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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A Complaint against Oaths.
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A Complaint against Oaths.
Volleys of Oaths with horrid Blasphemy,
And dreadful Cursings in mine Ears do cry.
Mark but our impious Gallants when they meet,
Observe the Mode, how they each other greet;
What new-coin'd Oaths? what modish Execrations?
What Damning, Sinking, horrid Imprecations
Do they disgorge? the Serpents fiery hiss
That belches Sulphur from the black Abyss
Can scarce out-do this Ranting Tribe, who count
The Man Genteel that is most Paramount
In wickedness; he that Blasphemes aloud.
Christ's Blood and Wounds, a Courtier's Alamode.
How can th' abused Earth but gape again,
To swallow quick, vile wretches so prophane?
How can Heavens great Artillery so long
Forbear the Treasons of a Mortal Tongue?
Jehovah's Attributes so vilely us'd,
His Sacred Essence, and his Name abus'd.
Fresh Blasphemies they mint, new Curses frame,
And sins that never had before a name
Graduates in Courtship are preferr'd, who 'ave made
Most quick proficience in the Hellish Trade:
That Rant and Roar, Revel and Domineer,
As if nor God, nor Devil they did fear.
Approaching dangers can't disturb their pleasure,
But still they sin until they fill their measure.
Judgments deferr'd in evil makes them bold,
Despising such by whom they are controul'd;
As if th' avenging hand their Lives did spare,
Thus to provoke him without dread or fear.
And dreadful Cursings in mine Ears do cry.
Mark but our impious Gallants when they meet,
Observe the Mode, how they each other greet;
What new-coin'd Oaths? what modish Execrations?
What Damning, Sinking, horrid Imprecations
Do they disgorge? the Serpents fiery hiss
That belches Sulphur from the black Abyss
Can scarce out-do this Ranting Tribe, who count
The Man Genteel that is most Paramount
In wickedness; he that Blasphemes aloud.
Christ's Blood and Wounds, a Courtier's Alamode.
How can th' abused Earth but gape again,
To swallow quick, vile wretches so prophane?
How can Heavens great Artillery so long
Forbear the Treasons of a Mortal Tongue?
Jehovah's Attributes so vilely us'd,
His Sacred Essence, and his Name abus'd.
Fresh Blasphemies they mint, new Curses frame,
And sins that never had before a name
Graduates in Courtship are preferr'd, who 'ave made
Most quick proficience in the Hellish Trade:
That Rant and Roar, Revel and Domineer,
As if nor God, nor Devil they did fear.
Approaching dangers can't disturb their pleasure,
But still they sin until they fill their measure.
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Despising such by whom they are controul'd;
As if th' avenging hand their Lives did spare,
Thus to provoke him without dread or fear.
But poor Blasphemer, though thou art past by,
'Tis not t'indulge thee in iniquity.
Think'st thou the God of purity does like
Such ways, because he yet forbears to strike?
Dost think a gloomy interposing Cloud,
From Gods All-searching Eye can be thy shroud?
Or that because he is inthron'd on high,
Thy deeds of darkness he cannot espy?
Or since his Judgments are so long delay'd,
Wilt thou proceed, and be no whit afraid?
Wilt thou his patience without end abuse,
Slight true Repentance, and his Grace refuse?
If so, thy Judgment hastens—for a Rod
Will quickly reach thee from an angry God,
Because of Oaths the Land does greatly mourn,
For which my Soul much inward grief has born.
'Tis not t'indulge thee in iniquity.
Think'st thou the God of purity does like
Such ways, because he yet forbears to strike?
Dost think a gloomy interposing Cloud,
From Gods All-searching Eye can be thy shroud?
Or that because he is inthron'd on high,
Thy deeds of darkness he cannot espy?
Or since his Judgments are so long delay'd,
Wilt thou proceed, and be no whit afraid?
Wilt thou his patience without end abuse,
Slight true Repentance, and his Grace refuse?
If so, thy Judgment hastens—for a Rod
Will quickly reach thee from an angry God,
Because of Oaths the Land does greatly mourn,
For which my Soul much inward grief has born.
| Distressed Sion Relieved | |