Revenues for their sole delights,
Where thousands throng'd before for equal rights;
On which both Piety and Penury fed,
And Age and Infancy found needful Bread?
Claim tenths of produce from the manag'd sod,
The forest, fenc'd, and cultivated clod,
With all that graze the irrigated soil,
Without one moment's care or muscle's toil?
No! tho' awhile He suffer Fools or Knaves!
To cheat His Children, make His Offspring Slaves;
Distress a Rustic, or disturb a Realm,
He sits supreme at Providence's Helm—
Steers Earth's vast Vessel and commands the Crew,
With every individual full in view;
And will, at length, with retribution, just,
Condemn each Culprit who betrays his trust!
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CHAPTER 12th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |