Classic Poem

 Thus, sinner, into Jesus' bosom flee,
Then there is hope in Isra'l sure for thee.
Slight not the call, as running by in rhime,
Lest thou repent for ay, if not in time.
'Tis most unlawful to contemn and shun
All wholesome counsels that in metre run;
Since the prime fountains of the sacred writ
Much heav'nly truth in holy rhimes transmit.
If this don't please, yet hence it is no crime
To versify the word, and preach in rhime;
But in whatever mould the doctrine lies,
Some erring minds will gospel-truth despise
Without remedy, till heav'n anoint their eyes.
These lines pretend no conqu'ring art nor skill,
But shew in weak attempts a strong good-will
To mortify all native legal pride,
And court the Lamb of God a virgin bride.
If he thy conjunct match be never giv'n,
Thou'rt doom'd to hell, as sure as God's in heav'n.
If gospel-grace and goodness don't thee draw,
Thou art condemn'd already by the law.
Yea, hence damnation deep will doubly brace,
If still thy heart contemn redeeming grace.
No argument for fear or hope will move,
Nor draw thy heart, if not the bond of love:
Nor flowing joys, nor flaming terrors chase
To Christ the hav'n, without the gales of grace.
O slighter then of grace's joyful sound,
Thou'rt over to the wrathful ocean bound.
Anon thou'lt sink into the gulf of woes,
Whene'er thy wasting hours are at a close;
Thy false old legal hope will then be lost,
And with thy wretched soul give up the ghost.
Then farewell God and Christ, and grace and glore!
Undone thou art, undone for evermore,
For ever sinking underneath the load
And pressure of a sin-revenging God.
The sacred awful text asserts, “To fall
Into his living hands, is fearful thrall:
When no more sacrifice for sin remains,”
But ever living wrath, and lasting chains;
Heav'n still upholding life in dreadful death,
Still throwing down hot thunderbolts of wrath,
As full of terror, and as manifold,
As finite vessels of his wrath can hold.
 Then, then we may suppose the wretch to cry,
“Oh! if this damning God would let me die,
And not torment me to eternity!
Why from the silent womb of stupid earth
Did Heav'n awake, and push me into birth?
Curs'd be the day that ever gave me life;
Curs'd be the cruel parents, man and wife,
Means of my being, instruments of woe;
For now I'm damn'd, I'm damn'd, and always so!
Curs'd be the day that ever made me hear
The gospel-call, which brought salvation near.
The endless sound of slighted mercy's bell,
Has in mine ears the most tormenting knell.
Of offered grace I vain repent the loss,
The joyful sound with horror recognosce.
The hollow vault reverberates the sound,
This killing echo strikes the deepest wound.
And with too late remorse does now confound,
Into the dungeon of despair I'm lock'd,
Th' once open door of hope for ever block'd;
Hopeless I sink into the dark abyss,
Banished for ever from eternal bliss.
In boiling waves of vengeance must I lie?
O could I curse this dreadful God, and die!
Infinite years in torment shall I spend,
And never, never, never at an end!
Ah! must I live in torturing despair
As many years as atoms in the air?
When these are spent, as many thousands more
As grains of sand that crowd the ebbing shore?
When these are done, as many yet behind
As leaves of forest shaken with the wind?
When these are gone, as many to ensue
As stems of grass on hills and dales that grew?
When these run out, as many on the march
As starry lamps that gild the spangled arch?
When these expire, as many millions more
As moments in the millions past before?
When all these doleful years are spent in pain,
And multiplied by myriads again,
'Tis numbers drown the thought! could I suppose
That then my wretched years were at a close,
This would afford some ease: but ah! I shiver
To think upon the dreadful sound, for ever!
The burning gulph, where I blaspheming ly,
Is time no more, but vast ETERNITY !
The glowing torment I endure for sin,
Through ages all is always to begin.
How did I but a grain of pleasure sow,
To reap an harvest of immortal woe?
Bound at the bottom of the burning main,
Gnawing my chains, I wish for death in vain.
Just doom! since I that bear the eternal load,
Contemn'ed the death of an eternal God,
Oh! if the God that curs'd me to the lash,
Would bless me back to nothing with a dash!
But hopeless I the just avenger hate,
Blaspheme the wrathful God, and curse my fate!
 To these this word of terror, I direct,
Who now the great salvation dare neglect:
To all the Christ-despising multitude,
That trample on the great Redeemer's blood;
That see no beauty in his glorious face,
But slight his offers, and refuse his grace.
A messenger of wrath to none I am,
But those that hate to wed the worthy Lamb.
For though the smallest sins, if small can be,
Will plunge the Christless soul in misery:
Yet lo! the greatest that to mortals cleave
Shan't damn the souls in Jesus that believe;
Because they on the very method fall
That well can make amends to God for all.
Whereas proud souls, thro' unbelief, wont let
The glorious God a reputation get
Of all his honour, in his darling Son,
For all the great dishonours they have done.
A faithless soul the glorious God bereaves
Of all the satisfaction that he craves:
Hence under divine hottest fury dies,
And with a double vengeance justly lies,
The blackest part of Tophet is their place,
Who slight the tenders of redeeming grace.
That sacrilegious monster, Unbelief,
So hard'ned 'gainst remorse and pious grief,
Robs God of all the glory of his names,
And ev'ry divine attribute defames.
It loudly calls the truth of God a lie;
The God of truth a liar, horrid cry!
Doubts and denies his precious words of grace,
Spits venon in the royal suitors face!
This monster cannot cease all sin to hatch,
Because it proudly mars the happy match.
As each law-wedded soul is join'd to sin,
And destitute of holiness within;
So all that wed the law must wed the curse,
Which rent they scorn to pay with Christ's full purse.
They clear may read their dreadful doom in brief,
Whose fester'd sore is final unbelief:
Though to the law their life exalted fram'd,
For zealous acts and passions to were fam'd;
Yet lo! He that believes not shall be damn'd .

 But now 'tis proper on the other side.
 With words of comfort to address the bride.
 She in her glorious Husband does possess
 Adorning grace, acquitting righteousness:
 And hence to her pertain the golden mines
 Of comfort open'd in the following lines.