CLXXXVI. The Abounding of Iniquity, and Coldness of Christian Love.

ALAS for Britain, and her Sons!
What hath she not to fear?
The Sins, that ruin'd Salem once,
O how triumphant here!

Alas the strong o'erflowing Tide!
How fiercely doth it rage!
And each foreboding Symptom joins
In terrible Presage.

Yet who hath Eyes that can discern?
Or who an Ear to hear?
Whose Heart is trembling for the Ark,
Or for his Country dear?

Cold is the Love of christian Breasts,
If christian Breasts remain;
And dying the last Sparks of Zeal,
Or its last Efforts vain.

Of Britain, oft chastis'd and sav'd,
What shall the End be found?
Shall not the Sword, that waves so long,
Inflict the deeper Wound?

O stay thine Arm, All-gracious GOD;
Thy Spirit largely pour;
He can the Streams of Guilt restrain,
And dying Love restore.