THE Pilgrim's Viaticum: OR, THE DESTITUTE, but not FORLORN. BEING A DIVINE POEM, Digested from MEDITATIONS UPON THE Holy Scripture.
By ELIZ. TIPPER.
Oh how love I thy Law! It is my Meditation all the Day, Psal. 119. Ver. 97.
LONDON: Printed by J. Wilkins, near Fleet-street; and Sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster, 1698.
TO THE Right Honourable and Renownedly Vertuous, THE Lady COVENTRY.
MADAM,
THE Corruptions of this Age are so strangly increased and complyed with, that few complain of them as Temptations; but, with a Modish Curiosity, rather affect them as things fashionable; so that to rebuke Vice boldly, requires more Courage than our Sex usually pretend to; and not to fall in with it, looks like a piece of Singularity.
But, thanks be to GOD, that Piety and Vertue have still a good Name in the World; and there are some Illustrious Persons, who, by their great Examples, give them Countenance, and a just Patronage. Hence it is I address Your Ladyship for Sanctuary, knowing, that amidst the Storms and Persecutions of a degenerate Age, my humble Endeavours can meet with no securer Harbor, than under Your Ladyships Protection.
I have, in this Essay, presented Your Ladyship with some Consolatory Thoughts, under the uneasy Circumstances of my own Life: This can affect Your Ladyship no otherwise than as You are surrounded with the Contraries; or in that You have nobly conquer'd those Sorrows, which weaker Minds are forced to labour under all their Days.
May Heaven continue its Blessings to the Age, by preserving Your Ladyship as [Page]the great Luminary of Devotion, and Charity, and the Patroness of all those who, in their Order, practise the same Vertues in Sincerity: Which is the Prayers of,
MADAM,
Your Ladiships most Humble Obedient, and most Devoted Servant, Elizabeth Tipper.
In Laudem Dominae ELIZABETHAE TIPPERAE, Divinae Poetioes Studiosae, nec non horum Miscellaneorum Authoris Percellebris.
LUX tua fulgescat latum diffusa per Orbem,
O Decus, & Sexûs Gloria Magna tui.
Dulces scribe modos: Sacris incumbe libellis,
Dum sis Angelicis Mista Puella Choris.
Summa petas Nisae: Nobis eris altera Sappho:
Cantabunt numeros secula sera tuos.
Dulcia Tipperae resonabunt laudibus Antra
Parnassi, & Cirrhae concava saxa sacrae.
Carmina Tipperae doctus laudavit Apollo:
Musae versiculis obstupuêre tuis.
Carmina mirata est Tipperae docta Minerva
Mollia Divinae, Pieridum (que) Chori.
Laurea Tipperae porrexit serta Thalia,
At (que) ait, "Haec vestris indue Signa Comis.
"O Tibi quàm dulcis, quàm lucidus ingenii fons!
"Quantum Divino manat ab Ore melos!
"Ornamenta gerit Sexus Pius altera: Tipper
"Ornata est hederis tempora docta sacris.
Jos. Perkins, A.B.
Thus Englished:
THy brighter Lustre doth it self disperse;
And, like the Sun, inform the Universe:
Thou, Glory of Thy Sex! Write, Gharm, and Gain,
The Angel-Consort by thy Sacred Strain:
Climb Nisa, MAID, Thou shalt our Sappho be,
Thy Pious Odes sung by Posterity;
The pleasing Cells of all inspired Verse,
Parnassus, Cyrrha, shall Thy Name rehearse:
By learn'd Apollo Thou art lov'd and prais'd,
And, at Thy Skill, the Muses stand amaz'd:
Minerva and the Pieridian Quire,
Thy soft and sublime Poetry admire;
Thalia holds the Lawrel-Garland forth,
And cries, This Trophy well becomes Thy Worth;
How sweet's Thy slowing Wit! How pure Thy Hymns!
With grateful Musick store the Seraphims.
By others of Thy Sex be Top-knots worn,
The Immortal Ivy shall Thy Head adorn.
John Torbuck, Rector of Lurgershall, Wilts.
To Mrs. Tipper, on her incomparably Ingenious and Divine Poems.
HAil! Mirrour of thy Sex, in whom we find,
Resplendant Rays, in your Seraphick Mind,
Whilst Great JEHOVAH does your Soul inspire,
And Cherubs sing their Anthems to your Lyre,
Then you salute, with Bays and Ivy crown'd,
Wreath'd by Minerva's Hand, in Mistick round,
Your Muse proclaim, tuning Immortal Sound;
Whence Sacred Flights, do Balmy Sweets propose,
More fragrant far, than Jass'min, or the Rose,
And your Perswasive Sounds for to rehearse,
Oblige High Adoration in your Verse;
For none Oblation pay to Truths Divine,
But Reverence owe, to those made them sublime;
For how can Precepts strike obedient Awe,
Unless imprinted by those made the Law:
Hence Paul politely Rhetorician plays,
David allures, with Hymns and Spiritual Lays,
Consult the God-like Rules of Levy's Tribe,
The Heathens Envy, but Religion's Pride,
In all the Maze of Ignorance you'l see,
Tradition, Worship rais'd, to One and Three:
As these, by God inspir'd, perpetuate Fame,
By Pious Acts, and an All-glorious Name;
So you both Darling of the Powers Above,
And Muses too, their Mansion of true Love,
Elected are, their White and Galless Dove;
What other Ladies write, is Hate or Ire,
Or else soft Strains, heated thro' Passion's Fire,
Whose Thoughts to wanton Bliss devoted are,
Whilst Hallow'd Rites are your peculiar Care,
Whose finite Joys, scarce reach a barren Praise,
When Your's, with Transports, Emulation raise,
Compar'd to that, so vast transcendant's this
Of Theirs and Yours, no more proportion is,
Than fleeting Joys, of momentary stay,
To Millions of Millions there in endless Day.
Go on, bless'd Maid, this Galaxy pursue,
By God's above, decreed alone for you,
Your beatifick Visions, Glory sing,
Whilst Eccho's jocound Acclamations bring,
And Io-Paeans ever, ever ring;
With rilling Cadence eternize the Nine,
Indeliable to perishing Fate of Time,
Till your Translation to the Heavenly Throne,
Their Hallelujahs sound, to the All-great Three, One.
W. P. Gent
To Mrs. Tipper, on her Paraphrastical Poems, upon several Select Passages of Scripture.
CEase Trumpet, cease, and gentle Stars inspire
Our long distracted World with nobler Fire,
Art, Science, Wit, whose Empire War invades,
Rise with thy Lawrel from the Northern Shades,
While meaner Monarchs justle in their Claim,
Assert thy Right of Universal Fame.
Thus far propitious Heaven, implor'd, does yield,
And to Minerva's Off-spring leaves the Field.
An harder Task my Suppliant Muse does vex,
While I command, not court, the aspiring Sex,
Their trifling Glories vanquish'd to submit,
Prostrate to this She-Oracle of Wit,
Whose Sacred Muse in Hallalujahs move,
To sing and praise the GOD of Peace and Love,
The modern Wits embroider with a Grace,
As Prostitutes do an uncomely Face:
Immodest Themes so bold, with Art so fine,
And, Wythes like, first rot, before they shine,
The Lawrel he usurps whose least divine,
Striving to ease our Cares, but cannot please,
And intermit those Pains they ne'r can ease.
Such Balm in her Philosophy is found,
As makes the bitter Cup of Life go round,
Purl'd with the Quintessence of Moral Wit,
Which all that read, may taste, but none can get.
David, to see his Songs restor'd from the Dark,
Rejoic'd, as once he did before the Ark,
And, from the Willows, takes his tuneful Lyre,
Whilst in her Hand he kindles Sacred Fire,
By which he did the cruel Saul asswage,
To quench worse Spirits of our Modern Age.
What Paul and Seneca in Labours wrote,
She in her Life has to Perfection brought,
To keep the Passions in severest Awe,
Reject Usurping Arbitrary Law,
And, when no Safety can from Tempest find,
Retires within the Halcyon of her Mind:
Thus, ne'r engaging, meets with no defeat,
But gains a Victory by a wise Retreat.
