« EelmineJätka »
How keen are the pains of a spiritual birth,
When its dreadful attendants invade! The soul is a stranger to music and mirth,
A companion for none but the dead.
But spiritual travail is life in disguise,
Though with imminent dangers beset; The voice of the prophets calls flames from the skies ;
Yea, and Moses pursues us for debt,
All crimes from the cradle come fresh to the mind,
Transgression's presented to view; While Satan accuses for every crime,
Yea, and Conscience repeats-it is true.
Jehovah erects his tribunal within,
And the criminal trembles with guilt; The billows of wrath stir the motions of sin, And the arrows of vengeance are felt. VOL. II.
His feigned profession is totally marr'd,
Both torments and terrors invade;
All friends stand aloof, and acquaintances hide,
I envy'd the brutes which dissolve with the day,
The pains of the damn'd rack'd my mind with dismay, And I wish'd I could end in a tomb.
I cavill'd with Mercy, and trembled at Fate,
This fearing, and doubting, and hoping between;
My follies were link'd like a chain to my soul,
On my wearisome bed I courted the day,
If I made my confession in private alone,
Then the worst of temptations began; And, though I petition'd with many a groan,
Yet I fain would have fled from his hand.
The horrors of justice, and terrors of death,
And mad desperation within !
With a conscience polluted with sin!
This sorrowful travail, what will it avail,
While my heart's too contracted to yield? Despair and distraction must, doubtless, prevail:
My wound is too deep to be heal’d.
My cruel companions, they daily deride,
And I'm chaf’d with the plague of my heart; My prayers to Heaven have passage deny’d,
And this wounds more than dagger or dart.
Can such a conception be found in the dead?
And, if quicken'd, why under the curse? Hope springing within me, must prove that I'm wed;
And, if barren, then why am I thus?
But, though of all strength I am wholly bereav'd,
And deliverance hid from my view; Yet, still in child-bearing the spouse must be sav'd;
Old Adam must yield to the New.
My Saviour perceiv'd me when sunk in distress,
And his love could no longer refrain : He yielded to prayer, and granted redress;
And my mountains were sunk to a plain.