The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

How did his Heart with pure Compassion melt,
When on his bended knees he humbly knelt,
Imploring Heav'n with all Heart—Soul—and Mind,
To Pardon, and to pity, mad Mankind!
But chiefly that ungrateful graceless Race
Possest of Riches—Influence—Pow'r—or—Place—
The thoughtless—thankless—impious—courtly Crowd—
So dissipated—vicious—vain—and proud!
So sunk in Lust, and Sloth—so much unlearn'd
In all that Man's immortal Soul's concern'd!
Who Riches—Talents—Time—and Pow'r pervert
To their own ruin—others loss, or hurt!
While pondering such Despisers' dreadful dooms,
When dying—dead—when Bodies quit their Tombs—
Impending o'er their awful Judgment-day
For fooling all their Grace, and Gifts away!
Those Gifts, by God, to meaner Men denied,
In Vice, and Self-idolatry destroy'd!

Meanwhile they float on Time's tumultuous waves,
And gamble o'er their gay Precursors' graves;
Regardless of the threatening, thickening, skies,
Tho' whistling Winds, and tumbling Billows, rise;
Still fluttering round each Whirlpool's fatal brink,
Unwitting, when, but certain, soon, to sink!
Like Frantics, or Enthusiasts, in their trance,
Round hungry Lion's den, all heedless, dance,
At courtly Custom's, or frail Fashion's call,
Tho' sure to feel destroy'd, whene'er they fall!
Those highly-favour'd Mortals Heav'n invests
With all the goodly Gifts of earthly Guests
But when Death drives their Souls—dissolves their Frames,
Then what will Wealth avail, and noiseless Names!

Who could behold them, in their blind career,
And yet withhold a sigh! a groan! a Tear!
To see them, thus, in wandering state, so wild!
Like Ideots, heedless, or untoward Child!
While nothing they possest an hour could skreen
Their worshipp'd Fabrics from Life's final Scene.
Nor all the Things they sought with fervour, free
Their sordid Souls from death, and Christ's decree!
On Faith and Practice here their fates depend—
For those frail Frames a blest, or bitter, end;

And on each Grace, improv'd, by godly zeal,
Their Spirits' never-ending Woe, or Weal!

Most willingly his bosom would have borne
With temporal pains, and sorrows, to be torn,
Could he procure, by punishment in Time,
Their full release from each condemning Crime;
And, by such voluntary Sacrifice,
Their Conscience cleanse, and purchase endless Joys!
But not a Creature, ever born on Earth,
Or holy Angel, of celestial birth,
Can plead one spark of merit, as its own,
For Self, or human Sinners, to atone!
Yet is there, still, a Sacrifice, declar'd,
By humble Faith, and true Repentance, shar'd;
For every vile returning Sinner slain,
To ransom all their Souls from Satan's chain—
One who, in Love adopts His rescued rights,
To yield them, here, more durable delights;
And more congenial, to converted Souls,
Than futile Pomp's, and frantic Pleasure's, doles;
And certainly secure, at Life's calm close,
The nameless bliss no Unbeliever knows.
But their proud hearts despise the humbling thought
That both their Souls and Bodies should be bought;
And, obstinately spurning Wisdom's ways,
Rob Christ of both the purchase and the praise!

He felt, as all fraternal Mortals must,
For Fellow-fall'n, with Bodies doom'd to Dust,
With deathless Souls in so deprav'd a State,
That Friends could scarcely hope a happier Fate!
From close Remark, and sacred Writ, he saw
All counteracted Heav'n's most holy Law!
The meanest Slave, or Monarch on the Throne,
All prov'd their carnal Nature, like his own.
Their Wills perverse, would Prejudice maintain;
And Pride still make each heavenly movement vain—
Whilst Lust's, alert for all Earth's cheating charms,
Call'd Pride and Passions up, each hour, to Arms—
All—all—with Satan—Sin—and World allied,
To render Virtue null, and Reason void;
And all, with godlike Souls to save or lose
As they the Message mock, or wisely choose!

	CHAPTER 17th. The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse