The righteous law does num'rous woes denounce
Against the wretched soul that fails but once:
What heaps of curses on their heads it rears,
That have amass'd the guilt of num'rous years!
MAN'S STRICT ATTACHMENT TO LEGAL TERMS, OR TO THE LAW AS A CONDITION OF LIFE.
SAY, on what terms, then, Heav'n appeas'd will be?
Why, sure perfection is the least degree.
Yea, more, full satisfaction must be giv'n
For trespass done against the laws of Heav'n.
These are the terms: what mortal back so broad,
But must forever sink beneath the load?
A ransom must be found, or die they must,
Sure, ev'n as justice infinite is just.
But, says the legal, proud, self-righteous heart,
Which cannot with her ancient consort part,
"What! wont the goodness of the God of Heav'n,
Admit of smalls, when greater cant be giv'n?
He knows our fall diminish'd all our funds,
Wont he accept of pennies now for pounds?
Sincere endeavors for perfection take,
Or terms more possible for mankind make ?"
Ah, poor divinity, and jargon loose;
Such hay and straw will never build the house.
Mistake not here, proud mortal, don't mistake,
God changes not, nor other terms will make.
Will divine faithfulness itself deny,
Which swore solemnly, Man shall do, or die?
Will God most true extend to us, forsooth,
His goodness, to the damage of his truth?
Will spotless holiness be baffled thus?
Or awful justice be unjust for us?
Shall faithfulness be faithless for our sake,
And he his threats, as we his precepts break?
Will our great Creditor deny himself,
And for full payment take our filthy pelf?
Dispense with justice, to let mercy vent?
And stain his royal crown with 'minish'd rent?
Unworthy thought! O let no mortal clod
Hold such base notions of a glorious God.
Heav'n's holy cov'nant, made for human race,
Consists, or whole of works, or whole of grace.
If works will take the field, then works must be
For ever perfect to the last degree:
Will God dispense with less? Nay, sure he wont
With ragged toll his royal law affront.
Can rags, that Sinai flames will soon dispatch,
E'er prove the fiery law's adequate match?
Vain man must be divorc'd, and choose to take
Another husband, or a burning lake.
We find the divine volume nowhere teach
New legal terms within our mortal reach.
Some make, though in the sacred page
Sincerity assume perfection's throne:
But who will boast this base usurper's sway,
Save ministers of darkness, that display
Invented night to stifle scripture day?
The nat'ralist's sincerity is naught,
That of the gracious is divinely taught;
Which teaching keeps their graces, if sincere,
Within the limits of the gospel sphere,
Where vaunting, none created graces sing,
Nor boast of streams, but of the Lord the spring.
Sincerity's the soul of ev'ry grace,
The quality of all the ransom'd race.
Of promis'd favor 'tis a fruit, a clause,
But no procuring term, no moving cause.
How unadvis'd the legal mind confounds
The marks of divine favor with the grounds,
And qualities of covenanted friends
With the condition of the cov'nant blends?
Thus holding gospel truths with legal arms,
Mistakes new cov'nant fruits for fed'ral terms.
The joyful sound no change of terms allows,
But change of persons, or another spouse.
The nature same that sinn'd must do and die;
No milder terms in gospel-offers lie.
For grace no other law abatement shows,
But how law-debtors may restore its dues;
Restore, yea, through a Surety in their place,
With double int'rest and a better grace.
Here we of no new terms of life are told,
But of a husband to fulfil the old;
With Him alone by faith we 're call'd to wed,
And let no rival bruik* the marriage bed.
MEN'S VAIN ATTEMPT TO SEEK LIFE BY CHRIST'S RIGHTEOUSNESS
JOINED WITH THEIR OWN; AND LEGAL HOPES NATURAL TO ALL.
BUT still the bride reluctant disallows
The junior suit, and hugs the senior spouse.
Such the old selfish folly of her mind,
So bent to lick the dust, and grasp the wind,
Alledging works and duties of her own
May for her criminal offence atone;
She will her antic dirty robe provide,
Which vain she hopes will all pollutions hide.
The filthy rags that saints away have flung,
She holding, wraps and rolls herself in dung.
Thus maugre all the light the gospel gives,
Unto her natʼral consort fondly cleaves.
Though mercy set the royal match in view,
She's loth to bid her ancient mate adieu.
When light of Scripture, reason, common sense,
Can hardly mortify her vain pretence
To legal righteousness; yet if at last
Her conscience rous'd begins to stand aghast,
Press'd with the dread of hell, she 'll rashly patch,
And halve a bargain with the proffer'd match;
In hopes his help, together with her own,
Will turn to peaceful smiles the wrathful frown.
Though grace the rising Sun delightful sings,
With full salvation in his golden wings.
And righteousness complete; the faithless soul,
Receiving half the light, rejects the whole;
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