TER TRIA: OR THE DOCTRINE OF THE Three Sacred Persons, FATHER, SON, & SPIRIT. Principall Graces, FAITH, HOPE, & LOVE. Main Duties,

  • PRAYER,
  • HEARING,
  • and MEDITA­TION.

Summarily Digested for the Pleasure and Profit of the Pious and In­genious Reader.

By Faithfull Teate Preacher of the Word at Sudbury in Suffolk.

TRIA SUNT OMNIA.

LONDON, Printed for George Sawbridg at the Sign of the Bible on Ludgate Hill. 1658.

ILLUSTRISSIMO DOMINO D no Henrico Cromwell, DIGNISSIMO HIBERNIAE PRAEFECTO SACROSAN­CTAE INDIVISAE (QUE) TRINITATIS CULTORI INDIVISO TRIPLICI DIVINAR m GRATI­AR m Coronâ ORNATISS mo TRIBUS Que Apprime Christianis OFFICIIS INTEGERRIME DEDITO, TRIPLECEM HANC TRIADEM SACROR m POEMAT m CHRISTIANAE DOCTRINAE SUMMAMIN SUMMAE OBSERVAN­TIAE TESTIMONIUM Humill m.

F. T.

L. M. D. D. D.

THE AUTHOR TO THE READER.

OFt have I seen Luxuriant Vitious Wit
A wanton Rape on a fair Muse commit:
At once distaining, by leud Poetrie,
The Writers Paper-sheets, and Readers Eye.
And may not I oblige the thrice three Muses
Chastly to serve so Sacred thrice three Uses?
Is the grave Body of Divinity
Less Currant for the feet of Poetry?
Are Truths, for being short and sweet, less sound?
Or streames, for running smoothly, less profound?
David a Prophet, yet in Verse excels:
'Twas ECCLESIASTES made the Canticles.

To the Pious and Ingenious Authour of this Tripartite Poem.

BEfore your triple Poems I admit,
These Votes made up of Threes, may well be writ.
May Ʋnderstanding, Will, and Memory
Know, Love, and hold thy Sacred Poetry.
May Heav'n be th' fuller, Earth the better, Hell
The thinner, by the Truths, you write so well.
May pride of life, the lusts of flesh and eye,
Be poyson'd by these leaves of thine, and die.
If any other three, I'de wish were down,
'Tis Austria, Spain, the Pope with' striple Crown.
This latter Vote if th' King of Kings would make
An Act, I'de willingly the Earth forsake.
W. Jenkyn.
Ingenious Reader.

SOme few mistakes there are of the Printer that unhappyly hurt the Rithme, as with these, for withall, p. 4. l. 11, &c. And some the Reason, as p. 20. l 8. Wares for Wars, &c. With some [...]seudographies and mispointings, which thine Ingenuity will either Correct, or not Impute to thy Friend

F. T.

[Page 1]Ter Tria.

FATHER.

THou that begin'st All things begin my ve [...]se
My words are winde;
Thy words are works:
Thou'lt lightness find
Where darkness lurks:
My Pen and Ink may me not Thee reherse.
My Pen is but a feather'd vanitie,
Like mee that write;
Yet shall this feather,
If thou'lt indite,
Help me flie thither
Where Angels wings make [...]ens beyond the skie.
Father, mine Inks dark hue, presents mine heart.
Ink's not more dark,
Ink's not more black;
One beam, one spark
Supply this lack.
Father of Lights, now shew thy perfect Art.
Lord teach me speak and I'll not hold my peace:
Which if I should,
The stones would come;
Though deaf, yet would
They not be dumb;
Break into praises, stonie heart, for these.
No man hath seen thee, Father, but He who
Did sometime come
(Thy Son it was)
Thy bosom from,
Thy Looking-glass,
Hee's the wise Child that doth his Father know.
Who else sings Thee, sings what he hath not seen:
My Verse hath feet,
And fain would run
Thy praise to meet;
But, lest the Sun
Should hurt weak fight, the clouds do interveen.
Then may I in thy Son thy self discover;
Sure Hee's the Mirrour
That shews thy face:
Prevent mine errour;
Christs flesh like glass
A brighter Glory, but unseen doth cover.
Since then I must be silent, or begin
To sing th' unseen;
Father of Mercies,
That set'st the screen,
Forgive my Verses:
Oh thou that vail'st their subject, vail their sin.
Father's a word my child learns first to mutter,
And thy child too,
Thy new-born Babe
First thing 't can do
Is to cry Ab;
But both come last to know what first they utter.
Thou art the Father of that Son that made
That womb on earth
That, without Father,
Did give him birth;
And might the rather,
He bee'ng begot where He no Mother had.
Then shall I call thee Father? Lord, thy Son
Was call'd no less
Before his birth;
Prophets confess
He had on earth
His children, seed and generation.
Th' Eternall Father call we Thee? or rather
Thy Child, thy Son
Born to restore us,
Thine Holy One
Giv'n to us, for us?
I'll call Thee th' Everlasting Fathers Father.
All that's in God is God; and needs must bee.
Thou mad'st mine eye,
Could'st thou forbear
Thy self to spie?
Or so to rear
The blessed Image of thy self in Thee?
Surely thou could'st no more thy self not view;
Then, Lord, not love
Thy self when seen;
From whence thy Dove,
As hatcht between
Thy face and Looking-glass, sprung forth and flew.
Then shall I not beleev Thou'rt One, yet Three?
Father, and Son,
And sacred Spirit,
That equall run,
One bliss inherit?
Lord, I'll believ Thee surely such to bee.
Yet thou'rt the FATHER still: Those sparkling things,
Are sons of God:
Those winged flames
That flie abroad,
(Thou know'st their names)
Made without Bodies, made all face and wings.
Faces they have, and eyes and tongues, with these,
To see and sing:
But O their Grace!
A sixfold wing
To ev'ry face!
Wise, happy, humble, obedientiall.
Lend's wings, dear Dove; we lag and lose our traffick.
Poore short-leg'd Rhymes,
Verses on foot
Reach Seraphims,
They cannot do't.
Lord, now if ever make my Muse seraphique.
Or if I may'nt have wings, and so keep sight
Of these bright flames,
Shades of thy glory
Yet tell's their names
And tell's their story;
And lend's a quill, dear Dove, and I'll go write.
Write Angels. Lord, 'tis done: but who are they?
Servants, or sons?
Subjects or Kings?
Footstools, or Thro [...]es?
Inferiour things,
Or Principalities? What shall I say?
Sometimes I hear thee call them Elohim;
Yet they were made:
These plumed things
Are but the shade
Of thy bright wings,
Before whose Sun-shine, all these Stars are dim.
Sometimes 't should seem that they but servants are;
Or Ministers
To wait upon
Salvations heirs,
And guard thy Throne.
Yet these stand cover'd where thy sons stand bare.
Servants they are, and yet Dominions:
Each holds his Crown
By casting it
Most humbly down
Before thy feet.
Father, thy Throne's erected on the Thrones.
Thousands of thousands of these finite Gods
On ev'ry side,
I mean the Cherubs,
When thou dost ride,
Some serv for stirrups,
And some thou holdest in thy hands for rods.
Arch-Angels, Angels that sixwinged Nation.
Stand trembling, Lord,
Prest to obey
Their Makers word;
And glad they may
By all their running but maintain their station.
These can't forget that early Funerall;
These can't forget
Those morning-Stars
That rose and set,
Whose inbred wars
Blew up themselves. But oh — their fall!
Yet Thou'rt the FATHER still: these Absoloms
Their beeings had
And beauties, Lord,
But not theit trade
Nor Traitours sword
From Thee from whom All good, and only comes.
How came these then to fall? 't should seem that under
Their Angels wings
Each laid some evil
(Oh wretched things!)
And hatch'd a Devil.
And so by sinning sing'd their wings. What wonder?
Thy fine white linnen, Lord, sin burnt to tinder.
Satan's thy creature,
But now doth want
First form and feature,
Oh miscreant!
Thou mad'st him bright, but sin turn'd all to cinder.
Yet thou'rt the FATHER still: those Stars in view,
Lanterns hung out
In all mens sights
Thy Court about,
Those various lights
FATHER of Lights there dwelling clearly shew.
That golden Globe comes trundling from thine hand:
Father, thou saist
Thou Sun of mine
Run East and West,
Cease not to shine
Rounding my Bowling-green of Sea and Land.
That burnisht silver Ball's hurl'd forth by Thee:
That Moon of thine
That always ranges,
Doth sit and shine,
In constant changes,
Says plainly He that changeth not made mee.
The Pleiades, cluster of six, call'd seaven:
The Signes twice six;
The Errant Train:
The Stars that fix:
The Northern Wain
And all the Constellations of the Heaven:
The Great Orion with those Bands of his:
Stars Great and Least:
The Milkie way,
With All the Rest,
Doth plainly say
That He whose Breasts drop Lights their Father is.
The Archt Expanse, whose Props who can descry?
That surging Roof,
And Saphyre-cieling
Yeelds ample proof,
To all mens feeling,
It had its rise from Thee, O thou most High!
Those stately Offices all on a row,
Standing about
Thy spangled Court,
And yet without
For greater Port;
Thee Father of Heav'ns Family do show.
There stands thy Minting-house, thy Bulloign brought
From 'ts place of birth;
Vapours, I mean,
From drossie earth
Are there made clean;
And, as thou pleasest, cast and coyn'd and wrought.
There stands thy Treasurie; that doth contain
Gems in great store
Of orient hue:
Who can count o're
Thy Pearls of dew?
Thy golden Lightnings? or thy silver Rain?
There stands thy Wardrope. Lord, the purple shrouds
Which thou dost use,
And dapled skie,
Like Ermins, shews
Thy Majestie.
And when thou wilt thou wea [...]'st the gold-fring'd clouds.
There stands thy stable-room. Sometimes thy mind's
To ride abroad;
That men below,
There is a God
Above may know
Hearing the neighings of thy prancing winds.
There's thy distillatorie. Thence thou dost
Heav'ns drops distill
In such great store
Earth drinks its fill
Till 't needs no more.
Then the cold ashes are cast forth in Frost.
There stands thy great Confectionary. There
Those heaps of Snow
Double-refin'd
Do clearly show,
And bring to mind
That they belong to th' Great Confectioner.
'Tis He that makes those Frost-works. He that makes
Moist Drops, when cast
In's Comfit-mold,
Hail-stones at last,
When they grow cold,
'Tis He that candies all the Icie flakes.
There stands thy Magazine. Thou dost erect
Thy flaming forges,
And there prepare
Thy shafts and scourges,
Weapons of war
Which, when thou wilt, thy Rebell foes correct.
Storms, tempests, thunders, thunder-bolts with these,
Great and small shot,
Brimstone and fire,
Father, what nor?
If thou require,
Dart thence to chastise those that thee displease.
Whole Egypt from thy storm of Hail shot runs.
His Heathen-Head
That Royall slave
Slunk under-bed,
When th' Heavens gave
But one round volley from thy greater guns.
Thou'rt the Rains Father. Frost thou'st gendred?
What Prose or Verses
Can better shew
Thy tender Mercies
Then melting Dew?
This shews thine Heart, and hoary frost thine Head.
Th' Ancient of Days begat me, says the Snow.
The Lord of Hoasts
's my Fathers Name
The Thunder boasts,
And Lightnings flame.
I carry Fathers Colours, says the Bow.
So thou'rt the FATHER still: Lord, 'tis alledg'd
By th' Feather'd Hosts,
That here and there
Th' Aeriall Coasts
And Quarters bear,
Under thy Wings they were both hatch'd and fledg'd.
That Bird of Paradise, Lord, thou must owe it.
With chattring cryes,
Swallows and Cranes
Plead th' Only wise
Did hatch our Braines
And He that made our season, made us know it.
'Twas God All-seeing made my piercing Eye
Do h the Eagle say.
To th' God of Love
Our broods we lay,
Saith Stork and Dove:
If these be ours, sure we're thy Progenie.
With early visits and salutes from Earth
Up the Lark climbes,
As if it meant,
With Seraphims
Of high descent
By vieing notes and wings, prove equall birth.
The plumed Ostriches forget their young;
But thou their Father
With carefull hand
Their Eggs dost gather
Laid in the sand,
Hatching to life, and hideing them from wrong.
The goodly Peacock with his Argus-train,
His Angels plumes,
His well-set border,
Strongly presumes
To th'God of Order,
Unto whose pomp this splendour doth retain.
The tumbling Deeps where all the waters gather
Roundly declare
That Name of His
Whose Counsells are
The Great Abyss:
Seas swell too big to own a meaner FATHER.
Surely the Ocean's thine. Lord, is it not?
Thou bid'st it boyle,
But not boyle o're:
And 't does recoile
Within the shore,
Thou dost both furnish, Lord, and salt the Pot.
Thou, Great-House-keeper, must the Fish-pond owe,
Whose banks and shores
Are Rocks and sands,
Whose fullness stores
All Coasts and Lands,
For thou the greatest Family canst show.
These Water-works are thine invention, Lord.
Is th' Oceans force,
When most serene,
Charg'd by thine Horse,
Thy Winds, I mean?
What mighty banks and trenches, Lord, appear?
Under the covert of these surging Seas
Those Armed Bands
(Each jointed scale
Like Armour stands,
Or Coats of Male)
March here and there securely as they please.
Leviathan that moving Mount or Fort,
Who can deride
stormes battering,
Of Sons of pride
Thou call'st Him King;
There tumbles he to make his Maker sport.
So thou'rt the FATHER still. Ev'n Earth can cry
From Cliffs and Mountains,
Hills high and steep;
Sprin [...]s, Mines, and Fountains
That run so deep,
How deep's thy wisdom, Lord? thy pow'r how high?
Thou gav'st the Rocks their Rise. Springs sprang from thee.
Great Architect!
Earths Fabrick fair
Thou didst erect,
And hang i'th Ayr
To shew its Makers Independancy.
Thy very foot-stoole, Lord, thou dost inlay
With Mines of gold,
And silver Ore;
Who can unfold,
Or prize the store,
Wherewith thou dost enrich poor dust and clay?
This inlay'd foot-stoole thou hast round beset
With Vegetants.
Who can declare
Those various Plants,
Their Vertues rare,
That spring from dust of heav'nly Fathers feet?
Those short-lived Beauties that the Florists gather
Look up a while,
With a fair Eye;
Give God a smile:
And though they die
Yet leave such seed as plainly shews their Father.
Thou'rt fruitfull Parent of All Trees fruit-bearing.
Who doth not see
Earth doth but nurse
These Plants for thee?
Thine Heav'ns disburse
Continuall payments for these Plants up-rearing.
Some Trees there are, though suckled with earths sap.
Yet run upright;
As if they meant,
By their vast height,
Prove their descent,
And lay their Leavie Locks in Fathers lap.
Others there are too weak to rise alone,
Yet seem to know
Where Father dwells;
Why should they go
To Neighbours else
To borrow crutches, to run up upon?
The Herds, the Folds, the Beasts innumerable:
The multifarious
Creeping Creatures,
Whose food is various
As their features,
Cry still to God, Our FATHER, spread our Table.
Father, to Live, thy Gift alone can bee;
Earth's cold and dead,
And cannot give
To what it bred
To breath or live,
Surely the fountain of all Life's with thee.
This spacious House thus built, and furnisht so;
Come let's convey
Our Image just,
Did th' Father say,
To breathing dust;
Leaving our likeness to keep House below.
Then was clay stamp'd, by Act of Parliament,
With God's bright face:
A Creature Crown'd
Wish Life and Grace:
Heav'n-born, Heav'n-bound,
Of upright aspect, of Divine descent.
Father, thy foot-steps we may find and gather
All other-where,
But in this creature,
Thy face shines clear,
Witness his feature;
Who reads mans face may quickly spell his Father.
Said I, one may? my God, I should have said
One might have done:
But things fall cross:
Flesh turns to stone,
Pure gold to dross,
Silver degenerates to dirt and lead.
Said I, there is? I should have said there was:
My God! there was
Thy countenance
So in his face,
That ev'ry glance
The shining Sun in brightness did surpass.
Father, this walking, talking Plant was Hee
Whom thou didst love,
Whom thou didst prize
All Plants above.
Thy Paradise
Thou soon didst quit when thou hadst lost this Tree.
From th' side whereof a female plant did spring
A splended pair?
Now th' Earth begins
T' outshine the Ayr,
Where Heavens bright twins
(The Sun and Moon) their Light, as tribute, bring.
Woman to man's a gift of Gods own giving,
(That man alone
No more might be;
Yet as much one,
And one with thee.)
A gift endors'd with Doners Name, the living.
This Royall consort to compleat mans joy
Thou God of Union
Didst well provide
For chast Communion
As his dear Bride
Whom thou hast crown'd on Earth as thy Vice-Roy.
So th' little world, with greatest work and skill,
Was fram'd at last,
And being the best
Its grace was past
To rule the rest.
Nothing's forbidden but its knowing ill.
Upon thy foot-stool thou hadst built a Throne
For man to sit,
My God, at thine;
And at his feet
Thou didst consigne
All other things in due subjection.
Thou gav'st him Life, 'twas fit should'st give him Law.
His fear did fall
By thy command,
On Creatures All
In Sea and Land;
He standing only in his Fathers Awe.
His Diadem was bright Intelligence,
Wisdom in full,
Whose ev'ry spark
Makes Diamonds dull,
And Gems look dark;
His Ermine Robe was purest Innocence.
A Rationall-Plant-Animal was he:
Could vegetate,
Could Move and walk,
Could contemplate,
Discourse and talk:
Fair Issue of the Blessed Trinity!
Parents own Picture! wise, just, holy Son!
Thou mad'st that star,
His Heart, to be
Triangular,
Yet one with thee,
Who art the Ever-blessed Three in One.
That Instruments Three Strings thou God Trin-Unc.
(Th' Intellect, Will
And Memory)
Did'st Wisdoms skill,
And Sanctity,
And Righteou [...]ness give charge to keep in Tune.
And, Oh! What rare and ravishing content
My God did take?
Till, on a day,
A fall did crack
(spoiling his play)
The strings together with the Instrumenc.
But, oh, what tongue? what pen? what prose? what verse?
What tears? what cryes?
What melting moanes?
What sobs? what fight?
What piercing groanes
Can mans so suddain, so sad fall reherse?
Of late a most compleat and upright Piece
My God did frame,
Of crooked bone:
But th' Serpent came,
When God was gone,
And wound his work to greater crookedness.
Wound out of Heaven, but into Paradise,
In a Friends guise,
That cankerd Devil,
By fallacies,
Drew Eve to evil:
And thus the Mother of all living dies.
Man being thus on th' one side mortified,
How quickly doth
The Gangrene spread?
Infecting both
The heart and head.
Thus Adam liv'd and reign'd, rebelld and died.
Down comes the Son by leaping Fathers hedge:
An Apple there,
As some do gather,
But a choak-Pear
As I think rather,
Did tempt him, Oh my teeth are yet on edge!
O fruit, Death was thy fruit! thy gall, thy foot
Mee thinks I tast
With all my bread;
Which makes me hast
Unto the dead:
Thou bredst that worm that kill'd me in my root.
Which bee'ng once wither'd, root and branch did fall
With such aweight
Made the earth to groan
From such an height
Man fell upon
The inferiour creatures, and so crusht them all.
These subjects, thus opprest, soon take up Arms
'Gainst Rebell-Man,
Heav'ns deputie,
(Who first begun
to mutinie
Against his Sov'raign) to revenge their Harms.
For sin that made man Naked, Arm'd the Earth:
So poor man scrambles,
In sweat and blood,
'Midst thorns and Brambles
For sorry food,
Till's Dust turns thither whence it had its Birth.
Now the Earth, that sometimes own'd him for its King
Makes him Distrain
With plow or spade
For every grain
Or't can't be had,
That wont, of'ts own Accord, its Tribute bring.
Man having broke Gods Peace, all turns to strife:
'Gainst his Creatour
Ev'n Dogs proclaime
Fal'n man a Traitour.
A two edg'd Flame
Cries Come not, Rebell, near this Tree of Life.
Besides these wares without that worm doth gnaw
Mans in most soul;
A worm late breeding
O th' fruit he stole,
Whereof man feeding
Became as broken as his Makers Law.
Yet thou'rt the FATHER: these mourning Verses
Do prove thee so;
Mans miseries,
The Creatures wo,
And all their cries
Plainly proclaime thee FATHER of all mercies.
Thy Providence and Patience towards man
Do seem to strive,
O blessed strife —
Who shall reprieve
The Traitours life,
By lenghthening out his poor contracted span.
Though man made so much hast to stir thine ire;
Yet thou art slow,
My God, thou art;
I find it so:
Thou melt'st mine heart
With burning Coles, but of another fire.
Thine En'my hungers, and thou giv'st him food:
Thine En'my thirsts,
Thou giv'st him drink:
Oh! mine heart bursts.
Oh! Who would think
Man were so bad, that sees his God so good?
Father, Thou mak'st thy Sun still shine on those
That lowr on thee;
And when Heav'n lowers
'Tis love we see;
For fruitfull showrs
Thou makest then to fall on thankless foes.
Man, what art made of? Dost not feel that Sun,
Dissolve the Ice?
But thou art Clay,
Th'harder for this:
Yet showrs, we say,
Soften the hardned Clay; But thou art stone.
Father, When man had ceas'd thy sonne to be,
And turn'd thy foe,
Yet didst thou not
Desert him so;
Nor hast forgot
To set thy child, though batter'd, on thy knee.
When man first, stript himself, and shew'd his shame,
Cloaths from the Backs
Of Beasts less wild,
Mans FATHER takes
To dress his Child:
Man lost his Robe, and Beasts must bear the blame
Could I, to cloath a Foe, thus strip a Friend?
My God! My God!
What have these done?
And yet thy Rod,
Due to thy Son
Falls on these servants backs that never find.
Thus Man's both fed and clad at thine expence,
Kept at thy charge,
Yet keeps it not;
But lives at large,
As having got
His force to fight thee from thy Providence.
Heaps upon Heaps! One load upon another!
God gives Man store,
Like a Dear Friend,
Man sins the more,
Till in the end,
Or Mercies sins, or sins do Mercies smother.
Yet thou'rt the FATHER still: of mercies Father:
When through sins curse,
Such Rebels dye;
Thou dost yet nurse
Their Progenie:
As th' Hen her Chickens, so thou dost them gather.
Thus are all things conserved since the fall,
Both man and Beast:
The Raven's fed:
The Lillie's drest;
Then put to Bed.
All's kept in 'ts kind, or Individuall.
How beauteous in its season is each thing?
Summer supplies
What Winter spends:
When Autumn dies,
Such stock descends
As may set up the next succeeding Spring.
Thy Providence makes Clouds feed th'Earth with Rain:
Th' Earth feed the Plant;
Plant, th'Animal:
So there's no want,
Nor wast at All.
Then th' Earth with Vapours feeds the Clouds again.
By these, the Marshes make the Mountains drink,
And liquid Seas,
At thy Commands,
Water, by these,
The parched Lands.
Who, but thy self should such a thing forethink.
Thou dost for ev'ry mouth provide a Meat:
For ev'ry meat,
A mouth provide:
Thy Board's full set
On ev'ry side:
If ought do fall to th'ground, that th'earth doth eat.
Father, for All things thou dost well provide.
Thou didst Erect
This fair Creation,
And dost project
Its preservation:
And being the House-Keeper art the great House-Guide.
Thou serv'st Thy self of All. Ev'n Satans Brain
Ripens thy Plot;
And his design,
When he thinks not,
Promoteth thine:
Thou mak'st that Black-smith forge his own dark chain.
Thou mak'st mans wrath praise thee: And all his evil
Thou turn'st to good:
In all mans Story,
Ev'n in mans blood,
Thou sav'st thy glory:
Goodness rules all in spight of man and Devil.
Yea such is Fathers care, and Fathers skill,
When foolish man,
Led by that elf,
Doth all he can,
T' undo himself,
T' extract mans greatest good from such an ill.
So thou 'rt the FATHER still: Thy new Creation
Most sweetly shews
Thy Father-hood:
My God renews
Faln man to good:
By a new word through th' Spirits Incubation.
Adam comes forth but in a new Edition:
Gods bright Portraiture
Is new imprest,
The Divine Nature,
On mans brest;
Clear from all treason, and from all Misprision.
Father, thou soak'st this Adament in blood
Of thy first-born.
Mine heart, I felt,
Did the impress scorn,
And would not melt
Till that red Sea resolv'd it to a flood.
Father, I heard thee beg the Rebels peace
Rising betimes
To ope thy doores:
For all my crimes,
My God implores
Me to take pardon for my wickedness.
Then said I turn me O my Lord my God!
And I will turn
To bear thy yoak;
Mine heart doth burn
That I it broke.
O my dear child! Ile run and burn my rod.
Thus spake my father. Pains oth' second birth
Did pinch and grieve,
But Gods dear strength
Did soon relieve:
And at the length,
His child bee'ng washt and drest, my God makes mirth.
Nor doth mans elder brother grudg or grieve,
But sing and smile,
Angels do shout
Heav'n rings the while
Th' whole court throughout,
To see poor spend-thrift man return and live.
Man thus adopted and regenerate
Searcheth his Fathers
L [...]st Testam [...]nt,
And thence man gathers
H av'ns full [...]nte [...]t
For his inheritance and fa [...]ur st [...].
Thou prov'st thy self my FATHER all these waie [...]
Now let thy Dove,
Teach me to fear,
To s ve and love,
Thee, Father Dear,
Proving my self thy Child, ev'n all my Dayes.

If you call on the FATHER, passe the time of your sojourning herein fear,

1 Pet. 1.17.

SON.

O Let that Dove, that sometimes did thee Crown
With yellow Gold,
And silver Plumes,
Unto thy Poet Thee unfold
That humbly by thy leave presumes,
To spread thy fame and scatter thy Renown.
Let thine Heroick Spirit guide my Verse
If thou the thing
Indite,
I'le write
Touching the King,
What my weak willing heart would fain reherse.
'Twas when Augustus Cesaer laid a Tax
On all the Earth,
Grace call'd for Thee.
'Twas then thy Mother gave thee Birth,
That thou might'st set all Nations free,
Heavens fair Impression's stampt on Virgin Wax.
To us a Child is born, grace gives a Son,
Heav'ns were too bold,
To say
That they
That King can hold,
Who now into a Manger crouds His Throne.
For since sin made man brutish like the Rest
My God did lay;
The Bread of Life,
Come down from Heav'n 'mongst Oats, and Hay,
That man might find his food as rise,
Yea find his Saviour whilst he seeks his Beast.
'Tis not the Cloth but Crown that shews the King.
A Cave's a Court,
If there
Appear
The Princes Port.
Wise men, what means your Star, your sparkling thing?
Sure you can read by that Orientall light
What is this stranger,
That makes his Bed,
In this poore Cottage, Crib, and Manger;
Hav'ng no where else to lay his Head?
'Tis Christ, Earths Joy, Hels Torment, Heav'ns Delight.
Satan, 'tis Christ my Crown, but Christ thy terror,
Bite if thou dare;
His heel,
I feel,
Is somewhat bare;
But thy bruis'd head shall ever rue thine error.
All wise men do, but foolish sinners do not
Lye prostrated,
Before this Babe,
Being lodg'd in such a poore straw-beds
Nor, to this new-born child, cry, Ab;
They 're so unwise their Masters crib they know not.
My Lord at eight daies old began to bleed
For my disease:
To free
Poore mee,
Not for's own ease:
Surely this martyrs blood's the Churches seed.
Then went he to his Temple with his Mother.
One Dove, me thought,
That blessed maid,
Might then have spar'd, that Lamb be'ng brought
Before the Lord, whose fleece if laid
But rightly on, the worlds whole sin might smother.
From thence, my Lord, posts into Egypts-land.
Have at thy head,
Black Prince,
For since
Egypts dark bed
Hath lodg'd this light, what dungeon can withstand?
When Bethl'hem first gave Judahs Lion breath
He boldly wades
Through th' seav'n fold stream:
The Dragons country he invades,
On their own ground thus daring them.
Thence safe returning dwells at Nazareth.
Can any good come thence? fair Nazarene!
Thou dwellest there:
Bu [...], Lo!
The Snow
Is not so cleare
As thou canst make the Black-Moore sinner clean.
At twelve years old my Lord went thence to sit
I'th' Temple, which
Ne'r shines so bright
As when my Saviour doth enrich
Its darkned windows with his light,
There sits the child to teach the Doctours wit.
The seav'ntieth week be'ng come, the time foreset,
In Daniels book,
Foretold
Of old:
My Saviour took
Baptisme to him a type of's bloody sweat:
Then was the water washt that scoures my dress
My God, my Christ:
Thou could'st not need
For thine own sake a John Baptist:
But that thou mightest cleanse thy seed,
Thou'rt pleas'd thus to fulfill all righteousness.
Jordan's the cleaner, Lord, for washing thee:
Hath John indeed,
To be
By thee
Baptiz'd, such need?
O my baptiz'd Redeemer! Sprinkle me.
Christ, thence ascending, meets his own dear dove
Descending, while
The bridegroomes friend,
The Baptist, doth both see and smile
Whose ears that heavenly voice attend
O son of all my pleasure, all my love!
From Egypt call'd, th' baptismall sea be'ng crost,
My Lord, sets foot
In hast
On th' wast:
Heav'n drives him to't;
To learn ith' desart, how to seek the lost.
Now with the Lion doth the Lamb converse
God sends his Child,
His hand to lay;
Upon these Beasts that are most wild
Till he hath taught them to obey:
Tygres, Wolves, Leopards, Beasts most fell and fierce.
My Lord's sent thither sure to learn to tame
Mans brutish heart;
(More wild,
Less mild,)
By dear bought art:
[...]o turn the Savage sinner to a Lamb.
The firie Serpent of the Wilderness
Finding Christ there,
Doth spit and bite;
But th' Brazen Serpents hard and clear,
Scorning the tempters craft and spight,
The Bullet's batt'red, but not the fortress.
Our Lord now learns to fast that we might feast
And to be tempted,
That wee
Might bee
Thereby exempted:
Or succour'd so as still to have the best.
If thou be th' Christ, this Stone to Bread convert,
Why foole, the Stone,
Which thou wouldst move,
Is Bread already, or there's none,
My Lord was hungry for my love;
Yet hee's the strength'ning Bread of poor mans heart.
Taking this Rock thence to a Mountain high,
Saith Satan, See;
If thou
Wilt bow
And worship me:
Those Kingdoms all i'le give thee instantly.
Why, foole! Must th' Son buy freedome of a slave,
Hark how thy Chain
Doth clatter at,
Thine heel? My Lord was born to raign:
An Universall Monarchs state,
To him long since Heav'ns Letters Pattents gave.
To th'Temples Pinacle, the Churches Head,
Is hurried next:
Bee'ng there,
I heare,
Hell took a Text;
The Wolf by preaching would the Lamb preach dead.
Jump down: 'Tis written th'Angels shall thee catch
Say th'Tempters lips;
And that he might
Perswade my Lord to leap, he skips,
Those words should set his Doctrine right
Angels our wayes ('tis not our Trespass) watch.
Thy neck-verse found, in reading, dost thou Falter,
Yet seem to preach?
For thee
Can be
No Clergy, Wretch!
Thus Haman sometime handsel'd his own halter.
The tempter bee'ng at last turn'd off the Ladder,
My Lord sits still
Be'ng firmer stone,
Then th'wrestling-place, the Pinacle
From whence he threw bold Satan down:
Then th' Angels bring a Chariot from his Father.
This chosen vessell these temptations season.
Now he'll begin
To preach
In each
Place he comes in.
BELIEV'S his doctrine; MIRACLES, his reason.
Yet who makes USE? for ev'ry tribe but one
This great High Priest,
'Mongst all, doth get
Whom very near his sacred breast
As precious jewels he may set;
And of this twelve, one's but a Bristow stone.
For his first proof Christ water turns to wine,
At th' marriage-feast.
O pure!
Sirs, sure
It may be guest
You to your wedding did invite the Vine.
If this free vine doth yield so rich a store;
Who can express
What plenty shall
Flow from thy cross, my God, thy press
When they have bruis'd thy clusters all?
May this Vines blood be my wine evermore!
Well done for th' first: Canst do't again? Lord, do it;
Convert my Verse,
To thine
Own wine,
My water-terse:
Renew thy miracle upon thy Poet.
Soon after to his temple goes my God,
His house of Pray'r:
Where th' sheep and dove
Are sold as if there were a fair.
But where is innocence and love?
'Tis time, Lord, in thine house to use thy rod.
Doth av'rice with thy temple make thus bold?
The next step hence
That we
Shall see
This sinne commence,
The temple of thy body must be sold.
To seek the sun-shine, comes a man by night,
Hav'ng seen the things
My Lord had wrought.
Heav'ns mysteries my Lord (forth brings
But finds the teacher, how untaught?
Night's most within, but Christ turns all to light.
After, this Fountain, thirsting, seek a well:
But finds a ditch
Within
With sinne
All foul, the which
He searcheth first; doth all her doings tell:
Then, by revealing her, himself reveal
To be the Christ:
Samaria finds
What blind Jerus'lem sought and mist.
Thou'rt Christ to all kindreds and kinds,
That by believing set to thee their seal.
Then say's Disciples, Master, eat we pray
But he had got
A meat
To eat
Which they knew not
For he'd gone eating, working, all the day.
Bee'ng thence return'd again to Galile,
A Noble man,
For's dying son
Begs a Reprieve of's Soveraign,
The man beleev'd it should be done,
And what he first beleev'd did quickly see.
Happy that Son, whom Gods Son quickeneth!
More noble sure,
He is
For this
Ev'n for his care;
Bee'ng thus by th'Prince of life repriev'd from death▪
Then to Bethesda's Pool, Salvations Well
Carries a cure
And gives't away;
The Jews this carriage can't endure,
But think Christ hurts the Sabath Day,
Whilst he poore man, for whom 'twas made doth heale.
Is there no cure, my God, for unbelief?
'Mongst all thine art,
Doth there
Appear
None to impart,
To this disease a suitable relief.
My Lord invites five thousand to a feast:
No store of dishes
Bee'ng drest or cook'd;
That, by five loves and two small fishes,
Their unbelief might all be chok'd,
Whilst in their mouths their meat's so much increast.
Yet [...]e next day, as if they'd ne'r been fed,
These very men
Do fret,
And whet,
Their teeth agen,
Not to feed on, but to back-bite Heav'ns Bread.
After, The man born blind to sight's restor'd
By paste of clay,
Surely I shou'd
Have blinded seeing-eyes that way
Bee'ng so far, Lord, from doing good.
Yet Jews in these new eyes, can't see the Lord.
Thou tak'st a living mon'ment from a grave.
Thy foes may see
The dead
Raised;
Yet they'd kill thee,
Oh, my deare Lord, what sign would sinners have?
Devils are all cast out, but unbelief,
Dead Palsies too
Receive their cure;
But Oh, Dead hearts, what aileth you,
That you do more and more obdure.
Not miracles, but blood must cure this grief.
Ah! My dear Lord, the wither'd hand is heal'd:
And yet the hand
Of faith
Who hath?
Jews still withstand:
And after all, to whom's thine arm reveal'd?
Feavers are quench'd; yet fury burns amain:
Issues of blood
Are stanched quite:
All evils, but their spleen find good;
And th' bloody issues of their spite.
Oh! how Jews hate the good Samaritan!
Do Pharises wash oft? Ah! they have need:
Leperds do clear,
But then
These men
The liv'ry wear.
Gebazi's curse is on them and their seed.
Who cures their Phrensies, can't their rage allay,
They contradict
The tongue that taught
The dumb to speak: yea when convict
By the strang cures my Saviour wrought
In Falling-sicknesses, yet fall away.
Creeples get legs; yet mans opinions halt
Who thou shouldst be:
One while
They smile,
Then lowre on thee;
But thou art still the same: Lord! where's the fault?
For thy good works their heardned hearts do stone thee.
Sure it displeases
That they have health,
And that thou carri'st their diseases;
Scatt'ring amongst thy poor the wealth.
My God, ev'n of thine own how few do own thee!
Oh! how they daily carpe at righteousness!
Life may not live,
If they
But may
The sentence give.
They plot to bring salvation to distress.
To drag the resurrection to the grave:
Earths health to anguish:
How fain would they
See their dear-cheap Physitian languish
Who freely cures them all the day.
Him to destroy they plot, he them to save.
My Lord, thy patience is a miracle
'Mongst all the rest
(As wee
May see)
None of the least.
My Lord! If I may judge it doth excell.
Oh! how they grudg my Lord his drink and food!
The Bread, the Vine,
Sent down to us,
As bee'ng a bibber of much wine
They tax, and call him gluttonous
Who's only greedy for to do them good.
These dunghils to asperse the sun begin.
He casts out evill,
Yet they
Do say
He hath a Devil;
Sinner, they call the fountain ope for sin.
Hee is the Son o'th' Carpenter, say some;
The Son of God,
You might have said,
Who rais'd Heav'ns roof you see so broad,
Such Carpentry's no such mean trade,
Helping to ground-sill all this lower room.
Others object, that they his country know,
The place from whence
He came
Can name,
And how long since.
Why, Sirs, pray when did you to Heaven go?
Then they perswade us that the King speaks treason
Because he makes
Himself to be
God as he is: Because he takes
His own, they cry out robbery.
Lord all men have not Faith, all have not reason.
Sometimes he is not Cesars friend, they say,
Who's Cesars King.
Yet hee,
We see,
Makes fish to bring
Tribute to him, that he may Cesar's pay.
Then they crie out, that he's the sinners friend.
But, Oh! that they,
That thus exclaime,
Had rightly known what now they say,
The counsell that to sinners came,
From his deare friendly lips they'd more attend.
To make Christ clash with Moses they project.
The great Law-giver
Doth teach
Its breach;
This they deliver
Who would the Coppy by the Proof correct.
How sharp their sight to find faults where are none?
But Oh! how dim
For to descrie
That radiant deity in him?
And most of all, how blind to spie
Those great prodigious evils of their own?
The Temple he'd destroy, and then rebuild
This, Jewes object;
But what
Of that?
Themselves project
How th' Temple of Christs Body might be kill'd.
How malice mixt with blindness all misconstr'es!
My Lord so spake
As ne'r did Man:
Yet's words and works too they'll mistake,
Say he, or do he what he can.
To match his miracles they bring forth monsters.
Have Rulers or have Pharisees beleev'd?
The Law we know;
Say those
His foes.
Ah! if t'were so
The Law-Maker would sure have been receiv'd.
Yet this good Shepherd finds some stragling sheep:
The Gospel-net
Some Fishers takes:
Some at receipt of custome set
Christs customers his market makes.
And what he finds hee'll spend his life but keep.
Some wise and noble too, although not many
King Jesus Court
Can show:
And so
To keep his Fort
There's one Centurion, Lord 'tis well there's any.
Mary th' unclean from whom as many Devils,
As muddie Nile
Hath streams, are cast:
Each flood had its own Crocodile:
Yet shee becomes one stream at last
Of Gospel-penitence for all her evils.
Christs feet washt with her tears her haire makes dry:
And Christ agen
With blood
Makes good
Her waies unclean:
And with forgiveness wipes the weepers eye.
A Canaanite to th' King of Hebrews comes,
Begs and implores
At Israels feast
Some succour from those sacred stores
That Jesus for the Jews had drest.
Whil'st Children slight their bread, she leaps at crumbs.
A little man, but sinner not the least
Climbes up on high
That he
The tree
Of life might spie;
And in the fruitless Sycamore a feast.
Mary, the Lords Messiah, doth annoint;
Disciples grudge,
And think't too good
For him who thinketh not too much
To spend on them his precious blood.
See how one Judas puts all out of joynt?
Bee'ng thus annointed Christ as King appears,
And forth doth go,
As King
Riding
To Sion so.
Who brings salvation, him an Ass-Colt bears:
Thus foolish things, and things that men despise
The Lord doth chuse;
That this dumb Ass
Might preach performance to the Jews
Of what of old forespoken was;
And Christ by weakness might confound the wise
Judah! thy sceptr [...]'s gone but Shiloh's come.
Jerusalem!
Look out,
And shout,
For Davids stem
Now springs a fresh in thy Law-givers room.
Children, by their Hosannahs loudly cry'd,
Do testifie
My Saviours praise,
That he might still his foes thereby,
His Name these Babes and sucklings rais [...],
Whilst th' Elders and the Fathers him deride.
Thus whilst the Fathers fall ith' Wilderness,
Children inherit;
Why, lo
Ev'n so
It pleas'd the Spirit,
What men deny, to teach poor Babes confess.
What Jews reject poor Greeks make friends to see.
Sion, take heed
Thou be n't the hive
That others doth with honey feed,
Not tasting what it self doth give;
Whilest Gentiles steal away thy Christ from thee.
What needs more proof? my Lord puts on the rack
Devils themselves
(Though Jews
Refuse,
As worser elves)
Till they to him a full confession make.
Would you believe, if your high Priest should tell
Or who's the Christ,
Should testifie?
Sure your own Caiaphas little mist
Saying, 'twas meet this man should dye
For th' people, that they perish not: GO-SPELL:
How sweetly sings this Swan before them all!
Though envy fumes
His skin
Within
His whited plumes,
Their High Priest sings Heav'ns High Priests Funeral.
Thus men teach Parrots speak, but what they know not;
The High Priest cries
(And surely hee
Should know) this man's your Sacrifice.
Yet Christ their Saviour must not be:
My Lord, men do confess thee though they do not.
This Sacrifice the Priest plots how to kill,
And yet there was
More Priest
In Christ
Then Caiaphas.
Thus types the truth, shadows would substance spil.
Innocent Lamb! although thou knew'st this plot,
Yet, Oh! how fain
Would'st thou get up
To be in read'ness to be slain
'Gainst th' Passover; that all might sup?
My Lord, thou seest thy death but shun'st it not.
This is the Paschall Lamb, sure I may call it
Immaculate;
O God,
Thy Blood
Sprinkles my gate:
Yet is thy bitter grief my bitter sallet.
I' th' upper room my Lord bespeaks the feast
For his dear Friends;
That they might know
That from above their chear descends;
Who'l Feast with Christ must upwards go.
But, Oh! how dear for all pays this dear guest
Desiring I've desir'd this feast to eat
With you, before
I go
Unto
The other shore.
Oh! how my Lord hungers to be my meat?
Yet Friends, there's something I must sadly say:
You're not all clean,
'Mongst you doth fit
(The man that dips with me, I mean)
A Devill, yet an Hypocrite,
That shall this night the God of truth betray.
'Tis my Purse-bearers plot his Lord to sell
Who had him bought:
The wretch
To Preach
I sometime taught,
But not to sell me, or himself to Hell.
Judas! canst thou find death in such a Pot?
Plot such a matter
Against thy Master?
Whilst thy sop softens in my platter,
Who of each dish make thee a taster,
Hardens thy heart the whilst, Iscariot?
Will nothing serve but sops in blood next meal?
My Purse, my dish
Were free
To thee
What more could'st wish?
Wretch! what thou dost do quickly: Run, and sell.
Pensive Disciples when they hear, and know it,
Each fears for one:
But he that bears
The bag, is lag; perditions Son
He is the last that doubts or fears:
Slow to confess, but Oh! how swift to do it.
Come children take this bread, 'tis broke for you:
Much good may't do you;
'Tis drest,
And blest,
Take it unto you,
And therewithall my broken body too.
Come my Disciples, here's an health likewise
To you, not mee:
Let it go round,
Salvations cup's the cup you see:
Your health is in my bloody wound,
Think of my blood as oft as ye drink this.
Your Makers broken Law, your bloody sin,
And bleeding heart
Bring mee
To see
And feel this smart.
Who would Hell conquer must with death begin.
My Testament I leave you seal'd in blood:
You I bequeath
When ere I die
Full conquest over sin and death
With life and peace; which by and by
I the Testatour by my death make good.
Pledge mee, dear friends, this blood was broach'd for you
I'le drink no more
Of wine
Oth' [...]ine,
Till bee'ng got ore,
I may in Fathers kingdome drink it new.
Come let's now sing, saith Christ, see'ng all my sorrow
Is but your Crown:
Thorns at the breast
Make musick, when the Spirit's down,
Yea sometimes musick of the best;
Let's sing to night, for I must dye to morrow.
My Lord then riseth up from whence he sate
Whom winds obey,
And seas
With these,
Disciples may
Now see him, that he may be gratious, WAITE.
Sure whilst my Saviour SERVES, who ever came
See'ng him so drest,
Waiting on all
Girt with a Napkin, scarce had guest
This were the feast of's Funerall,
But Marriage Supper rather of the Lamb.
After the wine my Lord doth water take;
Heav'n stoops to meet,
And bow
As low
As sinners feet.
Oh what clean work Christs Blood and Spirit makes.
Peter, thou think'st that I stoop down too low,
And sai'st I shall
N'ere wash thy feet;
Then canst thou have no part at all
In Davids Son, nor be made meet
I th' new Jerusalems clean streets to go,
Streets that are pure as gold and clear as glass:
This Basin is
Thy way
I say
To this fair bliss:
Israel to Canaan must through Jordan pass.
Sirs, see you what I h've done, and do you know it?
You call me well
Say'ng I'm your Lord:
If I then stoop, Oh! never swell.
If I have wash't your feet, afoard
You to do likewise: Happy if you do it.
Servants, my Livery you must wear is Love.
This bowl's my Spirit,
Which I
Now die
That you may 'nherit:
The Lamb goes hence that he may send the Dove.
Oh may this towell bind your hearts in one!
My bending down,
Teach them to bow!
May pride and sinfull passions drown
In this full Basin. Men shall know
By this that your are mine when I am gone.
Gone? I'll go too, saith Peter, Lord I will
What are comes on't.
Oh no!
Not so;
'Tis a sore brunt.
Best metall melts when men their Maker kill.
Nay Lord, though all men run, I'll stand by thee:
Run friends or foes,
Foes to pursue,
Or friends to scape the hands of those.
Poore man I'll tell thee what's more true,
Ere th' Cock crow twice I thrice denied must be.
Su [...]e Peters courage strangly is come on.
My Passion, lo!
He did
Forbid,
Now hee'll dye too.
Yet when the shepheard dies, the sheep will run.
Let not your hearts be troubled, but believe
In God and Mee.
I ride before
To see things may in red'ness be,
Behold I'll meet you at the door:
My Fathers house can me and you receive.
Whither I go ye know, and th' way ye know.
Saith Thomas, Nay
Lord, we
Can't see
Which is the way,
For we, alas! know n't whither thou dost go.
Thomas, I am the true and living way.
My flesh I gave,
(Knowest thou me)
A path-way unto Heav'n to pave,
Cemented with my blood to be,
So that who walks in me can't go astray.
Shew us the Father, Lord, that's all our bliss;
Doth Philip say.
How long
Among
You must I stay,
Ere you know me, saith Christ, why here he is.
Judas replies, but not th' Iscariot, Lord
How is't that thou
Thy self to us,
But not unto the world, dost shew
Thy blessed self revealing thus:
Why, I will do't to all that keep my word,
Peace I leave with you, my peace I you give,
Not as the world,
When here
And there
You're test and hurl'd,
The sweetest calme shall then your hearts relieve.
Friends, if you love me let me go, don't grieve me.
Oh! how your sobs
Do antedate
My Passion! O my pulse vies throbs.
Oh let my grief in yours abate;
My fathers arms are ready to receive me.
Sirs, I can't stay to talke yonder's the Prince
The world that swaies.
O see
How hee
Doth's legions raise;
Yet of one single fault can't me convince.
I am the vine, ye branches bring forth fruit:
My blood's your sap:
My blood's your seed:
'Tis well for you that others tap
The vessell, that the vine may bleed:
The hand that empties me doth you recruit.
O if you love your selves let me go send
That guid to you
That shall
Ev'n all,
Ev'n all things shew.
I h've much to speak which you can't yet attend.
A little while I disappear, Anon
I'm seen agen;
For to the Father
I go, say they, what may this mean,
This little while? we cannot gather.
Why, Friends, when Winter's over, Spring comes on.
Truth, Lord! we now believe. Ah do you so?
Just now comes on
An houre
Whose showre
Will make you run,
Whilst solitary to my grave I go.
Yet am I not alone: O blessed Father!
Thou'rt with me still:
Now glorifie
Thy Son, thy Son: when Butchers kill
Thy Lamb, Oh take me up on high
And thine and mine Lord with me, to me gathe [...]:
These are thy stock I kept and did improve them.
For these I pray,
And all
That shall
Their word obey.
Lord, here's thine own again; O keep them, love them!
Then his Disciples forth my Lord doth lead.
Cedron ith' way
Makes me bethink
What th' Psalmist of th' Hi [...]h Priest do say,
He of the brook ith' way shall drink
Therefore he shortly shall lift up the head.
Thence they together to the garden pass,
Where grew that store
That can
Fall'n man
Make as before:
Sure my Redeemers RVE'S that herb of grace.
'Twas in a garden Adam did undo us
There grew that fruit
Whose bitterness,
That man for ever might not rue't,
My Lord did tast and squeeze and press:
Then from a Garden brings our cure unto us.
O mount of Olives! O Gethsemane!
To all else yet
A soile
Of Oyle!
Of bloody sweat
Only to me—sinner! here's Oyl for thee.
Sirs, sit you here, Peter, and James and John,
Oh! I begin
To feel such smart
Amazeth me that n'ere knew sin:
Yet how it cuts my very heart!
Sirs, sit you down. I must pray or I'm gone.
This cup, this cup, O Father! may it pass!
This cup, this cup
May't pass!
Alas!
Must I drink't up?
Why, all thy vials dregs are in this glass.
Ah! friends your heav'ness doth augment mine too.
How can your eyes
Continue shut
So near such strong and bitter cries?
Dulness, I now perceive, can cut:
Will you not watch with him that's sick for you?
You three of all I chose for sentiness:
I bade you lie
[...]erdieu,
But you
Sleep, though I die.
Yet in weak flesh a willing spirit dwels.
But though my foot-guard sleeps, mine horse men watch
Though men do grieve me
Yet at the length
Mine Heav nly Angell doth relieve me,
Heav'ns succours reinforce my strength.
Sin do thy worst now, thou'st meet with thy match,
Yet, Oh this cup! this cup! Lord let it pass
If't be thy will;
Yet thine
Not mine
Perform thou still.
Thy scalding wrath, Lord, cracks my brittle glass.
Sin ent'red man at first but by one hole:
But ev'ry pore
Throughout my skin,
My God! my God! becomes a door
Whence blood goes out whilst wrath comes in.
Such anger, through thine anger, melts my soul.
Can you get sleep, whilst in this scalding ba [...]h
I melt away,
Blood-wet
In sweat?
Sirs, think I pray,
'Tis for your feavers sake of sinne and wrath.
What, can I not one hours short watch obtain?
One houres? I say.
Oh! you'l be tempted;
Watch, for your own sakes then, and pray:
Oh! pray that you may be exempted.
There are no vapours left in my parcht brain:
I'm past all sleeping now, but the sl [...]ep of death.
But, Oh! let pass
This cup!
Drink't up.
Thy sword, Alas!
In thine own fellow-shepheard dost thou sheath?
Oh! how thy wrath my flow'r to hay converts!
My bones do stare,
My flesh consumes,
My skin is parcht, as bottles are
I' th' smoak, Lord, through thine angry fumes.
Disciples, now sleep on, and rest your hearts.
This restless night of mine procures for you
A day of peace;
My show'rs,
Your flow'rs,
Your joyes increase.
Never did night yield such a blessed dew:
Honey to mine, though Gall and Blood to me:
I mean those drops
Which from my brow
Bedew the ground. Sinners, what crops
May your dear Lord expect from you?
Bu [...] now let's rise; you Traitour comes, I see.
Your Saviour's given into sinners hands.
Judas! Ar [...] come?
Thou 'lt soon
Be gone
Hence to thine home.
Whilst thou twists mine, I faster knit thy bands.
Thou send'st me to my cross: But I'll be even.
Thou shal't hang first,
Thief that thou art!
Thou'st broke thy faith, and thou shalt burst
A sunder, false perfidious heart!
'Tis fit such pay be to such traitours given.
Into the second Adam's garden creep
Dost thou, Serpent?
That way
Betray
The innocent?
Me thinks thou smil'st as Crocodiles do weep.
Canst kiss, and court me still? Hail! Master, Hail!
'Twas sometimes said,
O kiss the Son
Lest he be wroth, and strike you dead
Sure thy kiss is not such a one.
With unbelievers, Hypocrites shall waile.
Judas, thou know'st mine haunt. I th' very place
Me to betray
Just there
Ev'n where
With me to pray
Thy feigned lips were wont, hast thou the face.
What meanes thy search? wretch, thou'rt the fugitive
Your Lanthorn light,
Sirs, also shewes
Your works are darkness, and you night▪
Why force you what I don't refuse?
Is it my life you seek? 'tis that I give.
Jesus of Nazareth you're come to take;
Why I am he.
They all
Down fall.
Can majestie
Upon such Rebels such impression make?
My Lord, thou need'st nor flee, nor Peter draw?
They run, they run:
Backwards they fall:
Yet, to be taken, thou comest on,
Yielding thy self unto their thrall,
Who cannot slip thy curb from off their jaw.
Servants are let go free, while th' master's bound
Bold Peter now,
To show his
Prowess,
Is word and blow.
But the meek pris'ner gently cures the wound.
Thou chid'st thy Champion, while thou friend'st thy foe,
Sweet Prince of peace!
The wounds of foes
Thou'dst rather heale with gentleness;
Then thine should steel to flint oppose.
Peter's too hot to hold, I fear me so.
What mean your swords and staves? sirs! who's the thief:
You've stol'n the fruit,
And yet
Are set
To make pursuit.
I've only stol'n the punishment and grief.
Was I not with you in the temple still?
Have you forgot
My Sermons there?
Yet all that while ye took me not.
And must I now these shacles weare?
Th' Essentiall must the written word fullfill.
See, my Disciples leave me and they fly:
Each shifts for one:
And so
I too
Could well have done:
But, lo! my bondage is their liberty.
Thus bound they drag me to the high Priest first,
Who am the goat
Doom'd thus to dye
More by Heav'ns counsell then their plot,
For sin, in mine Humanity;
Which though it knew no sin, for sin's accurst.
Then they confess over my guiltless head
Their sins, not mine:
Yet I
Did cry,
Something divine
You'l find hath scap'd your hands when I am dead.
In my two natures I'm both Goats in one:
Can dye, yet scape;
Can scape, yet dye:
I can discharge first Adams rape,
Then second Adams bands unty.
Sinner, I must do both, or thou'rt undone.
False witness they suborne 'mongst faithless Jewes.
Such is their grudge
Their Lord
They 'ccord
To death t' adjudge.
Though witnesses agree not, that accuse.
Art thou the Christ? they captiously enquire.
Not for to know
As sometime did
Johns dear Disciples, but to throw
Mine own confessions at mine head.
They watch my words with an enflam'd desire:
This Mary sometimes did, but not as they;
Not life, but death
They watch
And catch
From my dear breath,
Both to themselves and me this bloody day.
Peter steales to their fire, to melt, not fight:
Mine seldome warme
Themselves with such
But quickly rue their dear-bought harme,
Saying the warmth's not half so much.
Sirs, is't so this morn? 'twas hot ith' night;
I felt it so. Nor find I ought yet cool,
Except it be
The love
Ev'n of
My friends to me,
Whilst enemies my wisdome fain would fool.
The High Priest rends his cloaths but not his heart
Then all condemn me
The Hall throughout,
Who must judge all: Abjects contemn me,
Whom Angels do admire, they flout.
They are the Ishma'ls, I bear Isaacks part.
Then they blindfold mine eyes, to whom the night
Shines as the day:
I can't,
Sure, want,
Who gave away
So many eyes to others wanting sight.
Oh! how these Bats project to blind the Sun!
Moles plot and think
(How wise they are?)
With a poor clout thus to hood-wink
Jacobs true bright and morning star.
Indeed if't could, you've need it should be done.
How they to make me like themselves devise?
I, and they, wink:
They see
Not mee;
And so they think
I can't see them, although I made their eyes.
Others, for spight, spit on my blessed face,
Which Moses, and
Elias too,
Did once ith' mount admiring stand
Transfigur'd then, disfigur'd now.
How men bespatter Gods own looking-glass.
These pot sheards then their potter smite with rods.
My white and ruddy
These foes
With blows
Make black and bloody:
I'm box'd by slaves, who rule among the Gods.
Then prophesie who smote thee, some do cry.
Alas! who not?
Yet I'll impart;
Me, for my seed, my Father smote;
But never did mine own clean heart.
Scorners, go read Isaiah's Prophesie.
He did esteem me stricken of my God;
That stripes on me,
My smart
Of heart,
Mans cure might be:
Man did the fault, and I must feel the rod.
Peter, I doubt thy courage will soon coole
At that same fire;
Th' Ague'll come on:
Satan to sift thee did desire.
Now Peter prove thee rock and stone.
My dear Disciple, do n't deny my schoole.
Oh! at first charge, I see, my Champion's laid!
The shield, the shield
Of faith
He hath
Near lost this shield.
Who play'd the man 'mongst men, fals by a maid.
Whom flesh and blood reveal'd not, flesh and blood
Can teach deny,
Ev'n his dear Lord;
Constant to's own unconstancy.
Ev'n as if this had been his word,
I will deny, not dye, to this he stood.
Oh! my poor fisher's caught the second time.
I said, abide
In me,
O ye
Will quickly slide:
But now it seems to b [...] of me's a crime.
Then others cry, this man's of Nazareth.
He by and by
With cu sing doth
Me, tha [...] hav [...] born his curse, deny:
[...] e [...]rs [...] [...]now [...] not what he know'th
Peter, they say they smell thee by thy breath
To be of me, Oh! that I could so say!
Sirs, don't you hear?
The man
Can ban,
Can curse and swear.
That he's of me, Sirs, doth such speech bewray?
Surely you know my speech no more then me.
Peter denies
His Christ—so crew
The Bird that wakes the sleepers eyes;
I lookt on Peter, then he knew
The Cock his Masters Monitour to be.
Peter thus finding all crow over him
Runs forth to weep;
His soul
Now foule
To wrinse and steep;
Ev'n in a spring-ride of salt teares to swim.
I have deni'd my Lord, my Lord that's dying:
I have deni'd
My Lord, my Lord
Whom I confest, profest; bee'ng tried
I have renounc'd his and my word;
My Lord that bought me I have been denying.
Now his hot fit's come on. My Christ, when ever,
Through thou know'st what,
Thee I
Deny
In word or thought;
Oh! give me Peters sweat, in Peters feaver.
By this time is my dooms daies dawning come.
Their rightfull King
Jewes having bound
Before an alien Judge do bring.
That guilt ith' guiltless might be found,
Butchers object, but I the Lamb, lye dumb.
Herod, and Pontius Pilate, Gentiles, Jewes
Counsell and plot:
I am
The Lambe
Must go to pot:
Satan is at mine heel, which he will bruise.
Who art? and, what is truth? Pilate enquires,
Bee'ng strange to both,
I find it so:
Yet to my blood shed lag and loath,
Whilst mine own people raging go
To burn King Davids branch with Gentile fires.
Take him your selves, saith Pilate; Jewish men,
Ease your own grudge.
Say they
We may
No man adjudge
To death. Our Scepter's gone. Where's Shiloh then?
See you your wants? not what ye have, O yee?
Why, Shiloh's come:
My white and ruddy
This wine and milk, though I be dumb
Speaks it; this innocence thus bloody.
This is your Shiloh's garment: can't you see?
'Tis not so long, O thou my city! since
Hosannahs, cried
In thee
To mee,
Me testified;
Thy people gath'ring round about their Prince
'Tis not so long since I did bind my fole,
Mine Asses Colt,
Unto my vine;
To thee, Jerus'lem, now revolt;
That I might wash my weeds in wine,
Whilst to the death I'm pouring out my soul.
Judas meanwhile, consid'ring all that's done
Through his foul sinne,
Relents
Repents
And brings agen
That dung-hill dirt for which he sold the Sun.
For's thirty pieces, thirty thousand woes
Oppress his heart.
Then to his Priest,
I've sinn'd, and th' innocent must smart.
The wretch bee'ng shriven, so confest.
See thou to that, say th' Priests, see thou to those.
Oh! to what lead doth ill-got silver turn?
Judas can't bear
The weight
Of it;
Yet 'twas his dear:
Oh! take't agen. My fingers burn, they burn.
Into the treas'ry this they dare not cast:
Oh! 'tis not good,
Poor men they dare not;
Oh! 'tis the price, the price of blood!
And yet to spill that blood they spare not:
Thus Gnats do stick, whilst Camels go down fast.
They take the money first, and then dispute
Wheth'r 't should be so.
Mean while
The vile
Traitour doth go,
Bee'ng self-condemn'd himself to execute.
A bloody piece of Charitie's the end.
The Potters field,
That strangers might
Be buri'd there, to buy they yield
Not burying there their own strange spite.
Thus kind to strangers, whilst they kill their friend.
Mean while me at a godly price men hold;
Hereto it's come,
One field
Can yield
As great a summe,
As doth the Maker of the world when sold.
Now th' Judge of all stands bound at Pilats bar.
Great God is tried
For's life, by man:
Yet by this stranger justified,
Say mine own people what they can.
Hurried to Her [...]d next, and's men of war.
Herod forsooth would see a miracle
And doth, whilst I
Sustain
Disdain
So patiently,
Who could scoule these proud scorners quick to Hell.
In white and splendid rayment then, from thence
I'm re-convey'd
To my first judg.
('Twixt whom and Herod peace is made
They in my blood can sink their grudge)
Wearing the type of my cleare innocence
Saith Pilate, see nor I nor Herod can
His crime discry
Why he
Should be
Condemn'd to dye;
Will you, this feast, that I release this man?
Take him, and scourge him, scourge him as you list,
Oh! What I feel!
My God, what lashes!
Think you my back is stone or steel
Like your hard hearts? O gage these gashes?
And spare your rod, or tell me wherefore is't.
Yet doth mine hand still sway that iron-rod,
Wherewith I can
All those
My foes,
Ev'n as one man,
In pieces break; and make them know I'm God.
Who would have thought all government were laid
Upon these shoulders,
Thus rent and torn
By cruell stripes? yet they're th' upholders
Whereon both globes oth' world are born;
A load that's light to th'stripes of them that strai'd.
I am the fruitfull field now plow'd in furrows,
That ev'ry sinne
Might have
Its grave
To wither in.
I am the rock, these holes are sinners burrows.
Princes, whilest under Paedagogues they bee,
Can stand and see,
When they've transgrest,
Sub [...]ects whipt for't, why, Pilate mee,
Thou'st innocent and king confest,
Yet for my peoples faults I'm scourg'd by thee.
Pilate, thou thinkst these bloody stripes may cease
Their bloody cry,
But blood
'So good,
They'll drink them dry,
And their Hydropick thirst will more increase.
Alas! thou think'st to seale me a release
From blood in gore,
But 'twill not bee
Till I have emptied all my store.
Then, sinner, there's release for thee.
So dearly must I buy my Subjects peace.
Pilates own wife becomes mine advocate:
Her sufferings in
Her dream,
To them
Shee doth begin,
So to prevent my Passion, to relate.
But who can harden his soft cowardise.
To take my part,
And shield my right?
Or molifie their hardened heart
To quit their spleen, or scirrhous spite?
Pilate, have nought to do with Christ, shee cries:
Woman, thy husband's like to 've nothing sure
With me to do:
Whilst he
For me
No heart can show;
But to condemn, whom he acquits, endure.
Pilates own Lady plaies the nursing mother;
Whilest Jews reject,
Builders refuse
Fair Sions precious stone elect
Which for the corner God will use.
'Ware Pilate lest this croud thy conscience smother.
Pilate and I have two hard parts to play;
Pilate, to please
All those
My foes,
Yet me release:
I, to make Heav'n and earth good friends this day.
Time after time he questions and approves
Mine innocence;
And tels the Jewes
That clearly that's all mine offence:
And doth the oyle of courtship use,
Which either more enflames, or nothing moves.
Pilate hangs first 'twixt two bee'ng crucified,
Conscience and fear:
The Rout
Without
For blood appear:
By Pilates Privie Counsell 'tis denied.
Will you, saith Pilate, I release your King,
Or Barrabas
The Murderer?
The Man of Men the Monster was
Yet Barrabas they all preferre
Bloud upon bloud thus on themselves they bring.
Now, O ye Heavens, stand astonished!
And thou, bright Sun,
Be gon:
Get on
Thy mourning gown!
That when I bow mine, thou may'st hide thinehead.
Let Gad'rens now for kind commended be;
Yet they preferd
Their herd of swine,
But no Barabbas in that Herd.
But, Oh! the hoggishness of mine,
Ev'n of mine only people unto me!
Why ev'n these Butcher's trade's a mystery.
There is a skill
That they
This day
Have learnt to fill
Their hands with blood: and that before I dye.
The murder and the murd'rer all's their own
Whilst they thus chuse:
And oh! what wonder?
What fitter head, for bloody Jewes,
Than this Barabbas, to list under;
Whilst from their head they cast off me their crown?
My Christ, there's yet a sweeter mystery:
Innocent breath
I see
In thee
Condemn'd to death;
That th' chief of sinners might escape thereby.
What shall I do then with your King, saith he.
Him Crucifie,
Cries all the rout:
Oh let him, let him, let him dye!
As if they could not live without
His blood, no more can I Lord, give it me.
Why, but saith Pilate, tell me what's his crime,
Or take him you.
Away,
Say they,
Let him dye now.
To find his fault would ask too long a time,
Whilst all can tell me how, none can tell why
I should be kill'd.
Sirs, is 't because
I gave you good and righteous Laws
Which you have broke, and I fulfill'd?
Must I because I let you live, now dye?
Or is it for some injuries of old!
In Egypt, and
In the
Red Sea,
And desert Land,
Whereof your Fathers Fathers have you told?
Or is't because I said I came from God
To bring a new
And great Salvation,
Greater then th' first, to thee, O Jew!
Proving my mission to my Nation,
By an all-conquering wonder-working Rod?
Is it because your dumbe can speak, that I'm
Cry'd out against?
'Gainst me
Are ye,
O Jews! incenst
Because of all my cures? are they my crime?
Is it because your dead are rais'd, that I
Am grudg'd my breath?
Grudg'd what I give?
Am I therefore condemn'd to death?
Dos't therefore grieve you that I live?
Why, I shall quicken the more, when ere I dye.
Then Pilate puts me in the souldiers hands:
They plat a Crown:
Alas!
It was
A thorny one
Which he must weare, who Heav'n and Earth commands.
Why, I am Isra'ls King: and him I found
Ith' Wilderness,
That howling waste,
Whose Musick these outcries express;
Whose only fruits are thorns, I tast:
Cloath'd with their sins I'm with their thorns too crown'd.
Thus I with sinners change, 'tis well for them:
Their thorney Crown
So worn,
And born,
I make mine own,
Yielding for it an heavenly diadem.
Isra'l, that so long brought me no sweet Cane,
Now puts me off
With a poor weed:
For sacrifice, they bring a scoff:
And for my scepter, bring a reed;
Yet by me Princes rule and Kings do reign.
Then in Purple Robe they me invest:
But that same colour
I wore
Before,
Through stripes and dolour,
Both on my scourged back and tortur'd breast.
Then gath'ring round, ev'n as they lift, they flout me.
Haile King! they cry;
And bow the knee,
But not their hearts: (Why, truly I
Ever had some that so serve mee)
Breathing disdain yet can't they breath without me.
They rend my flesh, the temples of mine Head
They smite with reeds:
But I
Surely
Shall quit their deeds,
By rending vaile and Temple when I'm dead.
In strange disguise (for so are Princes wont
When as they pass
Through strangers lands,
And such Judea is, alas!
To me, whilst I am in such hands:)
Brought forth I am that Priests might me confront
A ruthfull spectacle! a man of grief!
Laden with woes!
With thorns;
With scorns
Of bitter foes!
Will not the Priest and Levite yield relief?
Whither, oh! whither, would I, could I flie?
Shall I repair
To th' Alters side?
Spight is there hottest. There they are
That first cri'd, be he Crucified.
Away, say they, O let him, let him die.
We have a Law, the Sonne of Death he is
Gods Sonne to be
That makes
Or takes,
Himself here's he.
Sirs do not quote the Second Psalm for this.
Pilate an Heathen, dreads my reverend name,
Which Jewes despise:
Enquires the more
Whence I am? whence my kingdome is?
Not of this world, I h'd said before:
So, he my dumbness, I his deafness blame.
Of what he asks I did the truth impart,
And told him so:
But hee
'Gan flee
The truth as though
It were some Ghost or Mormo Truth! what art?
With's pow'r of life and death he then doth brave me,
Who hold the keyes
Of David still
To shut and open as I please,
To bind and loose all as I will,
For such Command'ment God my Father gave me:
Yet Pilates Conscience in his face still flies:
Now he projects
How mee
To free;
But all th' effects
T' enflame their fury, double their out-cries.
Yet in their anger so much wit they have
As to compound
Some thing to calme
Poor Pilates Conscience, why, they've found
Some simples soveraign as balme;
Oh! 'twas good satisfaction that they gave.
Thou art not Cesars friend if this man go.
Now take your Christ,
Fullfill
Your will,
Do what you list
With him, Jewes, so I sentence, and so do.
Thus he and I swim down one stream this day.
Yet the poore man
Found want of water,
Call'd for a Basin, and began
To wash him from this bloody matter:
Which nothing can, but what he gav [...] away.
Truly his washing clears not him, but me:
He doth proclaim,
That I
Now die
A spotless Lamb:
Then, wretch, what Ocean can compurgate thee?
Pilate, upon us and our children fling
Thou this mans blood:
We Jewes, thus wish.
Is this your so much long'd for food,
To you of all th' forbidden dish?
Pilate then cries, ye Jewes, behold your King.
We have no King but Cesar, they reply.
Sirs, you forget
Whose hour
Of power
This is as yet.
Satan's your Cesar, more then he or I.
Satan, not Cesar, bad you plot my fall:
That Prince of Hell,
Philistia's King
Plows with mine heifer, Israel:
Thu [...] to mine end, mine own me bring.
Yet Sampsons death's Philistia's Funerall.
The Purple Robe then strip they from my back;
Which plainly shews
It's worn
And born
For sinners use,
That of my Righteousness they might partake.
Thus is the truth stript naked: And agen
My seamless coat
They make me weare
Unto mine execution-plot,
That by my sweet attonement there
I might an Union weave 'twixt God and Men,
Thence to the place of Souls, Lo! I their Head
The tree accurst,
Before
It bore
Me, bear it first;
Till I, by bearing it, am almost dead.
Thus mine may learn in me, what burthen he
Must daily beare,
Taking his cross,
That in my waies will persevere,
Reck'ning death gain, counting life loss:
Who stumbles at my cross, can't follow me.
Now are my groanes new pickled in friends tears,
They'd steale, I spie,
This tree
From mee,
By Sympathy;
Which by constraint Simon of Cyrene bears.
But weep not, Daughters of Jerusalem!
For me at all
But for your City:
Alas! who can prevent thy fall,
Who shew'st thy builder no more pity?
If they do thus to th' green tree, wo to them!
T [...]us under Pilates sentence, and command
O th' Roman state,
That all
May fall
On Romes proud Pate;
I th' place of Crucifixion, lo! I stand.
Rome! thou'rt that Sodom, Egypt, Babylon,
Though Misticall;
Drunken with blood
Of all my Martyrs, mine withall
Now mingling with thy [...]ybers flood.
Rome's stored with crosses and now lends me one!
Not Jabbathah but Golgotha's the stage
The Camp without;
Where I
Must dye
'Mongst all the rout,
Tasting at once both Hells and Heavens Rage.
Why I am the great Sacrifice for sin,
And therefore must
Without the gate
Unto the Earth commend my dust,
Whilst my deare blood doth expiate
From all transgressions that those are within.
Behold, my dear Disciple, my dear Mother!
Her I bequeath
To thee,
To bee
After my death
Provided for as by her Son, my Brother.
Now see your Brazen Serpent lift, on high,
Upon the pole!
My bloody cross
Bears fruit to quit what Adam stole:
Justice, I find, may n't go by th' loss,
Yet grace shall reign by righteousness, hereby.
Oh! how I'm stretcht and tortur'd on this tree!
Oh! how each vein,
And nerve
Doth serve
A sev'rall pain!
'Twas man grew loose, and I must straitned bee.
Oh! how those hands, I stretcht forth all the day,
To Israel,
Are stretcht again?
That as my Patience did excell,
So now I might exceed in pain;
Whilst sinners to mine heart find open way.
Oh! how my feet, that nere took step awry,
Are pierced through!
Made fast
In hast
My cross unto;
Till the transgressours may find time to flie.
I am the doore, they naile me to the tree:
And, as is fit,
Over this gate
A royall superscription's writ
That in all tongues might preach my state.
Oh! all ye that pass by, turn in by mee.
To th' cross I'm hing'd in mine humanity.
That from the floor
Ev'n each
Might reach
That living door
Whose upper hinge clasps in with th'Deity.
Romans, and Greeks, and Hebrews, come and look:
These open arms
Shew th' open way,
How by mine, you may case your harms;
And may become one fold this day:
I am the shepheard, and my cross the crook.
I am the shepheard, and my crook, the cross;
Whereby I gather
And keep
My sheep,
And thine, O Father!
I'll suffer death, ere thou shalt suffer loss.
Living, my bread of life among my Jewes
I ever brake,
For 'twas their right;
Who whilst they spread these arms, do make
A feast for Gentiles through their spight;
That, dying, I might none, that come, refuse.
Come unto me all ye that laden be
With sin and wrath;
Come ye
To me;
O come in faith.
I'll bear your burthens whilst my Cross bears me.
Mine hands are not so nail'd, but that I can
Ev'n with these nailes
Still pick the lock
Hung on your heel, if your key failes:
But whilst I preach, alas! they mock.
If thou be th'Christ be thine own Jesus, man.
Why Jewes remember what your high Priest taught
How needfull 'twas
That I
Should dye,
That th'cup might pass
My people, whilst I drink their bloody draught.
But, oh Jerusalem! canst laugh at mee?
And at my griefs?
As thou didst know
My pressures to be thy reliefs;
Repent, believe; and be it so.
But laugh not at me who h've wept over thee,
And yet weep blood, for this thy stupid state.
Father, I pray
Reprieve,
Forgive
These foes for they
Alas! my God, they do they know not what.
They curse, I bless: I pray whilst they revile.
Whilst Priests do scoff
And sore disdain
The Sacrifice that comes not off
Th' Altar, but suffers to be slain,
My bloud makes intercession all the while.
Who'd rase then raise the Temple (this is he)
In three daies space;
Yet hee,
We see,
Can't quit this place
Where all the nailes that hold him, are but three
Yet mock not, passenger; wag not thine head
In so much scorne,
When thou thinkst least,
When I this bitter death have borne,
To earnest I' [...] soon turn thy jest;
And raise this Temple ere't be three daies dead,
Come down say some, and so convince thy foes:
Which if I shou'd
How sore
A store
Of wrath, and blood,
Would come down too? Sirs, I beare of your blowes.
With the transgressours numbered am I:
On either side,
Truth bee'ng between,
Falshood and theft hang crucified;
Yet if Heav'ns Rolls these men had seen
They'd found me in another Trinity.
But, oh my grief! not only mine own Nation
But those, that be
Justly
To dye,
First scoff at me;
Their partner not in crimes, but condemnation.
Yet can I not forget my dear Compassions:
Though both reproach
And flout at me,
My blood for sinners since I broach,
I will not suffer both to be
At once partakers of two condemnations
Th' one I call home though in th' eleventh hour:
And thereby shew
How kind
A mind
I bear to you
That turn, though late, to me your Saviour.
But oh his rare Conversion! oh how he
Justifies God!
Rebukes his mate!
Open his sin! kisseth his rod!
Takes me for Lord, beseeching that
In my Salvation he might sharer be.
Thus on my Cross I work a new Creation:
Loosing the bands
Of sin
Within
From th' sinners hands.
My bitter sacrifice brings sweet salvation.
Thus I give life to others, yet I dye;
I heal their wounds,
And break their bands;
Yet anguish mine own soul confounds
More then these nailes do pierce mine hands
My God! why dost thou me forsake? Oh! why?
They rend my garments, cast lots for my coate,
Whilst I hang here;
Shame doth
Me cloath,
Else nak'd I were
Yonder's thy Josephs coat, Lord! dost not know't?
The seamless vesture of thy sinless child,
How bloody is't?
My God! My God!
Yet not so bloody as thy Christ
Is all within by thy sharp rod.
O be not fierce to me, for I am mild.
See, how I'm nail'd to this most bitter tree!
How I'm accurst!
How gall
Is all
My drink in thirst!
And wilt thou so, my God, my God! leave mee?
See, how men turn my Glory into shame.
Mocking my faith
And confidence;
Some say he for Elias pray'th:
But, Lord, thou know'st my mind and sense.
They flout, they fleete, whilst I call on thy name.
Yet save me, for I'm thine: thine handmaids son
Made of this woman:
Thy shade
This maid,
When known by no man,
Impow'rd to bring forth me, thine holy one.
Father! I'm the only fatherless on earth:
All others have
Fathers, or had:
O pity, pity, Lord! and save
Thy Fatherless, support the sad.
Oh! leave me not in death, who gav'st me birth.
My God! my God! why dost thou me forsake?
Who never thee
Forsook,
Or took
One sin to mee,
Except the sins that thou didst bid me take.
They fill the spunge with vinegar, but thou
My soul dost fill
With sharper grief.
Oh! sinner, here's a bitter pill,
Yet for thy sickness sweet relief.
My God! my God! O do not leave me now!
How darkness vailes the land! yet clouds do hover
Darker by far:
Thy wrath
Lord, hath
Eclyps'd thy star,
Whilst from thy darling thou thy face dost cover.
How both Suns suffer while thy Son lies under
Thy fierce displeasure!
Th' Sun bears a part
But mine eclypse it cannot measure.
Lord thy sore frowns do teare my heart
More then the Temples vaile, that's rent asunder.
Now come thy breaches and thy darkness on,
O Jewish Land!
For thou
Hast now
Both rid thine hand
Of thy bright light and of thy Corner-stone.
Father, the earth's all ague, and I more:
Ev'n rocks are rent,
My soul's more torne:
Yet flinty Jewes don't once relent.
My God: leave not mine hope forlone.
I h've done. Lord, open th' everlasting Doore.
Father, into thine hands I give my Spirit,
And utmost breath;
Whilest I
Thus dye;
And, with me, death:
That my dear seed henceforth may life inherit.
Then Christ, in sweet submission, bowes his head
To all Gods pleasure:
I think on't still:
Lord make the bowing heart my treasure
An heart to bow to all thy will;
That dying I may say, all's finished.
This done, my Saviour quickly shews his force
Graves open flie;
They shake
And quake
That see him die:
The rude Centurion's struck with strange remorse.
Thus Christ lets loose his pris'ners, captivates
His scornfull foes;
They knock their breast,
Confessing whom they did oppose
To be Gods SON, now not in jest.
Thus Sampsons death brake the Phylistians pates.
Then with a spear his side a Souldier strikes;
Cleaving the Rock
That may
Each day
Water that Flock,
Whose Shepheard is now past all push of pikes.
This is the fountain op'ned for thy sin,
Jerusalem!
Thy filth, thy guilt;
Here is for each a proper stream,
Water and Blood: Let none be spilt:
O quench thy guilt, and cleanse thy filth herein.
Isra'l thy Paschall Lamb, thy Christ is dead,
That Lamb from Heav'n:
Have care,
Prepare,
Purge out thy Leaven:
Mingle no more thy malice with thy bread.
Or if the Jewish lump won't leave their leaven
Make me leave mine:
I have in me
(Lord, nail it to this Cross of thine)
An evill heart of enmity.
Lord kill this enmity 'twixt Earth and Heaven.
Be thou my fort, and hiding-place, my soul
Would lodg in thee:
My Lord
Affoard
One cleft for mee.
Thy walls are shatt'red, yet thou'rt timber-whole.
Satan and sin I h've seen, ith' Tragick story,
Shoot through and through
Thy blessed heart;
Yet not one bone was broken, though
Mount Sinai's Cannons plaid their part.
In this rock hide me, till I h've seen thy Glory.
Shall not Christ Crucified far dearer be
To me then Pelf,
Then name
Or fame
Or life it self?
'Twas thus with Joseph, why not thus with me?
The Souldiers having broke the others leggs,
But not my Lords;
Joseph, a man
Rich in the goods this world affoards
But more in faith, most boldly ran
To Pilate, and Christs lifeless body beggs.
Then in clean linnen wraps that skin and bones,
That martir'd treasure:
And why
Can't I
Take as much pleasure
To cloath thy members, Lord, thy naked ones?
Jewes, now ou [...] king's come down: Sirs do you see him?
Your Temple lies
Flat by the ground:
Will you believe when't doth arise?
Catching your Christ at his rebound?
Why if his own won't have him, Lord! give me him.
Christ having now giv'n death his deadly wound,
Follows him home:
Invades
Deaths shades,
Enters a tombe,
To see what spoils may in a grave be found.
Great Conquerour, who hast kill'd death ith' duel
After this art
Lodg'd in a stone?
Rather take up in my poor heart
How hard soever, or how none.
Oh! that I were thy Cabinet, dear jewell?
But Josephs rock was pure, that grave was new:
First in a womb,
Which none
Had known;
Then in a tombe
Where none had lain, my Lord log'd, this doth shew,
I must be clean and new first. Yet thy passion
And streame of blood,
What did it mean,
That Purple yet a Christ all flood?
Was't not the making of me clean?
Doth not thy rising mean my renovation?
Then make and take for such this heart of mine
And dwell in it:
This breast
Is best
That I can get,
Had I a better, Lord, it should be thine.
Surely the King of terrour I could brave,
If my Lord would
This Sepulcher,
This heart, as his own quarters hold;
I would nor goale nor goaler fear.
Oh how my Saviours Corps perfume the grave!
Lord, make this heart of mine a living one
Through thy deaths merit
Convey
I pray
To me thy spirit,
Who thy dead flesh didst Coffin in dead stone.
With th' Arimathean Counsellour combin'd
A learned Rabbi
To shew Christ kindness;
An Israelitish Doctor: may be
Some wiser man will blame my blindness,
And Antichrist in Law and Learning find.
But may my soul with blessed Joseph dwell
And Nicodem:
Yet, down
With th' Gown,
Cry some of them
Who scarce I doubt from these can bear the Bell.
A spicie mixture, 'bout an hundred pounds,
Who came by night
To Jesus brings
T' embalme his Lord, that gave him light,
With Aromatick precious things:
Y [...] not one half so precious as those wounds.
Now Jesus ( Jonah-like) Heav'ns sealed one,
Enters the deep:
But shall
The Whale,
The grave, him keep?
See, Souldiers watch, and Pilate seales the stone.
As Daniel's seal'd when cast into the Den,
Malitious Jewes
Require a seale,
And watch, which Pilate won't refuse,
Left some the Coffin'd Corps should steale.
They'll keep the Sun from rising; Crafty men!
Lo! in a Garden stood the sealed Tomb.
Adam the first
Hav'ng bin
For sin
Ith' Garden curst
To th' Grave. My Saviour thus fullfills the doom.
Then dawns that blessed light that ever since
Makes one day shine
More then six other;
For should six week-day lights combine,
One Lords-Day brightness would then smother
With thee, Thy Day Lord riseth and proves Prince
That Day is now obscur'd wherein Christ slept;
That Day's made bright
In which
That rich
And orient light
Quit that blind prison where he had been kept.
Surely that day's the whole weeks Jubilee
(That day's the best
Which my dear Lord
By ceasing from his labour blest,
Labour that cost more then a word)
Wherein redemption set the ransom'd free.
This first day finds more then the seaventh day lost
Can supe [...]add
And raise
More praise
Then th' other had:
So th' old Commandment is fullfill'd, not crost:
That bids me celebrate what day of seaven
God hath most blest;
And HIS, doth call:
Such WAS the Jewish, IS our rest.
We sowr'd Gods first works by our fall,
Till Christs last Passover purg'd out the leaven
Was not Christs Buriall part of 's Humiliation?
His day of rest
From that
Dark state
Shall't not be blest?
Shall I less prize a new then old Creation?
Redemption is a making old things new.
Rouze Christians then:
Though dead before,
Let Lords-Dayes find you living men;
That with your Christ can rise and soare.
And for the Christian, quit thy Sabbath, Jew.
The first in sin runs first to th' Sepulcher
Poor woman kind:
But Christ
Is mist:
Oh! they can't find
Their Lord; though two of his Life guard appear,
The two bright pointers of that blessed Star
His countenance,
Who h'd roll'd the stone,
Strikes keepers hearts, at's first advance,
As dead as what he sate upon.
Thieves were, now Angels Christs attendants are.
Say th' women who shall roll the stone away?
'Twas done before.
Thus may,
I pray,
I find my score
Quit to mine hand, when I cry who shall pay?
Surely my surety did my debt discharge:
Lord, else why should
Thine Angell be
Sent down t' unlock that prison-hold
Wherein my Saviour lay for me?
My surety's free, why may n [...]t I walk at large?
They would with Oyntments, Odours, pretious things
Perfume his Prison:
But th' dead
Was fled;
Their Sun was risen
With sweeter balme with healing in his wings.
Mary the sinner, Mary Magdalen
Marcheth ith' van
To th' Sepulcher,
But th' stone's remov'd, and so's the man:
Shee missing her dear Saviour there,
To Iohn and Peter runs, and comes agen.
These run a race, the wager's precious truth.
But Iohn outran:
Alas
He was
The younger man.
Happy the man runs after Christ in youth.
Peter, successour to his Masters Cross,
Whilest John keeps out
Enters Christs Tombe;
Looks for his Christ but finds a clout,
And winding-sheet in Saviours Room:
But Christ is gone. O blessed, gainfull loss!
Mary th' old weeper stands without and cryes;
But stooping down,
Spies here
And there
The Grave cloaths thrown,
Which linnens scarce can serve to wipe her eyes,
Shee is still anxious, turns her round, and lo
There the Gard'ner stood,
As shee conceiv'd,
Ev'n he that waters with his blood
Each plant of his. Thus Christ's receiv'd
By the true seeker oft when't thinks not so.
Sir, if thou have borne him hence (and 'twas well guest)
Tell me, saith shee:
Mary!
Lo I
Ev'n I am he.
Ah! my dear Lord, that word revives my heart.
Yet touch me not, saith he, I'm not ascended:
But go thou rather
And tell abroad
Unto my Brethren, to my Father
And yours I go, mine and your God.
So richly is the poorest Saint befriended!
How studious is my Lord that they should know,
And so partake
Of this
His Bliss
That did forsake
Him in his captive state and sufferings so.
Surely these men that fled then from their colours,
Might have expected
Another kind
Of message should have been directed
From their now rising Lord: but find
Their sins in his Grave buri'd with his dolours.
No word of th' old uncomfortable story.
But say I'm risen:
Let tears
And fears
Take up my prison.
Run tell my Brethren thou hast seen my Glory:
Also the Angell cries, be not affraid:
Jesus you'd have:
I know it well:
But think you David in a cave,
Or Davids Son must ever dwell?
Come see the place where your dear Lord was laid.
Women, your Lord's not here; your Lord is risen
Have you forgot
Your Lords
Own words?
Or have you not?
Seek you the Prince of life in this dead prison?
Run, tell the rest and Peter, Christ is gone
Tow'rds Galilee
As he did say.
With joy and feare away they flee
All dapled like the time of day
And as they march, behold! they see the SON.
O may my Lord thus evermore appear,
And shine upon
Poor me,
When he
Saith, get thee gone,
And unto others, of me, tidings bear.
Oh blessed meeting! Courtship, and devotion!
All Haile! saith he:
They bow t'his feet;
Light that forbids us courteous be
Was then so dark Christ could not see't.
That master taught his schollers no such notion.
Men, 'tis observ'd the rising sun adore;
Christ's risen now:
And bright
Day light
Beames from his brow;
Shall not all worship the Son of God much more?
The watch mean while bring news of all that's done.
To th' Priests within,
Ev'n that Christ's risen;
Who seeing him past reach, begin
To plot how they this truth m' imprison.
Christs second Grave-stone is a silver one.
What potent pranks can mighty Mammon shew!
Powerfull pelf
In'ts facts
Out acts
Ev'n pow'r it self:
Money can make truth falsehood, falsehood true.
Money betrai'd my Lord to all these wrongs:
Now they're devising
To keep on foot
Something to cloud this bright Suns-rising;
And 'tis large money that must do't.
This silver key must turn the souldiers tongues.
Souldiers are taught a sorry tale to tell;
Which should methinks
Nere slip
Their lip;
But that which chinks
So sweetly, can make all sound pretty well.
Say, Whilst we keepers slept at th' Sepulcher,
's Disciples came
And stole him thence;
Which if the governour shall blame
We'll mediate and make your defence.
Now hear O Heavens! and O Earth! give eare.
Can'st thus, O Isr'ell, fool away thy Glory?
Is such a wise
Fable
Able
To blind thine eyes?
Is this th' authentick, yet received story?
Why, souldiers, if you slept at th' Sepulcher
Whilst that vast stone
Was rolling back
(Which may a Jew believe, or none)
And some by stealth the corps did take;
I marvaile you could see what men they were.
Or if you saw the thieves, why did you not
Stop or pursue?
So short
Report
Want so much giue?
See how the last words have the first forgot.
But oh fond Priests and Elders whence is it
That you can stroak
These souldiers pates?
Sure such neglect would you provoke
Of all. Yet you're their advocates.
Alas! how fury doth befoole their wits!
Mean while Disciples were so far from thieving
That, when this newes
They btought
That saw't,
Yet, they refuse
To take't for truth, being so far from believing.
As two of them were to Emaus going
Their busie tongue
Bee'ng well imploy'd,
My dearest Lord stands them among;
No sooner talk't of, then enjoy'd.
Happy the Servants whom he finds so doing.
What is your talk that makes your walk so sad?
Saith Cleopas
Dost thou
Not know
These things? Alas!
A mighty Man and Prophet we have had;
Mighty in word and deed with God and Men:
Jesus was he
Of Nazareth
We'd hop'd might our Redeemer be:
But him, our Rulers put to death
This bee'ng the third day since. And yet agen
We know not what to think on't, hurried
'Twixt hope and fear;
For some,
That come
From th' Sepulcher,
Assure us that he's risen from the Dead.
But oh this evill heart of unbelief!
This want of faith
That can provoke
The gentle Lamb of God to wrath,
Setting in ev'ry wheel a spoke,
Clouding the rising Sun with gloomy grief!
O fooles, and slow of heart replies my Lord
Slow to believe me!
But oh
Not so
Not slow to grieve me,
Ought not your Christ fulfill the written word?
But Christ can't alwaies hold his chiding story:
Sugars his checks
With sweet instructions;
Moses his vaile in pieces breaks;
Proves by prophetick fair deductions,
Through Seas of sufferings Christ must land in Glory.
My Lord then makes as he would further go:
But they begin
so pray
Him stay,
And he turns in:
Happy, who love their close reprovers so.
This bread of life thus broken when he had,
He breaks more bread
And makes them eat:
Their Lord's their Sheepheard, they're well fed,
Body and Soul, with blessed meat.
My soul, seek Christ first; and those things he'll add.
Just now my Lord makes them see who he is,
Then slips away.
And, oh!
'Twas so
With me last day,
One moment op'ned and seal'd up like bliss.
When Christ was gone, say they we might have guest
What light 'twas brought
So bright a day
To darkest Scriptures: might have thought
The risen Sun was in our way
Finding our hearts so burn within our breast.
Then they return back to Ierusalem
Brimfull of joy
To feast
The rest;
But they are coy
Till Christ Himself stands in the midst of them.
And 'tis so still. Whoever's sent about
To tell thy story,
Hardness of hearts
And unbelief blinds all thy glory:
Lord, who believes? Lord, who converts?
Till thy deare presence puts all out of doubt.
Their doores bee'ng shut, and hearts much more, that even
My Lord to put
All out
Of doubt;
(None else can do't)
This newes imparts in person to th' eleven.
Yet oh how hard a thing is this believing?
A sprite appears
As they suppose;
The same that in their storms of fears
Walk't on the Seas when winds arose.
Phant'sies fooles-bolt, how't hinders truths receiving.
Jesus salutes them with a peace be to you
Once and agen:
'Tis I;
Sirs, why
Distrust you then?
Why do you let such thoughts arise, why do you?
Down doubtings; I'm got up: And ready have
(Sirs, come and see
And feel, I pray)
A Tombe, dead unbelief, for thee
Dig'd in my side but t'other day,
And for your doubtings, in each hand a grave.
If these suffice not, handle, feel my feet
There are two more.
Doubt not,
I've got
All as before:
Rather then miss their faith their sense he'll meet.
Then for the further feeding of their faith
He calls for food;
They give him fish,
And Honey-Combe: but, oh! his blood
And body is a sweeter dish.
Then, breathing, take the Holy Ghost, he saith.
Now doth the frost-nipt Tree of life recover:
Puts forth again:
New springs,
And brings
Fruits that remain
Spirit and Life, so prove's Deaths Winter's over
Thomas mean while bee'ng absent from the rest
Freezing from th' fire,
(Like them that miss.
Th' assemblies Christ is wont t' inspire
With sweet assurance, joy and bliss)
Can't feed his faith with hear-say of a feast
He must first hold a Coroners inquest:
Must see Christs ayles,
And must
First thrust
Ith' print of oth' nailes
His fingers; e're this faith enter his breast.
His faith must go on stilts or not at all:
See with the eye,
Feel with the hand,
His faith must in his fingers lye,
His faith must in his feeling stand,
At th' bound from sorry sense he'll catch the ball.
Th' week after he and they be'ng all together
With blessed greeting
(Increase
Of peace)
Christ Crowns their meeting.
Thomas, saith he, come reach thy finger hither.
As men are wont who've Children to be taught
My Lord was fain,
(Though ev'ry letter
In's hands and feet were printed plain)
With's finger teach him spell the better,
The Child to faith by fealing must be brought.
My Lord! and my God! (how this sight relieves me!)
Poor Thomas cries.
Christ saith,
Thy faith
May thank thine eyes:
Blessed is he who sees not, yet believes me.
Disciples after this, a fishing go:
But nothing's caught,
Throughout the night;
Till Jesus comes, and brings a draught:
Lord shew me so which side's the right,
When to catch souls thy Gospell net I throw.
Christ look't into their cup-board just before▪
Children, have ye
Got meate
To eate?
Else come to me:
I've food and firing for you on the shore.
Hence sinfull cares; infest my soul no longer,
Base diffidence:
Doubtings retreat:
Soul, mind thy Saviours providence:
Do thine own work, and he'll find meat.
Or give thee somethings better if thou hunger.
Dinner bee'ng done, Christ speaks of working then:
And so should we:
Our whet,
Not let
Our food should be.
Shepheards Christ feeds, to feed his sheep agen.
Shepheards who love to eat but not to feed
Are what they're not,
Not what they are;
(A Paradox, and Gordian knot,
Which Christ will cut, and will not spare)
Shepheards in name but rav'ning wolves indeed.
Peter, dost love me more then these? I'll prove thee.
Then feed and keep
My flock;
My st [...]ck
Of Lambs and Sheep.
All knowing Lord, saith he, thou know'st I love thee.
Peter, when thou wast young, then thou wast free
To come and go
As thou'dst a mind,
Girding thy self: 't shall not be so
When thou art old, others shall bind,
And gird, and carry thee. Man! follow mee.
Peter replies, and what must this man do?
What's that to thee?
Follow
Me thou.
How busie wee
Are to mind others works, our own not so.
In an appointed mount in Galilee,
Christ meets th' eleven:
Chargeth them there,
By all his pow'r in Earth and Heav'n,
To Preach the Gospell ev'ry where;
Baptizing in the name of One and Three.
And in so doing, saith, I'm with you still.
He shews Hells loss:
Deaths gate,
Sins state
Spoil'd by his Cross.
Now is our Sampson got on Gaza's hill.
To prove my new bought right to ev'ry Nation,
New tongues I give
Unto you: Though
You drink what's deadly, you shall live:
Serpents and sicknesses shall know
And Devills too, that I have wrought Salvation.
A [...] many years as Isr'el just had been,
Christ▪ daies doth spend
'Twixt the
Red Sea
Of's bloudy end,
And Heav'nly Canaan: forty daies he's seen.
Meanwhile Christ Summons others from the dead
To evidence
His Resurrection:
From types, from texts, from faith, from sense,
Of proofs how full, how faire collection.
Shew'ng Christ is Risen as the Churches head.
Now, O devourer! where's thy victory?
Out of the grave
That old
Strong hold
And cating cave
Comes meat and sweetness; which who tasts can't die:
Ev'n Christ comes thence. And now in Olivet
Where he laid down
In part of pay
For th' purchase of his new bought crown,
His bloody sweat: ev'n there this day
To see's Inthronization Saints are me [...]:
Wilt thou restore the kingdome, Lord, they cry,
To Isr'el yet?
For you
To know
Times is not fit:
I'll send my spirit! thats my Lords reply.
O what an eager foolish thing is man!
Busie to know
What least concern him!
But to take forth, alas! how slow
The lessons that my God would learn him.
A sieve that lets go th' flow'r but holds the bran.
Melchisedeck mean time, our Priest for ever,
With lift up hands
On his
All bliss
And grace commands;
Whom clouds receiving from their sight do sever.
But not from th' eye of faith, which fixedly
Pursues their king;
Till Angels do
Tidings of 's second coming, bring,
In such sort as they'd seen him go.
Chear up, my drooping heart, thine head's on high.
Yet not so high, but that his heart's as low
As still to mind
Poor thee
Till hee
Hath made thee find
What for thy gain he sometime did forego.
Now' [...] the forerunner ent'red in for thee:
Thy Lord's ascended;
Up and away:
When Christ first rose; this flight he 'ntended:
And art thou quickned here to stay?
May all my life but one Ascension bee.
But I'm all fits and starts, and cannot get
Hold of mine own:
But clouds
Prove shrouds:
And all seemes gone:
Sometimes I rise with Christ, but cannot fit.
Yet am I fixt, whilst Saviour sits in Heaven;
There are no hills
And dales on high:
My Swampes my Saviours merit fills,
That all might in a levell lie,
Making my state, though not my comfort even.
Why art thou then, my soul, disquieted?
Christ dwelt in dust
As thou
Dost now;
Shall I not trust
Him, that drank of my brook, to lift mine head?
Is this the Butler that bore Pharaohs cup?
Though he forgot
Joseph ith' Prison,
When rais'd himself, thy Lord will not
Reckon that hee's compleatly risen,
Till all his foes are down and friends got up.
Down then, thou evill heart of unbelief!
Thou art a foe,
To mee
I see,
To him I know:
A goale would fit thee well, for thou'rt a thief.
Thou pick'st my comforts and thou steal'st his praise,
His and my loss
We lay to thee:
Betwixt two thieves Christ left one Cross
Void, that there hanged thou mightst bee.
Th' arch-thief of all that rob on Gods highwayes.
Now as Mount Olivet for Sion Mount
Thou didst forgo
Teach mee
Like thee,
Sweet Saviour, so
Heav'ns joyes before earths fatness to account.
[Page 102]

I determined not to know any thing save Jesus Christ, and him Crucified,

1 Cor. 2.2.

SPIRIT.

MY Verse proceeds to him that by proceeding
Subsisteth in the Deity;
But can't proceed without his speeding:
This Dove doth teach all other birds to fly.
My callow muse hath pinions but no wings,
Pinions indeed of ignorance;
Yet th' Dove that hatcheth other things
Can fledge mine infant muse with utterance.
But th'ther day I saw a Lamb take wing
And flie to Heaven from an hill:
I watcht to see if any thing
Would fall from him in flight, and found a quill,
Of which I made a pen, and fell to write
The story; writing, found a Verse;
Whilst on mine hand a Dove did light,
And had me with the Lamb the Dove rehearse.
My Master from mine head but th'ther day
The Clouds did take: unkind? or kind?
For whilest my Master went away
His Mantle dropt, which whoso seeks may find.
I seek it: Blessed Spirit! Come and spread
Thy beaming wings and cover me
In thy bright light thy Poet lead
That in thy light would fain discover thee.
Tis only Sun-shine that can shew the Sun,
Alas! my Lord, my spirits flesh;
Dark-Lanthorn light is next to none:
My Frost-nipt blooms what Sun-beams can refresh?
Since then my carnall mind can never shew
Or who, or what, dear Dove! thou art:
The spirit of my mind renew
And it shall reimburse what thou It impart.
Father and Son are God, and God's a Spirit,
And yet Gods Spirit neither is
Father nor Son; yet doth inherit
With both an equall yet distinguish'd bliss.
Father and Son are God, and God is love,
Yet neither Father nor the Son
But their sweet spirit's the sweet Dove:
Each hath his Spirit, yet they both but one.
By this eternall Spirit Christ the word
Offers himself to God and dies;
Yet by this Spirit doth affoard
Of life unto dead sinners all supplies.
This Spirit's infinite: oh! who can flee
His presence and all-searching sight?
Yet he's a wind, which who can see
From whence it comes, or whither it takes flight?
This Spirit's infinite; dwells every where,
Fathoms all hearts, sounds ev'ry deep:
Yet how few Temples, Lord! are there
Wherein this holy Ghost doth house or keep?
This active Spirit moves in ev'ry wheel.
Works as he will: doth what he lists.
Mans heart's that only brass and steel
That the sweet Spirits motions resists.
This pow'rfull Spirit did the Heavens garnish
And doth renew earths with'red face:
When winter washeth off the vernish
And makes a verdant spring in ev'ry place.
And why not in my soul? Awake and blow
O North wind, and thou South wind come
Let all my sweets and spices flow
That he that owes my garden, may have s me.
Where the Lords Spirit is, there's liberty:
Yet a grim Sergeant one day came,
And neck and heels my soul did tie,
Saying, he did it in the Spirits name.
He did his [...]ffice, and would not be brib'd:
But as his warrant shew'd a writing;
Spirit of bondage, there subscrib'd
I spied; and found 'twas of his own inditing.
My heart before had been a bird of prey
But now bee'ng conquer'd by a Dove,
I think on't still how't sprangling lay
Crying for quarter to that bird of love.
I markt his bill but saw no Olive branch:
[...]eate I implor'd, but he deni'd;
What blood he drew, refus'd to stanch
Till I submitted to be mortif [...]ed.
Dear Dove, said I convince me, pierce me, grieve me:
Strike through and through this wretched heart
So that thou'lt but at length relieve me
And with thy gentle wings but stroke my smart.
Dear heart, said he I struck thee for to stroke thee.
Put thee in bonds to set thee free:
That I might better heal, I broke thee:
I'm sent to comfort by convincing thee.
Though I'm all light and peace, yet I did send thee
To a dark prison, holding over
My black rod, but it was to mend thee.
For friends do Fools and Phranticks thus recover.
Remember, man, thy wild and Bethlem tricks:
How oft I strove with the in vain:
Thine heel could kick against my pricks.
Sure 'twas high time to get thee in a chain.
Thou, and Manasseh, stood in much more need
Of iron chai [...]s, then chains of Gold.
Distracted folk must purge and bleed
And in their moneths be caught and kept in hold.
O blessed bonds! said I, O happy trouble!
O bitter-sweet sweet-bitter smart!
My pain was great, my profit double
Whilst thus thou undertak'st to tame mine heart.
Void, Chymicks! spill your Spirits! quit your art!
Cease from your oft sought, unfound stone:
There's but one Spirit can convert
An iron chain into a golden one.
Dear Dove, thy pris'ner may I ever bee!
Bondage is like to be my state,
If to my self thou leave me free.
He's only free whom thou dost captivate.
Where the Lords Spirit is, there's liberty:
No man can say, Jesus is Lord
But by the Holy Ghost, or cry
Abba, till that sweet Spirit teach that word.
I was a lisper, and a stamerer
And could not skill oth' Shibboleth
That might my pray'r to God indear
Till this free Spirit gave new speech and breath.
I was a beggar so extreamly poor
I skill'd not how to make my moanes:
But this Dove met me at Gods door.
Supply'ng my want of words with store of groanes.
I was in suit, and could not well make good
My Title: But said this free Spirit,
Soul, take this seal, the seal of blood.
I am thy witness, and thou shalt inherit.
I found a riddle whilst I sought a Text,
But this free Spirit loos'd the knot:
Which when I h'd read, yet what was next
Had not this Spirit prompted I'd forgot.
My barren grounds were chapt for want of rain
Gasping tow'rds Heaven for a flood;
This Spirit flowing in a main,
Told me that he had brought me that's as good.
I sea the mine heart found so much dross and tin
So [...]it [...] else; I self a mourning
Both for my gross and splendid sin:
Then he to me the spirit was of burning.
I fell a burning when my God did chide me:
Water, said I, or I'm undone:
This streaming Spirit streight suppli'd me
Till all those scorching flames were quencht and gone.
I fell a chilling till my heart grew stone:
Scarse had I left one warm desire:
My frozen heart was next to none:
Then said this holy Spirit I am fire,
I fell a melting when I felt his heat;
My soul was broached at mine eyes
The ice was thawn to tears and swear
Which with fresh gales this Spirit gently dries.
These fontinells thus dri'd pride rais'd a tumour
And then the Spirit's fain to take
His Lancet and let out the humour:
But, oh! mine heart how did it burn, and ake?
Which this dear Dove perceiving straight way goes
T' a precious box, and thence applies
An ointment made of Sharons Rose;
Which both the swelling cools, and mollifies.
When I was none, this Spirit made me be,
And live, and breath: when I was worse
(For worse then nothing, sin made me)
For my rebuilding freely did imburse.
My stony heart this spirit harcht to flesh:
My fleshly heart did circumcise:
My bleeding heart with balme refresh,
Those tears that fell from bleeding Saviours eyes.
In native gore when I polluted lay,
Hav'ng none to wash, to salt, to swath me;
His counsells were my salt that day;
His lawes my swadling bands: his grace did bathe me.
With milk for Babes this comforter did fill
Both Testaments, the old and new
But how to come by' [...] I'd no skill
Till he those breasts of consolation drew.
He took me by the hand and taught me go
For I went all by forms before,
Till's holy unction made me know
A new and living way to Fathers door.
I got upon an hill, would fain descry
Heav'ns Canaan from earths wilderness
But being there, could nothing spy
Till with his eye salve he mine eyes did dress.
Over against Heav'ns haven on the shore,
I stood and waited for a wind
Then did this Spirit waft me ore
In heart, in hope, in faith, in joy of mind.
Arithmetick and th'art of measuring
I h'd studied, but bungled still;
The measure of a span to bring
O [...] number of my daies I could not skill:
Then this free Spirit gave a watch to me
Which ev'ryday wind up I must,
To tell me how my time did flee:
But I forgot, and let is stand and rust.
Then being griev'd that I'd so direspected
Both guift and giver, did indeavour
To wind it up but t' had collected
Such soil as from the wheels I could not sever.
Then did I moutning to the donour go;
Confess'd my fault, shew'd him the soile
It gather'd whilst neglected so:
Do not despaire said he for I am oyle.
This is the Spirit of all life and bliss
Yet when I felt him first, I died:
The fountain of my life he is,
Yet but for him I h'd neer been mortified.
This Spirit in mine heart doth sheed abroad
Gods dear and never dying love:
Yet not a day but his sharp rod
Doth me severely chastise and reprove.
This Spiritrais'd my Christ, yet casts me down
Doth cast me down, and yet uphold:
Mine humblings are my joy, my Crown;
My fear doth make my faith more firm and bold.
Calms are not alwayes proffitable for me,
Therefore the winds are sometimes high;
This Spirit blusters and is stormy,
That I might groundfast in humility.
This Spirit is my good and only guide:
Yet walk ith' Spirit, Scriptures say.
My conduct, and my path beside
This Spirit is; my Captain, and my way.
Man walk according to thy native light,
[...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...]
Say some, and thou shalt perfect bee:
Perfect indeed as noon's at night:
Lord, in thy Spirits light, light let me see.
A spirit there's in man but th' inspiration
Of the Almighty only can,
By no less than a new Creation,
Enlighten't; such a dungeon sin made man.
Mans spirit is the Candle of the Lord;
Which who would see by, first should light
At Gods own fire, ev'n Gods own word:
Gods word's his mind seat us in black and white.
For since th' incarnate word his tender love
In blood to write us condescends,
What wonder that his own dear Dove
In inke and paper praies us to be friends?
Nor Son nor Spirit had I understood
Bee'ng sunk so deep in sins dark grot
Had not the Son took bone and blood
Had not the Spirit pen and paper got.
The Son, in humane nature clad, doth raise
My conscience out of guilts dark grave
The Spirit, cloath'd in humane phrase,
My mind out of blind ignorances cave.
The Son in servile form came down among's
Serving to purchase us command:
The Spirit fell in cloven tongues,
As who would lisp that we might understand.
Surely this Spirit of all Spirits fram'd
That Book of Books, my Bible dear:
A thing that's all things can be nam'd:
Food, physick, treasures, pleasures, all are here.
A glass that shewes to ev'ry man his face;
A staff that helps the lame to walk:
A spur that makes him mend his pace:
A light that shews what, and what not, to balk.
A Book that makes the simple truly wise:
A Book that proves the wisest fools:
A Book that helps the Readers eyes:
A Book that baffles, and befools the schools.
A Book whose ev'ry leafe, whose ev'ry line
Out shines the milky way as far
As if Heav'ns light should all combine
To darken and obscure one painted star.
A Book that told my story ere I was:
A Book that tels me what shall be
When I'm no more: what doom shall pass
On States, on Churches, Persons, and on me.
This Book's truths standard, nay, 'tis truth it self;
So well's the Spirit here pourtrai'd:
This Book doth sanctifie the shelf,
The heart, I mean, where it's sincerely laid.
Yet some by reason, some by new found light
Not only leave to question take
But mend this Book and set it right
By Tables of Errata's they would make.
So much is good, and 'tis Canonicall,
As to mans reason is commensur'd:
Gods light, by mans, must stand or fall:
And so the Sun by th' Sextons Clock is censur'd.
Methinks I love the Author for the Book:
The Book for th' Author much more love:
When op'ning into it I look
My God, I can't forget thy sweet spread-Dove.
The gentle wings I feel, and hear the mourning
Of that dear Turtle waiting still,
Upon my grieving and returning,
To bring an Olive-branch of peace ith' bill.
The lines, I grant, are not all of one colour
Yet all make up mans doom and duty
Some promise joy, some threaten dolour
Variety makes up the Turtle [...] beauty.
This Dove Bezaleel and Aholiab taught
All curious works for th' Sanctuary:
But Scriptures are more finely wrought
Shewing most art, where they seem most to vary.
As when this one sweet Spirit is call'd seaven,
Perfection's meant in unity:
A Spirit filling Earth and Heaven
That operates in all, but diversly.
Some reckon seaven Suns to ev'ry week,
So many Moons to ev'ry year,
As shee turns th' whole face or half cheek
And doth by turns first sit and then appear.
This Spirit makes in Sampson strength excell
And in a Moses government,
And wisdom in a Daniel,
And all much more in Christ, where't dwelt unpent.
This Spirit doth transcribe the Gospell-story
On th' fleshly tables of mine heart.
Christ's Cradle, Cross, his Grave, his Glory
All's acted on that stage by th' Spirits art.
To his Birth answers my Regeneration:
Heart-Circumcision suits to his:
To's Cross and Grave mortification:
And Grace and Hope to's Rising and his Bliss.
And then as Christ makes intercession for us,
The Spirit in us, intercedes:
With crying blood out Christ doth store us,
With sighes and groanes the Spirit in us pleads.
This Spirit is unbounded, yet believers
In earthen vessels this rich treasure
Only receive as he delivers,
And he dispenseth each one but a measure.
This Spirit is eternalll, never dies,
An unextinguishable fire:
Yet in mens hearts oft gasping cries
Oh! if you quench me thus I shall expire.
This Spirit is a Dove, yet to contest
With Crowes and Vultures is he fain;
Whilst, in his room, mans wretched breast
Doth lusts unclean, wraths, rapines entertain.
This Spirit is a Dove, yet's vexed often
By foolish man, that peevish wasp
Whose heart nor Sun nor show'r can soften,
Man grieves him without whom he could not gasp.
This tender Spirit who but man would grieve?
If I my Comforter make sad,
Who only can sad hearts relieve,
Alas! my God, who then shall make me glad?
Grieve, foolish heart! be't to thine own perplexing
Be thou as melted wax in me,
That thou shouldst set this Dove avexing
That sweetly seales redemption unto thee.
Give, stubborn heart, relent, since for thy sake
The Lamb of God not only blood,
But ev'n Gods turtle tears doth take,
Let thy repentance still help on the flood.
Melt, stony heart! till all becomes one river.
Dove do delight near ponds to dwell:
Groans are best musick to a griever:
Such is Gods Dove, whose groanes thy duty tell.
Shew not thy self vexatious to a Dove,
That cannot grieve thee without grieving:
Ev'n Publicans yield love for love.
Quench not truths Spirit by thy unbelieving.
Afflict not this dear guide: go not astray:
Nor look back from an holy life:
While th' Spirit saies this is the way,
Have salt in thee: remember, man, Lots wife.
Check not this Spirits checks, but let them bee
Taken for kindness, as they are:
His smitings reckon oyl to thee
Say, smits my rock, my God, and do not spare.
Grieve not this Holy Ghost, by entertaining
Such inmates as he cannot bear:
If bands of lusts thine heart be training
What room for this sweet Spirit can be there?
Seek holyness, seek peace, make after Union:
Let Medication stir this fire:
Pray'r blow it up: let sweet Communion
Maintain it burning still, and raise it higher.
Quench not the smallest spark in thy weak brother:
What flames are on that hearth of thine
Boast not, nor yet deny or smother.
Rather desire thou for to burn then shine.
Some care not for this Dove had they his feather;
A sorry bargin such would make;
Over a while such shall have neither:
Seek thou the Spirits gifts for graces sake.
Ware sinning, against light and grace, and love:
Know, ev'ry of those sins that are done
Directly against this dear Dove
Comes near to that that never shall have pardon.

If we live in the SPIRIT, Let us walk in the SPIRIT.

Gal. 5.25.

FAITH.

FRom thee, dear Dove,
Yet still in thine embraces,
To Faith, Hope, Love
That Trinity of graces
Now let me pass, and succour so my Verses
That I may express what my muse rehearses.
Faith, I'll begin
With thee; for thou wast th' first,
When bloody sin
Had made me all accurst,
That shew'd th' avenger posting after me,
And bad me to some refuge-City flee.
Some men would make
Faith and Repentance strive
Who should place take;
But surely Faith's the hive
In which that busie Bee, repentance, makes
Tears drop like honey from mans heart like wax.
For who can grieve
For that which they believe not?
Who can believe
Mans sinfull state, and grieve not?
I did believe the law, and so relented,
I did believe the Gospell, and repented.
I did believe
That God, made all things good;
And then did grieve
That I had brought a flood
A flood of sins, and so of miseries
On all: this brought a deluge on mine eyes.
I did believe
That God took flesh, lost blood
So to relieve
Me, and to drown sins flood:
Then girt like Peter did begin to swim
In a repentant Sea of tears to him.
Repentance lowers,
Yet (like sad rainy daies)
Bring fruits and flow'rs
And floods to wash our waies,
Its Clouds bee'ng-fill'd with what bright faith exhales.
But's dry as desperation, when faith failes.
Yet have I heard
That some repented not
That afterward
They might believe. This knot
Is soon untied: First Faith lends tears and grief
Unto repentance, then an handkerchief.
Thus Faith precedes
Repentance yet comes after;
Follows, yet leads;
As Mother and as Daughter:
As the bright Sun the brackish Sea doth round
Encompassing Repentance, Faith is found.
Faith, I would tell
Thy story if I could,
Where thou dost dwell
Or what thou art, behold:
But thou art Faith which sense can no more reach
Then death Deity can praise, or preach.
I did ask at
Heav'ns gate for thee, dear grace,
But was told that
There vision held thy place:
Then some infernall fiends said they could shew thee
But took thee for no grace, for they did rue thee.
I lookt about
On earth to find thee there,
For there no doubt
Thou dwelst if any where:
And yet again th' unerring Scripture saith
When Christ shall come, shall he on earth find Faith?
Surely not much:
When he shall that day bring
Unto the touch
Each one that wears a ring
All won't prove Gold that glisters, and is specious,
Nor feigned Faith be then approv'd as precious.
Oh! that I knew
Thee, precious Faith; and could
Thy reall hue
Thy lustre but unfold
I should soon draw all eyes from him that hath
Gold rings, to gaze on th' poor when rich in Faith.
Alas! most take
Thee for some pebble, they
Do nothing make
To believe any way
Only those few that have thee, jealous are
Their Faith is not the right, the right's so rare.
Thou 'rt a rich stock,
A Diadem brought forth
Only by th' rock
Of ages, of such worth
That who hath thee, although he hath no more
May well esteem the golden Indies poore.
By thee the just
May live, when wants surround:
And so he must
When other things abound.
Faith makes the conscience good and that well drest
Is a continuall food, a constant feast.
Of the houshold
Of Faith I'm sure I've read;
And dare be bold
They want no houshold-bread:
Faith daily sets on the believers board
The Heav'nly bread of th' everliving word.
Others look by
Their trades to be maintain'd:
Why should not I
To be by faith sustain'd?
Thou art the calling: man but misapplies,
To other trades, the name of mysteries.
The mystery
Thou art, yet th' Oedipu [...]
That dost untye
All doubts and knots for us.
Nothing is hard to thee: where thou canst not
Unriddle, thou'st a sword to cut the knot.
How blind were man
But for thy piercing eye?
Who nothing can,
No, not himself, descrie.
Thy clue guides through both Laborinth-like waies
Of mine own heart and through the Scriptures maze.
I should be set
And pos'd at first and last
Ith' Alphabet
But that, dear Faith, thou hast
Taught me to know my letters. Who but thou
Could make me th' Alpha and Omega know!
Or to know him
Aright? alas! my sight
Were dark and dim
But for thine eyes, thy light
Who seest him that is invisible.
What flesh and blood perceives not thou see'st well.
Pray'r's a blind beggar,
If it doe want but thee:
It may be eager,
But right it cannot bee.
Hope were an hopeless thing but that thou dost
Allow it spend upon thy proper cost.
Faith makes pray'r know
Where t' have its Amunition,
And teacheth how
To levell each petition.
Of clam'rous sin, quick prayer, by Faith, gains cope,
And brings salvations tidings back to hope.
In pilgrimage,
I went to Calvery
That bitter stage
Where my dear Lord did dye;
Where missing him, I cri'd out where is he?
Faith whisper'd to me, go along with me.
Faith brought me to
A door, but it was lockt:
Faith bad me go
And knock, and so I knockt:
Then th' door flew open and a Lamb did stand
Cry'ng take both fleece and flesh. But I h'd no hand.
But as my moan
I made with tears and grief,
Faith lent me one
So I took the relief:
Which having got I found that this believing
Both gives me Christ, and is of Christs own giving.
But as I thought
To h've carri'd home this gift,
A Cross was brought
Which I was bad to lift
Or leave the rest: I try'd but could not bear it:
Said Faith, I'll lend thee shoulders, do not fear it.
With much ado
I got this blessed pack,
Christ and's Cross too
By Faith upon my back:
But could nor go nor stand, till Faith did meet
Me just a sinking with a pair of feet.
Faith hav'ng new vampt
My soul, I then could walk.
Reason's sin-crampt;
And tis but idle talk
To speak of marching in its strength and might
Till Faith lends reason legs and sets it right.
We stand by Faith
Saith Paul, we stand by reason.
Whoever saith
I doubt me, doth speak treason
They shew their reason best that daily beg
Lord give us Faith, reason's a wodden leg.
Faith makes me see
What reason's asking still,
How can it be?
Let him take heed that will
Believe no more then he finds reason for
Lest he find reason to believe no more.
When Faith as Queen
Makes reason wait upon her,
Reason's then seen
Look like a maid of honour:
But let that saucy Courtier 'ware his head
That crowds the Queen into the truckle-bed.
In a few miles
March, betwixt this and Heaven
I found some stiles
Not few'r then six or seaven
That reason stumbling at; Faith, help me over,
Said I [...]ll poor Lame reason shall recover.
No sooner said
I so but Faith did lift,
Ev'n as I pray'd,
Me over with my gift:
Which done I fell aboard that sacred flesh
That so I might my fainting soul refresh.
Bee'ng cold and thin
The fleece I had receiv'd
I went to spin
And weave, but as I weav'd
An enemy did cast a fiery dart,
Which but for th' shield of Faith had kild my heart.
Where hadst that fleece
Said Satan, thievish sinner,
Of righteousness
That thou'rt become a spinner?
I answer'd, false accuser, not by thieving,
Had I my Righteousness but by believing.
Believing? what
Dost thou, poor foolish wretch
Tell me of that?
Said Satan, go and fetch
Gods Law-Book, and thy Conscience Book and say
If thou canst stand as righteous any way.
Malicious foe,
Said I, cease troubling me,
Or else lets go
To suit ith' Chancery.
Gods Common-Law admits of mine appeales
To th' Law of Faith that Righteousness reveales.
But equity
Requires thy debts be paid;
Said he; said I,
And satisfaction's made
By one that left his Cross, when he was slain,
That I therewith might thee, foul serpent! brain.
Then Satan flew,
Quitting the field. Anon
A numerous crew,
A WORLD it was, came on.
Thronging so thick and threefold in upon me,
That, had nor Faith prest in, they had undone me.
Earth shew'd her strength,
Her treasures, pleasures, pride:
Giddy at length
Poor I began to slide,
Hold, man! said Faith, thou hast a staff by thee
Christs Cross can help thee stand, & force these flee.
But in this broil
Ere I the Cross could use,
I had a foil,
And got at inward bruise,
Conscience spat blood, pain pierc'd and wrung my side,
Till Faith some better blood like balm applied.
Faith also bad
A vein shoul op'ned be,
Urging I had
Much putrid blood in me:
Content, said I, for I had heard oth' art
Of saving Faith to purifie the heart.
But lest I should
In bleeding faint, Faith took
Some Cordialls roll'd
In Bible leaves, a Book
Whose ev'ry leafe, said Faith, rich drugs conteins
As I compound them, sov'raign for heart-pains
Alas! said I,
Many those drugs have got,
But do decry,
Finding they profit not;
But strait remembred what the Sripture saith
Th' word did not profit be'ng unmix'd with Faith.
O pow'rfull Faith!
Whose ev'ry smallest grain,
If sound, who hath
May say, and not in vain,
Mountains of guilt that here so long have stood
Get hence into the Sea of Saviours blood.
This skillfull grace
Did first Phlebotomize,
Then wash the place.
And after wipe mine eyes.
Dear Faith! said I, I see that thou dost mean
Not only for to make me whole but clean.
As soon as I
Was cur'd of this my pain,
Impetuously
The world comes on again.
I took Faith's Cross, and found what Scripture saith
Our victory over the world's our Faith.
Vain world be gone
Said I, vex me no more,
Vexation
And vanity's thy store
This Jacobs ladder helps me to discrye
A surer sweeter world beyond the skye.
By this dear Cross
My dearest Lord did climb:
I'll count thee loss
That I may follow him.
His and my Kingdom's not ith' worlds enjoyment
If 'twere who knows where it would be next moment?
World thou must be
Set one day all on fire,
Witchchrafts in thee,
And blood deserve this hire.
Then shall my dust see by thy bright fire-light
To rise that morning that shall nere have night.
We do but jest,
Great Alexanders story
Is best exprest
When we say this worlds glory
Vanquish'd that seeming victor; sure I am
Nothing but Faith this world ere overcame.
When I begin
To fight, and want supplies;
Faith summons in
Heavens Auxiliaries;
And stores with precious promises that are
The very sinews of that holy war.
And more then this
Brings in a rare commander
Jesus it is,
Not Mars, or Alexander:
But he that taught all fingers fight, can quell
All foes, ev'n Christ ith' heart, by faith, doth dwell.
Jerusalem
Above, that City is
Where Davids stem
Raigns and remains in bliss
Yet 'tis his royall pleasure here in us
To dwell by Faith as in his Country-house.
Faith makes mans heart
That dark, low, ruin'd thing,
By its rare art,
A pallace for a King;
High'r then proud Babels tow'r by many a story,
By faith Christ dwels in us the hope of Glory.
Thus Faith doth raise
Out of vile dust a Court,
Imputing praise,
Honour, and good report.
Hearts, Rahab like, when once they entertain
Heav'ns spies by Faith, a good report do gain.
If thou believe
All things are possible:
Faith can relieve
Ev'n to a miracle:
This Faith can wash an Aethiopian clean,
Witness the Eunuch of Candace the Queen.
And as Faith makes
Us Courts, so Courtiers too:
God pleasure takes
In us when all we do
Is done in Faith, then reck'ning that he hath
Most glory by us, when most strong in Faith.
And as by this
Our service proves his pleasure;
Ev'n so doth his
Hereby become our treasure:
One day in Gods Cour [...] Faith doth far prefer
Before a thousand any other where.
'Tis unbelief
Ith' evill, evill heart,
His and my grief,
That makes us ever part:
That Blessed Man whose feet this Faith hath sh [...]d
With, Noah and Enoch still can walk with God.
By Faith who strives
To walk with God whilst here
Doth live two lives
At once each day oth' year:
And dying Joseph like commands his bones
To Canaan there to dwell with living ones.
Dear Faith said I
My joy, my crown, my treasure!
Tell me whereby
I may do thee a pleasure.
Thou art that lock in which my strength doth lye,
Thee not to tender were self-cruelty.
If thou wouldst please
Me better, work me more;
Said Faith, 'tis case
Only that makes me poore.
But I do use to bid my workmen eat,
Said I; dear Faith, inform me what's thy meat.
Said Faith I came
Out of the eastern lands,
Old Abraham
And I have oft shook hands:
My food's an Hebrew root that Gardners dresse
On Lords Days mostly call'd the root of Iesse.
By hearing I
Came first; and we are fed
Most kindly by
The things whereof we're bred.
Forget not, if you love me, the Church-path:
Line upon Line's the way from Faith to Faith.
The carefull foot,
That walks by Scripture-LEAVES,
Shall find th's ROOT,
Which happy who receives;
So nutritive, Antidotive and good
Who feeds on it, needs scarce fear any food.
Make but my bread
Of this root when I Sup
Let th' Dragons head
Be then broke and serv'd up:
Yet Toad-stools, one would think, need be well drest
Ere they will make a good dish for a feast.
Art I did gain
Sometime, and that by book,
The Temters brain
To wholesomeness to cook.
Only have care as ever thou dost mean
To keep me long in health to lodg me clean.
Good conscience is
An old comrade of mine,
Whom I cant miss:
If thou wouldst make me thine,
And keep me, thou must keep him too; that day
Thou partst with him, look I should pack away.
Self confidence,
My nat'rall enemy,
Must be packt hence.
An hand, a foot, an eye
Who hath of's own, will scorn to be my debtour:
Who parts with these, works, walks and sees the better.
Prove that thou art
A Pilgrim: daily dye:
Of death get th' start
And live eternally.
I that in Abrah'ms heart dwelt many a day,
To Abrah'ms bosom now shew thee the way.
Fear alwaies; Yet
Faint never: Eye the cloud
That doth beset
Thee, that triumphant Croud:
Look unto Jesus: watch th' word of command,
Which, when thou hast done all these things, is STAND.

By grace ye are saved, through Faith,

Ephess. 2.8.

HOPE.

DRive on, my muse, till thou 'rt got through:
Let not Hope find thee in a slough:
Let that that drives the Farmers plough,
Drive thine much more.
To th' Hope of Isr'el let me yet
In hope my running rhyme commit,
And humbly say, God prosper it;
Or 'twill be poor.
Hope is a door, the Scripture saith;
And so is Christ, and so is Faith:
Who 're out of these doores are in wrath
And Condemnation.
Faith into Christ doth first advent're:
Christ into Hope allows me enter:
Hope makes my very Soul to center
On Gods Salvation.
Hope is Faiths expectation:
Fa [...]h is the Moses, Hope's the stone
That Faith in Pray'r doth rest upon
Till't overcome.
Faith doth upon Hopes tip-toe stand
Stretching its neck to look for land
Beyond deaths gulf: and life beyond
The day of doom.
Hope is next door to Heav'ns gate;
'Tis but a step from this to that:
Nay Hope doth Heaven antedate,
And bring down hither.
Hope's th' antidote against despair;
Coffin of fear; and Couch of care;
Cradle of patience: Hope hath fair
Even in foule weather.
Hope is the mourners Handkerchief:
Hope is the Balme of ev'ry grief.
Hope doth endorse the beggars brief
Ere it's collected.
In Hope I have, what yet I want:
Hope makes me full, while things are scant:
Hope doth consummate, what I can't
Yet see effected.
Hope hath an harvest in the Spring:
In Winter doth of Summer sing:
Feeds on the fruits whilest blossoming,
Yet nips no bloom.
Hope brings me home when I'm abroad,
As soon as th' first step homeward's trod:
In Hope to thee, my God! my God!
I come, I come.
Hope sends the Ship to Sea, and then
Ere it returns, brings't home agen:
The port of all Seafaring men
Is this GOOD HOPE.
I am a Sea man too. My Soul,
Though toss'd with doubts when weather's foul,
Doth like some Sea-sick vessell roul;
Yet Heav'n's its scope.
Hope doth the Souldiers weapon wield:
By Hope the Souldiers Helmet's steel'd:
Hope gives him, ere he fights, the field:
Hope holds his station.
I am a Souldier too. My Sword,
Is that oth' Spirit, th' two-edg'd word:
Now for an Helmet give me, Lord,
Th' Hope of Salvation.
Hope sets the poor Apprentice free
First day he's bound. And why not me?
Thou hast Indentures Lord by thee
Wherein I'm tied.
Mount Sinais Covenants they bee
Yet Hope doth, Lord, Enfranchize mee
In Sion-hill, where all are free
That do reside.
In Hope the School. Boy doth commence
Master of Art, and fair science:
Yea whilest ith' lowest form steps thence
To th' Doctors Chair.
I'm a School-Schollar too, My God!
But yesterday I felt thy rod:
Yet still with Hope am girt and shod.
Away, despair.
'Ti [...] Hope [...]hat doth the sower feed;
Who seems to cast away his seed,
But doth preserve in very deed
And mend his store.
I am a Seeds-man too, my Lord!
And but for Hope thou would'st affoard
Thy blessing, when I sow thy word,
I had forbore.
I am a Seeds man; every teare
I sow in Hope, 'twill bring an care
Fit for thy floor in time of yeare
For thee to gather.
Were't not for Hope the heart; some say,
Would break; yet Hope led me one day
Weeping along the Milkie way
To thee, O Father!
I am a Seeds man casting bread
On th' waters where it seems lye dead;
Yet Hope assures me 't shall be fed,
And then restor'd.
Hope doth the pris'ners bolts unlock:
His fetters doth in sunder knock:
Hope drives the Freemans trade and stock.
My dearest Lord!
I am a captive too. Sins chain
Doth hold and hamper, but in vain:
By Hope I'm saved, and set again
At liberty.
I am a Tradesman too. Thou art
That God with whom I deal. My heart
Takes Heav'n to be the only mart,
Thither trade I;
Exporting groans and broken pray'rs
That scarse can clamber up the stairs.
Importing rich and precious wares,
Ev'n joy and peace.
Joy that exceeds all understanding
Oth' Spirits sealing, Christs own handing:
Peace that is of Gods own commanding
And can't surcease.
Hope makes the labourer to run
A race as 'twere with each daies Sun
Paying his wages ere's work be done,
And mine much more.
I daily dig and delve within
Stubbing at th' roots and stumps of sin
And but for Hope one day to win
I should give ore.
O come that long'd for day! come quickly!
This Hope defer'd makes my heart sickly.
Grace is a Rose, but sin is prickly
And still adheres.
Amphibion like the diver tries,
Whet sharp with Hope, t' anatomize
And geld the deeps: his hop'd for prize
Forbids his feares.
I am a diver too. Thy word
Doth richer rarities affoard:
A greater deep, and better stor'd
With Pearls and treasure.
Angels desire to dive into
These deeps; and so I daily do:
Whose Pearls are rich and Cordiall too;
Health, Wealth, and Pleasure.
'Tis Hope that makes the racer fleet,
Bringing the wager to his feet,
Make hast, saith Hope, what? don't you see't?
You've won, you've won.
I am a racer too. My race
From sin to glory is by grace;
Hope sets Heav'ns Bliss before my face,
And then I run.
I heard the witty world once say,
The bird ith' bush may flie away:
Take Heav'n who will, 'tis present pay
For which we trade.
To Faith and Hope I told this story;
Their havings are but transitory,
Said Faith: said Hope, and I have glory
That cannot fade.
Hast it? said I; Hope, shew it me.
What's this, said Hope, thou here dost see?
Said I, an Acorn: No, said he
But 'tis an Oake.
What is't, said Hope, thou see'st fast by?
A grain of Mustard seed, said I.
A plant, said Hope, reaching the sky;
And thou'dst right spoke.
Then I perceiv'd the meaning was
Hope ripens seeds of Grace to Grace:
Makes Grace, when grounded, Mount and pass
To th' highest story.
Hope shew'd me then a sparkling stone
What's this, said Hope, that I've got on?
I strait reply'd, 'tis Grace begun.
Said Hope, 'tis glory.
Then learnt I that Grace inchoate,
By lively Hope doth maturate:
And rip'ning, doth anticipate
Heav'n here on Earth.
I spake to Hope of a reversion
I had in Heaven since conversion:
Said Hope, why cast you an aspersion
On th' second birth?
Reversion sounds, said Hope, to mee
Your state at present dead to bee
But I have Heav'n in hand, you see.
Whereon I live.
I am Faiths present recompence:
My Grammar knows no Future tense:
The Verbs that make up all my sense
Are Substantive.
Who 're these, said Hope, thou see'st before,
Prostrate and begging at a door.
Said I, they are Heav'ns Parish Poor:
Said Hope, they're Kings.
Kings? said I. But where are their Crowns?
Their Scepters, Kingdoms, Countries, Towns?
Their Armine Robes, and Purple Gowns,
Those royall things?
I can, said Hope, tell where they bee:
Safely they are reserv'd by mee,
Safely reserv'd from them and thee:
Look here are they.
All's lockt. Hope, lend's the key, said I.
Hope fetch a Bible presently:
On which when I h'd but cast mine eye
I found a key.
The right key 'twas oth' door of Hope
Enter, said Faith, thou [...]edst not [...]rope:
I turn'd the key, and th' door flew ope,
And I went on.
But O the things that there I saw!
Jewels of joyes, in foiles of awe!
But blab not, Muse. Know'st not the Law?
Peace, and have done.
'Tis not allow'd thee to display
The brightness of Hopes holy day.
Unutterable things to say;
Muse, do not vent're.
Hope shew'd me, but I can't say what.
Only let him that questions that,
But get the key, that then I gat;
And let him enter.
Then let him say, If ever he
The like things unto those, did see:
Or yet can utter what they bee
That there he saw.
This only can I say, that there
Crowns, Scepters, all enameld were
With Grace and Peace, with Faith and Fear,
With Love and Awe.
True Hope though pleasant, yet is gracious:
Not light, though lightsome: Not audacious,
Though bold: though joyous, not salacious:
Merry, not vain.
Hope can rejoyce, but never rant:
Allwaies feeds high, but revell can't:
Chast Scripture comforts that provant
Doth Hope sustain.
The word whereon I hope, doth urge
Pureness: the fire wherein I forge
The Anchor of mine Hope, doth purge
My dross, my [...]in.
That Hope makes not asham'd, but sure
The bottom's rock, and shall endure;
That makes me strive, as God is pure,
To purge my sin.
True Hope's a Jacobs staff indeed:
True Hope is no Egyptian reed:
That springs from mire, or else can feed
On dirt, or mud.
By Hope just men and sanctified
Ith' Ocean safe at Anchor ride
Fearless of wrack by wind or tide
By ebb or flood.
Hope's the top-window of that ark
Where all Gods Noahs do imbark:
Hope lets in skie-light, else how dark
Were such a season?
But wouldst not be engulf'd, or drown'd
When storms and tempests gather round;
Ere thou canst Anchor, try the ground:
Hope must have reason.
Hopes Anchor-hold can not be good
Where th' bottom's all or only mud.
Shall th'Sinner in his Native-blood
To Hope pretend?
Or th' Hypocrite strengthen his mast,
(Who boldly doth Hopes Anchor cast
On's sandy bottom) when at last
Heav'ns storms descend?
'W [...]re Cob-web-Hopes, when God shall come
With's besome of impartiall doom
To sweep mans heart, that inner room;
Shall they stand sure?
Oft have I seen a branch in spring
Rent from the root, yet blossoming,
As 'twere some Hopefull growing thing,
But can't endure.
He that is at the pains and cost
To plant and water it, next frost
Is like to see his labour lost,
And hope to perish,
Surely 'twill pose all skill and art
But only his, that can convert
This lively Hope in a dead Heart
To plant and cherish.
And where there's but a name to live,
Though for a season Hope seems thrive,
When such give up the Ghost they give
Their Hopes up too.
Good Hopes through grace. And whosoever
Part Righteousness from Hope endeavour
The Helmet from the Brestplate sever,
Which who would do?
But let what waters will assaile,
The Hope oth' righteous cannot faile,
Whose Anchor's cast within the vaile
Till th' flood asswages.
His Hope's no Lott'ry, hit or miss;
But an Inheritance it is:
Christ is in him the Hope of Bliss,
That rock of ages.
Mine eyes are unto Sion-hill
Longing in Hope, yet waiting still
For he that shall, will come, and will
Not alwayes linger.
Therefore in Hope will I rejoyce,
Yea when the floods lift up their voice;
When Seas shall roare, to drown their noise,
I'll turn a singer.
I'll turn a singer, and my song
Shall be by book, lest I go wrong:
For I h've not skill'd of musick long,
Or holy mirth.
Weeping into the world I came,
Bringing a world of sin and shame:
Bearing the first Apostates blame
Ev'n at my birth.
The fruit old Adam and his Eve
Did so long since together thieve,
Wringing my mother made us grieve
And groan together
And as I thus did weeping come
Out of one grave, I mean the womb;
My face was tow'rds a deader Tomb
And I bound thither.
My life was but a Bondage through
The fear of death, that fatall slough.
But lively Hope forbids me now
All slavish fears.
Oft have I been contemplating
Of death that melancholick thing;
Weeping, till Hope hath made me sing
Drying my tears.
Author and rock of all my Hope,
That hast deaths prison-doors broke ope,
So fastning to Faiths Cable-rope
Hopes Anchor strong.
What though I sail through foaming Seas?
Billows are Pillows, Beds of ease:
Deaths blast rocks me asleep in these;
Waiting erelong
At thy shrill suddain voice to rise,
And rub deaths dust out of mine eyes
When death shall have disgorg'd its prize
Safe on the shore.
Then hold my rudder in thine hand
Who put to Sea at thy command
Till I may make some new-found land
Oh! help me ore.
I need not want an anchor, Lord,
With wood and iron, bee'ng so stor'd.
With what thy Cross and Nailes affoard
Had I but skill.
Anchors, I see, by th' Forgers art,
Have both a strait and bending part:
Hope strengthens, yet it bows the heart
To wait Gods Will.
The Scripture saith that tribulation
(And 'tis a strange Concatenation)
Works patience; as if vexation
Did make more quiet;
And Patience works Experience:
Experience, Hope: Yet Patience,
I'm sure: doth live on Hopes expense
For daily diet.
Thus have I seen the Grand-Childs purse
For the Grand-Siers support disburse
Thus Hope doth Patience feed and nurse;
Patience again
Doth tutor Hope, and teach it know
All points of Heavenly Courtship; How
To wait on God, to bend, to bow,
To bear his train:
To follow him in all his wayes,
And so to hold ev'n all its dayes,
Seeking that honour, glory, praise
That God shall give.
Patience of Hope makes Heaven smile
To see the troden Camomile,
Whilst underfoot, spring up the while
And the more thrive.
When death comes, with his leaden foot,
Hoping to crush mine Hope ith' root,
The utmost hurt that death can do't
Is but to make
Mine Hope grow up into fruition;
Whilest Faith's translated into vision
Mending thereby my souls condition
Doubling my stake,
What though mine Haven, Heaven lye
Beyond the dead Sea? what though I
Decease? mine Hope shall never dye,
Never decay.
What though I walk through th' vale of tears?
Hope is a staff that ever bears:
Hope is a rod chasing my fears
Guiding my way.
What though revengfull Papists burne
Dear Bucers bones still Hope's his urne
Till's ashes to a Phaenix turne
And live afresh.
What though deaths scorching flames presume
To turn my moisture to dry fume?
My soul shall one day reassume
Calcined flesh.
Therefore my dying tongue shall sing:
Yea ev'n my flesh that fading thing
Shall rest in Hope for that day-spring
All th' night of death.
And when I lay my weary head
And bones ith' grave as in a bed,
Let not the mourner say he's dead,
But slumbereth.
Yet bonie death sometimes looks in
Bringing a list of all my sin
Pinching mine Hope till it looks thin
And's like to dye:
Death in my very face doth stare
So gastly, as if't meant to scare
And fright mine Hope into despaire,
While sin stands by.
Ah Conscience! Conscience! when I look
Into thy Register, thy Book,
What corner of my heart, what nook
Stands clear of sin?
And though my skin feels soft and sleek,
Scarce can I touch my chin and cheek,
But I can feel deaths jaw-bone prick
Ev'n through my skin.
Yet why art thus cast down, my soul?
Hope still in God, and on him roule.
If Heaven smile, what though death scoule,
And Conscience loure.
A Book of my dear Christs I have
By which I look my God will save
My soul from sin, my flesh from grave,
And from deaths pow'r.
O death, where is thy victory?
That I might live, my Lord did dye
He fled thee not, but made thee flie,
Hav'ng drawn thy sting.
Thou hadst of teeth a double row,
Till Christ by's Cross took thee a blow
When fastning on him. But thou'rt now
A tooth-less thing.
Well maist thou bark, but canst not bite,
Bending thy brow, shewing thy spight:
Death do thy worst: Hope sets me quite
Beyond thy spleen.
What though my death seems written in
The very parchment of my skin
With the black ink of my foul sin;
Yet have I seen
On both hands of a friend once slain,
But since return'd to life again,
A better story Printed plain,
My sights but dim;
Yet in the print oth' nailes I see
Life in a Saviours hands for mee
Whilst as he hung upon the tree,
Hope hangs on him.
And still shall hang on him untill
My bones have learnt to climbe that hill
Where now he sits, and whence he will
Yet come down hither
That he may gather into one
Each dust of his, and scatt'red bone;
Then shall he, as a living stone
Translate me thither.
And now, my Lord, what wait I for,
Standing, and knocking at thy door?
I stand and knock at th' door of Hope
Till knocking makes the door stand ope.

We are saved by HOPE, but Hope that is seen, is not Hope,

Rom. 8.24.

LOVE

FRom Faith and Hope I come sweet Love to sing
For ev'ry Anchor hath its ring
Whereby 'tis wedded to its Cable-Rope.
Love makes the match 'twixt Faith and Hope.
'Twixt Grace and Grace no marriage can be made
But where this golden ring's first had.
O golden Love, thou circling, endless thing!
All grace concenters in thy ring.
What though mine heart be flinty rock and stone?
Yet flints have fire: And have I none?
No spark of Love, thou God of Love! for thee
That hast twice over hammerd mee?
There's not one spark kindled upon mine hearth
But at first glance it quits the earth,
As if it knew the element of fire
Were some Diviner thing and high'r.
Lord, I can feel there's such a thing as Love
Warm in my breast, and feel it move;
I find I love my Child, and so doth he:
And shall I not, my God! love thee?
Is Love the only fire that doth descend?
Or is my God, my God, no friend?
Sure all my doubts and fears cannot disprove
The condescention of thy Love.
The Elements, we find, invert their course,
Fearing a Vacuum would be worse:
And did not Love stoop low, when God did dye
To fill up mans vacuity?
Reader! stop here:
And drop a tear!
When Love that, ev'ry Ev'ning, makes my bed
Had not whereon to lay his head:
Except you'll call that bloody Cross and bitter
A Love-sick Saviours bed and litter.
When Love it self being as rich as store
To make me rich [...]id become poor:
Unless those tears and bloody drops that fall,
You'll Pearls account and rubies call.
And can the flaming Element of Love
To store my wants drop from above?
Why can't mine Earth as well to Heaven grow,
As Heav'ns Love fire come down so low?
Why may I not, Elijah-like, aspire
To ride to Heaven in that fire,
That fire of Love that came from thence down hither
On purpose sure to help methither.
When Love to hatred did himself expose,
And prick's own foot to ease his foes:
Printing full proof in his chapt parched skin
What flames of Love there were within.
When Love unthought, unsought for did come down
Exchanging, for a Cross, his Crown
Love undesir'd, Love undeserv'd did take
Mans game to play to save mans stake.
Whilest flames of wrath so sorely did contest
With this Love-fire in Saviours breast
Heightning the heat so far till's blood boy [...]'d ore,
Issuing out at ev'ry pore,
Lord! can the eye,
That reads, be dry?
Ah! if it can; let not the writers bee:
No tears of Love, my God! for thee?
Lord! could Love make thee take my sins as thine?
Sure then thy sorrows shall be mine.
The stripes that rent thy back, shall smite and knock
My breast, till they have cleft my rock.
The ir'n that in thine hands left such a p [...]int
Shall strike some fire out of my flint.
Shall I not love that friend that lov'd me So
So Lov'd me when I was his foe!
Lord! let not want of Love encrease my score!
My debts were great enough before.
Make me thy Love so burning hot to feel,
As to dissolve and melt my steel:
And burn my stony heart to fervent lime,
As I h've seen fire turn stone sometime.
My heart is thine; Lord thou hast bought that stone
And thou hast fewell of thine own:
Wil't not quit cost? great builder! if it will,
O throw mine heart into thy kill.
Lime is an usefull thing in buildings sure:
And lime of stone will best endure:
Knowledg puffs up, but Love is edifying,
And growes the stronger by long lying.
Oh that I had that lime of Love that is
(As by Antiperistasis)
Hotter for water! I would often then
Weep till I even flam'd agen;
But now I mourn,
That I can't burn.
Can't burn? Alas! my God, I'm burning ever:
But oh my burning is a Fever.
Such hectick heat doth too too plainly prove
That I am but infirm in Love.
Lord, dost not see how Giants do invade
Thy right? my God, confound their trade,
Who using lust for lime, by Hellish art,
Would rebuild Babell in my heart.
'Tis not so long my God and Saviour since
Thou didst expell th' usurping Prince
Rasing his works and strong holds built within
With lime of lust and piles of sin.
Can I Love sin, that hatefull cruell thing,
That grinds the Serpents forked sting;
Shew'ng death how twice at once to murther me?
And can I not, my God, Love thee?
Can I Love sin, that puts me on the wrack
Till bones do break and sinews crack?
And Can I not Love him that climb'd the tree?
Wracking himself to take down me?
Can I Love sin, since hatred nere had bin?
Never bin heard of but for sin?
And can I not love LOVE, that came to dye,
To kill hatred and enmity?
Love sin, that founded Hell at's own expence?
And not my God that saves me thence?
Alas! how strangly Love its mark can miss!
Oh that mine head and heart for this
Were both one flood
Of tears of blood!
Or can mine heart like Josephs Mistriss, make
Love to the Servant? and mistake
These things below for my dear God above
To whom I owe ev'n all my Love?
And then when these chast Creature-comforts flie
Rather then yield, or gratifie,
Can I complain unto my Lord, and say
That they did tempt then flie away?
Alas! poor Creatures would not be abused:
And must they yet be thus accused?
And God in them? And that I may be found
Guiltless, must guilt reach God at th' bound?
Thou gav'st me these to prove thy Love to me,
But not to steal my Love from thee:
I cannot Love the giver, for his gift;
Alas! my God, that's a poor shift.
Why? shall I court the Bearer, that doth bring
Forgetting him that sends the ring?
All Creature-good in this world or the next
Be'ng but a comment on Loves Text:
This whole Creation be'ng but one round drop
Hanging down from loves fingers top,
If all the world were Pearl, yet why should I
Desire to wear it in mine eye?
So that for this worlds Love I should not see,
My dearest Lord, how to Love thee?
Can I so Love the world? And can't I yet
Love God that made both me and it?
Lord, I must cry,
Here's Witchery!
If the world be th' inchantress, Lord, I pray
Hasten the Gen'rall Judgement day!
For sure my Love, when 't sees the witch a burning
To its right wits will be returning.
But rather I suspect 'tis Hells black-art
That from my God thus charms my heart.
Remembring 'twas the wilie Serpents plot
That first brake the True-Lovers-Knot.
When Baalams Divinations could not move
From Gods dear Israel Gods dear Love,
But God that lov'd them once, would love them still,
Though Balaam went from mount to hill.
He next instructs the Moabites to lay
Adult'rous Loves in Isr'els way
To quench their Love to God through wanton fire
And thereby to incense Gods ire.
And if this world play the Moabitess;
'Tis Satans project, Lord, I guess:
Who see'ng he can't divert thy Love from mee
Would thus divide my Love from thee.
And, is mine heart divided? ah! my God,
Whose clo [...]en foot thereon hath trod
The print discovers. What though Balaam's dead?
Thou God of peace! bruise Satans head.
But I am most affraid the worst's within:
The witch-craft of my native sin.
Sin winds and circles, Lord, so many wayes
Till sin ofttimes the Devill raise;
Lord! thou art fire,
Give sin her hire.
Burn up this witch, her crafts, and Philtre-pots:
Sins books of curious arts, charms, knots,
By thy refining Spirit, that I may
Get warmth of Love to thee that way.
Who hath bewitch'd me that I am so coy
When thou wouldst fain my Love enjoy,
Thou, blessed Three, stand'st suing for mine heart
Who only canst fill every part?
Dear God! who hath bewitched me that I cant
Deny the courting world a graunt,
That never yet could fill my heart, unless
It were with griping emptiness?
The garment of thy goodness is entire;
Can keep me warm without a fire:
To which this whole creation's but a shred,
Each Creature's but one single thred.
To give these things their due, they're good for use:
And lovely too: unless their juice,
By Love inordinate, be dryed up;
Leaving behind an empty cup.
And is gold rich? and can the mine be poor?
Theirs at the best is borrow'd store.
Nay, so long borrow'd that it now grows old:
O that my Love could wax as cold,
As cold to earth, as earth is in decay:
But more intense to God each day!
Who'll soon serve earth for all its glitt'ring grace
As we do serve old Silver-lace,
Lord! fire this pile
Of man mean while.
I h've heard good husbands say, that they that borrow
Their stock to day, may break to morrow:
Sure the worlds credit cannot long hold good.
'Tis much the world thus long hath stood.
Consid'ring when the world's in fullest trade
How poor and sorry payment's made
Him, that owes all, and must his right recover;
Sure th' world must then all trade give over:
Shall I not therefore deal ith' interim
Less with the world, but more with him,
With him whose Love's an unexhausted spring
Of ev'ry good and perfect thing.
Methinks mens trading with the world might stop
At thought of this who keeps her shop.
Alas! my God, the world is Devill ridden:
The thing is known and can't be hidden.
Hell hath deflour'd the earth, and now I see
'T would put its leavings off to me,
Dawbing false paint on th' face oth' wrinkled Creature
Hav'ng worn and spoil'd its native feature.
The earth's all Egypt now: And Egypts curse
Is over all the world, or worse:
For Beelzebub with his swarming train
Hath all things flie-blown. To be plain
There is no flesh that's sweet, but Saviours, now.
Which Satan tri'd, but knew not how
To taint. All's dogs-meat else. Lord! teach me chuse
And I shall all the rest refuse,
And only wish
For that one dish.
A dish that's wholesome, and 'tis healing too.
Ah my dear God! what shall I do
To Love thy flesh enough that tasted once
For ever heals my broken bones.
Set thine apart, all other flesh is grass:
And is my soul an oxe or ass?
That it should Love no higher then my beast?
Or can my soul such fare digest?
Come, Trencher Criticks, you that eat by book,
And in your food for physick look,
Your Cook must be some small Apothecarie,
Will you allow a Verser varie
From your received rules? and be content
To try a new experiment?
Flesh in a feaver's good Divinity,
Which who most eats, scapes best, say I.
Provided that the flesh be sound and good
(For I would be right understood)
As never did, nor could, corruption see:
Ah my dear Saviour! I mean thee.
Alas! how low in an high burning Feaver
Of Gods displeasure, never never
To have been cured otherwise, did sin
Once bring me, till I did begin
To fall aboard that sacred flesh? And then
How soon did I grow well agen?
Then wellcome, gentle guest, if thou hast not
To prize and Love thine health forgot,
Come sit down here
And Love this Chear.
Or tell me is it sweetness and delight
That rather doth thy Love invite?
What more delicious, sweeter thing can be
Than that sweet blood was shed for me?
When I Repentance take, that purging pill
I take it in this Syrup still:
Wha [...] purgeth, pains; and would too much corrode
[...]t for this sweet emulgent blood.
You curious Palates, that can't let one glass
Without a strict Examen pass
Come tast, and tell me if (this blood) this wine
Ben't generous and genuine?
The Vine is Divine, nay'tis somewhat more;
And can the blood oth' Grape be poor?
'Tis this High-Country-Wine that fills my cup,
When at my Saviours board I sup.
Wine, that's as sweet as wrath of God is bitter,
Which, who hath tasted is the fitter
To rellish this rich liquor. Wrath makes dry
But here's the cup of Charity.
This is the grace-cup. Nothing's sweet nor good
Till dasht or sprinkled with this blood.
Men are but Swine, wines are but swill before
This blood man to himself restore.
A Wine so good, fal'n Angels might not tast it;
Who therefore did contrive to cast it
Upon the ground; which when they thought to spill
They broach'd for man against their will.
Lord who can love
Thy blood enough?
Or do you Love for Loveliness? Come hither;
My Lord is Lovely alltogether.
Alas how am'rous wits forget their duty
To this supreme and perfect beauty!
You fond admirers of a skin-deep hue,
To dusty beauties bid adiew,
To dusty beauties that have marr'd your eyes:
Ah my dear God! that wit were wise!
It cuts mine heart to see much silken wit
And snares and halters made of it.
Halters to th' owners, snares to th'passers by.
How fast loose wit can wantons tie,
And stake them down! till first the lover burns
In heart, and then in Hell by turns.
But say his Love be chast; And shee a flow'r;
All's next to nothing the next hour:
'Tis kill'd with kindness, dies when complemented,
And soonest fades when 'tis most sented.
Whose Muse doth dress his Mistriss, hangs a Verse
To day upon to morrows Herse:
Friends must be then call'd in to have away
What wanton wit adores to day.
Skin-beauty's but a Sodom-apple just:
When crusht, it turns to stench and dust.
The wanton world complains their Love is blind
And I must needs be of their mind;
Whilst for such walking shades they cannot see
My dearest Lord, how to Love thee.
Yet thou art faire
Beyond compare.
Had I a wit, and had I grace I'd bring
My Saviour an enamel'd ring,
A ring whose Posie should be this alone,
Stars get ye gone, the Sun hath shone.
Stars? I mean glow-worms: earthen beauties which
Ith' dark do sparkle in a ditch,
And fools mistake for Stars; ill touch informs,
And proves them to be sillie worms.
But, Lord, my Muse unworthy is to bear
The shoes that thy fair feet do wear.
Fairer for bee'ng so swift, swift to shed blood;
Their own I mean to do me good.
How fair's thy face then? may I, Lord, one day
Have leave to see, though none can say
How fair it is. My dear, the Sun's a Clod
To thy bright face, fair Son of God!
Wherein still fresh and fresh together growes.
With vallies Lillie, Sharons Rose.
A rose that ne'r bare prickles of its own;
Yet sinners thorns did Saviour crown.
And shall I Love my Champion less for scars
He gat in waging of my wars?
Thy bruises are but beauty spots, my dear,
That make thy Love more fair appear.
Who loves for fleshly gloss and silken skin
May find a Serpent oft within.
But thy deep wounds, Lord, prove thee that thou art
All Lovely to thy very heart.
Beauty thus deep,
Will hold and keep.
Or is it Knowledg, Learning, Science, art
That takes the more ingenious heart?
Come, bookish man, and sit a while down here;
Till thou hast read my dearest dear.
What's that that's printed in his hands and feet?
The print is plain, man, dost not see't?
A mystery that learned flesh and blood
Never taught yet, nor understood.
I h've sometime stood and wondred at the Owles
How they should prove Minerva's Foules:
But since have learnt that learning's blind as Love
Till both be tutour'd from above.
Oh what a Dungeon is the mind of man,
Let Pallas paint it what she can!
Some would not be such fools but that they're wise:
And might see better but for eyes.
Lord shall I Love to know, and not know thee,
In whom all wisdoms treasures bee?
Great Magazine I whose wisdom's infinite,
Give me that Panoplie of light.
An Epictetus or an Antonine
Ith' dark may make a shift to shine:
But being by thy Sun-light understood
Alas, my God, prove putrid wood.
Shall ventrous Students ev'ry Toads-head look
For Pearls of knowledge? And thy book,
Thy works lye by unlov'd, unlook'd into?
Thy Pupills, th' Angels don't so do:
But help their sight
By Gospell-light.
Or do I Love for likeness? Ah, my dear,
Whose Image was't I first did bear?
Whilst yet I stood in Primitive perfection
Lord, what was I, but thy reflexion?
So like thee that thy self thou couldst not Love
But Love me too: Nor could I move
Thy Love from me, till I thy likeness lost
Thine Image bee'ng sin-slur'd and crost.
But now I'm hatefull grown and hating too
Alas, my God, what shall I do
To Love thee and to be belov'd of thee?
My Lord, thy Love preventeth mee.
For since the ground of liking likeness is,
Rather then my poor Love thou'dst miss;
Since cursed sin made man unlike his maker,
God of mans likeness was partaker.
When sin, to mans undoing, had undone
Gods Image; God next sent his Son
In likeness of poor sinfull flesh; thereby
Condemning sin ith' flesh to dye:
My God was hungry, thirsty, naked, poor:
In fears, in tears, in sweat, in gore:
Was tempted, was betrai'd, forsaken, sold,
Was captivated, kept in hold.
Was judg'd, condemn'd, was kill'd, was buri'd then
That he and I might rise agen
In one Divine and sweet similitude
And Love in likeness be renew'd.
And can I yet
Thy Love forget?
Or do I Love for consanguinity?
For nearness and relation? why
For me Christ took, and shed that Blood of his;
And do I ask how near he is?
My Lord is much more mine, then I mine own
My Lord was mine, when I was none:
My Lord, when I was lost and gone astray,
Was both my Shepheard and my Way.
Surely my Lord and I are near skin,
Ere since my Saviour was made SIN
Forme, and I made RIGHTEOVSNESS in him.
He is my head and I a limb:
He is the Vine, and I the branch: the root,
Whereof I am a slip or shoot:
Of my salvation he the captain is,
And I am a reprize of his.
He is my Father, I his seed: nay he,
In travaile of his soul, bare me:
My brother too, born for adversity;
The Joseph of the family.
He is my Maker, yet mine husband too:
This Potter me his clay did wooe:
And rather then he'd miss the match did make
Him a clay-body for my sake.
Ev'n all men Love their own, and shall I not?
Help Lord, and I will knit the knot.
In full acceptance of thy free donation:
Clasp hearts and hands in sweet relation
Lord, thou art mine,
Make me more thine!
Or do I Love for suitable supplies
To all my wants? sure I want eyes
Or I could not want Love, my Lord, to thee
In whom all blessings treasur'd bee.
O that my drop into a Sea could swell
Of Love to him, in whom doth dwell
All fullness, as in bank or house of store,
Ev'n Grace and Bliss for evermore.
Thine bee'ng once asked if they would away,
O whither shall we go? said they
The words of life eternall, Lord, thou hast.
And that's a stock can never wast.
Goodness is all contracted in thy face,
As Sun-beams in a burning-glass:
Oh that I lay in some directer line
That I might burn whilst thou dost shine.
Am I a sinner? thou'rt a propitiation:
I h've wrought confusion, thou salvation.
I h've purchas'd death both for my self and thee,
But thou to life hast ransom'd mee.
As God, thou seest; as man, thou feel'st my grief.
As both, thou'rt suitable relief:
My Creditour, and yet my Surety too:
Paying and pard'ning what I owe.
Creatures are Cisterns, leaking vessels, they
Cannot supply themselves one day
And me much less. My springs are all above
My light, my life: Why not my Love?
Oh 'tis thy right:
Accept my mite.
Or is it Love that sharpens Love again?
My Saviour, every grinding pain
Of thine on Earth, and present Intercession
Pleads for a Love beyond expression.
'Tis Love I live upon. And do I yet
Suspect thy Love! or question it?
Lord, if my Living be n't full proof, thy dying
Gives evidence beyond denying
Herein is Love without dissimulation
Thy Love thou provest by thy Passion,
Whose every wound with open mouth cries out
We are Loves Vou [...]hers, if you doubt.
When Heav'nly Hoasts first saw thee breath if then
They run and preach good will tow'rds men
If thus they comment on thine Infant-breath
My God! what thought they of thy death!
Oh! how he Lov'd him? if who saw thee shed
Tears for thy friend Laz'ras bee'ng dead,
Cryed out; What might they've said that saw thee dye
Bleeding for me, thine enemy.
And dare I? can I yet renew that grief?
Doubting thy Love, through unbelief.
If I but say I Love, how doth it grieve me
If yet my Friend will not believe me.
And dare I yet suspect the God of Love
Who saies, who swears, who dies to prove
He Loves me. Shall I fail in proof of mine
And then, to make a mends, doubt thine!
Doubling thereby
Each in [...]ury?
I find, I feel, I see, and can't I say,
He Loves me? doubts out of my way.
Doubtings by Demonstrations overcome
Sure then if ever may be dumb.
Or if I needs must doubt and jealous bee
Lord Ile suspect my self not thee.
My soul! lov'st thou thy Lord? say yea or nay,
My God I'm gravell'd what to say.
Yet will I hold mine heart to th' S [...]rutiny
Till it affirm or else deny
Deny? my God! I dare not, nay I cannot,
And yet, methinks, affirm I may not.
Oh that I could. This only can I say
Dear Lord, that I cannot say nay
Thoughts in again! (Loves no such neutrall thing)
You must a certain Verdict bring.
Only be sure, for 'tis your own behoof,
Your Verdict stands on certain proof.
Alas my thoughts can never solve this doubt
Unless thy Love Lord help me out.
My God what crouds of witnesses seem strive
To be depos'd oth' Negative?
My seldome thoughts of thee, my cold devotions,
Heartless profession, lifeless motions;
My wanton Dalian with the world and sin:
My want of kindness to thy kin:
My little longing when thou'rt out of sight
Or lab'ring to regain the light,
I sigh to say
How these plead NAY.
These? ah my God! and many more than these;
My little little care, to please;
Or fear, of grieving thee, my want of leisure,
For thee; and in thee, want of pleasure.
My numbe Lethargick zeal when men defame
Thy Saints, thy worship, waies, or name,
How say I that I Love thee, when mine heart
So poorly plaies the Lovers part?
My Love commands mine eye, mine hand, my purse
Can I Love thee, yet serve thee worse?
Or must my friend of all friends be deni'd
What I yield all I Love beside?
Alas! my Lord! such proof had almost got
A Verdict past I Love thee not;
But that one witness came and crost the rest
Stifling that Verdict in my breast.
Yet t'was not much that witnesse had to say
But sorely weeping cri'd I pray
If't be as you pretend that there's no fire,
Whence is this smoaking flax desire?
My Jesus! thou'rt my Judge, the Judge of all,
To whom my Love must stand or fall
Thou that knowst all things knowst that I abhor
My self for Loving thee no more.
My dear! I h've sometime long'd, and do I not
Long yet that thou wouldst loose one knot
To tye another? what's this life to me,
If I must still be strange to thee?
To Love is life,
Else life's but strife.
Oh that I were a Graduat in that Colledge
Where Love is known that passeth knowledg:
Where smiling Saints do comprehend and dwell
In Love incomprehensible.
Where perfect Love casts out tormenting fear:
Nor theirs nor thine is doubted there:
Where full-eyed Love may see to interline
Thy text with some short Notes of mine.
But whilst I'm low as earth, short as a span,
Fleet as a shade, narrow as man
The height, length, depth, and breadth, of Love to measure
I have nor skill, my God, nor leisure.
Love that's as high as Heav'n, for thence it came
And thither with it bound I am.
Love that's as long as length; eternity
Must say how long, for so can't I.
Love that's as deep as Hell, for thence it took,
Me; And the day's down in my book.
Love that's as broard as sin that spreads all over
Yet, Lord! thy Love my sin doth cover.
Th' Astronomer what houses stars do keep
Can tell, the diver gage the deep;
But I, poor Christs-Cross-Sholler, cannot spell
LOVE, though a monasyllable.
Lord I could be content mine earth might turn
To ashes, so my soul might burn
And all my powers become one Holocaust
Reaching thy Love and life at last;
Lord stir this fire
And raise it higher.
Here's a poor broken heart, a Sacrifice
Which yet thou'st said thoult not despise
I bind it on thine Altar in desire
Heav'ns favour set it all on fire!
Lord shall I ever be a Questionist?
Help me commence in Love to Christ:
Or still incept'ring? pass a grace mine heart
May once be master of this art.
But as I said, methought, I heard one say,
Away bold Freshman you must stay
Your time: there's many'n act ere this degree.
And hare there must no hudlings bee.
Lord if it must be so, my now Condition.
I tender to thine own Tuition
Till I have better Arguments to prove
I'm more proficient in thy Love.
Charge thy self with me. Me and all that's mine
Subject I to thy discipline,
Lord I will have no mind distinct from thee
Who givest all thats thine to mee.
If others ask me, can you walk abroad?
Ile answer, Go and ask my God.
Where thou saist go though flesh and blood say stay
I'le creep if I can't run that way.
Or if I, as I fear I shall, transgress
This law of Love I now express;
I'le humbly strip my self next serious thought
Till thou hast whipt me for my fau't:
Then kiss thy rod;
And cry, my God!
Then if thou smile thy favour Lord shall be
Like rain upon mown grass to me.
Or like warm Sun-beams that succeed some showr
Till joyes poor Bud's a full-blown flower
But I will watch left some Old-Adam seed,
With joyes fair flower, put forth some weed.
Which when't first peeps, thy weeding knife Ile borrow
Lest the ground harden by to morrow.
Ile mark thine eye; a better brighter Star,
Than that that guid [...] the Mariner.
My dull remisness, Lord, thine eye, shall whet
To more observance, when sharp set.
Thy quick and hasty look shall quicken mee:
Ile away to my Book, or Knee.
Ile chide my busie play-fellows; Away,
My master frowns; I dare not play.
Lord, I'le see by thine eyes; thine ev'ry beck
Shall be my Bridle curb, and check.
The Watch thou giv'st me Ile keep for thy sake:
And wind it up when ere I wake.
The Book thou gav'st me, that blood-guilded Book,
Ile ever, ever in it look
Till I find thee there, and my self, thy beauty,
And learn to know and do my duty.
Then shewing to others, See the token Love
Ile say hath sent me from above:
Keeping the cleaner hands that I may not
Discolour it with any spot;
Unless a tear
Drop here or there.
The task thou setst me Lord I'le nor complain:
Thy work shall be my wage and gain:
Clean as I can Ile do't if sullied then
My tears shall wash it ore agen.
Thy strict commands and Love-lin'd yoak shall be
A neck-chain of pure gold to me.
Thine hardest sayings when my stomacks que [...]zie
Love shall digest, and make them easie.
Thine is no Labans-service if it were,
Yet Love two Prentiships might bear:
But to be bound, or held in durance by
Thy Royall Law, is liberty.
Mine heart shall be less loose, and yet more large
Be'ng stretcht out unto all thy charge:
And where my life fals short of either table
Love shall fullfill; for Love is able.
If thou wilt come, and take an Inventory
Of all thats mine; Ile not be sorry:
If thou wilt search and ransack all I have
Ile help thee, or thine help Ile crave.
If ought I have displease, or if I doubt,
I will, for sureness throw it out.
If I can pleasure thee with ought thats mine:
Ile quit my Title, Lord tis thine.
If mine heart fit thy walking thou shalt have it
If not, yet Love shall mend and pave it
With such clear solid stone ev'n all within
As yet can weep for ev'ry sin,
Washing thy feet
When men don't see't.
Mine heart be'ng thus possest, when strangers come
Ile say thou'st taken up my room:
Then if thou ask whose purse, or parts are these
Ile answer, thine Lord if thou please.
If on mine Houre-Glass thou then lay thine hand
And ask whose is this running sand
Ile answer, Lord the little's left is thine:
But what's run out is no more mine.
Or if thou ask me, who are those at th' door?
Smiling on them; Ile say, my poor,
Ile draw my soul out when thy Lazar knocks
My Cupboard shall be th' poor mans box.
If others come, like those poor Greeks, to mee
With a Sir, we would Jesus see
Ile gladly tell them where my Lord doth Sup
Do'ng all I can to help them up.
If others curse thee Shimes like; if they
Cast dust, Ile blow the dust away
With sighs and groans; if they thine honour stain
Ile weep and wash it clean again.
Or else Ile chide or fight if thou shalt bid
(But first of all with T [...]ai ours hid
At home) I'le fear no colours whilest above
Thy Banner over me is Love.
Who sues to be a favourite of mine
Ile ask him first if he be thine,
If not, Ile pray him to be reconcil'd
To thee, that so my Love to th' Child
May a [...]l be found
Thine at the bound.
Or when thy tender Lillie bleeds, my God
Torne with those cru [...]l [...] thorns abroad
Or rent with Schismes at home and heart division
Ile what I can play the Physician.
Ile plead with thee with them; if things grow worse
Ile bleed my self to turn the course
When I thy Peoples Hearts divided see
Surely mine Heart shall broken bee.
Thy Love hath lent me all the balm thats thine
Why should not then thy sores be mine
My God they shall: but chiefly when my Passion
Or lust provokes thine indignation.
Ile bereveng'd on one, my self I mean,
And grieve till thou art pleas'd agen.
Passions shall live like Gibeonites, their Law
To hew thy wood and water draw.
So all I have shall serve thee till I know
My Love hath life and find it grow.
Lord Ile account of all as it conduces
To help Loves growth and serve its uses.
If in the Sunshine of a prosp'rous state
My fire can't burn so clear for that.
Ile rather choose some curteous clouds return
Then see Loves holy fire not burn.
Or if I fail of ought I here profess
And thy rod can't my fault redress
Rather then live thy grief, Ile yield to dye
So Love inflict the penalty.
That paid my score
By death before.
If Love yet let me live a growing debtor
Ile study hard but Ile live better:
Live I mean Love; that's the Commandments en [...]
And thats the life that I intend.
Though Love wax cold abroad, and sin abound,
Hard Frost ore spreading all the ground.
Shall th' heat of Kitchin fire be more increast
And not thy flames within my breast?
Lord what [...] a Silver Tongue if't cannot talk
A Golden Leg if 't cannot walk
Faith that can Mountains move when 'tis desired
Or Martyrdome, if Love be n't fired.
What if I give my goods and all my store,
But not in Love to feed thy poore?
But if in Love a cup of water cold
Though the drink's mean, the cup is Gold.
Love tunes my Pray'rs, makes Praises Musicall:
Which else at best but howl or ball.
Love makes two Mites to God as acceptable
As if to bring two worlds 'twere able.
True Love's true beauty, beauties else but paint
No more am I if Love I want.
Lord help me put on Love to keep me warm:
To dwell in Love secure from harm.
To walk in Love, till Love ith' stream do lead
To Love that is the Fountain head
Or th' Ocean which if I cant comprehend
I'll plung into: that in the end
Lost I may bee,
If lost, in thee.
Yet when I think what pent and narrow room,
Ith' Virgins Womb,
The God of Love lodg'd in, methinks mine heart
May hold its part.
Into mine heart O shed thy Love abroad,
My God! my God.
Both be'ng Spirit, what can better suit,
Then th' Spirits fruit?
Drink thirsty vessell, till thou fill or break!
But never leak.
The broken Heart, and truly contrite Breast
Holds Love the best:
And the best Love: a Love more worth then wine.
Lord I mean thine:
Then as the purpose of thy G [...]ace and Love
None can remove
Let me So Love thee as to part and lever,
Lord, n ver, never.
Ungirt, Unblest, we say: my God Love is
The bond of B [...]iss
And perfectness: A Grace, whose Bondmen be
The only free.
Works without Faith can never, Lord, please thee
Nor p [...]fi mee.
Faith without Love, can't operate o [...] move
But works by Love.
Love is a Grace that stands her ground in Glory
That upper story.
Love, when Tongues, prophecies, and know [...]edg fail,
Ent'ring the Vaile,
Possesseth as Supreme and highest Grace
The Holiest place.
When Faith and Hope do thither wait upon her,
As Maids o [...] Honour
Sole Love is left as Queen of all the Graces
In Gods Embraces.
Mean while, Lord, to be sick of Love to thee
Is health to mee.
They that have not this sickness, h [...]ve a worse,
[...]hy plague and curse.

