AND did the Gospel march in all its beauty?
Was the blest mandate faithfully obey’d?
Did great Apostles feel the pressing duty
Of each injunction by the Master laid?
Yes,–to the earth’s known boundaries they travell’d,
Bearing the best of treasures in their hands,
Redemption’s high mysterious scheme unravell’d
TO GOD’S elected children thro’ the lands.
Baptizing new-born Souls in ample rivers,
(Not sprinkling new-born Babes for mock-believers),
At which the modern Church is seen to shiver,
While shuddering Pastors from the plunge relieve her.
Then where’s the Gospel now? the happy tidings?
Where Jordan’s flood, that water’d all the crops?
Alas! the Gospel has its times of hiding,
And Jordan’s waves have dwindled to some drops.
The Jews reject it all–the sober Quaker
Exalts the Spirit most in his orations:
Man is become much wiser than his Maker;
Therefore the Gospel must have alterations.
Its doctrines are unguarded, far too clear;
They call for fences, limits, hedges, borders:
Heaven’s lavish bounty stirs the Preacher’s fear,
Lest Grace, unfetter’d Grace, should breed disorders.
Therefore to work he goes, and first attacks
The Everlasting Covenant of Heav’n;
Salvation free, with ifs and buts he backs,
Commingling heav’nly truths with earthly leaven.
Poor thirsty souls are empty sent away,
Who fain would drink at the life-giving fountain;
Faith’s best assurance feels a slow decay,
And Calvary seems a dark, a cloudy mountain!!!
Yet these are Gospel days!–Dissenting days!
Bright Independent days!–devoid of schism!
Yes! independent of old Gospel ways,
Of faith almost, and quite of CHRIST’S baptism.
And still the Shepherds preach–line follows line,
And precept upon precept swell discourses:
Our learned Doctors bible-gold refine,
In crucible that faith and truth divorces!
Then are there now no men of God on earth?
Yes, Heav’n has still a witness here and there;
Men of distinguish’d spiritual worth,
Who preach the simple truth with ceaseless care.
Where shall I seek them? Round your ample city?
No:–in the shade I’d rather seek such preachers;
Our city men are learned, wise, and witty,
But “greedy dogs,” and sorry, sorry teachers.
Men who will once , some twice , the trumpet sound
On the Lord’s day (guarding the time of dining);
Remaining Sabbath hours, they may be found
On downy couch, or sofa soft, reclining!!!
Oh, ye laborious servants of our Lord!
Ye Peters, Pauls, and Johns of ancient days!
Who planted churches on the preached word,
“Your ways,” departed saints, are not “our ways.”
Send us like men, Thou same exalted Lord,
Who’d fear to rob thy Gospel of its gold!
Pastors who bear thine one small whip of cord,
To chase all mongrels from the starving fold!
Then will the Gospel travel in its beauty!
Then will the Church resume the first-born’s feature;
When faithful men of grace perform their duty,
And preach the untrammell’d word to ev’ry creature.
(Charlotte Eliza Dixon)
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