When Blinded With Pride

When blinded with Pride,
How vainly we try’d
To find upon Earth the Lamb’s beautiful Bride.

Of Man we enquir’d,
For her we admir’d,
Whose Peace and Communion we greatly desir’d.

Some said we should find,
If we were inclin’d,
The Bride amongst Men of an orthodox Mind.

We sought amongst them,
The Bride of the Lamb,
But heard them contend, and their Brethren condemn:

Their Hatred and Strive,
And bigotted life,
Made us to conclude they were not the Lamb’s Wife.

Much griev’d and perplex’d,
We sought for her next
Where Practice of Piety’s always the Text.

Of Holiness there
We always did hear,
And carefully watched to see it appear.

To witness their Grace,
Soft Words and Grimace,
Still dropt from the Tongue, and appear’d on the Face.

Of Fasting and Pray’r,
Of watching with Care,
And proving Men’s Piety by his Despair.

Of Gesture and Dress,
As Matters of Stress;
The pow’rful Ingredients of Self-Righteousness.

Self-goodness and Pride,
And Evils beside,
The Beast upon which the Whore drunken doth ride.

‘Twas now we retir’d,
And deeply despair’d
To find upon Earth what we so much desir’d.

We sought her by Name,
As one without Blame:
For such is the Darling, the Spouse of the Lamb.