The Statue of "Liberty"

Man ever claims his liberty,
To serve his pleasure he is free;
He'll stretch the gate, and broad the path,
Till liberty is all he hath.

Such things are lawful, is his boast;
But is it fit to serve Christ most?
Are we made free to serve our flesh?
Or Christ with all that we possess?

Oh! where's the man who yearns and thirsts,
For Christ, to seek His kingdom first?
Who long since lost this liberty,
If only he might Jesus see.

Should we be offended at the cross,
Or at the world with sin a'toss?
To one of these we must be true;
To serve them both we cannot do.

Yea men, indeed, take up this task,
But tis not liberty at last;
He loves the one the other slights,
Or with them both he hopeless fights.

He asks not does this please my Lord,
Who for my sins His blood has poured;
What harm in these my liberties?
He asks while resting on his lees.

He cares not if it dampens zeal,
Or leaks out all his grace to feel;
"None can touch me with the letter,
I feel not the Spirit's fetters.

The letter we shall gladly serve.
As for this man we hate His Word.
We Moses' disciples art;
This man shall never rule our hearts.

To work our deeds we natives be,
From greatful love by them we're free;"
Zeal, devotion, consecration,
All indict this faithless nation.

For if at praise from men we aim,
If God we grieve, we feel no pain;
For natures numb to feel the part
Of fear fetched from a gracious heart.

T'is owning all to nature's night
Your liberties have found their right,
And keep thy heart so unabashed
Without a Father, or His lash.

But those who do God's presence seek,
Make war with all that strains their peace;
For whether men shall praise or rail,
Christ's Word within by grace prevails.

The first may walk in outwards well
But soon transgress and cannot tell;
Because the praise of men they sought
Amongst their dead they hazard not;

And from within they feel no rod,
For such their father, and their god's
Right pleased with their hypocrisy
And faithless reciprocity.

So back and forth their honours pour;
T'was all they sought, and nothing more;
And so they stray and are deceived,
Adrift upon an aimless sea,

Just like a party on a ship
Down in the lower deck, adrift
They float to-ward no certain shore;
Their port is found, they seek no more.

The others feel an inward smart,
With all the world they'd rather part
Than feel that emptiness of God,
And tread on death's enchanted sod.

Oh, how can you believe who do,
Seek honour but from men like you;
Ye have of men a sure reward,
Though infidel before the Lord.

And if the heart be numb within,
The truth without can ne'er get in,
Nor to it will reply unfurl,
Much wiser than a thousand worlds.

You are a burden to be born,
If once you leave their idols shorn,
A burden greater much to them
Than all the weight of serving sin.

More heavy than a worldly heart,
Or than the coldness it imparts;
More heavy than the sting of death,
To them the sweetest gospel breath.

That bids us to adore the Christ,
Who loved us in His sacrifice;
That melts us down with thankful praise,
Contriving love a thousand ways.

But thus to live you are a mark,
For gory teeth of spineless sharks,
Who love to take a holy saint,
And in the saddest colours paint,

A legalist of great distraction,
On eccentric themes and faction,
Making all his heart to beat,
With wild fanatic dreams replete.

And thus keep all from seeing them
The graceless flatterers of men
Prejudicing feeble reason
Not by teaching truth in season,

He first on this side, then on that,
Reveals his master from his hat;
First its a rabbit, then a bird,
Believe them both, say not a word,

But patronize his tricks you must,
So fiddlers find their dancers just,
Not by the plumb-line of God's book,
It's all in how you bite their hook,

And so let them gouge out your eyes,
And grind for them as Gaza's prize,
But only call to God for pow'r,
And topple this Philistine tow'r.

If you would not thus be their sport,
Care not thou for the whorish sort;
For she desires that you should see
Her way as perfect "liberty".

But all things lawful in themselves;
A pastime, hobby, sport, or wealth;
More often serve to e'trange the heart
From God by subtlety of art,

Than all those sins that are so plain;
And so the wise man calls it vain,
To set the snare before the prey,
So wiser devils work their way

By harmless pastimes, cute and quaint,
And thus beguile unwary saints,
To draw their hearts from Christ away
For now the space they used to pray

Is taken all with liberties!
That from their first love sets them free;
Whereby he works to ruin men,
Just as with blatant open sin.

But how much worse when blatant sins,
We set with holiness as twins,
And all agreed we feel no shame,
And strut like that nude fabled king.

On whom his subjects saw a robe
Of glorious nakedness bestowed;
Except those fools despised by all,
Who's proud unmitigated gall

Caused them to think unthinkably,
To even open eyes and see
A man with high and lifted face
Walk stoutly in his own disgrace.

And so the "liberated" saint
Is free to watch T.V. and taint
His soul with that seducing view;
To Satan give his children too,

In a school run by the state,
So send them to a heathen's fate;
More heathen yet, the mothers work!
Let dollars heal the children hurt,

And with a painted face goes off
For bread, but now a swinish trough
Is all she has, where once a home
Gave them the meat, but now the bone.

Now if these things you patronize
In pseudo-Puritan disguise;
Now liberated from the past,
And with great zeal her shackles cast,

You are the one I here address,
And wish your flaming ign'rance less;
For your bold hearts innovation
Is private interpretation.

For if of hundred generations,
Two have held your innovations,
Are you not novel if you do
Judge ninety-eight by only two?

If times apostate be the rule
Of who's a saint and who's a fool;
And every present hir'ling sage
The measure true of every age,

You thus arraign God's church to stand
And answer to a whore's demands,
Who ever seeks to spill her blood,
And with a lying deluge flood.

But cloth we measure by the yard,
The yard by cloth we ne'er regard;
And so God's word alone shall gauge
The saintly pleasures of this age.

Though in one grand and awesome day
He'll take from wheat the chaff away,
And gaze on souls with perfect view
Then winnow out His chosen few.

But mind you He will not be then
A silent witness to your sin,
But only lets the rage foment
To bring to nought impenitent

Professors dressed in saintly gear,
Thus making known those saints who fear
To don the robes of magic thread,
Seen only by the dying dead,

Who fear to strut the shameful stride
Of brazen hearted blinded pride,
Or weave with this bewitching thread
That makes so many blinded heads,

Who so parade before the world,
An imitation of that pearl,
That cost the Lord His blood to buy,
For those who sell all else besides.

Who saw that Kingdom by His grace,
And so they sternly set their face,
To trample all that mars their pace,
In such a grave and fateful race.

Though such as are but pharisees,
Do hate the sight of one who flees
To refuge from the wrath to come,
For he, unlike this dog who's dumb,

Yet barks at what the hir'ling winks,
And makes sincere men start to think,
Which is enough to ruin all,
And make the throne of fiddlers fall.

And if some dancers leave the floor,
It is enough, they need no more,
To find in zeal a pugilist,
Because they count true life a fist

That strikes at all their show and play,
By faith and threatens gospel day,
Which by it's light their deeds expose,
And ruins all their dark repose.

Such preachers preach up liberty,
And by their awesome gravity,
They pound the nations shores with waves
Of heartless deferential slaves.

Yet in the flood it fails the task,
And leaves the world the world at last,
And ebbing leaves a bride unchaste,
Thou great defender of the faith!

A great defender of the faith?
Behold the child! Divorce the mate!
And feel the hedge of thorns to find
The way to Him Who struck thee blind.

Yea all things lawful in this way,
That work to take the heart away,
I'll count as sin, how ever nice,
If once it cleave my heart from Christ.

And not just things by God outlawed;
T.V., bad schools, a mother's job;
But those things lawful in themselves
That strike my soul upon the shelves

Of blind self-serving, pleasure, ease;
The use of lawful things bring these
When my poor sad corrupted heart
Sets eyes upon them as it's part.

Then I receive that bitter pill,
Of soul desertion, searching still,
I find my jealous God will ne'er
Once tolerate a rival there.

But makes my parched soul to faint,
To fill His ears with sad complaints,
Until I wait and learn the love
That mortifies that what once was.

And so he keeps my soul for Him,
And bit by bit dethrones my sin;
Lest as a reprobate should prove
The wrath that shall the careless use.

For "good" things may well damn thy soul,
If Christ you serve not with the whole;
Oh! do not ask what harm in good,
But have I with my master stood?

Have I denied my flesh at all?
With Christ, or served it's beck and call?
Is not a cross twixt me and heav'n?
Should not all else be counted leav'n?

Oh! fear to offend thy God indeed!
And not thy countless liberties;
Oh! set Him on His rightful throne,
And look well where thou set thine own!

Lord, lift the blindness from all eyes,
Let sacred truth be only prized;
And make each darkened mind to see,
The bondage of their "liberty".

Lord, let this haughty Dagon fall,
Let not his servants proud stand tall;
And let thy saints forsake and flee,
The statue of their liberty.

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