THY mortal part shou'd sickness chance to seize,
Consider, whence the fi'ry dart was sent,
Consider, who inflicted the disease,
And to what purpose, and with what intent?

'Tis God himself, that deals the dreadful stroke,
'Tis God, that gives the malady its pain,
Because our sins his patient heart provoke;
That we may quit them, and reform again.

For all the errors of thy life repent,
God's pardon on thy bended knees implore,
His mercy beg, and he will then relent,
And give thee comfort, if he gives no more.

If God against thee is incens'd with rage,
If he has scourg'd thee with distempers dire,
The Lamb's dear Blood his anger will assuage,
And briny tears will mitigate his ire.

Do thou submit, and he'll suspend the blow,
Seek grace, and he'll with pleasure give thee grace,
Do thou repent, and he'll forgiveness show,
Lament, and he'll compassionate thy case.

Freely to him thy sumless sins confess,
Condemn thyself, and his forgiveness crave;
So shall thy prayers ever meet success,
So shalt thou grace and absolution have.

Turn thou to God, and he will thee receive,
Try, though he's wroth, his fury to appease,
And when he sees thee, with contrition grieve,
He'll bid thy troubles and thy sorrows cease.

'Tis God himself, that each disease imparts,
And ev'ry ail's a herald from his throne,
Dispatch'd by him, to purify our hearts;
None can inflict it - but the Lord alone.

It is not from the main, or mountain's brow,
Earth, air, or bog, that each disorder springs;
But all the ails that plague us, here below,
Coem from the kindness of the King of kings!

Hot-shooting pains, eruptions, tumours, boils,
Agues and fevers, quinsies, gout, and stone,
Plague, pestilence, consumptions, fits, and piles,
(Nay, ev'ry ail,) proceed from God alone.

The greatest sov'reign, on this earthly ball,
Cannot impose, or drive an ail away ;
None but the Lord, and the just Judge of all,
Can health restore, or maladies convey.

Disease will not give ear to human lore,
It neither saint, or saintness, will obey,
It minds nor wizard's charm, nor stellar pow'r ;
'Tis God alone can order it away.

If by a surfeit, cold, or ill-air'd bed,
Thou art into the room of sickness brought,
'Tis God himself that drew it on thy head,
In whatsoever manner it was caught.

'Tis not by chance, nor the decree of fate,
Or any constellation in the sky,
That illness comes, however small or great,
But by th' appointment of the Lord on high.

Be not too curious, like a man unwise,
From whence thy malady arose, to know ;
But rather lift unto the Lord thine eyes,
And to the Hand, that dealt the gracious blow.

God made thee sick, and God can make thee well,
God broke thy bones, and God can make them whole,
God thy rebellious flesh and lusts can quell,
And God can heal thy body, and thy soul!

Welcome thou then his herald with respect,
With patience bear the messenger of God;
The child he loves, he always does correct,
Nor through a foolish fondness spares the rod.

With due submission thy affliction bear ;
Fools only kick against the pointed sword :
If God impos'd a treatment that's severe,
In vain shalt thou oppose his will, or word.

If God with sickness his sons afflicts,
Their foul transgressions are the fatal cause:
Whene'er he any punishment inflicts,
It is, because they violate his laws.

Sickness is then a debt, that's due to sin,
A punishment, that each offender feels:
For where transgression once has enter'd in,
Disease still follows hard upon his heels.

To break the sabbath and to swear amain,
God's holy church and gospel to despise,
To treat the priest and ruler with disdain,
Is the dire source, whence many ails arise!

To drink, to sing lewd ballads, and to whore,
To waste one's precious time, to play the thief,
To revel, riot, and oppress the poor,
Bring on disease, with ev'ry other grief.

If thou hast any ail, or any woe,
Thy sin, and that alone, shou'd bear the blame,
Which made the torrent of God's anger flow,
And caus'd him to afflict thee with the same.

Search thou thy conscience with the utmost care,
Strive ev'ry lurking passion to subdue,
Entirely mortify thy lusts by pray'r,
And fervently, for God's forgiveness, sue.

If thou shalt for thy sins sincerely grieve,
And turn unto the Lord thy God in haste,
He will the errors of thy life forgive,
And thou no longer shalt with sickness waste.

Entreat the Lord, to make thy sorrows cease,
To soothe thy pain, and succour thee, when ill;
Use importunity with him for ease;
For he can grant it, whensoe'er he will.

Whatever ail, or torment, thou mayst feel,
Th' Almighty can its raging smart remove;
He, at his pleasure, can thy anguish heal,
However great, or grievous it may prove.

He cur'd the Paralitic of his grief,
He cur'd the halt and bloody-flux'd with ease,
To Job and Naaman he gave relief,
And heal'd each sort of sickness and disease.

Sickness is but a message from the Lord,
At his command on thee it first began;
It kills, it cures, obedient to his word,
It comes and goes, like the Centurion's man.

To God thy earnest supplications make,
Who has this illness on thy body laid;
Seek thou his succour, for thy Saviour's sake,
His aid implore, and thou shalt have his aid.