Classic Poem

Temptation.

Saten has still his sug'red bait
And subtle strategem
Suted to every place, & state
Hes skil'd to play his game.

To pictht battell, he comes not out
But seeks to circumvent
And cuningly, he wheels about
As if no harm he meant.

Hee never, a devise doth want
our silly souls, to cacth
He will be sure, us still to haunt
Till we'r out of his reach.

But first, and formost, he will tempt
Unto security,
Therby, he doth all fears exempt
Whilst he sings lullaby.

If this he cannot make, to take
To duty hee'l spur on
That soe a saviour wee may make
Vainly to rest upon.

If in our selfs, no grace we see
Hee then will put us by
That unto Christ, we may not flee
With'ut grace to qualifie.

To come to Christ, thou art unfitt
It is presumption
Thou hast no grace, thou art not meet
Such, Christ will never own.

This we may call, an humble prid
From Saten, it dos flow
That we from Christ, may turn aside
Such seed he use to sow.

If off from Christ, he canot keep
Thy soull, but their t'will rest
To bring thee, into sorrows deep
Hee'l surely, doe his best.

Somtimes the praise of men he'l use
To lift thee up on high
And in thy thoughts, he will defuse
That thou art some-body.

Into the precyous soule, of grace
He'l cast the seed of pride
He knows t'will make god hide his face
'Cause pride, he cant abide.

If humbled be, thy soull for sin
He'l keep thee, in the dust
Raising such fogs, & mists, within
That dye, thou'lt think thou must.

Nay he will yet, goe one step highr
He will not leave thee soe
But makes thee to stike, fast in mire
Of unbeleife, and woe.

then with hard thoughts, of god he'l fill
Thy soull that thou mayst fly
From him (on whom thou shouldst roll still)
As from an enemy.

Somtimes he'l cast in such a thought
Surely their is no god
Because I find, not such things wrought
As scripture, doth report.

As if we should conclude, & say
There is no Sun to shine
Because I see not now, its ray
Upon this feild of mine.

If god on thee, doth lay his rod
Then's Sattens busy time
To throw in Jealouse thoughts of god
And of his love design.

To tempt somtimes, hee seems to cease
That wee may be cecure
That soe he may, with greater ease
Our soulls, to sin, allure.

Somtimes he seems, to shrink away
That he may leave us proud
As if we had now got the day
And then he'l rage more loud.

On while, he stirs up diligence
In our worldly affair
Guilding it o're with this pretence:
Of a prudencyall care.

But if apace in grace thou grow
And long to be in heaven
Thy work he'l tempt away to throw
If thou spy not his leaven.

One while he makes us, look on grace
As grown to some degree
That soe, we may not mend our pace
But rest contentedly.

Anon he'l make thee for to see
Thy grace soe weak, thy self soe dull
As if their we're, none like to thee
To make thee, unthankfull.

Somtimes he'l make thy tounge to walk
That thou mayst surely sin
And to thy soull, by Idle talk
Hee will much trouble bring.

Another time, thy tounge he'l tye
Soe that thou shalt not know
Which way to speak of the most high
Thy spirits ar soe low.

Somtims he'l set thee to compare
Thy state, with emenent
Saincts, that seeing their graces rare
Thou mayst despond, and faint.

Again he'l place, before thine eyes
On that has litle grace
That whilst, thou dost, their grace despise
Thou mayst extoll thy case.

If thou has such an enemy
what need hast thou to bee
upon thy gaurds continualy
least he break in on thee.

He stirs up all his hellish rout
He knows this is his hour
continually he goes about.
And seeks, for to devour.

This enemy, he wants no rage
No malice, nor yett skill
For he hath still in ev'ry age
Drawn souls, unto his will.

Because he knows, his time is short
His rage doth now encrease
For then he can no longer hurt
With time, his rage shall cease.

By neer six thousand yeers practise
His skill is still encreast
And he is grown exceeding wise
To work his cursed feats.

Tis by thy grace, oh Lord, I stand
Doe thou my soull still keep
Till on the other side, I land
Wher Saten shall not creep.