Poems by the late John Bethune With a sketch of the author's life, by his brother |
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POETICAL PREACHER.—No. II. |
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 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
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POETICAL PREACHER.—No. II.
“Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.”—
John vi. 37.
While Fortune smiles, and Plenty pours
Her favours o'er thy lot,
Where'er thou go'st, the opening doors
Of palace and of cot
Will welcome thee, to rest and share
Whate'er they can afford;
And ready hands will soon prepare
The downy couch, and sumptuous board.
Her favours o'er thy lot,
Where'er thou go'st, the opening doors
Of palace and of cot
Will welcome thee, to rest and share
Whate'er they can afford;
And ready hands will soon prepare
The downy couch, and sumptuous board.
But if pale poverty should shed
Its cold benumbing snows
Upon thy weary heart and head,
These doors at once will close;
For kindness here is only won
By wealth—which wants it not;
While all would shun the wretch undone
As only fit to be forgot.
Its cold benumbing snows
Upon thy weary heart and head,
These doors at once will close;
For kindness here is only won
By wealth—which wants it not;
While all would shun the wretch undone
As only fit to be forgot.
But hark! a voice of mercy calls—
It is a Saviour's voice;
He woos the poor to heavenly halls,
Where all that dwell rejoice.
The meanest wretch who here may roam
May come without a doubt,
And find a glorious welcome home:
God will not cast the wretched out.
It is a Saviour's voice;
He woos the poor to heavenly halls,
Where all that dwell rejoice.
The meanest wretch who here may roam
May come without a doubt,
And find a glorious welcome home:
God will not cast the wretched out.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |