An Admonition To The Sick Poem by Rees Prichard

As soon as thou art sick, without delay,
For some good clergyman expressly send,
Who may for thee to thy Creator pray,
And try to fit thee for thy latter end.

Christ did his holy ministers ordain
To be the safe physicians of the soul;
He gave them med'cines to assuage each pain,
And, from each ail, to make the sinner whole.

Thy sin unto the clergyman confess,
And he will give thee salves that seldom fail,
Such as most likely will ensure success,
According to the nature of thy ail.

Believe whate'er the minister declares,
If with the word of God it does agree,
For 'tis the voice of Jesus in thine ears,
Or to rebuke, or else to comfort thee.

Entreat him to address th' Almighty Pow'r
With earnest pray'r, that He may make thee whole,
And once again to perfect health restore -
Or graciously be pleas'd to take thy soul.

God has a promise made, to hear the priest,
When he, according to his office, prays -
And certainly he'll grant him his request,
If not determin'd to curtail thy days:

Beg then of him his succour to impart,
(Lest Satan shou'd a conquest o'er thee gain)
And ease thy conscience, and thy doubting heart,
When thou, for thy misdeeds, art rack'd with pain.

Permit him both to probe and lance thy sore -
Permit his word to harrow-up thy mind -
Permit him wine and oil, thereon, to pour,
And with the bandage of repentance bind.

Better it is by much thou shou'dst consent,
That some good priest shou'd such a freedom take,
That thou in time mayst of thy sins repent -
Than thou shou'dst bear damnation for their sake.

He will to thee some wholesome counsel give,
How stings of conscience may be best allay'd:
Thou comfort from his counsel shalt receive,
If thou in time wilt call on him for aid.

Delay not therefore for a priest to send,
'Till thou art sure thou canst no longer live;
For then in vain shall he thy call attend,
When none, on earth, can any comfort give.

Ah me! - how many thousand Britons fall,
And die, like brutal beasts, without a pray'r!
Because they do not for a pastor call,
To teach them - how they shou'd for death prepare!

Though God is able to preserve all those,
Who have this necessary work delay'd:
Yet there is no small reason to suppose,
That few are sav'd, without their pastor's aid.

Send for a clergyman without delay,
When sickness does at first thy body seize,
Who by his skill may purge thy sins away :
For sin's the fatal source of each disease!

Next to the Curate - for the Doctor send,
And seek for aid from thy physician's skill,
For God by them does oft mankind befriend,
And gives them knowledge to remove each ill.

As God himself the priesthood did ordain,
To heal the various evils of the mind:
So from our bodies to remove all pain,
The art of physic was at first design'd.

Many a man has thro' perverseness di'd,
Because he wou'd not a physician use -
As if to shorten his own days he tri'd,
And to live longer here, he did not chuse.

Our bodies are the houses of the soul;
It is the duty then of ev'ry man,
To see these houses are kept clean and whole,
And made to last as long as e'er they can.

To the physician then, with faith, apply,
When thou art first by any illness seiz'd:
For that bless'd art descended from on high,
To give relief and health to the diseas'd.

For he, that does the healing art neglect,
Which God ordain'd the sons of men to save,
Does that blest food, which nature gave, reject,
And sinks a suicide into his grave.

The simplest herb, that's gather'd in the field -
The vilest drug, that can on earth be found -
May perfect health and speedy succour yield,
And, if God pleases, with success be crown'd.

A plaster made of figs (if from above
'Tis blest) may heal the most inveterate sore,
And the most common med'cine may remove
An ail, that yielded to no art before.

Though thou of balm and nectar were possess'd -
Of the bezoar stone, or of a flood
Of wine and oil, with myrrh and flow'r, unbless'd
By God - they ne'er cou'd do thee any good.

Yet do not on the Doctor's skill rely,
For any med'cine that e'er yet was tri'd -
Lest thou, like Asa, shou'd be doom'd to die,
Because thou didst not in thy God confide.

There is no pow'r in any herb or plant -
No virtue in a salve, or draught remains,
(if God does not his benediction grant)
To cure our ails, or mitigate our pains.

God often does the meanest med'cine bless,
And drugs, thro' Him, o'er maladies prevail:
They, through his blessing, meet with full success,
If He with-holds it, they're of no avail.

Upon thy med'cines do not thou neglect
The Godhead's needful blessing to implore -
The best, without it, are of no effect,
But will to poison change their healing pow'r.

Never to conjurers, or wizards fly,
To charm, howe'er acute, thy pains away :
Such leave their own, and sinfully apply
To Ekron's god, their anguish to allay.

Seek not such means, thy body's health to mend,
From him, whose study 'tis, thy soul to kill:
There's no physician worse than the foul fiend,
That ever can attend thee, when thou'rt ill.

All divination is a mere deceit -
A snare, the Devil did himself ordain,
Each innocent and simple soul to cheat,
Whilst he pretends to charm away his pain.

A Charmer's but a factor for the fiend,
Taught the unthinking vulgar to deceive,
Who take much pains to quit their real friend,
And to the fiend adulterously cleave.

They cheat their bodies, and their souls destroy,
They anger God, and give the fiend delight,
They Christ renounce, and each celestial joy,
Who have recourse unto those arts of night.

He does the Devil for his Doctor crave,
Whoever to a Conjurer applies,
And fain the fiend wou'd for his pastor have,
Who, to such folks for information flies.

Truth, they expect from falsehood's lying sire,
Whoe'er consult with the divining train:
They slay their souls, who from such cheats enquire
For charms to cure, or mitigate their pain.

Avoid a wizard, as thou wou'dst the fiend,
He tempts thee, but he can't thy pain appease:
Cleave thou to Christ unto thy latter end,
Ask ease of Him, and He will give thee ease.