Canst be idle? canst thou play,
Foolish soul who sinn'd to-day?
Rivers run, and springs each one
Know their home, and get them gone:
Hast thou tears, or hast thou none?
If, poore soul, thou hast no tears;
Would thou hadst no faults or fears!
Who hath these, those ill forbears.
Windes still work: it is their plot,
Be the season cold, or hot:
Hast thou sighs, or hast thou not?
If thou hast no sighs or grones,
Would thou hadst no flesh or bones!
Lesser pains scape greater ones.
But if yet thou idle be,
Foolish soul, Who died for thee?
Who did leave his Father's throne,
To assume thy flesh and bone?
Had he life, or had he none?
If he had not liv'd for thee,
Thou hadst died most wretchedly;
And two deaths had been thy fee.
He so farre thy good did plot,
That his own self he forgot.
Did he die, or did he not?
If he had not died for thee,
Thou hadst liv'd in miserie.
Two lives worse than ten deaths be.
And hath any space of breath
'Twixt his sinnes and Saviour's death?
He that loseth gold, though drosse,
Tells to all he meets, his crosse:
He that sinnes, hath he no losse?
He that findes a silver vein,
Thinks on it, and thinks again:
Brings thy Saviour's death no gain?
Who in heart not ever kneels,
Neither sinne nor Saviour feels.
