none could lay
Aught to my charge; I walk’d the narrow way: 
All then was simple faith, serene and pure,
My hope was stedfast and my prospects sure;
Then was I tried by want and sickness sore,
But these I clapp’d my shield of faith before,
And cares and wants and man’s rebukes I bore: 
Alas! new foes assail’d me; I was vain,
They stung my pride and they confused my brain: 
Oh! these deluders! with what glee they saw
Their simple dupe transgress the righteous law;
’Twas joy to them to view that dreadful strife,
When faith and frailty warr’d for more than life;
So with their pleasures they beguiled the heart,
Then with their logic they allay’d the smart;
They proved (so thought I then) with reasons strong,
That no man’s feelings ever lead him wrong: 
And thus I went, as on the varnish’d ice,
The smooth career of unbelief and vice. 
Oft would the youths, with sprightly speech and bold,
Their witty tales of naughty priests unfold;
‘Twas all a craft,’ they said, ’a cunning trade;
Not she the priests, but priests Religion made.’ 
So I believed:”—­No, Abel! to thy grief: 
So thou relinquish’dst all that was belief:  —
“I grew as very flint, and when the rest
Laugh’d at devotion, I enjoy’d the jest;
But this all vanish’d like the morning-dew,
When unemploy’d, and poor again I grew;
Yea!  I was doubly poor, for I was wicked too. 
   “The mouse that trespass’d and the treasure stole,
Found his lean body fitted to the hole;
Till, having fatted, he was forced to stay,
And, fasting, starve his stolen bulk away: 
Ah ! worse for me—­grown poor, I yet remain
In sinful bonds, and pray and fast in vain. 
   “At length I thought, although these friends of sin
Have spread their net, and caught their prey therein;
Though my hard heart could not for mercy call,
Because though great my grief, my faith was small;
Yet, as the sick on skilful men rely,
The soul diseased may to a doctor fly. 
   “A famous one there was, whose skill had wrought
Cures past belief, and him the sinners sought;
Numbers there were defiled by mire and filth,
Whom he recovered by his goodly tilth: 
‘Come then,’ I said, ’let me the man behold,
And tell my case:’—­I saw him and I told. 
   “With trembling voice, ‘Oh! reverend sir,’ I said,
’I once believed, and I was then misled;
And now such doubts my sinful soul beset,
I dare not say that I’m a Christian yet;
Canst thou, good sir, by thy superior skill,
Inform my judgment and direct my will? 
Ah! give thy cordial; let my soul have rest,
And be the outward man alone distress’d;
For at my state I tremble.’—­’Tremble more,’
Said the good man, ’and then rejoice therefore! 
’Tis good to tremble; prospects then are fair,
When the lost soul is plunged in deep despair: 
Once thou wert simply honest, just, and pure,