by John Corry
The Christian Faith, like well-tried gold,
More pure and excellent appears,
When impious men, perversely bold,
Would fill our minds with doubts and fears;
Their carnal lusts obscure the ray
That Heaven gave to light the way
To endless Rectitude and Peace:
Perverted Reason misapplies
The means that ought to
make Man wise,
And happiness encrease.
The self-denying life enjoin'd
By true Religion, gives offence
To Pleasure's sons, who, unconfin'd,
Would revel in the joys of Sense.
Thus, playful, useless butterflies
Waste the swift hours of Summer's joys,
And soon become the spider's prey;
But, Virtue's children, like the bee,
Cull endless sweets, with industry,
Chear'd by Religion's ray.
Without the comfort Faith bestows,
How wretched human life appears -
A mingled mass of joys and woes -
A daily round of hopes and fears;
But, when the Saviour's Gospel shines,
The faithful Man no more repines
At aught that can befal him here;
In prospect of a happier clime,
He braves the stormy sea of Time -
Gay hopes his spirits chear.
Last updated November 28, 2022