The poems, styled “The Temple,” are preceded by a long poem as a preface, called “The Church Porch,” where he would have the reader linger before entering the sanctuary. And in the poem the poet takes occasion to give sage counsel and most excellent advice, the better to fit the mind for the contemplation of the sacredness of the sanctuary beyond the porch. He would purify the spirit from the dross of earthly vices, he would have it “purged of the contaminations of earth,” before entering the temple, where the divine presence loves to dwell. And no one who will read the advice embodied in this introductory poem, but must rise from its perusal with the conviction that it contains a code of morality, enforced by most excellent precepts. Independent of its religious tone, it may be said to contain the very best of principles, enforced by illustrations that carry conviction to the mind at once. In the rude measure of the time, it holds up virtue in all its beauty to our approbation, and lays bare all the hideousness of vice. He seeks not for harmonious verse, as the vehicle of thought, he desires not to please, but to persuade; not to amuse, but to instruct. Is lust within, polluting, corrupting, and withering the heart, his warning is, Beware of lust; it doth pollute the soul Whom God in baptism washed with his own blood, It blots the lesson written in thy soul; The holy words cannot be understood. How dare those eyes upon a Bible look, Much less toward God, “whose lust is all their book.” Profanity he rebukes in lines like these: Take not his name who made thy mouth, in vain. It gets thee nothing, and has no excuse. Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain; But the cheap swearer, through his open sluice, Lets his soul run for naught. Remembering in whose sight “lying lips are an abomination,” and the sacredness of whose sanctuary is polluted by falsehood, he breaks forth with indignant tone, Lie not, but let thy heart be true to God, Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both. Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod. The stormy working soul spits lies and froth; Dare to be true—nothing can need a lie; A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby. Extravagance, which is the grateful mother of debt, penury, and want; which has desolated as many homes, withered as many hearts, and destroyed as many lives as the sword, he thus rebukes: Never exceed thy income, youth may make Even with the year; but age, if it will hit, Shoots a bow short, and lessens still his stake As the day lessens, and his life with it. Thy children, kindred, friends upon thee call, Before thy journey, fairly past with all. The dangers that wait on suretyship, and the madness of yielding to its pressing importunities, are thus set forth: