Joanna Southcott: Unpublished Manuscripts


A Prophecy given in 1796 on the Roman Power


I know their crimes and what they’ve done

But how do all men see

If I did not support their hand

This thing could never be

You bless the Freedom you enjoy

But you do not discern

The many judgments in your land

And no one doth return

Not for your sakes O Israel

That I in aught do spare

But for my honour do prevent

Its present coming here

Because my Gospel all shall know

‘Tis that I shall support

The Roman Powers I’ll pull down

The French I will not hurt

If they will claim me for their King

And all their Gods destroy

My Gospel must spread both far and wide

For man I will enjoy

The latter days I say are come

And all will find it true

My Gospel must spread far and wide

I’ll bring it to your View

Then if my Gospel is suppress’d

By Kings upon their throne

Trusting to Popes for pardoning grace

How can my love be Known

Twas I that died to rescue man

False prophets do arise

To strengthen now the Romish bands

O let mankind be wise

Infusion fills the human brain

My Bible (it?) don’t discern

That by the Spirit and the Bride

I all mankind would warn

And by a child would lead the way

As I have said before

From wise and prudent men conceal’d

Oh how do all men err

The Spirit and the Bride say come

Let hearers do the same

The fountains open to receive

All that to me will come

But those that do refuse the call

Shall soon in sorrow mourn

And like the Gospel say to all

To England I shall turn

The hearts of all men I do see

Your land with sin abounds

Sings of all Kinds and cruelty

In England now are found

Then why should ye high-minded be

Is there not room to fear?

If I’ve begun I’ll make an end

Let England now take care

So now Physicians heal yourselves

For here the wounds are deep

The mote that’s in your brothers eyes

Ye cannot see to pick

Because a beam is in your own

You cannot clearly see

You stumble at the noon-day sun

And here’s the mystery

As all my Bible you have got

But do not trace my hand

That perfect as my Gospel is

Are all things in your land

But know the French they’ve an excuse

From them I know ‘tis hid

Their blindness know not how to go

But England is asleep

Out of their dream they must awake

If they preserv’d will be

They say the French their God forsake

But you know not me

In Popes and Monks was all their trust

And Gold doth pardon there

But I shall turn their Gold to dust

And bring My Gospel there

So where’s the Gold which they forsook

If men could pardon give

Your Bibles are by all mistook

And I ne’er died to save

But now my Bible I’ll explain

And to the end ‘tis come

Look unto me ye sons of men

‘Tis I that died for man.