Much he discourses, and of various points,
All unconnected, void of limbs and joints;
He rails, persuades, explains, and moves the will
By fierce bold words, and strong mechanic skill. 
   “That Gospel, Paul with zeal and love maintain’d,
To others lost, to you is now explain’d;
No worldly learning can these points discuss,
Books teach them not as they are taught to us. 
Illiterate call us!—­let their wisest man
Draw forth his thousands as your Teacher can: 
They give their moral precepts:  so, they say,
Did Epictetus once, and Seneca;
One was a slave, and slaves we all must be,
Until the Spirit comes and sets us free. 
Yet hear you nothing from such man but works;
They make the Christian service like the Turks. 
   “Hark to the Churchman:  day by day he cries,
’Children of Men, be virtuous and be wise: 
Seek patience, justice, temp’rance, meekness, truth;
In age be courteous, be sedate in youth.’ —
So they advise, and when such things be read,
How can we wonder that their flocks are dead? 
The Heathens wrote of Virtue:  they could dwell
On such light points:  in them it might be well;
They might for virtue strive; but I maintain,
Our strife for virtue would be proud and vain. 
When Samson carried Gaza’s gates so far,
Lack’d he a helping hand to bear the bar? 
Thus the most virtuous must in bondage groan: 
Samson is grace, and carries all alone. 
   “Hear you not priests their feeble spirits spend,
In bidding Sinners turn to God, and mend;
To check their passions and to walk aright,
To run the Race, and fight the glorious Fight? 
Nay more—­to pray, to study, to improve,
To grow in goodness, to advance in love? 
   “Oh!  Babes and Sucklings, dull of heart and slow,
Can Grace be gradual?  Can Conversion grow? 
The work is done by instantaneous call;
Converts at once are made, or not at all;
Nothing is left to grow, reform, amend,
The first emotion is the Movement’s end: 
If once forgiven, Debt can be no more;
If once adopted, will the heir be poor? 
The man who gains the twenty-thousand prize,
Does he by little and by little rise? 
There can no fortune for the Soul be made,
By peddling cares and savings in her trade. 
   “Why are our sins forgiven?—­Priests reply,
- Because by Faith on Mercy we rely;
‘Because, believing, we repent and pray.’ 
Is this their doctrine?—­then they go astray;
We’re pardon’d neither for belief nor deed,
For faith nor practice, principle nor creed;
Nor for our sorrow for our former sin,
Nor for our fears when better thoughts begin;
Nor prayers nor penance in the cause avail,
All strong remorse, all soft contrition fail: 
It is the Call! till that proclaims us free,
In darkness, doubt, and bondage we must be;
Till that assures us, we’ve in vain endured,
And all is over when we’re once assured.