Classic Poem

Christ, Rise, prostrate Mourner——calm thy Breast,
'Tis thy Redeemer bids thee rest;
I make the wounded Sinner whole,
And ease the weary, burthen'd Soul.

 P ENIT. Ah my kind God! recall thy Grace;
Mine is a Guilt too black, too base.
I wou'd——but must the Hope decline,
No, thou can'st never pardon mine .

 C HR. Think—for a World's enormous Guilt,
These vital Streams I freely spilt;
That Blood, sufficient for the Whole ,
Sure it can wash one crimson Soul?

 P EN. True Lord!—but shou'd thy Love excuse,
I shou'd afresh the Grace abuse.
I feel the Habit strong within,
'Tis fixt——a Constitution Sin.

 C HR . Ah blind!——to what a strange Extreme!
The chief of Sinners I redeem,
Died I their Safety to ensure,
Yet want the Means, the Pow'r to cure

 P EN . My Heart revives—but frosty Fears
Nip my young Hopes—a Dawn appears.
Speak, for thy Accents sweetly move:
There's a strange Magic in thy Love!

 C HR . Sit then, and hear my wond'rous Grace——
At dear Expence I lov'd thy Race.
When sold to Hell——a wretched Slave——
My Life I for thy Ransom gave.
The Debt thou ow'd'st the frowning Law
I paid—its strict Demands withdraw,
Even Justice, once thy Dread—by me
Now stands engag'd to set thee free
Thy Sins, tho' numerous as the Sands
That spread the Sea's unmeasur'd Strands,
Appear no more—my Blood shall fall,
And in its Ocean hide them all.
Tho' thou of innate Vice complain,
My Strength thy Weakness shall sustain;
'Tis kept for thee—thy own at will—
Can thy hard Heart resist me still?

 P EN . O pardon—I distrust no more,
Dost thou remit so vast a Score?
Wilt thou my Steps to Freedom guide,
And arm my weak, assaulted Side?
Then be my Treason black as Hell,
Tho' in my Breast the Furies dwell;
Tho' in Sin's Maze entangled long,
The Vice be bold, the Custom strong,
My sure Physician's heav'nly Art
Can Health restore, a Cure impart.
Serenely I my Danger brave,
Now—since I know thy Pow'r to save.