Primitive Christianity, Part 1

The Christians of old, United in one,
As sheep in a fold, Were never alone;
As birds of a feather. They flock'd to their nest,
And shelter'd together In Jesus's breast.

However employ'd, Their joy was the same,
They never were cloy'd With hymning the Lamb
Their sole recreation To sing of His praise,
And publish salvation By Jesus's grace.

Small learning they had, And wanted no more:
Not many could read, But all could adore:
No help from the college Or school they received,
Content with His knowledge In whom they believed.

No riches had they But riches of grace,
No fondness for play, Or passion for praise;
No moments of leisure For trifling employs,
Possess'd of the pleasure In God to rejoice.

Men in their own eyes Were children again,
And children were wise And solid as men;
The women were fearful Of nothing but sin;
Their hearts were all cheerful, Their consciences
clean.

Wrapp'd up in their Lord, His service and love.
They lived and adored, Like angels above:
To keep in His favour, Their lives they laid down,
And now with their Saviour Inherit the crown.