Classic Poem

Great God, and just! how canst Thou see,
Dear God, our miserie,
And not in mercy set us free?
Poor miserable man! how wert thou born,
Week as the dewy jewels of the morn,
Rapt up in tender dust,
Guarded with sins and lust,
Who like Court-flatterers waite
To serve themselves in thy unhappy fate.
Wealth is a snare, and poverty brings in
Inlets of theft, paving the way for sin:
Each perfum'd vanity doth gently breath
Sin in thy Soul, and whispers it to Death.
Our faults like ulcerated sores do go
O're the sound flesh, and do corrupt that too:
Lord, we are sick, spotted with sin:
Thick as a crusty leaper's skin;
Like Naaman, bid us wash, yet let it be
In streams of blood that flow from Thee:
Then will we sing.
Touch'd by the heavenly Dove's bright wing,
Hallelujahs, psalms and praise
To God the Lord of night and dayes;
Ever good, and ever just,
Ever high, Who ever must
Thus be sung; is still the same;
Eternal praises crown His name.
Amen.