Prov 6:10; 24:30; 22:13; 20:4; 1 Cor 9:24; Luke 13:24
The wishes that the sluggard frames,
Of course must fruitless prove;
With folded arms he stands and dreams,
But has no heart to move.
His field from others may be known,
The fence is broken through;
The ground with weeds is overgrown,
And no good crop in view.
No hardship, he, or toil, can bear,
No difficulty meet;
He wastes his hours at home, for fear
Of lions in the street.
What wonder then if sloth and sleep,
Distress and famine bring!
Can he in harvest hope to reap,
Who will not sow in spring?
'Tis often thus, in soul concerns,
We gospel-sluggards see;
Who if a wish would serve their turns,
Might true believers be.
But when the preacher bids them watch,
And seek, and strive, and pray,
At every poor excuse they catch,
A lion's in the way!
To use the means of grace, how loath!
We call them still in vain;
They yield to their beloved sloth,
And fold their arms again.
Dear Savior, let thy pow'r appear,
The outward call to aid;
These drowsy souls, can only hear
The voice, that wakes the dead.
John Newton (1725-1807)
Olney Hymns, 1779
Time Enough by Daniel S. Warner
Time enough, the sluggard cries,
He thinks the season’s slow;
Yet time enough, he hopes, and dies,
And sinks to endless woe.
Time enough, the fool exclaims,
And mocks his awful doom;
Then cries, when bound in icy chains,
“Oh, must I go so soon?”
Time enough, the sleeper dreams,
While death is standing by;
Soon lost amid eternal scenes,
He wakes to Satan’s lie.
Time enough, oh, cursed spell!
Sing not that siren song,
Ye mortals on the brink of hell,
Where time is endless long.
Poetry by Nancy Ann Goode Andrews
I've tried to act the prudent part,
In all I do or say,
But so deceitful is my heart
It often leads astray.
This promise hath been sent to me,
And doth my soul sustain,
Thy Maker shall thy husband be,
The Lord of Hosts His name.