A. L. Esquire.
To Mrs. Tipper, on her Divine Poems.
AS we are told, That all they do above,
Cowley.
Is only that they Sing, and that they Love;
What wondrous Charms must endless Hymns inspire,
When the Immortal Songsters of the Choir
Not ev'n their whole long Eternal Chant can't tire,
And the Celestial Muse, whilst all around
The Extasi'd, continu'd Raptures sound?
That honour'd Head, what Glories has she given,
Thus grac'd, to furnish half the Work of Heaven?
The Muses, yes, in that Seraphick Sphear,
Are all Urania's and Apollo there,
Beneath the Footstool of JEHOVAH's Throne,
Kneels to a Brighter Sun than was his own.
If Harmony, with that enlightning Beam,
Tunes her loud Musick to that Mighty Theme,
Madam, Your MUSE, tho' with a feebler Voice,
The same High Subject makes her Sacred Choice;
Tun'd to the Great Creator's just Applause,
That Pen writes best, that from Luke's Pensil draws,
And 'tis that Poetry does truly shine,
That Copies from Originals Divine.
E. S. Gent.
To Mrs. Tipper, on her Miscellany of Divine Poems.
AMongst the various Actions of Mankind,
Rivals in Wit, as well as Love, we find;
But you, alone, the glorious Prize must gain,
You merit it by so Divine a Strain;
Urania is thy Muse, the Heavenly Quire
Thy Soul with purest Raptures does inspire,
Chaste as thy Self, and Sacred are thy Rhimes,
Which, not polluted by corrupting Times,
Shall make Profaner Scriblers all submit,
And own thee as the Type of Heavenly Wit;
Thy Theme and Inspirations from above;
Heaven is thy Parnassus and thy Love;
Each rising Thought does with the blushing Morn,
The Beauties of thy chaster Soul adorn;
A Harmony in every Line appears,
Much like the Heavenly Musick of the Spheres:
Phillips and Behn, whose Praise Fame still rehearse,
In all their Works don't paralel thy Verse,
Which unto after Ages shall remain,
And the sweet Odour of thy Worth retain.
Parnassus is but low, thy flighty Soul,
Her Head above that Mountain does Extol,
The Mystick Scite of Heaven is thy Aim,
Celestial LOVE, not Carnal, is thy Theme,
Tho' the most Nice of Criticks do combine,
They cannot Damn a thing that's so Divine.
John Hallum.
To Mrs. Eliz. Tipper, on her Super-excellent Miscellany of Divine Poems.
Gratior est Virtus e corpore pulchro veniens.
HAd Herbert, Quarles, or other Sacred Pen,
These Meditations tun'd, Encomiums then
Were but just Tributes to the Work Divine;
But since thy Lips the Verses more refine,
Celestial Hymns should sound before thy Shrine.
What shall I say in such a spacious Field,
Where th' meanest Shrubs large Contemplations yield;
Thy Wit's Refin'd, thy Theme, as Heaven, Sublime,
Each Breathing Accent makes a Clouse Divine.
Oft I have seen, like Parrats in a Cage,
Men Prate by Rote, upon the publick Stage,
Tell this and that, and Precepts largely Preach,
Tho' few, like thee, by try'd Experience Teach:
Experienc'd Knowledge, Mistress of True Art,
In Sweetest Lays thou dost to us impart.
Go on, Chast Maid, thy Virtues still renew,
Whilst in thy Lines at once we clearly view,
Minerva and the Beautious Venus too.
Many Daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all, Prov. 31.29.
E. Steele.
On the Holy Bible.
NOT mortal Wit, but blest Aetherial Fire,
Assist me, and my sacred Muse inspire;
My Subject's greater than those Glories all,
That glister in the splendor of Earths Ball:
Scepters and Crowns fall much below my Theme,
And Heroes warlike Deeds are but a Dream:
No Extasy of Lovers soft Delight,
But of the Oracles of God I write.
Shall I, with reverence, strive to show the worth?
Alas! 'tis not for Clay to set it forth.
All that the largest Soul on Earth can crave,
Within this sacred Volume they may have:
This is Perfections Clew, by whose blest guide
Full Streams of Joys divine for ever tide,
Where each distrusting Soul may swim with ease,
In all the blissful Billows that can please:
The Learned may on choicest Knowledge feed;
The Ignorant of greatest Wisdom speed:
The Poorest, here see vaster Riches shine
Than sparkle in the Spaniards golden Mine:
Here wearied Souls a sweeter Rest does crown,
Than Bodies on the softest Beds of Down;
And troubled Minds find Peace in larger measure,
Than Ages give in Halcyon Days of Pleasure:
The Sad with more exalted Joys be fill'd,
Than all the Mirth of this vain World can yield:
Through Faith in These the Weak are Stronger made,
Than Gyants which the World with Arms invade;
Wisdom, Strength, Riches, Joys, Rest, Peace abound,
And all the Good of Life in Them is found.
How vain is She that seeks for Comfort, Lord,
In any thing, but in Thy Self and Word,
Some Experimental Passages of my LIFE, with Reflections upon Jacob's Words, Few and Evil have the days of the years of my Life been.
'TIs strange that he Unborn, ere he saw Light,
Destin'd a Victor, and Heaven's Favourite,
Should almost at the Period of his Age,
Give this relation of his Pilgrimage,
Yet 'tis not strange, since mortal Life we see
No more from Sorrow than from Death is free.
My Life the assertion much has verifi'd,
From Part to Part, by sad Experience try'd,
In all my Undertakings still been crost,
And like a Ball from hand to hand been tost.
Five Years i'th Prime of all my Youth I spent,
Recluse as 'twere from the World, in Banishment:
And Hermit like in all things did I dwell,
An uncouth Cottage serving for my Cell;
For several Days and Nights sometimes been driven
To Silence, save the Words I spoke to Heaven.
My constant Visits Fields and Woods receiv'd,
Who at my oft resorting never griev'd;
But bounteously with Sunshine, Air, and Shade,
Their frequent Visitant still happy made;
One dear and courteous Tree, above the rest,
Did oft invite me to become her Guest;
Upon her root I hourly sate, and Read,
Her towering Branches sheltering my Head;
And when I Kneel'd, the kind officious Grass,
The verdant Covering of my Cushion was.
The like Good-will have Hedges to me born,
And distant Furrows of the growing Corn:
To this the Evening oft hath met my Fast,
And Tears the longest day been my Repast:
Yet these Afflictions, Lord, more Joy I own,
Than have the Vicious, who possess a Throne:
Nor can I at a Flood of Tears repine,
Till I forget that Bloody Sea of Thine.
O grant me Resignation till I see
How 'tis Thy Pleasure to dispose of me.
My Penance now seem'd something to abate,
And glimering Beams of Sun-shine dart from Fate:
Two of my greatest Wants at once supply'd,
IMPLOYMENT and SOCIETY beside:
My Happiness. this large Addition found,
New Joys with Honourable Friendship crown'd.
No more my Brow contracted now appears,
Nor Eye-Balls fretted Red with Briny Tears:
Save when in Penitence and Care I mourn'd,
That GOD's withdrawing Beams might be return'd
This Sun-shine Fortune did not long remain,
Ere 'twas eclips'd by a dark Cloud again:
My Comforts sever'd by that Unseen Hand,
Which Prosperous and Adverse Fate both command.
Then, by the Counsel of a real Friend,
I am advis'd my Precious Time, to spend
No more in a poor Village, but repair
To a City, try the Smiles of Fortune there.
What this may signify, 'tis GOD best knows;
My Fortune ever Ebbs, but never Flows.
The Wicked, Careless, Foolish; all I see,
Her Kindness have, which is deny'd to me:
'Tis so, Great GOD, and to it I submit,
And all things else Thy Wisdom shall think sit.
This only thing I begg, while I have Breath,
Grant me an HONEST LIFE and HAPPY-DEATH.
MEDITATION I.
‘Rejoycing in Hope, Patient in Tribulation, continuing instant in Prayer. Rom. 12. ver. 12.’
HOW do I Read and Marvel; Read again,
And wonder at St. Paul's Inspired Pen,
That in One Verse could such a Sermon write,
And so much Duty in few Words recite.
O that my Practice his Three Precepts wrought,
As Undivided as the Mind and Thought.
What Tribulation is there could suppress
The Living Flames of hop'd for Happiness,
Which rises with an unresisted Sway,
Breaks out in Light, and forces Night to Day;
Tramples the Clouds of Darkness, new assumes
The Tow'ring Seat, and Sadness quite consumes:
Or, if the gnawing Grief of Discontent,
Seem'd, for a while, to keep in Banishment,
This Bliss of universal great Support,
PATIENCE Invincible would guard the Fort;
No strugling Sorrow ere could make a Breach,
The Feuds of Grief might to my Spirits reach;
But as a Rock Unmov'd should I remain,
See the Waves come, dash, and fall back again
In scatter'd Pieces to their furious Main.
Lastly, the Complication, Spring, and Crown
Of these high Blessings, and the rest, come down
By (the unequall'd) Benefit of PRAYER,
Which Sues, Prevails, and Binds our Makers Care;
This lock'd the Heavens Three Years from giving Rain;
And This brought Showers, unlocking them again.
This quench'd the Fire; when, by their Aiding GOD,
Three Men, through Flames, the burning Pavement trod
This did a Life from Hungry Lyons save,
And made their Mouths a Guard, design'd a Grave,
So calm'd their Fury, hush'd their Rage so still,
They did not look like things design'd to kill.
Blest DUTY! of Divinest Insluence,
I love, adore, and chuse thy Excellence:
By Thee the Series of my Minutes can
Find Solid Joys in this my Weary Span.
Had I all Pleasures Earth could give beside,
They'd want a Charm, were thy Delights deny'd:
For, Glittering Riches, or the Sound of Fame,
Accomplish'd Parts, and an Illustrious Name,
Are all but Outward Things, far from Content,
Without the Hours in dear DEVOTION spent.
Give me but This, the True, and Perfect Way,
Let Them disperse to whom, and where They may.
Could Flesh with Purity Enliven'd be,
Made, like the Spirit, Vigorous and Free;
In these Sublime Delights I should not care,
But for the Practice and Effects of PRAYER.
O for a Strength of PRAYER to mount my Soul,
In Raptures far above the Starry Pole:
So Wing'd my soaring Flight should never tire,
Till I sate down to Rest in the Eternal Choir.
MEDITATION II.
‘Who went about Doing Good, Acts 10.38.’
WHen the great Lord of Life on earth was plac'd,
(Whom wicked men with Cauelty disgrac'd
And with Rebellious Fury shed his Blood)
His Conversation was in Doing Good.
Raise up, dear Lord, my Sin depressed State,
This Pattern of Thy Life to Imitate:
As for the Miracles Thy Power exprest,
In Healing those by Devils long possest;
Making the Blind to See, the Dumb to Talk,
The Lepers, Clean; the Lame, with Vigour, Walk.
I begg not to Do These; these Works I own
To Thee peculiar, and Thy Saints alone.
Nor dare my humble Thoughts a Wish aspire,
For these High Gifts to be at my Desire;
But I Initiated was to be
A True and Lively Follower of Thee:
And, as for all Mankind Thou shed'st thy Blood;
So I was Born to Live in Doing Good.
Nor must I say my Hinderances are
Beyond the Power of Religious Care:
What tho' thou hast not lent me Wealth to be
Thy Faithful Steward, Dole my Cbarity
And with Extensive Bounty, at my Door,
Act dayly Goodness on the Suffering Poor;
Whilst Thy High Pleasure for my Lot ordains,
That Poverty my willing Hands restrains.
What tho' I do want Power to Help, Relieve,
The Oppres'd who injur'd by Injustice grieve;
And what tho' no proud Honour deck my Brow:
A Station High to make me seen below,
So Seen that Leading of a Life Divine,
Might stand a Pattern to make Virtue shine;
Tho' neither Wealth, nor Honour, nor Power are
Alotted or Permitted to my Share.
By all these Fetters and these Checks withstood,
Am I deny'd the Means of Doing Good?
Ah no! restrain my Thoughts from thinking this;
Since thou know'st best, what most Convenient is:
Make me a Christian inwardly conform'd
To all these Sufferings which the Cross adorn'd;
From this worlds Pleasure and Affection hurl'd,
And Live by other Light, as in another world,
With different Principles, Proceedings new;
Vertue Embrace, Folly and Vice Eschew:
My Precious Time in no vain Pleasure wast;
But have for Spiritual Things another Tast,
Show my Obedience, in the highest Nature,
And sole Dependance on my Blest Creator;
With true Submission meekly take all Crosses,
And have a Relish for Contempts and Losses;
Pleas'd only with a Life of Faith, and then
Slight all the Mockeries of Worldly Men,
Who Judge not but by Sence; or, at the most,
By Human Reason, too much to their Cost.
This Suffering Life in real Practice shown,
Could be to me Wealth, Honour, and a Crown:
No more I need not ask to Bless my Days,
Or cast a Lustre on my Gloomy Ways;
To make a shining Light at once to be,
Example to others, and safe Guide to me.
Lord, let not this be only Barren Thought,
But to Maturer Growth of Action brought.
MEDITATION II.
‘Fret not thy self, because of the Ungodly; neither be thou envious against the Evil Doers, Psalm 37.1.’
TO see the Wicked in a Prosperous State,
Surrounded with the Happiness of Fate;
Their Humours pleas'd, their Undertakings Blest;
Their Pains Successful, and their Goods Increast;
Their Pleasures flowing, as their Vices are;
And Minds disburthen'd of all other Care:
So far am I from Envying at this Sight;
Or Grudging, that I would not, if I might,
For all the Treasures in Rich Ophir's Soyl,
Even for their Happiness exchange my Toyl:
Their best Enjoyments Poor and Empty are;
And all their Pleasure but a Flattering Snare;
Their Prime Felicities in Folly's past,
And Joys which like declining Shadows wast
Thus Swift in Vanity from Vertue stray;
And to Destruction gayly March away:
Then comes the Terror of approaching Death,
They must Resign their discontinuing Breath;
Tortur'd to Think upon a Mournful Knell,
And Rack'd with Horrour at the Thoughts of Hell:
MEDITATION IV.
‘Thou art about my Path, and about my Bed, and spyest out all my Ways, &c. Psalm, 139. ver. 2.3’
THere is no Path of Life, in which I go:
But what thou view'st, & every Step dost know
If in the Way of Vertue I go on,
Immediately its, by Thy Wisdom, known.
Nor dost thou Unrewarded let me pass,
But Crown'st with Benefits my Running Glass
And, if deluded from this happy Way
Of Virtue, I erronious go astray
Into the privatest closest Path of Sin,
I presently perceive Thee Looking in;
And with thy Glance dost strike me with a Terror
Of future Judgements for my Sinful Error:
In vain do I endeavour to conceal,
What thy All-seeing Eye must needs reveal:
My Heart has no retired secret Thought,
But openly is to thy Knowledge brought:
Nor dos a Word through my whole Life, tho nere
So softly Whisper'd, scape thy Righteous Ears.
O let me, with Humility, admire
This great Omniscience, and no more desire
The dark Perverseness of a Sinful Course;
Since thou discoverest All; and, what is worse,
Condemn'st it to the Miserable State
Of Hells great Torment, and thy endless Hate.
MEDITATION V.
‘If ye love me, keep my Commandments, Joh. 14.15.’
MUst there an IF be made for Loving thee,
In whom the Mirror of Perfections be;
Fairer than Light thy Charming Beauties shine,
No Angel's Form was ever so Divine:
Never did Prince of such an Offspring come,
Nor Lover like thee suffer Martyrdom:
An Angel's Quill I want to write the Story
Of thy great Passion, High Descent, and Glory:
But stopp'd with Wonder, now I would say most,
My Ravish'd Soul is in a Rapture lost:
Who should I Love but thee, where can I find
An Object like thee to inflame my Mind.
