A Caution to all against a Legal Spirit; especially to those that have a Profession without Power, and Learning without Grace.
Why, says the haughty heart of legalists,
Bound to the law of works by nat'ral twists,
'Why such ado about a law-divorce?
Men's lives are bad, and would you have 'em worse?
Such Antinomian stuff with labour'd toil
Would human beauty's native lustre spoil.
What wickedness beneath the cov'ring lurks.
That lewdly would divorce us all from works?
Why such a stir about the law and grace?
We know that merit cannot now take place.
And what needs more?' Well, to let slander drop,
Be merit for a little here the scope.

Ah! many learn to lisp in gospel-terms,
Who yet embrace the law with legal arms.
By wholesome education some are taught
To own that human merit now is naught;
Who faintly but renounce proud merit's name,
And cleave refin'dly to the Popish scheme;
For graceful works expecting divine bliss,
And, when they fail, trust Christ for what's amiss:
Thus to his righteousness profess to flee,
Yet by it still would their own saviours be.
They seem, to works of merit bloody foes,
Yet seek salvation as it were by those.
Blind Gentiles found, who did not seek nor know;
But Isra'l lost it whole, who sought it so.

Let all that love to wear the legal dress,
Know that as sin, so bunny righteousness
Has slain its thousands, who in tow'ring pride
The righteousness of Jesus Christ deride;
A robe divinely wrought, divinely won;
Yet cast by men, for rags that are their own,
But some to legal works seem whole deny'd,
Yet would by gospel-works be justify'd,
By faith, repentance, love, and other such:
These dreamers being righteous overmuch,
Like Uzza, give the ark a wrongful touch.
By legal deeds, however gospeliz'd.
Can e'er tremendous justice be appeas'd?
Or sinners justifi'd before that God,
Whose law is perfect, and exceeding broad?
Nay, faith itself, that leading gospel-grace,
Holds as a work no justifying place:
Just Heav'n to man for righteousness imputes
Not faith itself, or in its acts or fruits,
But Jesus' meritorious life and death,
Faith's proper object, all the honour hath.
From this doth faith derive its glorious fame,
Its great renown and justifying name;
Receiving all things, but deserving nought;
By faith all's begg'd and taken, nothing bought.
Its highest name is from the wedding vote,
So instrumental is the marriage-knot.

Jehovah lends the bride, in that blest hour,
Th' exceeding greatness of his mighty pow'r;
Which sweetly does her heart-consent command,
To reach the wealthy Prince her naked hand.
For close to his embrace she'd never stir,
If first his loving arms embrac'd not her;
But this he does by kindly gradual chase,
Of rousing, raising, teaching, drawing grace.
He shews her in his sweetest love address,
His glory, as the Sun of righteousness;
At which all dying glories earth adorn,
Shrink like the sick moon at the wholesome morn.
This glorious Sun arising with a grace,
Dark shade of creature-righteousness to chase,
Faith now disclaims itself, and all the train
Of virtues formerly accounted gain;
And counts them dung, with holy, meek disdain.
For now appears the height, the depth immense
Of divine bounty and benevolence;
Amazing mercy! ignorant of bounds!
Which most enlarged faculties confounds.
How vain, how void now seem the vulgar charms,
The monarch's pomp of courts, and pride of arms?
The boasted beauties of the human kind,
The pow'rs of body, and the gifts of mind?
Lo! in the grandeur of Immanuel's train,
All's swallow'd up, as rivers in the main.
He's seen, when gospel-light and sight is giv'n,
Encompass'd round with all the pomp of heav'n.

The soul, now taught of God, sees human schools
Make Christless rabbi's only lit'rate fools;
And that, till divine teaching pow'rful draw,
No learning will divorce them from the law.
Mere argument may clear the head, and force
A verbal, not a cordial clean divorce;
Hence many, taught the wholesome terms of art,
Have gospel-heads, but still a legal heart,
Till sov'reign grace and pow'r the sinner catch.
He takes not Jesus for his only match.
Nay, works complete! ah! true, however odd,
Dead works are rivals with the living God.
Till Heaven's preventing mercy clear the sight,
Confound the pride with supernat'ral light;
No haughty soul of human kind is brought
To mortify her self-exalting thought.

Yet holiest creatures in clay-tents that lodge,
Be their lives scanned by the dreadful judge;
How shall they e're his awful search endure,
Before whose purest eyes heav'n is not pure?
How must their black indictment be enlarg'd,
When by him angels are with folly charg'd?
What human worth shall stand, when he shall scan?
O may his glory stain the pride of man!

How wondrous are the tracks of divine grace!
How searchless are his ways, how vast th' abyss!
Let haughty reason stoop, and fear to leap;
Angelic plummets cannot sound the deep.
With scorn he turns his eyes from haughty kings,
With pleasure looks on low and worthless things;
Deep are his judgements, sov'reign is his will,
Let ev'ry mortal worm be dumb, be still.
In vain proud reason swells beyond its bound;
God and his counsels are a gulf profound,
An ocean, wherein all our thoughts are drown'd.