RASH Adam to the field of old,
Mankind for one dear apple sold;
And none can from his fangs get free,
'Till Jesus gives him liberty.

The Devil in a dreary gloom
Keeps ev'ry soul, 'till Christ shall come,
To make him his condition see,
To break his chains, and set him free.

This dungeon is so very dark,
That we can't see a single spark,
Nor ought of our own wretched plight;
'Till Jesus comes to give us light.

What days and nights pass o'er our head,
With pitchy darkness are o'erspread,
And none his woeful state can view,
'Till Christ does his condition shew.

We in our sins unweeting die.-
We think not our perdition nigh -
Our lives in dismal gloom we spend -
Yet seek not our sad state to mend.

Thou to the Devil's camp dost go -
Thou art unto thyself a foe -
Thou more and more astray dost roam;
'Till Jesus come to fetch thee home.

Thou e'er thy birth wast try'd and cast,
And thy tremendous doom is past,
And, if Christ's aid thou canst not gain,
Thou ever shalt condemn'd remain.

The serpent's sting has pierc'd thy heart,
Thy very soul groans with the smart;
Then, for a cure, to Christ apply,
Or else, without his aid, thou'lt die.

Thy soul by Satan was bereav'd
Of all the gifts from God receiv'd;
Christ only can restore the same,
And hide thy nakedness and shame.

Fell Satan with his fiery dart,
With poison fraught, has pierc'd thy heart,
Intreat of Christ to ease thy pain,
Or thou with Satan must remain.

Thy soul like a meek lamb appears,
Among fierce lions, wolves, and bears:
Then soon to Christ for succour pray,
Or thou'lt become their certain prey.

The Devil has thy soul beset,
And hamper'd in his strong-mesh'd net,
And nought on earth can rescue thee,
'Till Jesus comes to set thee free.

A faithful slave to vice thou'st been,
And wallow'd ev'ry day in sin;
Then sue to Christ, and he will give
Thee Grace, a righteous life to live.

Thou art by Nature born in sin,
The child of wrath, like all thy kin,
Ask Christ then, to be born again,
Lest thou shou'dst ever so remain.

Thou dost the Devil's laws obey -
Thou art quite subject to his sway -
Beg then of Christ to rescue thee
Out of his paws, and set thee free.

In thee the strong One keeps his court,
Like those, who garrison a fort;
'Till Jesus comes his arms to seize,
Thy bosom ne'er will be at peace.

Thou wast an useless branch before,
That nought but acid fruitage bore,
And, if Christ alters not its kind,
'Twill be to hell's fierce flames consign'd.

Satan, to God made thee a foe -
To make thy peace, to Jesus go,
By whom thou must be reconcil'd,
E'er thou canst be, once more, his child.

Thou, like a little chick, dost play
Amongst the rav'nous birds of prey;
And, if Christ screens thee not beneath
His wings -- thou must be torn to death.

Thou thro' a dreary vale dost go -
The paths of peace thou dost not know -
And if thy steps Christ shou'd not light,
Thou'lt headlong seek the realms of night.

Thou dost deserve all kinds of woe,
(Doom'd, e'er thy birth, to hell to go)
And, if his aid Christ does not deign,
For ever damn'd thou must remain.

Thou art a foe to thy best friend,
Thou art a slave unto the fiend,
Thou'rt shut up in his sty obscene,
'Till Jesus comes, to wash thee clean,

Thou dost in ev'ry point transgress -
Thou'rt liable to each distress -
Thou'rt to each pain and woe a prey -
'Till Jesus laves thy sins away.

Thou'rt bad, without - and bad, within -
Thou'rt void of Grace, but full of sin -
Thou'rt foul, impure, and foolish quite,
'Till Christ the sinner bleaches white.

Such is, 'tis plain, each person's case,
(If we the sacred scriptures trace)
Until again the sinner's born,
And Christ reforms his state forlorn.

If not assisted by the Lord,
And to his pristine state restor'd,
No man (no more than the foul fiend)
Can, of himself, his life amend.

Not Peter, Paul, nor any One,
(But Jesus Christ our Lord alone)
Supernal, or infernal, can
Preserve the sin-polluted man.

Search heav'n, search earth, and search the air,
The sea, and all therein, with care -
And thou shalt find it true, that none
Can save a soul, but Christ alone.

If thou dost not his aid implore,
Thy fallen nature to restore,
Thou shalt in hell's abyss be laid,
Because thou didst not beg his aid.

No man on earth his soul shall save,
But he, who shall that favour crave,
For Christ, his bless'd Redeemer's sake;
Whatever bustle he may make.

Nor will the Lord salvation give,
But to the man that shall believe
In him (however loud his pray'r)
With a faith, lively and sincere.

Whoe'er in Christ believeth well,
Shall surely save his soul from hell;
But he, who does not - ne'er shall save
His soul, nor any favour have.