Should any Fellow-creature ask me this,
Love you the Mighty Lord of Life and Bliss?
I should injuriously the Question take,
In such a case, should they a scruple make,
And, in a vehement Heat, be apt to cry
Judge of my Love, by what I now reply,
He is the only Regent of my Heart,
I scorn the Rival that should claim a part:
Confin'd in a Lone Desert, I could be,
Having an Intercourse 'twixt him and me:
The want of Food I could contented bear,
So I might have but my Beloved near:
I'de wander all my Life through Sun and Wind,
In Tears, if Tears alone, my Dear could find;
Compar'd to him, my Friends, Relations, Birth,
Each, all I hate, all that is dear on Earth:
My Blood I'll spend, and Life will Sacrifice
For his dear Honour, which I so much prize.
These great Pretensions would be apt to skip
From my most passionate unwary Lip;
But thou hast try'd me at an easier Hand,
By bidding of me keep thy Bless'd Command;
In which no rigid Task thou dost impose,
Or least true Satisfaction bid me lose,
Love God, and Love my Neighbour, Watch and Pray
Oh! Can I wish in these to disobey?
What can be easier, sweeter, less severe;
Or, to my Mind more rational appear?
Pleasing while I perform, and in th' event,
Of Happiness the certain Consequent.
Oh let me shew I these Commands approve,
And by my keeping of them dearly Love.
MEDITATION VI.
‘Set your Affections on things above, Çol. 3.1.’
ALas! Dull Earth, where can I place on thee
Affection and one moment happy be;
I've view'd thee through, I've minded all events
Of VVorldly Grosses, and its Blandishments;
And as the first by few can be desired,
The last as little is to be admired:
One is a Thorny Trouble, still perplexing,
T'other an Empty Show, and therefore vexing:
Experimenting Both, I too well try'd,
Grosses vext, and Pleasures never satisfied:
This made my Thoughts damp, liveless, sad & slow,
Each Minute tiresome while they staid below;
And wearyed much into Impatience grew,
Till they left Earth, and up with vigour flew,
Then soaring in all true Delights above,
I quickly found where I might fix my Love;
Perceiving Bliss which never met controul,
And Satisfaction Solid as the Soul;
A Joy so great, untrifling, and so blest,
If I might in the Meditation rest,
I nere should Love a Thought of Earth again,
More than a Fit of Sickness or of Pain:
For nothing less I contemplate and See,
Than the vast Joys of large Eternity:
Contenting Vision! how may I possess
For ever, ever this dear Happiness,
There's no way to it, but the Gates of Death,
The dolorous Pangs of an extinguish'd Breath.
But why should this so terrible appear;
Or, either my Aversion move or Fear,
I know it's this must that Advantage bring,
O Frightful Ghastly Death where is thy Sting?
O Conquering Grave where is thy Victory,
When even the vanquish'd tryumph, & through thee,
Lies our Ascent to vast Eternity.
MEDITATION VII.
On Isaiah 5. ver. 1.2.
HO every One almost to Drought accurst,
Who Famish with the cruelty of Thirst,
Come, drink ye Waters freely, take your fill,
Refresh your selves with Plenty, drink at will:
Here's Milk that gives a Nourishment divine,
Not only Heart, but here's Soul cheering Wine.
A Prophet calls, and gives you this Advice,
'Tis Purchased without Mony, without Price;
Why spend you Mony for what is not Bread,
When here you may with Delicates be fed.
On John Baptist being Painted in the Wilderness with a Lamb by him, and Angels descending to him.
THE Sun's my Fire, as well as Light,
The Moon and Stars my Lamps at Night;
Springs are my Cellars of choice VVine,
A Desart's Parlour where I dine.
The Rocks and Woods my Dainties give,
On Locusts I and Hony live;
This Lambs my Guest when ere I eat,
Who equal with me takes his seat;
My Garments of the Flocks I take,
And on the Earth my Bed I make:
Voluptious Greatness I think base,
My Company's of Heavenly Race.
O happy Life! from nauseous Pleasures free,
And from distracting Cares, blest should I be
Were I t' enjoy Mine in a state like Thee.
On Herodias Daughter being Painted with the Head of John Baptist in a Charger, giving it to her Mother.
SEE, dearest Mother, what my Charms has caught,
And to your hand a welcome Present brought,
The powerful Tongue that, at a Breath before,
Shook our whole Grandeur, now shall speak no more;
Nor stern, nor threatning does this Brow appear,
Whose Look was wont to cast a Dread and Fear;
As my Adorer, Languishing he lies,
Imploring Favour from my killing Eyes;
Vanquish'd by me alone, and quite supprest,
Now undisturb'd does in my Arms take Rest.
Augment my Joys with yours, which else will fade,
Whilst here the Hermit I've a Courtier made.
Blest Martyr, is it thus; the Impious scoff,
The Tyrant at a word thy Life cutts off:
Hard case, so great a Prophet living stands
A Sacrifice to Wanton Feet and Bloody Hands:
No matter, let them play their Rigorous Part,
Thou hadst the Blow, but they must feel the Smart;
They have sent thee from a World wretched & friendless,
To dwell with Joys unspeakable & endless
To a Young Lady that desired a Verse of my being Servant one Day, and Mistress another.
MORE than a King's my Word dos rule to day,
His Subjects His, my Betters Mine obey;
Quality, Fortune, Beauty, Virtue, Wit,
Do Govern others, but to me Submit:
I teach Ladies Writing and Accompts one day, and keep Shop-Books the other day, in which Business I am a hired Servant.
To morrow from this Dignity I fall,And am a Servant at each Beck and Call:
Next Day I'me free in Liberty and Power,
And, as before, a Mistress every Hour.
Changeable is my State, and yet not strange,
When Day to Night, and Light to Darkness change:
Yet Fate I cannot blame, but justly own,
She, in this Difference, Evenness hath shown;
For when I'me Mistress, none I can Command,
When Servant, curb'd by no Imperious Hand:
This is a Riddle, yet nere wonder why,
When all the World's a Riddle, why not I?
On REPƲTATION.
BRight Object, whom each Mortal courts to have,
From the great Caesar, to the humble Slave;
From Vertues Sons to Vices blacker Brood,
From Hypocrites to those sincerely Good,
Who pays not Vows to thy most glorious Shrine,
Who does not Idolize that Name of thine;
The Wise and Pious commonly declare,
That much before their Life they thee prefer:
The Prostigate, who takes a sensless Pride
In being base, his Skill has often try'd,
In thy blest Shade his Ulcerous Name to hide.
Since thou art so ador'd, what can I do,
But own I am thy great Admirer too?
Yet, fair One, give me leave before my Love
With too much Passion sixes, first to prove,
If thou hast Blessings true, as those above.
I fear thou art of a mutable Degree,
Weak and defenceless, quickly apt to flee,
Should I place all my Joys in thee alone,
Keep all my Actions fair, that not in one
A Blemish could be found; yet this would be
A small Assurance of possessing thee,
For Censure and Opinion have their swing,
Ill Tongues and bad Belief out-reign a King:
All as they speak or think, their Fame or Faith,
Good or bad Names are still but Popular Breath:
Excuse me therefore, since all this is true,
If I refuse to set my Heart on you.
SECƲRITY.
'TIs not in Princes or Superiors Smiles,
Profound Contrivance or ingenious Wiles,
In boundless Riches or the shining Flame
Of a dear sweet and odoriferous Name,
'Tis not by these rare Pleasures we can be
Plac'd in the Orb of fixt Security.
Transient and vain these tempting Charms have prov'd,
To those who sought them most, and most have lov'd,
And the true Blessing of a Life secure
Is never found but in a Conscience pure,
Whose choicer Wisdom with improving Skill,
Strives Strictly to Obey her Maker's Will;
Regarding That, can Calmly o're and o're
Take Frowns from the same Brow that smil'd before;
Think Riches are but transitory things
Which take uncertain Flights with spreading Wings;
And, with an Intellectual View, despise
The Bubbling Show of Worldly Policies;
See a good Name lye in the stabbing Smart,
Without the Terrours of a troubled Heart;
And with all Earthly Treasure let that go,
Slight as the Dust, if GOD will have it so,
For 'tis his inward Joy which crowns the Mind,
More than in all these outward things we find:
Possest of which we are securely blest,
Whatever does become of all the rest.
