Distressed Sion Relieved Or, The Garment of Praise for the Spirit of Heaviness. Wherein are Discovered the Grand Causes of the Churches Trouble and Misery under the late Dismal Dispensation. With a Compleat History of, and Lamentation for those Renowned Worthies that fell in England by Popish Rage and Cruelty, from the Year 1680 to 1688. Together with an Account of the late Admirable and Stupendious Providence which hath wrought such a sudden and Wonderful Deliverance for this Nation, and Gods Sion therein. Humbly Dedicated to their Present Majesties. By Benjamin Keach |
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Ah dismal sight!—What! all in Popish hands,
Not one good Protestant that here commands?
Must Wolves be Keepers of my harmless Sheep?
Take heed, poor Souls! take heed, and do not sleep.
Ah! now I see what the King did intend;
Is this the love and kindness of a Friend?
Did he pretend, all should have equal share
Of Trust and Honour? how does this appear?
Yet let their Honour go; if that were all
I should not care; but when to mind I call
The sad and dismal year of Forty One;
And what by Irish Papists then was done.
I cannot think my Children safe to be,
Whilst only such are in Authority.
Is't fit such bloody Butchers should bear sway,
Whose Hearts were never changed to this day.
Here's not a Constable, ev'n so mean a place,
But what is of the Irish Popish Race.
I fear (dear Children) if God don't appear,
Your utter ruin now approaches near.
I cannot but lament when I behold
These hungry Lions compassing my Fold:
If Heav'n don't them deter, and soon prevent,
You will ere long be all in pieces rent.
Not one good Protestant that here commands?
Must Wolves be Keepers of my harmless Sheep?
Take heed, poor Souls! take heed, and do not sleep.
Ah! now I see what the King did intend;
Is this the love and kindness of a Friend?
Did he pretend, all should have equal share
Of Trust and Honour? how does this appear?
Yet let their Honour go; if that were all
I should not care; but when to mind I call
The sad and dismal year of Forty One;
And what by Irish Papists then was done.
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Whilst only such are in Authority.
Is't fit such bloody Butchers should bear sway,
Whose Hearts were never changed to this day.
Here's not a Constable, ev'n so mean a place,
But what is of the Irish Popish Race.
I fear (dear Children) if God don't appear,
Your utter ruin now approaches near.
I cannot but lament when I behold
These hungry Lions compassing my Fold:
If Heav'n don't them deter, and soon prevent,
You will ere long be all in pieces rent.
| Distressed Sion Relieved | |