If any man LOVE not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema Maran-atha,

1 Cor. 16.22.

PRAYER.

NExt th' Trinity of Persons and of Graces
Mans three main Duties Muse and Method
Who views my God and Grace in all their Beauty places.
Can't (I should think) but take delight in Duty.
But who believs, Hopes, Loves (I'm sure of that)
Will Love to Pray, to Hear, to Meditate.
Pray'r's the first breath put forth in crying then
When, through sad pangs, poor souls are born agen.
Heav'n well commends Faiths midwifery, and sayes,
The Child's no still born, for behold he prayes.
Pray'r is the rapper at Heav'ns door: Faith knocks,
Who's there? saith Love within doors, and unlocks.
Pray'r is the key: what e're ith' lock retards;
Pray'r, [...]yld with mourning, gently slips the wards,
And moves the Spring, Gods heart: Doth Ephraim mourn?
The bolt gives back, Jehovah's bowels turn.
Pray'r is an Arrow from a well-bent heart:
Watch the Returns, and see what 'twill impart
Of Heav'ns Intelligence: i'th' flouds decrease
This mournfull Dove brings th' Olive branch of peace.
Pray'r is the saced Bellows when these blow,
How musically doth faiths Organ goe;
Thus Pray'r proves Faith an Instaument: and Love
Answers to this wind-musick from Above,
In sweet consort, with ravishing consent,
Upon that Lute (that dear string'd Instrument)
Whose strings are Bowels of that Lamb once slain,
Who makes the Musick, bee'ng! Alive again.
Pray'r is the sacred Bellws, when these blow,
How doth that Live-cole from Gods Altar glow!
By Prayer Love burns to zeal: and hot desire
Baptizeth the souls fewell all with fire.
Pray'r breath's the gale, whilest Faith doth navigate
Ith' brittle bark of Mans frail mortall state:
Good Hope's the Cape: fair Heaven, and fair wind!
Whilest Faith, in pray'r steers the low ballast mind.
Pray'r is Faiths Limbeck there the Promise lies
And thence distils: mock not Prayr's watry eyes.
On th' knees of Pray'r Faith brings forth Promises,
As Bilba sometimes bare on Rachels knees.
Pray'r is Faiths Bucket (Pray'r doth upward move,
Drawing its waters from those wells above)
Chain'd to that Bucket of the Blessing, so
That that comes down, as this doth upward go.
Pray'r is Faiths Pump, where't works till th' water come
If't come not free at first, Faith puts in some;
Some truly penitentiall tears: and then
Pumping the Promise, paies it self agen.
Pray'r is the Christians Pulse: Pray'r instantly
The Temper or Distemper will descry.
Some read; some sing and some their pray'rs can say,
He's an Elias that his pray'rs can pray.
Pray'r lifting up its holy hands can dart.
To Heav'n that hand-granado of the Heart,
Of the whole Heart, which kindled with desire
In fervent motion breaks, sets Love on fire:
Compassions burn [...] Heav'n, suff'ring violence,
Grows to surrender unto man, propense.
Pray'r's a chief piece of Faiths Artillery,
Take a right ground, mount Pray'r, aym right, let flie:
Doth Heav'n hold out? let Heaven hear from Faith
What force Pray'r home-charg'd with a Promise hath.
Doth Hell assault? let fervour fire this Gun
And the report shall make bold Legion run.
Pray'rs Rhetorick commands, when't begs, and so
Makes most victorious whom it brings most low.
Pray'r lifteth up the Eyes, Hands, Heart we see;
When Pray'r most humbly doth bow down the knee.
Pray'r makes Man Prince with God: Doth Jacob kneel,
Saith King of Glory, Rise up Israel!
Pray'r, in the silent Hannah, loudly Speak [...];
Pray'r both Manasse's heart, and prison, breaks.
Elijahs Pray'r doth pierce the brassie skies:
And makes the Tears to stand in Heavens eyes.
'Tis not an armed Amalek can stand
When Pray'r lifts up a Moses's naked Hand.
As Thunder struck Philistines once did fall,
D [...]wn tumbles Rain, and th' Enemy withall,
At th'Lightning Legions Pray' [...]. Oh who can war,
Where private Souldiers such Commanders are?
Pray'r bee'ng aboard the great Leviathan,
In whose close Cook-room Jonah's shipt, poor man!
Mak [...]s Land, runs th' Hull on shore, and open breaks
The Pris'ners way, by blowing-up the Decks.
Pray'r undertakes to discipline the SUN:
To teach that Giant Postures, when to Run,
When to Retreat, to make a Halt, to stand:
At praying Joshua's word of Command,
This Rowling Eve, in Heavens Brow stands still;
Wondering to see Faiths Pray'r thus work its will.
Fifteen Degrees, when Hezekiah pray'd,
His Life, and ten the Sun ran retrograde,
Thus Pray'r prevails in Heaven, Earth, and Seas:
Add but its conquest over Hell to these?
How th' Ayre of Pray'r choaks the serpentine brood
Of that old crooked Dragon in the flood;
Sin, Satans spawn, and how the intestine Thorne,
Is by true Prayr's compunction out-worne:
How th' Messenger of Satan's buffeted,
Who came to buffet: how the Serpents Head,
Under the knees of Pray'r is sqeez'd at last;
And Beel-zebub is himself out-cast,
By the rare force of Pray'r, that grows more strong
By Fasting, and more fresh by watching long.
The summe of all is Pray'rs stupendious Art,
To bind Gods hands, and keep in hold his Heart.
Pray'r importuning this Sampson hath found,
Himself revealing; how he may be bound;
Ev'n God be bound, who's infinitely free,
Yet saith to Faith and Pray'r Command ye mee.
The Prayer-hearing God the Father is:
The Pray'r-perfuming God that Son of His,
(With flagrant, fragrant Incense of His Merit)
The Pray'r-inditing God is God the Spirit.
Pray'rs Tears are washt in Gods Blood, & its means
Are ayr'd with Gods unutterable groans:
Thus Pray'r prevails with God: yet Praises shall
Not Pray'r, but th' God of Pray'r, victorious call,
Who's All in All.

Pray alwaies with all PRAYER, and watch there vnto with all Perseverance,

Eph. 6.18.

HEARING.

FRom Pray'r to Hearing I proceed
For that prepares for this indeed
But who from Hearing turns his ear away
The Lord abominates to hear him pray,
Heark? tis Gods voice: can man forbear
To hear Him speak that made the Ear?
Why should the Head of hearing Ears make show
Since such Deaf Ears upon Mans Heart do grow?
Heav'n did to poor Mans misery
Give ear before he gave the Cry.
Methinks a Saviours words should all sound loud,
Acuted with the Accents of his Blood.
What vile Dishonesty appears
By Mans disgracefull loss of Ears?
And y [...] let Syrens frog, and Satan knock;
[...] Hear can [...] too [...]ight, too soon unlock;
No Cords can hold, or Lusts be bound,
Till All is over-board and drown'd.
When th'Serpent charms this Add [...]r hears, but when
Heav'n charm's more wisely, th' Ears are charm'd agen.
Most what I see a monstrous sight
Most have two Ears, yet neither's Right,
God gave them two, yet they'l by no means lend
So much as one to such a bounteous Friend.
Sure such a Friend would soon repay,
By giving ear to what they pray.
God ever takes up Ears on Interest,
And doth his greatest Creditors pay best.
They teach their very Ears to pray
Who listen well what God shall say.
Th' uncircumcis'd in Ear bid God deny,
Refusing Him that speaketh, when they cry.
The Deaf Ear'd-Idoll is abhord
And Men like Idols, of the Lord:
Who deafness plagues with deafness, and doth turn
His Ear from Dives whilest his Tongue doth burn.
Lord therefore to Deaf Hearers give
To live to hear, to hear and live.
Yea into th' Harvest send forth Labourers
To fill thy floor by gathering in of Ears.
Thou sow'st thy Word as Seed, and then,
'Tis fit thou reap the Ears of Men,
As Mary weeping heard till showrs of tears,
Full ripe for thine own reaping made her Ears.
What Heaps shall in thy Garnets bee
When Ears are Circumcis'd by Thee?
Fair Sion shall be like an heap of Wheat
That round about with Lillies is beset.
When Malchus lost an Ear thy touch
(A Saviours skill and virtue's such)
R [...]pair'd that Loss: Lord 'tis but Ask and Have:
Thou canst find Ears in Lazarus his Grave.
Thou Davids Heir of Davids Keys
Canst shut and open as thou please,
Thy still voice loud winds, and proud waves obey;
Unto thy Word, let not Mens Ears say Nay.
Thou didst a Pris'ner once impow'r
( Judg Felix bee'ng Auditour)
To give the Charge that took the Judg by th' Ear
More Bonds did then on th' Bench then Barr appear.
When Heav'ns great Guns from tire to tire,
According to thy Word give fire
Kadesh doth tremble: Hindes do calve for fear:
The howling Desarts, and deaf Rocks give ear.
And is Mars Heart more wild? more hard?
More full of noises? stronger barr'd?
Yet is the star the key-hole: Lord put in
Thy finger, then the gentlest word will win.
All turns and moves: One Eph [...]phatha.
Removes obstructions out of th' way;
Then th' Ear shall welcome every second word
Wi [...]h a Come in thou Blessed of the Lord!
The Scriptures speak of th' Learned Ear;
S [...] then thy tongue must teach to hear,
Morning by morning let thy Musick make
The heavy Ears of Mans dull mind to wake.
If Sons of God, fair Angels, stand
Waiting the Son of Gods command,
(Which when it comes, who sees these Holy things,
Might see their Ears converted into wings)
If the Deaf Divell lends an Ear
Not led by Love but forc'd by Fear
And if the sworn, plague, famine only know
By hearkning to his Word they Come and Goe;
In vain doth poor Man stop his Ear
And say in's Heart Hee'l never hear:
Harvests bring Ears: and such is the Worlds end:
Graves must find Hearers then; The Dead attend.
Then Happy He that sooner heard,
Hearing before for afterward;
God had his Eares on Earth, and doubtless He
Shall with full sheaves repaid in Heaven be.
If Sol'mons servants were so blest
That coun'd their Lesson from his breast,
How Happy're those Disciples then whose Ears
Are tun'd to the true Musick of the Sphears?
Where the First-Mover is Free Grace,
Free Purpose moves ith' second place:
Third Orbe's the Word of Grace in which do shine
As many Stars as Promises Divine
These Lessons so Divine, so good
(The Orbes bee'ng Oyl'd in Saviours blood)
Do so divinely correspond, that so
Needs must the Hearer the Diviner grow.
Then comes that holy Turtle Dove,
Gently descending from above;
And stealing through the Earth-hole into th' heart,
Doth Heav'ns Intelligence on Earth impart.
This is a joyfull sound indeed
What Halcyon dayes shall hence succeed,
Whilest Thunders terror makes Deaf Rebels quail,
Christ [...] voice to his Disciples is All hail!
If God that rules all otherwhere
Love so to move the Orb of th' Ear,
Sure then the Blessed of the Lord are they
That Hearing hearken, Hearkening that Obey.
The Humble Hearer may invite
God Guest-wise to a Disht Delight
A fervent whole-broke-heart serv'd vp in Tears
The Bread bee'ng made oth' Contrite hearers Ears.
Nay God invites Himself to sup
Where such delights are so serv'd up
By a clean hand, whereth' ear and the heart's kept hot
God is Mans Guest, and Heav'n will pay the shot
A letter H is not say we
Let HEARING then mine EARING be.
Thou God of Israel bore thy servants Ear,
That I in i [...] this Jewel still may wear.

Let every one be swift to HEARE. But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own Souls,

Jam. 1.21, 22.

MEDITATION.

I come to sing the last but not the least,
Be'ng that that Clencheth in mans mind and breast
Those Nails th' Assemblies Masters drive
Not t' eat but to Digest, makes thrive.
Sweet, sacred thing! Caelestiall Contemplation!
Old Enochs Trade, young Isaac [...] Recreation.
That furnishest Mans thoughtfull breast
With Greatest Work, and Sweetest Rest.
Israel's sweet Singer us'd when first awake,
His Lark-like Rise, upon thy wings, to take;
With which, he made his morning-flight:
Of which, his Feather-bed at night.
The nimble Life-guard of that Royal mind,
Were Thoughts, by thee divinely Disciplin'd:
Marshall'd in each dayes front and rear,
Greatness thus guarded know's no fear.
When anxious Musings would invade that soul;
When Cares would clog, or make it stomack-foul,
Thou didst exo [...]erate, Thy skill,
Did still prepare the Stomack-pill.
Thy Physick having wrought; and hungry health
Thine hopefull Patient re-surpriz'd by stealth
Then thou that hony-comb didst drain;
And break the Bone, that did contein
The fat, the sweet, which from the Promise flow's
(Whereof the sensuall worldling nothing knows)
Thus Meditation first sets right
Then sa [...]iat's the souls Appetite.
Man's fed with Manna; void of surfets fear:
Where Meditation's Cook, Digestions clear:
Mortals, thus fed with Angels fare;
Converted into Angels are.
By Contemplation was that Darling drest,
When Guest-wife Heaven bad him to a feast.
John's cloath'd in spirit, when they call
To keep the Lords daies festivall.
In Contemplations Mount who dwell, can stretch
Their hand to Heav'n that Starry Crown to reach:
And dress themselves in that bright Sun
Whilest under-foot they tread the Moon.
In Contemplations Pisgah they, that have
At once a view of Canaan, and their grave.
(In this worlds Desart wearied)
Do willingly undress to Bed.
Sweet sacred Meditation! may I bee
Wrought, recreated, garded thus by thee:
Physick'd and fed by thy Dispensatory:
By thee be drest with Grace, prepar'd for glory.

I.

Then learn O man! to part betwixt
Dead earth and th' earth wherewith thou're mint:
Sure walls of [...]lay may higher rise,
Then what in earths [...]ead dungeon lies.
The Soul with Earth's already clad,
Earth upon earth would make more sad.
Shall wings make massie Mountains fly?
Shall hands stitch Earth unto the sky?
Then dung-bill dro [...]es scale Heaven may,
And Muck-worms creep i'th' Milkie way.
To carry Earth to Heav'n some think:
But must Earth rise? or Heaven sink?
Nor Earth nor Heaven must be their prize;
But a fools (Mah'mets) Paradise.
If yet thine Earth to Earth adhere,
Then let the Dead the Dead interre;
If thou can't lift the inferior part;
Yet, as Gods Offring, heave thine heart.
Thy Body's but thy Beast, and sure
All else is but its furniture:
Leave then thy heavy jade below,
Up to the place that God shall show.
Earth's ever moving to Earths Center;
Man's for a more sublime Advent'r:
'Tis pitty Dust in th' Ayre or Eye
Should hinder a Celestiall spie.
With lumbering Body leave behinde?
The low, th' ignoble, servile mind:
Such men I mean as can't out-pass
Old Abrah'ms servants, or his Ass,
The secret secker only knows
What secrets Heaven can disclose.
Gods Holy of Holies still shuts out
The vulgar and unholy rout.
In secret places of the stairs
And clefts of Rocks lye mine Affaires.
Angels will scarce in crouds appear.
We say The few'r the better chear.
If busie Ants of mole-hill birth
Promiscuously converse on Earth,
Let th' High-born Bird of Paradise
Scorning the Earth, still scale the skies.
An Ant-hill and Exchange agree,
Save, Men the greater Trifters bee,
Thus mortals toyl to live below,
Whilest Man by toyl to Heav'n might go.
What though thou've been shor [...]-winded? sure
Heav'ns hill can Earths green-sickness cure.
Or what needst dread the journeys length,
Whilest all along thy way's thy strength?

II.

BEe'ng thus Ascended, Binde and slaughter
Thy fin, thine Only Child of laughter,
In this Mount God will soon be seen
If some Dear sin dont intervene;
Dear sin indeed? whilest Angels sect
Their first Estates for it and Hell.
Dear sin! whilest for its bu [...]ks men do
Fair Heavens houshold-bread forgo.
A present flash, and future flame
Is the best Income sin can name.
'Twas sin eclips'd the Angels Crown,
And what brought them, will keep thee, down.
Man dost not see how Cherubs stand
With flaming swords on every hand,
From rape of such to guard Lifes Tree
As of dead works the workers bee?
Ah! guilty soul, dar'st look abroad,
Or unagreed dar'st walk with God?
To reconcile dar'st thou aspire
Thy dross with that consuming fire?
Sure such Attonement shall begin,
When sin proves grace, or grace proves sin.
Since Earth's too dead, too dark, too low;
Sure Hell to Heav'n shall never go.

III.

BEe'ng thus far onward in this steep,
Wouldst further climbe? then learn to creep.
Who try can tell th' Ascents like these
Are the best s [...]al'd on th' hands and knees.
Angels first rose, then fell; and so
By growing too high, became so low.
But Christ did raise his Royall Crest
By building such a lowly nest,
The Pharisee that nothing knows
Of the true Temple, boldly goes
Into its shadow there to boast
Reck'ning proud fool without his Host.
The Publican doth smite upon
His Heart, as if 'twere made of stone:
Which stone despised thought 't lay below
Did to a Temple sooner grow.
Unto Gods Altar nakedness
God suffers to have no access:
Th' indowments of mens minds we call
Their parts, importing therewithall,
No man of parts can decent be
Unless cloath'd with humilitie,
The Highest to the low gives grace:
Who veil [...]heir own shall see his face▪
In dust and ashes self abhor'd
Are the accepted of the Lord.
Most flaring fair fac'd Dinas are
Sooner undone for being fair:
The veil'd Rebekah Isaac takes,
And his dear bosom-consort makes.
How can a near acquaintance grow?
Whilest God proud hear [...]s far off doth know
Proud hearts know not themselves and then
Sure Heav'n must needs be out o [...] ken.
Whilest the void Aire and worthless wind
Brooks no way to be down confin'd,
Earthquakes must all things overthrow
Rather than empty Aire keep low;
Gems, Jewels; India's Treasures dwell
In meanest Caverns low roof'd Cell.
Thus from the pots the Lord doth take
And into Crowns his Treasures make.
Would'st then be profited by mee
From earth, sin, and proud self get free.
Yet 'tis a Trinity indeed
After the which with winged speed
I would pursue, and ever may
Both body, soul, and spirit pray.
He whom I seek, and ever shall
Is THREE, and ONE: And ONE and ALL.

MEDITATE upon these things, give thy self wholly to them, that thy proffiting may appear to all,

1 Tim. 4.51.
FINIS.

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