CERTAIN MEDITATIONS UPON JUSTIFICATION By Christ alone.
THe News is good, Christ shed his Blood,
Our peace is made in Heaven;
And now He's gone, up to His Throne,
All Power to him is given.
Shall Sin or Hell, God's People quell,
Or ever keep them under;
Lo, Christ hath dy'd, Sin Crucified,
And Hell-Bars rent assunder.
Our Glorie's great, we are Compleat,
In Gods Free-Love we stand;
We are on High, Exalted by
Christs own Victorious Hand.
We once were Lost, to Hell did Post,
But God in Mercie Found us;
And now he hath, taught us Lifes Path,
And with his Glory Crownd us.
The Blood of Christ, our Great High-Priest,
Which once for us was Shed;
Hath Purg'd the Blot, and Cleans'd the Spot,
Wherewith we were bespread.
A Glorious Change, a Wonder Strange,
That Sin should not Defile;
And those appear, as Christ, most Dear,
Who once did seem so Vile.
All things Behind, are out of Mind,
The Saints are made Divine;
Fixt in the Love, of God above,
In Glory they do shine.
None are so Dear, nor yet so Near,
With God they are made One;
Who now doth see them such to be,
As is his onely Son.
Christ is our Guide, we cannot Slide,
Or ever Fall away;
Our State is sure, and must indure,
Though all things else decay.
Then let's be Bold, our Heads uphold,
The Time is drawing nigh;
Where we shall Reign, and eak Remain,
With Christ Eternally.
Let all Base Fears, and Needless Cares,
Out of our Mind remove;
With speed let's flye, to God on High,
And dwell with him above.
Where we shall be from all Fears Free,
Which here do us Annoy;
And then Possest of Perfect Rest,
In our Dear Saviours
Joy.
Which to Obtain, let us Remain,
Doing our Fathers Will;
Waiting the day, when He shall say,
Come, Children, Take your Fill.
All is your own, to Feast upon,
Your Father hath to give;
Your Glass is Run, your Work is Done,
In Pleasure you shall Live.
No more Dejected, Faith's
That is in Heaven.
Neglected,To which now bid Fare-well;
And Welcome Love, that Grace above,
Which onely doth Excel.
Now Faith doth Cease, Love shall Increase,
In Fulness of Degree;
By which we shall, appear to all,
Perfect, like Christ to be.
FINIS.
London, Printed for Elizabeth Andrews, at the White-Lion, near Pye-Corner.