Baxter - HP PR3316 .B36 1821

BAXTER'S ' POEMS, They dig for Hell beneath, They labour hard for death, Run themselves out of breath To overtake it. Hell is not had for nought, Damnation 's dearly bought, And with great labour sought, They'll not forsakP. it. Their souls ai·e Satan's fee, He'll not ab~te it. Grace is refus'd that's free, Mad sinners h~te it. Vile man is so per.J~~se, It's too rough .workfor verse His badness to rehearse, And shew his folly: ·: He '11 die at any rates, , He God and conscience hates, Yet sin he consecrates, · And calls it holy : The grace he'll not endure, ~ ... Which would renew him : Constant to all, and sure, Which will undo him. His head comes first at birth, And takes root in the earth, As nature shooteth forth, His feet grow highest : To kick at all above, And spurn at saving love ; His God i~ in his grove, Because it ' s nighest . ' 173