To Imploy Fear and Hate.
ASsist, great GOD, this Work which I begin,
Turn my frail Passions, Fear and Hate, at Sin;
Let me not know what 'tis to use my Fear,
Except the danger of a Sin appear;
Then timorous, shivering, flying, let me get
Into the Guards of Vertue's safe retreat,
Immur'd within, whose Sacred Bounds I'de be
Fearful to Think, to Speak, to Hear, or See,
Ought that relates to this grand Enemy;
No Parly would I have, no soft Debate,
No Passion, but my never-ending Hate,
Hate! whose Aversion all Revenge excell'd,
By no Example yet e're paralell'd,
Free and perpetual on this Object spent,
Without an inclination to relent,
Desist or cease; no, not with Life to end,
Nor Time nor Heavens possession: But ascend
And Reign within that glorious Orb, while I
Retain it there to all Eternity:
Thus, when Sin only shall the Object prove
Of my fixt Hate, 'tis GOD has all my Love.
On SƲNDAY.
MOst blissful Day, 'tis for your kind return,
My highest Wishes do in Fervor burn;
You bring such heavenly Sweetness with your Rest,
As if in you alone all Time were blest;
The other Days with loaded Care abound,
Earth's Service drives the heavy Circle round,
And dully fix their Aspect on the Ground:
Your heavenly Looks reach that amazing Throne,
Which yours and my great Maker's seated on;
Never, but upward, your aspiring Head
Tends with a Look: And so my Soul you lead
In such delicious Joys, that, when you are gone,
I still anticipate and reckon on,
How long before you come again; how near
The Times expir'd; when, when will you appear?
At your first dawn my Heart dilated lies,
In the content of Divine Extasies,
Exempt from Sorrow, only that I see
Those precious Moments do too swiftly flee.
But after this vast Joy, when Night comes on,
And I reflect how near the Sabbath's gone,
For all the Pleasure was so great and true,
'Tis with a bitter Sigh I part from you:
Yet though, great Day of Blessings, all sublime,
You fly, like others, on the Wings of Time,
No special Favour of a Minute's stay
Can be prolong'd more than another Day;
But swift, as Hurry, are your Moments spun,
And of the common Sand your Glass does run;
Your Property will change, when I shall have
Pass'd one dark Walk to the other side o'th Grave,
Then to an everlasting Sabbath I
Shall be receiv'd with endless Extasie.
On Directions to know how to Act Fortunately.
FAin would I know each day what I should chuse,
What Undertaking I had best refuse;
I'de have an Art, that all that I forsook,
Should make all prosperous which I undertook;
I'de miss to act those Days of ill Events,
And meet with none but Fortunes sweet Centents;
I'de know the Minute critical and rare
Should fill my Wishes all, and crown my Care:
Some kind Thought tell me how I may possess
This mighty great desir'd Happiness;
Shall I consult the Stars, and read the Sky,
Grow perfect Mistress of Astrology,
Know all the Planets and their influence,
When 'tis they good and when they ill dispense,
Thus guide my Life, thus steer my Course, and be
Inform'd before-hand what the Fates decree;
To guide my Life with this, Lord, did I say?
Alas! I know it is a foolish Way:
Thy Word instructs me, that I can nor must
Repose in none but thee alone my Trust.
Why should I like a Heathen then rely
Upon the Signs and Aspects of the Sky,
Upon a Babling Fortune-teller's Skill,
Or Wonders from the Wise Star-gazer's Quill?
I fly, but envy not their best Perfection,
And covet only Thy Divine Direction;
If 'tis my Fate I must sustain a Loss,
Give me Submission to receive the Gross,
And, like a Christian, bear it, and adore
Him, who, for me, the bloody Gross has bore.
If Disappointments must my Hours attend,
Raise but my Thoughts to Thee, they'r at an end.
What shall I value here can hit or miss,
When Heaven alone contains my boundless Bliss?
If a short Life must make my frail Days few,
An endless Being sooner will ensue;
And all I care for here, is only what
May make me fit and well-prepar'd for that.
If a long Life is for my Lot assign'd,
In which the Smiles of Fortune I shall find,
The Benefit of both can only be
In Dedicating me and mine to Thee:
O teach me so to manage all my Days,
That unto Thee I may direct my Ways,
Thou whose Almighty Goodness brings to pass
All Happiness that ever is or was.
A THOƲGHT.
TO some remote and melancholly Wood,
Where Trees in growth and nearness do combine,
The Sun in all his Forces never could
Peep through the Branches they so closely twine.
In this obscure Shade fain would I get,
From all the World, my Friends as well as Cares,
While some sweet Vision blest the kind retreat,
And pitying look'd upon my Sighs and Tears.
Against a Tree my weary Head should ly,
And on my panting Heart be plac'd my Hand,
My Sighs, devoutly piercing, cut the Sky,
While of my LORD I humbly this demand.
O be thou pleas'd to let me know, I am
In thy dear Favour, [...]ough with Grief opprest,
And that vile Sin shall ne're expose to shame,
Or stop me in the Paths to Heavenly Rest:
And that I shall the World in Justice leave,
Rendring to every one their Righteous due,
When I am gone my Memory may receive
The blessed Character of Just and True.
And that the Time shall joyfully expire,
Wherein I am to breathe and speak my last:
And being possess'd of this, which I desire,
Call'd up to Heaven, and leave the Earth in hast.
The DISCOƲRAGEMENT.
IF Fate unprosperous on our Gares attend,
We striving hope, and nothing still does mend;
This very thing, Affliction magnifies,
By pouring in a store of Enemies;
For not the Bad alone, but Vertuous too,
Give frequent Wounds, to augment our greater Woe,
If they themselves have not successless lain,
By Fortune's Gift or their Industrious Pain.
Blind or Forgetful, what's the Power that makes
A Disproportion, as it gives or takes?
Believe the Structure of all Luck did rear
On their great Fore-cast and assiduous Cate;
And never Person suffer'd Indigence,
But what from their own Folly did commence,
Through want of Wit, or stock of Negligence.
This I have heard averr'd: And so they blame
Deep Poverty, and make it guilty Shame;
A thousand Slights to the sad Case attends,
From all our near and much professed Friends:
Most mighty Sorrow! doubled o're and o're!
How pondrous is this Load, that must be bore?
'Tis truly so: But since Heaven thought it good
Such Accidents should come to Flesh and Flood,
There's an Example left us how to bear,
Without too much Dejection or Despair,
As your Lord did: Strive you to do the same,
Endure the Cross, despising all the Shame.
Of LOVE.
O Thou blest Native of Celestial Joy,
Which not our Peace but Malice dost destroy,
Making us Wise, Just, Merciful and Pure,
Slow to Revenge, and patiently endure,
'Till with soft Blessings we o'recome and draw
Tyrannick Foes by LOVE into an awe;
'Tis not thy Heavenly Rays which I reject,
Or spare to honour with Divine Respect:
But here's a racking Passion, which lays claim
To the blest Title of thy glorious Name,
I cannot call it New, nor Counterfeit,
Though falsly it assumes and plays the Cheat;
For it was old Thousands of Years ago,
And acts with certain Fate all Ages know:
Whence it derives, no Mortal yet can tell,
Yet all averr they know it too too well,
Like some inchanting, common Miracle;
Where e're it came, I find it is, at best,
The Grand Disturber of all Human Rest;
And therefore well avoided, if an Art
Or Power there be to keep it from the Heart;
As such I hope there is, which makes me say,
Charming Seducer! strive not to betray
One peaceful Minute of my Rest away;
No Folly quote, to make a fair Excuse,
The Wisest may be pleas'd with the Abuse;
For I have heard, when Reason was perplext,
Her Soveraign sent her to peruse a Text
Charg'd upon Life and Death, this plain Direction,
To mortifie inordinate Affection:
If then, thou great Inchanter, with thy Wiles,
Deluding Pleasures and bewitching Smiles,
Hast one, or more, or many Souls, ensnar'd,
Forgetting this great Duty to regard,
So suffer'd thee to tye the enthralling Chains,
Which brought and fixt intollerable Pains,
And now if they the Indies did possess,
Twice doubled o're would give it for release;
My chief Assistance, in their sad Despair,
Shall be this Short but Charitable Prayer,
That in the Torments of this Fatal Fire,
When combating with over-strong Desire,
They do from every Worldly Succour fly,
And upon Heavenly Grace alone rely,
No other Refuge seek, or Means approve,
To expel the Fury of Resistless LOVE.
