VERSES, Presented to his Masters in the Ward of St. Giles's Cripplegate, within the Freedom.
On Christmass Day.
CHristmass is come; The great Cathedral Feast:
Christmass, the day of Labour, not of Rest,
On which the Word, and Workman of Creation,
Came, not to rest, but work for our Salvation:
He came, according to Prophetick Truth,
To work, to be in labour from His youth:
Descending to a Manger, from his Throne:
He came to do our bus'ness, not his own.
Another for Christmass Day.
VVIth Angels man now sing with chearful voice,
More cause hast thou, than Angels to rejoice:
The Peace proclaim'd this morn, is for thy sake,
For thee did God, our human nature take,
To gain his lost-sheep-man, of Grace bereft,
Whil'st Ninety Nine, he in the Desert left.
For St. Stephen's Day.
BLessed St.
Stephen, whom the faithless
Jews
Did apprehend, and falsly him accuse:
For speaking Truth, he Stoned was to death;
And for his Deaths-men, pray'd to his last breath.
Being th' first Martyr, as true Story saith,
That ever suffer'd for the Christian Faith.
For St. John's Day.
St.
John, who was sirnamed, The Divine,
Having set forth his Gospel, most Sublime;
In boiling Oyl, confirm'd the Truth he wrote,
Where
John receiv'd a Martyrs Crown; in Vote
Of whom we read no other Martyrdom;
What if
John stay (said Christ) until I come?
For Innocents Day.
THE
Bethlem-Babes this day receiv'd their Harms,
The Soldiers cut them from their Mothers arms;
Herod commands it, and it must be done;
So, to cut off the Worlds Salvation:
Nothing could move, nor melt the Tyrant's eyes,
Not the Babes Innnocence, nor Mothers cries.
But
Herod's curs'd Design God did prevent,
And Christ for safety, was to
Egypt sent.
On the late unhappy Fire in the City.
GOds's heavy Scourge laid late upon the City,
What Eye beheld it, but with tears of pity!
How fast the Fire the Houses did unframe,
And stately Streets were lickt up by the flame!
The formidable warning of whose Rod,
Make us use penitent means to move our God,
To put his Sword of Indignation up,
Lest all be made to taste of the same Cup.
Lord, who vouchsafed'st with miraculous speed,
To free thy Servants here in time of need,
From th' all-deserving-fury of thy wrath,
Which on our Neighbours heavy lighted hath:
Though 'tis acknowledg'd, we as faulty were
Whom thou hast spar'd, as those that suffer'd there:
All Praise for this thy special Mercy done,
Be to thy Name, so long as Ages run.
London has drunk of Sorrow's Cup so deep,
That now for Ages, She is laid to sleep;
But in regard that underneath the Cope,
She was the Phoenix-City, there is hope
Our Children may survive to see the day,
When from th' Old Phoenix-City,
London may
A new proceed;
London made new agen,
A penitent Habitation for new men.
LONDON, Printed Decemb. the 24th, in the Year MDC.LX.VII.