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 |  |
What hope, then, can such Culprits entertain
To shun the penalty, and 'scape the pain?
Who not alone on Sabbaths break Heav'n's Laws
But every hour infringe with numerous flaws!
Ev'n in their dull Devotion's public Parts
By cold affections, and with heartless hearts;
While not a true Believer, now, below,
But sees, and sorrows, o'er these Ways of Woe:
Nay, not a Saint, who now inhabits Heav'n
But mark'd, and mourn'd, on Earth, this fleshly leav'n!
Each, now, must find, tho' fix'd in bliss, above,
Some imperfections in his filial Love,
When looking back on blest experience, here,
And what God's Grace is still bestowing there!
Ev'n the pure Cherubim that chaunt on high,
Must feel some symptoms of their Love's alloy,
While, fill'd with wonder, each sublimely sings,
And hides his face with wide-unfolded wings!
How then shall those dire condemnation 'scape,
Who break Love's holy Bonds in shameful shape?
Who quench Heav'n's fires with sordid, selfish phlegm,
And spoil its Rest with puerile sports like them!
To shun the penalty, and 'scape the pain?
Who not alone on Sabbaths break Heav'n's Laws
But every hour infringe with numerous flaws!
Ev'n in their dull Devotion's public Parts
By cold affections, and with heartless hearts;
While not a true Believer, now, below,
But sees, and sorrows, o'er these Ways of Woe:
Nay, not a Saint, who now inhabits Heav'n
But mark'd, and mourn'd, on Earth, this fleshly leav'n!
Each, now, must find, tho' fix'd in bliss, above,
Some imperfections in his filial Love,
When looking back on blest experience, here,
And what God's Grace is still bestowing there!
Ev'n the pure Cherubim that chaunt on high,
Must feel some symptoms of their Love's alloy,
While, fill'd with wonder, each sublimely sings,
And hides his face with wide-unfolded wings!
How then shall those dire condemnation 'scape,
Who break Love's holy Bonds in shameful shape?
Who quench Heav'n's fires with sordid, selfish phlegm,
And spoil its Rest with puerile sports like them!
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CHAPTER 12th.
The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |