Eighteen long years now, I've gone up and down,
For sinners to bow, and bring to the crown;
And oft I have fasted, rode night, and all day,
But pleasure have tasted, when Jesus they say.
My days are near ended, on earth I believe;
The Christ I defended, who does me relieve;
And could I bring thousands, to His open Arms,
I yet would say thousands, may have of His alms.
The river of Jordan, I must soon pass o'er,
Then let fall my burden, bear sinners no more ;
But worship King Jesus, a day without night,
Who never shall leave us, but feast in our sight.
My soul is made glad, with Christ in my heart,
'Tho' often I'm sad, that sinners do smart ;
So wretched their portion, when hell is their choice,
Refusing Salvation, and Jesu's sweet voice.
I wander to and fro, for mourners to find;
Their hearts are made sore, that Jesus may bind
Them fast to the Father, with His Dying Love:
Who once chose far rather, death's bitter to prove.
Thus I have forsook, all grandeur below,
And only have took, my Jesus to go;
With me from one nation, to another abroad;
So fill up my station, till Heaven's my abode.
The foxes have holes, and birds their own nest,
But I from the poles, cannot take a rest,
'Till Jesus has freed me, from this house of clay,
Those eyes then will see Thee, who calls me away.
Three times three, death's shaft, hath arrow'd my heart
Father and mother, hath made me to part;
My sisters, and brethren, are joyful above;
And all are call'd children, by Jesus I love.
We soon shall behold, each other once more,
When then will be told, God's love we adore;
In Jerusalem, the City of Israel's Great King,
Where all who found pity, shall glory then sing.
Ye pilgrims of Christ, join heart and your hand,
To bring to His Breast, and Heavenly Land,
The weakest believer, who pants for His Grace,
And joyful receiver, who knows Jesu's Face.
Poor sinners once more, I must you invite ;
For heavenly ore, my pen doth now write;
Methinks as stars fixed, my crown doth shine bright;
With you I have mixed, and sorrow'd all night.
Those lines you may read, when I am in dust;
The soul is not dead, and never will rust;
As earth-worms whose canker, shall eat them as fire;
Whose souls doth now hanker, for satan's bad hire.
I here shall conclude, fifty years of my life,
And as a prelude, shall give up all strife;
For Jesus is Heaven, on earth now begun;
His riches are leaven, as bright as the sun.
I speak what I think, and borrow of none;
With pen, and my ink, I blow David's horn;
The Spirit's my Teacher, and God is my Guide;
And Christ is my Preacher, and dwells by my side.
Seven times I've passed o'er Atlantic's great tide;
Love and Faith have me bore, to seek Christ a bride;
From sinners so numerous, I cannot them tell:
But Grace is so glorious, to save men from hell.
I go into Prison, and the lowest cell;
Thus rebels are risen, by Power that does fell
Them down to the earth, that they may begin
Their heavenly new birth, and cease from all sin.
The Hospital sick, I visit around;
And cut to the quick, with arrows I've found;
In Jesu's quiver, fast bound to my heart;
Then plunge in the river, to heal their sore smart.
The Poor-house then next, I hunt for the blind;
Deaf, and dumb are my text, and those out of mind;
I shew them the Saviour, by faith I do pray;
And tell them His Laver, will wash sin away.
The rich, and the great, I pass them not by ;
And some of them meet, a daily supply
From Jesus, the Lover of all Adam's race;
And Christ, the Great Prover of free Sovereign Grace.
The deists I find, wherever I go;
But am of this mind, they do not yet know
My Jesus, the Father, of this Universe;
Tho' millions of other, I might now rehearse.
Profess'd Christians them make, the Lord to deny,
Who was nail'd to a stake, their souls for to buy:
And Jesus was wounded, by His own high priest;
Yet love it was sounded, to the very least.
Ye hypocrites sad, I over you wail;
Your conduct is bad, and gives me this tale;
But some of you wish that you never had been;
And others do tell, what they never have seen.
Backsliders I pity, from my very soul;
And were I thus witty, you should be made whole;
But Jesus is able your souls to reclaim ;
He saith its a fable, to alter your name.
In Christ you will find, a very dear Friend;
Who is of this mind, to love to the end;
Yet satan is seeking, His sheep to devour;
And God He is making some whole this bright hour.
I want for my Bridegroom, a loving pure bride;
For there is yet great room, for you to abide
By Jesus, the Shepherd of all the good flock;
Who wants yet a great herd, to build on the rock:
We all may like sheep, abide by His side,
And from the great deep, plow Israel's tide;
For water is flowing, from the Fountain height;
And sinners come bowing, to Christ Jesu's sight.
My faith is increas'd, since first I begun ;
The wither'd, and least, may have a bright crown;
So all ye unstable, to Jesus draw nigh;
Your hearts are a table, to write He did buy,
All souls for Himself, but satan has stole,
As a great fierce wolf, a part from the whole;
For every believer, is a child of God;
And Christ is the Giver of His own Heart's Blood.
Millions may now come, the Fountain is free;
The drunkards are some, I want for to see;
In them a pure river, He'll give for their thirst:
Then ever, and ever, sin shall from them burst.
I'm happy in God, and Jesu's sweet Name;
So trust in His Word, forever the same;
My time it is wanted, to seek souls for Him;
My heart it has panted, to bring thousands in.
What shall I do more than tell you my mind?
If you are but poor, a Saviour will find
For you what is needful, both silver and gold;
And make you most thankful, His Love for to hold..
'Tis Jesus I offer, to every one;
His love I do proffer, as a sure crown ;
And were I but stronger, my feet should me bear Five times ten years longer, Christ's love to declare
But others I call, to fill up my rank;
When down I shall fall, to lay on a plank;
My spirit will fly then, as swift as a dart;
And Jesus my Bridegroom, hold me in his heart,
Whoever can feel, the love I do tell,
Would take by the heel, poor sinners from hell;
As downward they're going, to bring them above;
To sing of Christ's dying, a Heaven of love.
New York, 22d of 8th Month, 1819.
|