A true sence of Sorrow;
OR, THE
Poor York-shire-Man protected by Provi-
dence, in the greatest, time of trouble.
When Grief and Care, almost, Dispair,
does seem to overthrow;
Men in distress and heaviness,
the Lord can kindness show.
To the Tune of, The Rich Merchant Man.
|
THere was a poor Yorkshire Man,
|
that was in great distress,
|
Most piteously made his complaint,
|
with grief and heaviness.
|
For scarcity and wants,
|
he was oppressed sore,
|
He could not find his Children bread,
|
he was so very poor.
|
And his poor Wife, God-wot,
|
was lately brought to bed,
|
With two poor Infants at her Breast,
|
and had no drink or bread.
|
A woful Lying-in
|
was this, the Lord doth know,
|
God keep every Woman,
|
from knowing of such woe.
|
O Husband dear, she said,
|
for want of Food I dye,
|
Some succour do for me provide,
|
to help my misery.
|
The Man with many Tears,
|
most mournfully reply'd:
|
I have no money to buy us bread,
|
and then his Children cry'd.
|
They came about him round,
|
and on his Cloaths they hung,
|
And sadly made their complaint,
|
their little hands they wrung.
|
Do not cry my Babes, he said,
|
I will go seek some food,
|
He took his Gun then in his hand,
|
and going to the Wood.
|
And in the way as he went,
|
he met Farmers two or three,
|
And begg'd for Christ his sake,
|
to help his Misery.
|
Pray lend me, the poor Man said,
|
one loaf of Barly Bread,
|
One pint of milk for my poor Wife,
|
in Child-bed almost dead.
|
Think on my mighty need,
|
to lend me have no doubt,
|
I have no money for to pay,
|
but I will work it out.
|
But they in snappish sort,
|
did one by one reply,
|
We have already lent you more,
|
then we can well come by.
|
This struct him to the Heart,
|
as cold as any stone,
|
And straight from them he did depart,
|
with many a sigh and groan.
|
And at the length behold,
|
a tall man he did meet,
|
And cole-black was his Garments all,
|
from Head unto the Feet.
|
Thou blessed man, said he,
|
why mourneth thou so sore,
|
What is the cause you make such moan,
|
then tell me, and sigh no more.
|
Alas! good Sir, he said,
|
this thing for truth I know,
|
That Job was just, yet never man
|
endured greater Woe.
|
The man he pull'd out straight,
|
a handful of money bright,
|
Bid him go and relieve his Wife
|
and his Children that night.
|
Cause thou so faithful be,
|
and righteous do remain,
|
You shall be fed as Daniel was,
|
within the Lyons Den.
|
If truth in thee abide,
|
thou shalt not want for food,
|
Thou shalt be fed as Elias was,
|
that rambled in the Wood.
|
O blessed Lord, said the poor man,
|
what a happy man am I,
|
To have some food to give my Babes,
|
to help their misery.
|
I hope the Lord will bless
|
this honest Gentleman,
|
For every penny that he gave me,
|
the Lord may send him ten.
|
The Lord have heard his prayer,
|
and him a plenty send,
|
But the Farmers both art very poor,
|
that would him nothing lend.
|
See what the Lord will do,
|
with men that are so just,
|
The Lord will always stand his Friend,
|
if that you in him trust.
|
This may be Printed. R.P.
|
|
|
|
|
|