N01010:186
War with the devil, or, The young man's conflict with the powers of darkness,…
War with the devil, or, The young man's conflict with the powers of darkness, in a dialogue discovering the corruption and vanity of youth, the horrible nature of sin, and deplorable condition of fallen man, also, a description of the power and rule of conscience, and the nature of true conversion. : To which is added, an appendix, containing a dialogue between an old apostate and a young professor, worthy the perusal of all, but chiefly intended for the instruction of the younger sort. / By B.K. author of Zion in distress, or The groans of the Protestant church.War with the devil, or, The young man's conflict with the powers of darkness, in a dialogue discovering the corruption and vanity of youth, the horrible nature of sin, and deplorable condition of fallen man, also, a description of the power and rule of conscience, and the nature of true conversion. : To which is added, an appendix, containing a dialogue between an old apostate and a young professor, worthy the perusal of all, but chiefly intended for the instruction of the younger sort. / By B.K. author of Sion in distress, or The groans of the Protestant church.
New York: printed by William Bradford, 1707
Title page typeset from the transcription.
Youth in his Unconverted state.Youth in his Ʋnconverted state.
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
Youth. Oh Truth! what shall I do, how can I stand, Or bear these Tortures of God's heavy hand? My Spirit may infirmities sustain, But who can bear this inward cutting pain? Is there no help, no Salve to heal my Wound; What, no Physician for me to be found? Will Tears nor Prayers no help at all afford, Watchings, Fastings, nor hearing of the Word? Or if that I could live and sin no more, O what is sin, and what's my Gangrene sore? O what's the nature of iniquity, If nought my soul can cleanse or purify? Rivers of Oil, much Gold, or Earthly Wealth, Will not redeem my Soul, nor purchase health. Ah! I am lost, the cause is truly so, I am undone, and know not what to do, Have you no word of Comfort now for me? Oh, must I dye in this extremity?
Youth. Oh Truth! what shall I do, how can I stand, Or bear these Tortures of God's heavy hand? My Spirit may infirmities sustain, But who can bear this inward cutting pain? Is there no help, no Salve to heal my Wound; What, no Physician for me to be found? Will Tears nor Prayers no help at all afford, Watchings, Fastings, nor hearing of the Word? Or if that I could live and sin no more, O what is sin, and what's my Gangrene sore? O what's the nature of iniquity, If nought my soul can cleanse or purifie? Rivers of Oyl, much Gold, or Earthly Wealth, Will not redeem my Soul, nor purchase health. Ah! I am lost, the cause is truly so, I am undone, and know not what to do, Have you no word of Comfort now for me? Oh, must I dye in this extreamity?
Truth. Dost find thy self sick at the very heart? And doth my searchings make thy Wounds to smart Doth sin, as sin, upon thy Spiritly? And doth its weight and burden make thee cry? Dost know thy wound is Epidemical? And that for thee there is no help at all By Law nor Levite? dost thou see thy loss, And thy own Righteousness to be but dross)
Youth, I know not what to say, I am in doubt Some sin is hid, which yet I can't find out. My heart is deep and very traitorous; Every day I find it worse and worse; I grieve for sin, and yet I am in dread That I in sin am greatly hardened. Yet this, O Truth, I hope is wrought in me, Sin I do hate, as 'tis Iniquity, I would not Christ offend nor grieve again, Were there no Hell or place of future pain: O that e'er I against the Lord should sin, Who has to me so good and gracious bin! Against the Lord, against the Lord alone, Have I this horrid evil often done. Oh! I do see that I in sin am dead, And my iniquity's gone o'er my head As a great burden which I cannot bear, Oh! that I might but of a Saviour hear, All my own Righteousness I prize no more Than stinking refuse of a Common-shore.