Page:Poem on the creation of the world, or, A meditation on the wonderful operation of the divine hand.pdf/39

 Whence come the Crosses that's ſo thick and rife,

So interwoven thro' the Thread of Life,

That there's no Rank, no Station, no Degree,

From the contagious Taint of Sorrow free?

Whence come Diſeaſes of a thouſand Kind,

That pain the Body, Cares that vex the Mind?

From whence doth all ſuch Miſery take Root?

From Adam's eating the forbidden Fruit.

But then our Loſs of a ſpiritual Kind,

Is that whereof we are most dark and blind;

Man's greateſt Loſs lies from his Sight conceal'd,

His Burden heavieſt where it leaſt is feel'd.

Each Child of Adam ever ſince he fell,

By Nature is a Child of Wrath and Hell.

Adam, in fine, did, by this fatal Deed,

Deſtroy himſelf at once and all his Seed.

Bleſt be the Lord, that of his Love and Grace,

Left not all Men to perish in the Caſe.

What is Man that he who did him make,

Should ſuch Account or Knowledge of him take!

First fram'd of Duſt, then raiſed up ſo high,

To ſo much Honour, Power and Dignity;

And when, through Sin, he's fall'n ſo low, ev'n then,

Is at ſuch Coſt to raiſe him up again.