Classic Poem

The just man's life's the path to heaven;
Though narrow, yet 'tis even,
No dark nor obscure way,
But shining bright as is the day;
And as the day's each minute brighter, so
He step by step doth to perfection go.

No violent motion 'tis, but creeps
A gentle pace, and peeps
Like break of day; a light
That's chequer'd betwixt black and white,
Till it increasing more and more appear
A perfect day within the hemisphere.

The man new-started from his sins
When he his race begins,
Just so much light he hath
To show him that there is a path
Which leads to heaven, though scarce enough to guide
His feet from slipping sometimes on each side.

A little now, a little then:
As he Christ cur'd, saw men
Walking at first like trees,
So doth the righteous by degrees;
Each cross he meets at first seems more then man,
A gyant in his way to Canaan.

But as his light his courage growes,
And then away he throwes
His fears, takes heart of grace,
And boldly looks the world i'th' face,
Bids do its worst and what before did seem
A monster, now a pigmy he doth deem.

Vice in his native colours he
Sees and hates perfectly;
Vertue's the thing alone
That he makes his companion;
Adding of grace to grace till that his sun
To the meridian of his day hath run,

And then like Joshuah's fixd stands
To do all God's commands,
Nor shall it e're go down,
But glory shall his graces crown,
And make one constant day that knowes no night,
Nor lessening nor augmenting of his light.

Lord, let Thy grace about me shine,
That I may not decline,
The path which leads to Thee,
And may it still increasing be
Till grace and glory shall unite their rayes
Into one perfect light that ne're decayes.