A Loyal SUBJECT'S Loveing ADVICE: OR, The only way to Happiness heare and heareafter, is to fear GOD and Honour the KING, which is to be Obtained by Earnest Prayer.
This may be Printed
November the 11th 1685.
R. L. S.
THE want of Prayer proves the Souls Decay,
Men cease to Prosper when they cease to Pray;
Heaven's in that Prayer, when Circl'd round with Vice,
Man Conquers Sin, that's Prayers Paradice.
The fixing of our Hearts on Heaven by Prayer,
Heals Sins deep Festering Wounds, Kills killing Care.
O thou Eternal sempeternal Light,
Give me the power to Pray, to pray aright:
Souls that will mount, and gain Coelestial Crown,
Must Pray with Ardency, look up, not down.
Man's mingling Prayer with Earths cold Cogitation,
Merits swift Vengeance, cloath'd in Black Damnation.
Think on thy God, then in thy days of Youth,
Search in the Morning of thy Years for Truth:
No sooner man to Heaven divine Thoughts reare,
But straight the Devil whispers in his Eare.
Think on the World, thy Wealth, thy poor Estate,
Means must be had, think on thy Neighbours hate;
Think on revenge, think on thy change, thy crosses,
Thy Law-suits, Ships at Sea, thy Land, thy Losses;
Away with Prayer, puzel not thy Braine,
Mind thou what's present, what's to come refraine:
Thus speaks the subtil Feind, of purpose bent,
To put us out of practice to Repent;
Like a false Sexton, he sets back the Clock
To delay time, maks that our Stumbling Block:
[Page] With glorious Outside, and deceitful Riches,
Satan fools Mortals, Wisest men Bewitches.
O Hell of Hells! man to the Coelestial Race
Do's seldome run, but with a Jade like pace,
Never considering how the mind, that's wrapt
In willful Wickedness, is ever apt
To pine at Kings, snarl at pious Laws,
Stir Rebbels on, to fight Religions Cause;
When Truth, and all true Christians know Religion
Consists in true Obedience, not Rebellion.
Men that give way to ill, to increase their good,
Bring Famine on a Land, fierce Fire and Blood.
Mercies bright Majestie, the Almighty strong,
That tumbles down, the mighty only can
Make the most potent Prince the poorest man:
The peace of Kingdoms in a Breath disjoynt,
Spit all Earths Children on Wars Rapiers point;
Turn fruitful Fields to Iron, burn the Grass,
And for our Sins convert the Heavens to Brass.
Swell surging Seas, ye dreadful Deeps with Waves,
Storms, Famine, Fire, and Sword to Dig our Graves:
He must, he must; bad States-men ne'ar so big,
Fall off themselves in time, break like a Twig.
As one Naile drives another out of place,
So Time clears Truth, drives Flattrie to disgrace;
Flatters are fearful Fiends, bright Honours sting,
Serpents, the worst of Traytors to a King,
Dissembling Hypocrites, by Hells aid appointed
To Create Plots, to grieve the Lords Anointed.
Prayer, like to hasty Power, fir'd shall choak,
Flame Viperous Rebbels to a suddain smoak.
God bless King JAMES, and all Discension Cease,
That we at last may have Eternal Peace.
JOHN PIKE.
FINIS.
LONDON, Printed for PETER PIKE, 1685.