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THE PRESENT STATE OF AMERICA, &c.
PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, 1789.
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THE PRESENT STATE OF AMERICA, With the mournful Complaints, and a glorious Prospect of better Times: Including our noble General's excellent Character.
AMERICA, once happy place,
Bless'd with religion, and true grace;
A gen'rous people good, and kind
To help each other were inclin'd:
A happy people; blessed land!
Enjoy'd a plenty at command.
Parents and Children did agree
Liv'd in sweet peace and unity:
And strangers too did kindly greet,
With their good hospitable treat.
The States flourish'd, truth in my word,
'Till Britain shook her iron rod.
Oh! Dreadful change, most sad to tell,
She is from her true glory fell.
One neighbour doth another wrong,
With his cunning deceitful tongue.
"Shortly will I fail in my trade,
"My creditors cheat—then I'm made.
Now whores and thieves do much abound,
Infest the town and country round:
And poverty throughout the States
Is the complaint in all her streets:
What is the cause of all her grief,
Which makes the poor, cry for relief?
[Page 3]Tradesmen and merchants they do fail,
And some confined in a jail.—
When Whitefield did the gospel sound,
Religion flourish'd in this town.—
Throughout these brave United States
A certain truth—good men relate!
This faithful herald of the Lord,
Throughout the States, his voice was heard;
Crying to sinners, turn and live—
The Lord will all your sins forgive:
Thy life dear man, thro' every scene,
Has active, useful, lovely been;
Who e'er devis'd more liberal things?
Or higher stretch'd devotion's wings?
Could friendship trade, at home, abroad,
Be sacred more to Christ thy God?
How far from fear! to Heav'n how nigh!
Thus Whitefield liv'd, and lov'd to die.
A second Luther to declare,
God's gracious message, far and near:
He was no bigot in his mind,
But free and open to mankind—
All sects and parties did receive,
Who truly in the Lord believe:—
I wish my heart was just the same,
Like the bless'd man who I do name.
Tho' wicked things was of him said,
The Lord himself they did upbraid.
*Now that good friend is gone to rest,
Man is now turned like a beast.—
[Page 4]Sweedenbourg's dreams are now receiv'd,
The Lord deny'd, the spirit griev'd.—
Fools to the house of laughter go,
A sad presage of future woe.—
Shameless whoredom, doth now appear,
Sin hath so much bewitch'd the fair.—
Our streets have men in iron chains,
Sad emblem of those endless pains.—
What holy scriptures do foretel,
Is come to pass in Israel.—
Imposing teachers do appear,
And prove the last day doth draw near.
The scoffers run to their own lust.
Despise and ridicule the just.
This doth confirm the sacred page,
To this ungodly, wicked age.—
The man is bad, that doth pervert,
Those sacred truths, with subtile art.
Man! by his power can't get faith,
This is a truth the scripture saith:
Tho' this vain author saith, he can,
Is not the Lord more true then man?
Some sacred truths, he doth avow,
Then what he said doth overthrow:
Justice to truth, sometimes is paid,
Then contradicts, what he hath said.—
[Page 5]His idle dreams are so refin'd,
To cheat the weak and feeble mind;
Sure the man must be insane,
To write such stuff, and sign his name;
No doubt some cursed wicked fiend,
Had ta'en possession of his mind;
He call'd himself the true Messiah,
Which prov'd he was a wicked liar;
Must be crucified for the Jews,
This people's long expected news;
Talk'd with angels, once and again,
Whimsies of a frantic brain;
The worst of all I do confess,
He slights the Lord, our right'ousness;
But those that add or, take therefrom,
Most dreadful sure, will be their doom;
God in his justice doth declare,
He'll plunge them all in deep despair.
Unhappy war! I do deplore,
The States are brought so very poor;
And Britain too doth feel the smart,
I wish both well, with all my heart;
I hope they will once more unite;
And put our Popish foes to flight;
[Page 6]Come in alliance, once again,
'Tis time the BEAST that he was slain.
But independent we'll remain,
In spite of Britain, France or Spain.
Some say the curse of the Lord's hand,
Is turn'd against this wicked land.
Mankind so wicked and profane,
Their vices all I cannot name:
The Sabbath like a market day,
Thus fools do sport their time away.
In winter time, when weather's cold,
How very dreadfull to behold,
☞ Hundreds skaiting on the ice,
They are so given up to vice.
And there the traders do resort,
To sell good things and see the sport;
Righteousness doth a nation bless,
But Sin doth bring a heavy curse.
My heart would break to hold my peace,
To see these vices still increase.
I take my pen and I do write,
Expose my thoughts to public sight
Give a rough sketch, then silent stand,
And leave it to some abler hand.
You know the common certain lot,
Reprovers they must have a blot.
Some thousands they may take offence,
And say, this scribbler hath no sense:
The learned, they will frown and say,
His jingle I will cast away,
He might have wrote in pleasing stile,
And caus'd the world to have a smile.
"Pope and Fordyce, these are the men,
"To please the world with learned pen;
"Harvey too, in beauteous phrase,
"Set forth the riches of God's grace;
"But too particular in his mind,
"Too tight doth our conscience bind;
"We are redeem'd by a rich price,
"'Tis weakness for to be so nice;
"His fine language, I do approve,
"How pleasant is a flow'ry grove;
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If my poor subject is too grave,
A proof I'm no designing knave
Was it av'rice, I have in view,
I would another track pursue;
Scribble, satire and lampoon,
To please the sordid low bussoon;
I never knew a publication,
Gain'd every man's approbation;
If mine please none, I do confess,
My lines are single in their dress;
A faultless piece none e're did see,
There is no man can perfect be.
No poet am nor poet's son,
Don't claim the name of either one;
And yet to scribble I'm inclin'd,
Who is the man my hands can bind?
Who I am, and from whence I came?
I do refuse to sign my name;
Foolish things may confound the wise,
Believe the truth I do advise;
The lofty sleep, and will not bark,
The despis'd weak must do the work;
What God appoints shall come to pass,
Truth will remain while time doth last;
Great men in power don't regard,
The honour of the blessed Lord;
But if men steal their property,
Then they are chain'd to slavery;
Zeal is lost for the Lord of Hosts,
Sad news in our great western coasts;
Our trade is dead, and money spent,
Which makes the workman to lament;
The faces of the poor are ground,
This has a mournful dreadful sound;
Deceivers they do lie in wait,
The simple for to captivate:
Thus sharpers are on every hand,
Oh, this corrupted wicked land!
But we do hope our lot is cast,
The worst of times, they now are past;
Our new government, make no doubt,
Will shortly bring our trade about;
Such righteous laws, will be made,
For the promotion of our trade;
[Page 8]Good manufactures of our own,
Will be set up in ev'ry town;
Our brave General, and good friend,
Proves true and faithful to the end;
Washington sounds through ev'ry land,
A man of courage and command;
Cruel tyrant much blood have spilt,
And on their heads have brought great guilt;
They ravag'd States in thirst for blood,
Washington fought for the States good;
We hope to see more golden days,
And live to our CREATOR'S PRAISE;
But we must humble and implore,
God would again his grace restore;
This is the way for to arise,
Giving our hearts a sacrifice;
What can be given short of this,
Which will restore our wanted bliss.
THE END.