The PILGRIMAGE.
GIve me my Scollap-Shell of Quiet,
My Staff of Faith to lean upon;
My Scrip of Joy, Immortal Diet,
My Bottle of Salvation;
My Gown of Glory, Hopes True Gage:
And thus I'll go my Pilgrimage.
Blood must be my Body's Balm,
For here no other Balm is given;
Whilst my Soul, like a quiet Palm,
Travels to the Land of Heaven,
And there I'll kiss the Bowl of Bliss,
And drink m'Eternal Fill on e v'ry milky Hill.
My Soul may be a thirst before;
But after, it shall ne'er thirst more.
And in this happy Blissful Way
More Painful Pilgrims I shall see,
Which have put off their Rags of Clay,
And go Apparell'd Fresh, like me:
I'll bring them first to quench their Thirst
To the Pure Wells where Sweetness dwells;
And then to Taste of Nectar-Suckets,
Drawn up by Saints in Cristal Buckets.
And when our Bottles, and all We,
Are fill'd with Immortality,
The Holy Pathes of Heav'n we'll Travel,
With Rubies strew'd as thick as Gravel;
Cielings of Di'monds, Saphire-Floors,
High Walls of Corral, Pearly-Bow'rs.
And then to Heav'ns
Bribeless Hall,
Where no
Corrupted Voices bawl;
No
Conscience molded into
Gold;
No
Forg'd Accuser Bought nor Sold;
No
Cause Deferr'd, no vain-spent Journey:
For CHRIST Himself's the Kings Attorney,
Who Pleads for All, without Degrees;
For He hath
Angels, but no
Fees.
And when the Grand Twelve-Million Jury
Of all my Sins, shall, in a Fury,
Against my Soul Black Verdict give;
Christ pleads His
Death, and I shall
Live.
Great Counsellor! Plead Thou my Cause;
In Thy Proceedings can be found no Flaws;
Thou won'st Salvation as an Alms,
Not by the Lawyers
Bribed Palms.
And this shall be my Eternal Plea,
To Him that made Heav'n, Earth, and Sea,
That Since my Flesh must Die so soon,
And want a Head to Dine next Noon;
Even at the Stroke when my Veins spread,
Set on my Soul an Everlasting Head.
Then am I Ready, like a Palmer fit,
To Tread those Paths that I before have Writ.
London, Printed by George Larkin, in Scalding-Alley in the Poultrey. 1681.