On the sudden Return of Fair Weather, after much Wind, Cloudiness and Rain.
SOL Banisht, or Withdrawn, the mournful Sky
Is hardly seen without a weeping Eye;
And from her melancholly Face she pours,
On the dejected Earth, her Tears by Showrs;
And dismal Sighs in Storms of Winds did break,
Screecht thro' the Globe, and made the Houses shake;
The Ground seem'd chill'd with Sadness in a State
of Grief, that did its Nature macerate:
From Day to Day no sign of change, but worse,
Look'd rather setl'd in a hopeless Course:
Yet in the little space of one short Night,
The Tide is turn'd, and all things alter'd quite;
The Sky so clouded is serenely clear,
The SUN in his full Lustre does appear,
And as he downward cast his Rays, the while
The new-heal'd Earth sent up a joyful Smile:
I saw it as I walkt, and could not chuse,
But at the sudden Alteration muse,
And think within my self, Thou, LORD, who now
Hast, in a trice, dispell'd from Nature's Brow,
A Cloud of Sorrow; hast the same Power still
To help all Grievances, when 'tis thy Will:
Oft have I almost stagger'd in my Gare,
But Thou art Mercy, LORD, what should I fear.
On THANKSGIVING.
IN the Abyss of Sorrow, dark and deep,
Where heavy Mortals drouze but cannot sleep,
Rackt with an agonizing Grief, I lay,
My Heart all Pulse, my Flesh distemper'd Clay;
My self no more my self, my Thoughts all were,
Through Terrors great, near Borderers on despair;
None but black Minutes did on me attend,
No Breath I fetcht, but did in Sighs ascend;
And while my Time thus dismally did wast,
Methoughts all Hopes of better Things was past:
So run the Night of Trouble, but the Morrow
Succeeds with Joy, that equall'd all my Sorrow;
Out of the Pit of this Affliction, I
Am carried to a Spacious Liberty;
Comfort, like Walls, my Residence surround;
Comfort, the Voice and Eccho all resound:
My Prayers, which just before in begging mourn'd,
To Joyful Praises, for the Grant, is turn'd:
What shall I render, how shall I extol
The uplifting of my Heart, recovery of my Fall;
Shall it suffice to Celebrate one Day?
Not the whole seven the Acknowledgment can pay?
A larger Stock of Gratitude I crave,
That on my Heart this MERCY Heaven engrave;
Beyond the Race of Time, and Fortune's Lot,
With glad Remembrance ne're to be forgot.
Observation on the Life of Epictetus.
POor Epictetus, born the Slave of Fate,
Unparalell'd for abject mean Estate,
Rapt in a Cloud of unkind Fortune's Jars,
And Destiny that seem'd to have no Stars;
Dark as the Eye of Chance, which some call blind,
Obscure from Light in all things but his Mind,
Which was enricht with Faculties could reach
The rarest things Philosophy did teach;
Yet by Laborious Burthens bath'd in Sweats,
He every Day must Earn the Bread he eats;
But he the Envy of his Fate beguiles,
And for her rigorous Frowns gives pleasing Smiles,
Contentment plain'd and smooth'd, each step was rough
And in his Wants still made him rich enough,
Set him above the Top of Fame's Renown,
And higher than the Envy of a Crown,
More happy than the Miser, whose proud Share
Of Wealth is equall'd with a Load of Care:
Thus liv'd he free, brisk, satisfi'd and gay,
As if, for Earth, he scorn'd to throw away
A single Wish; and, as he studied, said,
My Thoughts, just now my present State have laid
In view, and, as I look, this I behold,
In my Condition I am Poor and Old,
And Happy therefore, knowing 'tis the best,
Because the GODS have chose it from the rest,
To give it me; their Wisdom cannot err,
And I the Gift before all things preferr.
O wondrous Kertue in a Heathen Man!
With what Impatience, with what Face then can
A Christian murmur sorrow or repine,
That reads this vast Humility of thine?
But who, alas! retains a peaceful Thought,
More than by Heaven's Diviner Hand is wrought?
Heaven is the Giver and Preserver too
Of every spark of good we think or do.
Observation on the Life of Joab.
WIth ghastly Grief this Man of War I see,
His Noble Deeds and Sad Catastrophe;
Who can at first but fall into Confusion,
To trace his Life and see the strange Conclusion?
Permit then, with Compassion, I may Write,
While I his Actions and his Fate Recite,
Few ever with more Loyalty ador'd
The Int'rest of a Lov'd and Soveraign Lord,
And, as an Omen of Heroick Glory;
We find it mention'd in the Sacred Story,
Heaven and his King did trust in him repose,
For of great Israel he was General chose,
And he a Reverence too to both did pay,
In the auspicious and victorious Day,
When Syria's Host before him fled away.
These Cares and Dangers and the Victory still,
Seem small to please his Royal Master's Will,
For when in Sin he ask'd him to combine,
With too fond readiness he strait did joyn,
And poor Uriah falls by the Design;
To Rabbah Ammon's Royal City then
He leads the Bands of his undaunted Men,
Where soon the Potent Foes in Strength decline,
Their weakned Army's ready to resign
Their Post, their Arms, Themselves and Magazine:
He to his Lord in hast the News exprest:
See, Rabbah yields! Come thou and do the rest.
The City of Springs I have already tane,
Take thou the Royal City, that thy Fame
May make it call'd by thine and not my Name.
Then, to compleat the Pleasure of his Soul,
He did by Wile the Rule of State controul,
To fetch his Darling Absolom from Exile,
For whom the Indulgent. Father pin'd the while;
And when this Charming Youth with flattery stole
The Hearts of Israel, Joab's constant Soul
Defies the Treason, as a thing abhorr'd,
And never left the Service of his LORD,
Till even, against his own express Commands,
He David's Shield and Israel's Champion stands,
Piercing that Heart where Rebel-thoughts arose,
Against his Soveraign's Life and safe Repose.
When this was ended, Sheba's Plot begins,
And thrives as fast as all new growing Sins;
Here Amasa is sent, to number all
That would declare to answer David's call;
But slack in his return, the King's no less
Than put in fear of Sheba's great Success:
At which, enrag'd with Choler, Joab slew
Good Amasa; then, like a Lion, flew
With his Couragious Troops for Warriours Fates,
To Abel of Beth-Maacah City-gates,
There, with a brave Revenge, his Forces spread,
Till o're the Walls they throw the Traitor's Head.
Now David, with a secret Pride, inspir'd,
The Number of all Israel desir'd,
From Dan to Beersheba, o're Jerdan's Ford,
To see of what vast People he was Lord;
And, that the Accompt might be exactly made,
On Joab his Commands he straitway laid.
Joab, not pleas'd, in Modesty replies,
May He that blesses all, bless my Lord's Eyes,
To see that People, whose great Sums untold,
Tho' ne're so numerous, now increase a hundred-fold.
But why, my Lord, the most religious King,
Delight his Sacred Self in such a thing?
Good, was the answer; but to no effect,
David's the same, and Joab's great respect
To him, o'recomes his own Reluctancies,
His King he serves, whate're neglected lies,
Tho' Fame and Conscience both he sacrifice.
