Classic Poem

I Turn'd, and on that Building look'd,
Where most are sick with Sin;
Why surely 'tis a horrid state,
That such are living in.

Discas'd in Body here they come,
Disorder'd too in Mind;
But here is a Bethesda free
May all a Cure find!

A Cure for their sick Bodies now,
Perhaps there's none that fear;
And for the cure of the sick Soul,
But very few will care.

But all may sit beneath the sound,
And offers of free grace;
And so account to God must give,
What they hear in this place.

Their Bodies must submissive be
Unto the Surgeon's Will;
Or it is to them of no use
That P IERSON has got skill.

The Clergy too, indeed I know,
They all in vain will preach,
Unless these Souls are willing brought
God's Spirit should them teach.

And if that they are taught of him,
They will to Jesus fly;
And get a cure for their sick Souls
In Sin no longer lie.

I surely do hate sin;
Shall I hate all Mankind,
Because I fear a virtuous Man
Is very hard to find?

For Men are grown so lewd,
And Women are so weak;
It's hard to find the prudent now,
If we the prudent seek.

The Faults I would not see,
Unless those Faults appear;
It's best for to have candour sure
And censure not severe.

Whoremongers, God does say,
Shall by him judged be;
I'll leave that Judgment then to him
He better knows than me.

He shews he hates this sin,
His Anger will not stay
For punishment, 'till after death,
Disease does on them prey.

And will they not then leave their sins,
Tho' thus they for it smart?
Oh! 'tis the Lord alone that can
E'er change the sinner's heart.

And if the Heart thus changed be,
Christ's Virtue can restore;
He bids such lewd ones go in peace,
That they may sin no more.