Come now, my Friends, he cries, ye Sons of Grace,
Partakers once of all my Wrongs and Shame,
Despis'd and hated for my Name.
Come to your Saviour's, and your God's Embrace!
Ascend, and those bright Diadems possess,
For you by my Eternal Father made,
E'er the Foundation of the World was laid;
And that surprizing Happiness,
Immense as my own Godhead, and will ne'er be less.
For when I languishing in Prison lay,
Naked and starv'd almost for want of Bread,
You did your kindly Visits pay,
Both cloath'd my Body, and my Hunger fed.
Wearied with Sickness, or oppress'd with Grief,
Your hand was always ready to supply:
When-e'er I wanted, you were always by,
To share my Sorrows, or to give Relief.
In all Distress, so tender was your Love,
I could no anxious trouble bear,
No black Misfortune, or vexatious Care,
But you were still impatient to remove,
And mourn'd, your charitable Hand, should unsuccessful prove,
All this you did, tho' not to me
In Person, yet to mine in Misery;
And shall for ever live
In all the Glories that a  can give,
Or a created Being's able to receive.