Who cou'd have thought a Man of this Renown,
So true and long a Servant to the Crown,
Should from the best of Masters, when he came to die,
Receive a fatal unkind Legacy;
And that his Prince, with his expiring Breath,
Should give his Silver Hairs a Crimson Death,
Which, when the Royal Head in Dust was laid,
Was quickly by his Heir with Rigour paid?
Heaven's Justice order'd this, and we may see
There's no escape from its Divine Decree;
Nothing secure, but what is purely done
With upright Thought before that Holy One,
Who does the secret of the Heart regard,
And, as we think, gives openly reward.
O Joab, hadst thou sought thy GOD in all,
No Human Power could have made thee fall;
Better hadst thou at King and Kingdom spurn'd,
And to thy GOD for Counsel always turn'd,
Then safe and blameless had thy Actions been,
Without the Stain or Punishment of Sin:
From thy Example may I never trust
In those Illustrious Names, Great, Good, and Just;
A Princely Patron or a Noble Friend,
Their Smiles no true Security can lend:
Give me Integrity to GOD no less
Than the Almighty's Smiles can truly bless,
'Tis he alone that must defend me still,
Man may be a Friend 'tis true, GOD I am sure will.
Observation on the Life of Elijah, Prophet of the Lord.
CAn pregnant Honour, from her swelling Store,
Of none but glorious Gifts distribute more
Than this high Title? Or can Earth afford
Ought greater than a Prophet of the Lord,
To whom the general World Respect should bear,
And whom crown'd Heads do Honour, Love and Fear?
In this great Dignity, Elijah he
Was of the Highest Rank, Noblest Degree,
For Heavenly Graces don't all equal shine,
And there are Classis even of Beams Divine;
For an Immortal Mark of Honour more
This Man the Type of blest Messiah bore:
But see, for all these Wonders, how he liv'd,
Tortur'd, afflicted, hated, poor and griev'd,
And he whom Miracles as Means did wait,
I find ne'r compass'd Competent Estate;
Tho' born a Jew, whose common Blessing was,
In prosperous Ways, each Nation to surpass,
And then thought Crown'd with all the Bliss of Life. a beauteous Wife;
When to their Store they had numerous Children and
But Celebacy seems his State to be,
And never any Wife or Child had he.
If these are Joys that bless the bravest Hearts,
And only suitable to great Deserts,
Did Heaven to others all these things divide,
While he, blest Prophet, was of all deny'd;
Throughout his Life there's nothing does appear,
But Sorrow, Solitude, Hardships, and Fear.
The first I read of his exerted Power,
Was in that lamentable dreadful Hour,
When he denounc'd the near approaching Birth
Of Famine on the unreplenish'd Earth,
When in three sultry Years not one kind Shown,
To her parch'd Heat a Balmy Drop should pour;
This he denounc'd, and very well he knew
The Oracle of Fate would prove too true,
Yet, for himself, no horded Stock he laid,
No Granary and no Provision made:
I do not hear but that the Earth, of Rain,
Enjoy'd as much as he had Land or Grain,
And no prudential Store of Food was made,
To keep his Life as the Egyptians had;
Tho', 'tis not doubted, Ahab and the rest
Of the rich Israelites in Form possest
A visible Supply, that might sustain
Till Plenty came with the return of Rain.
Mean time a Voice from Heaven warns him from thence,
To see the Miracle of Providence,
Bidding him hide himself towards the East,
At Cherith's Brook apply himself a Guest,
Where Ravens, by Omnipotent Command,
Should be his Feeders from the Almighty's Hand:
'Twas so, and thus the Miracle enjoy'd,
Life was preserv'd, and Hunger was destroy'd:
But now a dreadful Scene before his Eyes,
This Life-preserving River-water dries;
No Miracle is sent to stop the Course
Of Nature's drought, or stay its rapid force:
What Proof and Tryal of his Faith was here,
To have the River fail, and he not fear?
How would a faithless murmurring Wretch have cry'd,
The Means is perish'd which my Wants supply'd!
Was I sent forth a Wanderer thus accurst,
To die in Fires by an inflaming Thirst?
Not such a Fear or once regretting Word,
His Heart did show or milder Lips afford,
But waits the Time of his remembring Lord,
Who had prepar'd the Widow's Meal and Cruse,
To serve the rest of all the three Years use,
And in it did a Miracle produce.
This being o're, the Sacred Man is sent
To see that King who none but Punishment
Did study, and resolve for such a Guest
Too heavenly and divine on Earth to rest:
But the erronious King's malicious Power
Had Limits set, till Heavens appointed Hour.
And now Elijah bravely does alarm
Baal's Priests and Priests o'th Grove, who flocking swarm
With all the poor deluded People, who
Their own true God scarce ever sought or knew;
Elijah, reasoning with them, made demand,
Why they, 'twixt two Opinions, halting stand?
And bids them follow God, if 'twere the Lord,
Or if 'twere, Baal: They answer'd not a word.
Then said he to them, I, even I alone
Remain a Prophet of the Lord's, besides me there is none,
But Baals in number more abound, the Account
Does to a Host of near five Hundred mount;
Let them therefore two Bullocks give, and chuse
One for themselves, the other I will use;
Both being cut in pieces, both we'll lay
On Wood, but put no Fires, only pray,
They to their Gods, I to the Lord, and see
Who answers first by Fire, the God shall be.
This done, the Priests of Baal all loudly cry'd,
And cut and wound themselves, and prophecy'd
Till Evening, but no Voice or Sign reply'd.
Then did Elijah to the People call,
Who wait him with expecting wonder all;
He strait repairs GOD's Altar, broke before,
And took twelve Stones, and made one Altar more;
And round that Altar made a Trench as great
As would contain two Measures full of Wheat;
He puts the Wood in order, then dissects
The Bullock of his Limbs, a Pile erects;
The Flesh, thus ready laid for Sacrifice,
Four Water-barrels he commanded thrice
Be fill'd, and thrice pour'd forth, and all the while
The trickling Altar and the floating Pile
With these repeated Currents drench'd and drown'd;
The Trench so fill'd, stood as 'twere moated round;
Then to his GOD with moving Ardor calls,
When lo the wondrous Heavenly Fire strait falls,
Consuming not the Sacrifice alone,
But the Wood, the very Dust and Stone;
So hot the Flames, that even the Waters burn
The very Trench it self.
No more a Watry now an Ashy Urn,
At which, amaz'd, the People prostrate fall,
And, with a Face confus'd, they loudly call,
To tell who was the Living God alone;
The LORD is GOD, the LORD is GOD they own.
Then did Elijah charge them not to spare
One of Baal's Prophets, but secure, with care,
The total Number, which he wholly took,
And brought them safely down to Kishon-Brook,
And with a Zeal religious and severe,
Spared not only Cheat, but slew them there.
And then he sent his Servant to the King,
Who of the showring Heavens did the blest Tydings bring,
Bidding him, Eat and Drink and post away.
Which Message Ahab heard and did obey.
Who now could think there could a danger be
O're all the Earth to make this Prophet flee?
Yet so it was, though King and People too,
Their Eyes so late convinc'd, they trembling view,
His wondrous Might, Deeds more than Man cou'd do.
Idolatrous Jezebel his Doom has given.
Behold, that Royal painted Foe of Heaven
Has vow'd, that the next Morning-Sun shall see
The Sacrificer, now the Offering be;
Swears, to revenge her darling Favourites Blood,
His own shall mix with their dear Crimson Flood.
Her Cruelty he soon believes and shuns,
And, for his Life, on this occasion runs
To Beersheba belong'd to Judah, where
He left the Man that was his Servant there,
And all alone into the Desart went
A whole Day's Journey in his Discontent,
Under a Tree of Juniper he sate
Considering of his dismal mortal Fate,
And now requested for himself to die,
Perhaps not thinking his blest Change so nigh;
So, while in Prayer and musing Thoughts he keeps,
Under this Tree resign'd, he lies and sleeps,
Mean time an unseen Angel brings him Meat,
Gives him a touch, and bids him rise and eat.
