Classic Poem

In rural Shades methinks you Ride a long:
Not so with me, I pass amid'st a throng,
Does Groves and Fields sweet Meditation raise,
While tuneful Birds chaunt forth their Maker's Praise?

And thus delighted you pass on your way
Unto God's House, to Love, and Praise and Pray;
And when you're there, may your Redeemer's Love
Unto your Soul the richest Cordial prove.

Which you have heard, and have receiv'd through Grace,
Oh! may it prove delightful to your Taste,
Nourish your Soul while you on Earth do live,
And after Death immortal Honors give.

I hope to join in that immortal Throng;
Where Grace shall ever dwell upon my Tongue;
But London is a trying Place, my dear,
I tread the Streets, and to God's House repair,

Where able Ministers the Truth display,
Oh! may my Eyes ne'er tempt my thoughts away,
From my dear Lord, so Sov'reign kind and good,
When that I hear he bought me with his Blood.

But Oh! with Grief and humble Shame I find,
That trifles oft will discompose my Mind.
Sometimes returning, thus I roam the Street,
Careless of what I see, or whom I meet.

'Tis among Mortals now I spend my Days,
No tuneful Birds are near in Woods to Praise.
Oftentimes I wish I could retire more,
To seek my God, and read his Volume o'er.

But as for this, I want both place and time,
And thus my Thoughts are often turn'd to rhyme.
Amid'st these Scenes how do I think of thee,
How different God has cast thy Lot from me.

Yet, both I hope are on the Road to Bliss,
That God who governs, never Rules amiss,
Yes, I rejoice, 'tis thus the Scriptures tell,
The Saviour had done all Things for us well.

Lead us, dear Lord, which way thou pleasest,
Ne'er suffer us to stray;
For sure we are to Canaan bound,
And Jesus is the Way.