Classic Poem

For various Trials from our Birth design'd,
(The Lot dispens'd to suff'ring Human Kind)
With diff'rent Interests in our Breasts at Strife;
The brutish Nature, with the heavenly Life!
Press'd by Temptations, prone to sensual Ill,
Our Reason pliant to our sordid Will,
What Aids has pitying Heav'n for Man prepar'd?
What Clue to guide him, or what Arms to guard?
Nature's short Line, and philosophic Art,
A devious Rule, and weak Defence impart;
Too oft thro' Life's dark Maze mislead our Way,
Too seldom in its Warfare gain the Day.
More sure Direction, more successful Aid,
Thy Gospel, blest Redeemer! has display'd:
The guilty Mind, with vengeful Dread opprest,
Is in thy pard'ning Mercy taught to rest;
Is by thy Merits clear'd, thy Purchase free,
And for Supplies of Strength depends on thee.
Who can o'er worldly Snares triumphant stride?
What Unbeliever, Slave, seduc'd by Pride?
Who but th' heroic Saint , advanc'd to Fame
By Faith in Jesus? that victorious Name!

H OLDEN , forgive the Muse her bold Essay,
'Ttis Obligation prompts th' aspiring Lay:
A grateful Tribute to thy Worth she brings,
From you she copy'd, what to you she sings.

View Man in his probationary State,
What hostile Ills his hourly Combat wait!
In Youth he lists vain Follies to engage,
In Manhood Cares, and Peevishness in Age .
Oft forc'd afflictive Trials to endure,
By Use his hardier Valour to enure:
Pin'd with sharp Wants, deprest by Sorrow's Train,
By Sickness worn, and agonis'd with Pain.
Or if with Health he blooms, with Plenty smiles,
Still Wars alarm him, and incessant Toils.
Pleasures, or Cares, some fresh Attack begin,
Objects without, and Passions from within.
In vain he seeks to shun th' unpleasing Strife,
Still harrass'd in the civil Feud of Life.
In vain his Pow'rs wou'd turn on Reason's part,
The ruling Inclination holds his Heart.
And, Oh! more dangerous still his Conflict grows,
Charg'd by a pow'rful Host of stronger Foes!
Dread Hell's malicious Troops his Peace annoy,
Their Force oppose, and Stratagems employ.
While such his Hazards, with such Odds opprest,
In Nature's Strength will Man, presumptuous, rest?
Weak Man! with all his boasted Trophies won,
So oft defeated, and so soon undone?

Happy alone, while Danger thus invades,
The Saint, assisted with superior Aids.
Him, Heav'n's Artill'ry arms his strengthen'd Reins
Truth's Belt , a firm Sincerity, sustains.
A steady Righteousness thro' Life exprest
He wears, bright Armour, on his dauntless Breast .
Calm Preparation , for what Ills may rise,
With sure defensive Greaves his Feet supplies.
But Faith , his best Security imparts,
Shield , to repel th' infernal fiery Darts .
His Helmet, heav'nly Hope ; and brandish'd Sword,
That Ghostly Weapon, God's victorious Word .
And last, (for each Assault) the Chief prepare,
Fresh Vigilance , and Might-renewing Pray'r .
Thus fenc'd, and skilful how his Arms to wield,
The C HRISTIAN Hero takes th' advent'rous Field.

Does adverse Providence beset his Way,
Pains waste his Body, Wants his Mind dismay?
Stript of Estate, or Relatives, or Friends,
Still on the Arm that smites his Hold depends.
Conscious of Woes deserv'd, of numerous Stains,
Less than their Due he counts what Heav'n ordains.
He takes his Father's Stripes in gentlest part,
Nor one Resentment murmurs in his Heart.
He knows his Orders wise, his Nature kind,
And each Affliction for his Health design'd.
Finds earthly Good more vain, beneath the Rod;
And drove from Creatures, meets his Rest in God .
He marks how just, Uzzean Job was try'd:
How Jesus , how the guiltless Saviour dy'd .
Bears the hard Lot his patient Lord has born,
Stoops to his Cross, and crowns him with his Thorn.
Tho' o'er his long-tost Bark the Waves swell high,
Ship-wreck'd, and left — beneath a darken'd Sky;
His Faith th' unruffling Trial firm endures,
Deliv'rance hopes, or blest Rewards assures.

Behold! — — If Heav'n exempts the Saint from Cares,
Amid his Plenty he discerns his Snares:
Knows how from sensual Baits his Mind to call,
Pleas'd in his Station , arm'd to bear his Fall .
He deems his Wealth a Talent left in Trust,
No private Perquisite for Pride or Lust.
His nobler Portion in Reversion lies,
A heav'nly Kingdom, in his Father's Skies.
Gentle in Pow'r, with Honours ne'er elate,
He only grows more useful, as more great.
To ev'ry Object of distressing Woes
His Bounty, as his Pity, overflows.

If, in gay Youth, to Pleasures he incline,
Lo! still he makes their Rule Heav'n's Word divine:
Regards due Season, wild Excess refrains,
Nor gall they his Review with guilty Pains.
Him, nor delusive Bliss to Vice beguiles,
Th' intemperate Bowl, the Harlot's baneful Smiles;
Proof'gainst each Lure that wou'd the Combat win,
Calm 'mid the Strife that Passions raise within.
On the young Hebrew his Reflections dwell,
Who a lewd Wanton cou'd resist so well,
By Gratitude restrain'd, and pious Fear,
A shining Proof of Chastity severe!
But most the sacred Declarations move,
That shut th' Adulterer from the Seats above,
That temp'rate Passions teach, and pure Desire,
And promise Aids the Conquest to acquire.
The Charms of heavenly Love his Thoughts employ,
The Price of heavenly Crowns, and heavenly Joy.
He counts the Pains his suff'ring Saviour bore,
Resolv'd his Guilt shall ope those Wounds no more;
Nor render vain such Pity, Love and Grace,
Shown for Man's worthless, ill-deserving Race.

Hail, reverenc'd Gospel! our securest Guide,
In Peace best Comfort, best Defence when try'd:
Giv'n to support the Weak, the Fall'n to aid;
O! be thro' Earth thy grateful Sounds convey'd!

— Still view the Friend of Jesus , how serene
Bright Faith conducts him thro' Life's parting Scene!
Helps him pale Death to scorn, proud Fiends to quell,
Himself too hard for all the Force of Hell.
But mark, what Triumphs! mark th' amazing State,
What dazzling Pomps th' ascending Victor wait!
The Joys of Angels! — the predestin'd Crown! —
The Shouts! — the Plaudit from th' eternal Throne!
Bliss, which a Muse defil'd with Guilt and Woe
Conceives but faintly, nor attempts below.

Yet, blest Redeemer! Heav'n's disposing Lord,
By whom the Sinner is to Bliss restor'd,
Chief, in my grateful Heart, that owes to thee
All I possess, or am, or hope to be,
Yet — can thy Grace each guilty Bar remove,
And make me taste th' unknown Delights above.
Till when — thy willing Soldier, weak — unskill'd,
So oft assaulted in Life's doubtful Field,
His feeble Efforts in thy Cause displays,
And consecrates this Trophy to thy Praise.