Classic Poem

Sin!—dreaded Sin, detested as thou art,
Whose harpy claws are fix'd within the heart!
More hateful fat to one who clearly sees
Than sorrow, pain, or famine, or disease;
Whose venom'd rage must render language weak;
Whose dreadful pow'r the blood of Christ must speak!
'Tis not for innocence thy snares to guess
I dread thy arts and fear to hate thee less!
Whether in pleasure's silken garb array'd,
Or scowling deep, in envy's gloomy shade
With frowns of malice, enmity and pride—
Or greedy avarice with his gold supplied—
Fatal thou art!—Thy vile deceitful mien
Amidst the crowd in every step is seen,
But even in cells obscure, where hermits dwell
Thy pois'nous tongue of mighty worth will tell:
Some doubt will prey—some fancy will suggest
Its ranc'rous venom in his tortur'd breast!
Fly, hateful Sin!—Or if I still must view
Thy odious form, preserve that aspect too,
Be hideous still—till that celestial hour
When mercy shall release us from thy pow'r—
And bright redeeming love, that love shall shine
Where clouds shall never hide its light divine!