Classic Poem

This Youth has often view'd his Face,
I think we here do find;
And is it so, Sir, then, that thus
Neglected is your Mind?

For-that deform'd it surely is,
A blackness too I see;
Or you would ne'er be pleas'd when that
A Rake you're thought to be.

But Oh! methinks that Fiend in black
So blinded has your Eyes,
Thus has he made a Fool of you,
You fancy still you're wise.

Oh! do not think that I am harsh,
Because these truths I tell;
The Harlot will lead Souls to Death,
Her House goes strait to Hell.

Oh! could you now but see aright,
You'd quick from her depart;
Before a fatal Arrow comes,
And strikes Death to your Heart.

An honour 'tis of Britain's Sons,
To think that they are free;
But they who're held in Chains by Lust,
The worst of Slaves must be.

And what still makes the Bondage worse,
So fond they're of the Chain,
That to break off these Fetters strong,
All Friendship's render'd vain.

Unless the Friend of Sinner's comes
Who rubs off Satan's rust;
And if he comes unto their aid,
These Chains asunder burst.

He will so cleanse their Hearts and Lives,
Such beauty will appear,
That those who love the King of Kings,
Will know he has been there.

Oh! how his people will rejoice,
When they the change do see;
And say the Saviour has been there,
And set the Captives free!