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 CLXIX. 
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572.

[On simple souls sincere]

Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, &c. —xxiii. 13.

On simple souls sincere
Eight blessings He bestows;
The hypocrites He loads severe
With eight tremendous woes!
Their just desert declares,
Foretells their fearful doom
That warn'd their successors and heirs
May escape the wrath to come.
Ye Scribes and Pharisees,
Who sit in Moses' seat,
Your true succession we confess,
And to your sway submit:
Ye claim the rulers' chair,
But not their chair alone,
Their false religious character
Their woes are all your own.
Who feign a zeal for God,
The God ye never knew,
Ambitious, covetous, and proud,
Ye prove the charge is true:
Ye will not Christ obey,
By grace through faith forgiven,
But still obstruct the royal way,
And block us out of heaven.
The preachers ye defame,
Out of your church expel,

362

Forbid to speak in Jesus' name,
And save poor souls from hell:
'Gainst those who flee from sin,
And would be truly poor,
And seek and strive to enter in,
Ye shut the gospel door.