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Poem by John Newton
Poor Esau repented too late That once he his birth-right despised; And sold, for a morsel of meat, What could not too highly be prized: How great was his anguish when told, The blessing he sought to obtain, Was gone with the birth-right he sold, And none could recall it again! He stands as a warning to all, Wherever the gospel shall come; O Hasten and yield to the call, While yet for repentance there's room! Your season will quickly be past, Then hear and obey it today; Lest when you seek mercy at last, The Saviour should frown you away. What is it the world can propose? A morsel of meat at the best! For this are you willing to lose A share in the joys of the blest? Its pleasures will speedily end, Its favor and praise are but breath; And what can its profits befriend Your soul in the moment of death? If Jesus for these you despise, And sin to the Saviour prefer; In vain your entreaties and cries, When summoned to stand at his bar: How will you his presence abide? What anguish will torture your heart? The saints all enthroned by his side, And you be compelled to depart. Too often, dear Saviour, have I Preferred some poor trifle to thee; How is it thou dost not deny The blessing and birth-right to me? No better than Esau I am, Though pardon and heav'n be mine; To me belongs nothing but shame, The praise and the glory be thine.
John Newton's other poems:
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