“This is Conversion:  —­First there comes a cry
Which utters, ‘Sinner, thou’rt condemned to die;’
Then the struck soul to every aid repairs,
To church and altar, ministers and prayers;
In vain she strives,—­involved, ingulf’d in sin,
She looks for hell, and seems already in: 
When in this travail, the New Birth comes on,
And in an instant every pang is gone;
The mighty work is done without our pains, —
Claim but a part, and not a part remains. 
   “All this experience tells the Soul, and yet
These moral men their pence and farthings set
Against the terrors of the countless Debt;
But such compounders, when they come to jail,
Will find that Virtues never serve as bail. 
   “So much to duties:  now to Learning look,
And see their priesthood piling book on book;
Yea, books of infidels, we’re told, and plays,
Put out by heathens in the wink’d-on days;
The very letters are of crooked kind,
And show the strange perverseness of their mind. 
Have I this Learning?  When the Lord would speak;
Think ye he needs the Latin or the Greek? 
And lo! with all their learning, when they rise
To preach, in view the ready sermon lies;
Some low-prized stuff they purchased at the stalls,
And more like Seneca’s than mine or Paul’s: 
Children of Bondage, how should they explain
The Spirit’s freedom, while they wear a chain? 
They study words, for meanings grow perplex d,
And slowly hunt for truth from text to text,
Through Greek and Hebrew:  —­we the meaning seek
Of that within, who every tongue can speak: 
This all can witness; yet the more I know,
The more a meek and humble mind I show. 
   “No; let the Pope, the high and mighty priest,
Lord to the poor, and servant to the Beast;
Let bishops, deans, and prebendaries swell
With pride and fatness till their hearts rebel: 
I’m meek and modest:  —­if I could be proud,
This crowded meeting, lo! th’ amazing crowd! 
Your mute attention, and your meek respect,
My spirit’s fervour, and my words’ effect,
Might stir th’ unguarded soul; and oft to me
The Tempter speaks, whom I compel to flee;
He goes in fear, for he my force has tried, —
Such is my power! but can you call it pride? 
   “No, Fellow-Pilgrims! of the things I’ve shown
I might be proud, were they indeed my own! 
But they are lent:  and well you know the source
Of all that’s mine, and must confide of course: 
Mine! no, I err; ’tis but consigned to me,
And I am nought but steward and trustee.”

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Far other Doctrines yon Arminian speaks;
“Seek Grace,” he cries, “for he shall find who seeks.” 
This is the ancient stock by Wesley led;
They the pure body, he the reverend head: 
All innovation they with dread decline,
Their John the elder was the John divine. 
Hence, still their moving prayer, the melting hymn,