The Pastor's Complaint Poem by Rees Prichard

What sorrows in my soul, O God! arise,
The vast perverseness of mankind to see?
Shou'd any strive to lead them to the skies,
To quenchless fires they'd rather madly flee.

To bleach the moor, requires no greater art,
Or Jordan's stream up Hermon's hill to roll,
Than to persuade the fool's obdurate heart,
To fear his God, and to preserve his soul.

Use ev'ry means, though fair or foul they be,
To charm the deaf-ear'd snake, you charm in vain:
Prune, as you please, a rotten-hearted tree,
You neither fruit, nor shade, shall long obtain.

Teach, shew, exhort, conjure the debauchee,
A vicious life he to the last will lead:
Try both the law and gospel, yet from thee
He'll only with a sneer avert his head.

Whether the prophets' terrors you make known,
Or in th' apostles milder style advise,
As well you beat your head against a stone;
He'll only do what's pleasing in his eyes.

My heart with heaviness is therefore fill'd:
Ah me! that God had not in pity chose,
To give me charge of beasts, by nature wild,
Rather than men, worse than the worst of those!

As, e'en from flow'rs, of sweetest taste and smell,
The spider can a deadly poison draw :
Some ill the reprobate can full as well
Extract from God's own word, and sacred law.

Since our Redeemer Christ so kind has been,
As for our sakes his heart's best blood to lose,
And give it as a ransom for our sin;
Many, on that account, to sin still chuse.

'Cause Lot and Noah were for once subdu'd
By wine, and Jonah was of old morose;
Many their faults with ardor have pursu'd,
Who never one of all their virtues chose.

Each forward youth is apt to swear and ban,
Like Peter, when his master he disclaim'd:
But why, alas! can I not see the man,
Who is, like Peter, of this vice reclaim'd?

Many pursue the track of David close,
When to adultery he plung'd unwise:
But I can't find a single soul of those,
Who in his penitence with David vies.

I'll quit, says one, my darling vices quite,
And end my follies with the present year -
But, what says christ? 'Suppose this very night,
The fiends thy soul shou'd to hell-torments bear!'

To-day, we will have sport, another cries,
To-morrow, we'll our wicked lives amend.
That very night, o'ercome by drink, he dies -
How soon, alas! his promis'd pleasures end?

A third indulges these fallacious thoughts,
'Suppose my faults the highest hills transcend,
'Yet greater are God's mercies than my faults,
'And he'll forgive me at my latter end.'

So, because God is found to take delight
His mercy tow'rds the penitent to show -
Most seem to sin, as 'twere with all their might,
And will not of his justice too allow.

Though God in grace and goodness does abound,
Though slow to punish, and of patience great,
Yet, in the scriptures this plain truth is found,
That he's with justice equally replete.

If full of grace, he's full of justice too -
If kind to friends, he's cruel to his foes -
If he is mild, he can due vengeance show -
If he is gen'rous, he is likewise close.

A thousand talents are to some forgiven -
From others he'll the utmost mite receive -
To these he freely gives the joys of heaven -
But those he will not with one drop relieve.

God, to the penitent and faithful, still
His gracious mercies and his truth displays;
But, on the stubborn, who resist his will,
He the full weight of his displeasure lays.

This lesson and advice, to all, I give -
'The path of sin's not long with safety trod:
'And therefore all shou'd study, whilst they live,
'To pass their time here, in the fear of God.'