Occasional verse, moral and sacred Published for the instruction and amusement of the Candidly Serious and Religious [by Edward Perronet] |
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THOUGHTS ON LUKE, XVIII. 8. |
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 | Occasional verse, moral and sacred |  |
71
THOUGHTS ON LUKE, XVIII. 8.
Who then believes one single word that's said,
Or tries his heart, while it informs his head?
But all's admired, and all advanc'd is true,
All gospel here, however stale or new:
You can't mistake—with us you must be right,
Your guides are grey-beards, and your leaders light.
Or tries his heart, while it informs his head?
But all's admired, and all advanc'd is true,
All gospel here, however stale or new:
You can't mistake—with us you must be right,
Your guides are grey-beards, and your leaders light.
Thus preachers dote, till they themselves believe,
Not more afraid to err, than to deceive:
So every Pope, and every prater's heard,
But where's the threat'ning for lukewarmness fear'd?
Where found the care lest grace should not improve,
Or who bewails his want or loss of love?
Where the contrition for transgression past,
Or that repentance that exults at last?
Where found that faith, that only can remove
The mountain-load, whose flowing sorrows prove
Their genuine source—and, by effectual grace,
Relieve the conscience, and its glooms efface?
This Faith the victory that the world o'ercomes,
And yet no glory to itself assumes;
Treads sin and death beneath its conquering feet,
Yet owns all Mercy from the Mercy-seat?
Not more afraid to err, than to deceive:
So every Pope, and every prater's heard,
But where's the threat'ning for lukewarmness fear'd?
Where found the care lest grace should not improve,
Or who bewails his want or loss of love?
Where the contrition for transgression past,
Or that repentance that exults at last?
Where found that faith, that only can remove
The mountain-load, whose flowing sorrows prove
Their genuine source—and, by effectual grace,
Relieve the conscience, and its glooms efface?
This Faith the victory that the world o'ercomes,
And yet no glory to itself assumes;
Treads sin and death beneath its conquering feet,
Yet owns all Mercy from the Mercy-seat?
Again—where found the meek and lowly mind,
To strangers courteous as the fallen kind?
In one short word, where is the master seen,
That best of patterns, as the best of men?
Thro' whose whole life, to the last bleeding wound,
No spot was visual, and no wrinkle found.
To strangers courteous as the fallen kind?
In one short word, where is the master seen,
That best of patterns, as the best of men?
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No spot was visual, and no wrinkle found.
Go then, ye worms! ye painted pageants hear,
And feeling, live the god ye boast to fear:
For know, 'tis not whose boldness calls Him “Lord,”
Struts in His name, or arrogates His word;
But he who trembles at His holy law,
Whom Mercy pities, as she holds in awe;
Who really sav'd, beyond all form is borne,
Mark'd by His hand, and fit for His return!
And feeling, live the god ye boast to fear:
For know, 'tis not whose boldness calls Him “Lord,”
Struts in His name, or arrogates His word;
But he who trembles at His holy law,
Whom Mercy pities, as she holds in awe;
Who really sav'd, beyond all form is borne,
Mark'd by His hand, and fit for His return!
| Occasional verse, moral and sacred | |