He rose, and eat and drank, and down he lay,
To sleep again his Weariness away,
His sweet Disturber comes once more; his Guest
Invites a second time t' his Heavenly Feast,
Viands so rich, tho' short was the Repast,
(No Table spread with Pomp, but laid in hast)
That by two Meals, so cherish Nature reign'd,
As forty days and nights of Health & Life maintain'd.
Thus to the Mount of GOD, Horeb by Name,
He in the strength of this twice eating came,
And there he took his Lodging in a Cave,
The Emblem of his so much courted Grave.
Then comes the Interrogative of GOD,
And asks him, Why it was he there abode?
He tells his Zeal, does Israel's Sin declare,
They had all GOD's Prophets slain, nor him would spare.
Now is he bid to ascend that Mount, a Place
Which great Jehovah's presence deign'd to grace,
Where all descending from his Throne more high,
As the Omnipotent, pass'd radiant by,
The Mountains rent with Wind, the frighted Earth did quake,
The Adamantine Rocks in shatter'd pieces shake;
Then blaz'd a stream of Fire, the Harbinger
Of the great GOD, for yet GOD was not there.
Now spoke a still small Voice, bids him appoint
Two Royal Successors, and both anoint;
To these a third and greater Successor,
Heir to his own Divine Prophetick Power,
A Tongue whom Oracles should all inspire,
Touch'd with a Coal from his own Heavenly Fire.
Now thou, dear Prophet, whose resigning Breath
Had ask'd before no Boon of GOD but Death,
Time hastens that thy Toils must be releast,
Thy Sufferings ended, and thy self at rest
Within the Regions of the Ever-blest:
How supernatural was thy Defire,
Crown'd with a Chariot of Triumphant Fire,
Which flew more swift than ever Motion run:
And carried thee above the Stars and Sun:
Thus fledst thou up to thy immense Reward,
And nothing could thy heavenly Flight retard.
O, unexampled Man! who Earth resign'd;
Earth and its Vanities all left behind;
Feltst not the Pangs of an expiring Breath,
The Course of Sickness, or the Stroke of Death.
Sure then our Father Abraham thou wast greater,
For he, like others, fell weak Nature's Debter,
Kept in a Grave, turn'd to Original Dust,
Consin'd there, till the rising of the Just.
If then a Saint, incomparable rare,
One of the greatest Prophets ever were,
Led all his Life but sorrowful and poor,
I must conclude, in Poverty, there's more
Design'd by Heaven, for Guidance or Defence,
Than ever was found out by Human Sence;
'Tis a mysterious Thing, that Want should be
The leading Path that joyns Felicity,
And those who least are trusted and approv'd,
To enjoy Estates are most by Heaven belov'd;
Strange is the Method, but I cannot fear,
There is a Secret in't, divine and clear,
To Heaven's eye alone and never yet to Mortals did appear,
'Cause this blest Man did undergo that State,
That seem'd his very Choice as well as Fate;
Fate he could change; we see his Prayers alone
That Wonder had perform'd, and had he known
Poverty a Curse, sure he had chang'd his own:
Besides, as he foresaw the prickly Thorn,
A Wreath should even the Brow of GOD adorn,
Poor, Humble, Low, in Shilo's blest Record,
Reserv'd the Titles of the World's great LORD.
The Path of Poverty well hast thou trod,
Blest Prophet, to be follow'd by thy GOD.
On the worthily honour'd Madam Mary Fountayn.
Weep, weep, ye Clouds, distill into her Urn
Such Tears to quench a Flame unapt to burn.
The Uurn it self shall weep perpetual Store,
Because this noblest Friend of mine's no more:
Let Nymphs attend the Glory of the Plains,
Whose charming Brightness is ador'd by Swains,
With Sable Vestments, cloath'd in mournful state,
To solemnize her Funeral Rites, tho' late;
While I, dejected, strive for to reherse
Unspotted Vertues in Eternal Verse,
In tuneful Lays, tho' dismal are the Strains,
Which chills the circling Blood, runs thro' my Veins;
Witness, ye Heavenly Powers, the Favours she
Daily bequeath'd my Parents and to me;
Who lov'd my tender Mother to the end,
And show'd herself a thousand Ways her Friend,
In all Extremities stood her Defence,
Under the goodness of Omnipotence.
If Wisdom, Love, or Honour, could defeat
The Stroke of Death, this Star had never set,
But still been shining in her splendid Sphere
And influential Beams around her Cheer.
Ye Fountains, now your gliding Currents cease,
And fertile Nile, forbear your vast Increase,
Since I'm depriv'd, by fatal Sisters three,
Of this great Blessing, O! so dear to me.
You'l say, no Discomposure ought profane,
Much less despair my well fix'd Morals stain:
But he, who Precepts gave as well as kept,
Could not forbear his dearest Friend, but wept.
Oft have I wish'd from Business to retire,
To contemplate the griefs of my Desire;
There, in some secret Grove, where none might see,
I might for ever mourn her Obsequy,
In Sorrow's Rills condole, with pitious Moan,
To grateful Eccho's, which resound each Groan;
And harmless Flocks their Lamentations ring,
While the poor Birds with doleful warbling sing.
Let then this sad uncomfortable Verse,
Embalm her Memory and bedew her Herse.
"Unmix'd, preserve these Relicks; faithful prove,
"O Marble Urn! and constant as her Love.
'Tis Love, that all do court, but few can find,
Springing from Actions rooted in the Mind:
Sweet, Rich, and Strong, she to the Centre drew,
As Honey, Jewels, and as Marrow do;
None, by the Storms of Life, was e're opprest,
But still might find a Haven in her Breast.
Why do such Blessings end in sharpest Pain,
By being given to take back again?
Stay, run no farther, my impetuous Soul,
This Answer does your flowing Grief controul;
Compute the Sum of your unwise Complaint,
'Tis pious, she liv'd and dy'd too soon a Saint:
Consider, there's not only a Regard
Due to your Interest, but to her Reward;
You ought your Loss with Patience to sustain,
Since what's your Loss is her immortal Gain:
Can you repine, since she in Beams of Light
Soars in the Heavenly Regions pure and white,
Her Deeds resplendant in a Crown more bright,
With a Victorious Palm and Radiant Seat,
Reigns there among MARIA'S Good and Great,
Whilst you'r depending on your Future State,
Her lovely Vertues strive to imitate.
On my dear Friend Mr. Robert Harding.
HOw have I wisht and begg'd no Pen might send
A sad reviving Thought of this my Friend,
Nor mention make, now he is gone, but I
Might let my Grief in hush'd oblivion lye:
In vain I urge such Means, to sind retreat
From Mourning Thoughts, my Sorrows to defeat,
The loss of such vast Worth, so true a Friend,
In all dissolv'd Mortality must end;
And, if my Verse may live to blaze his Praise,
Which, like the Sun, darts with refulgent Rays,
His Merit must, in Characters sublime,
Outlast the envious mouldring Fate of Time:
In Friendship's Orb no brighter Star appear'd,
Since by his good all was reviv'd and chear'd,
And, in his Nuptial Rites, example may
Proclaim his Life to be one Halcion-day;
Detested Paths of Vice he nobly scorn'd,
Whilst vertuous Precepts in his Breast he form'd;
While Vice he scorn'd, Fidelity he lov'd,
'Twas Honour guided him and Pity mov'd;
Whatever Object was there in distress,
Compassion could and did not soon reverse?
To adverse Fate, distant and near, it slew,
And Prisoners, in pale Want, his Kindness knew.
Lofty indeed his Temper was to soar,
But never turn'd his Back upon the Poor;
Whose pious Acts aspiring to reherse,
I lose his GLORY in submissive Verse;
Could Prayers avail for him, which cannot be,
What store is due and should be made by me?
Yet e're I end, let me call o're the Fate
Did his great Kindness first to me create.
Pardon, if I digress, to sing the Fame
Of his bright spotless Virgin-Daughter's Name,
Whom Grace, like the Sun-shines, did adorn,
When beauteous Rays guild first the bashful Morn,
In whose lovely Youth was the same Sweetness shewn,
As Flowers in Spring, or Roses newly blown,
ALICIA bright, that cast her pleasing Eye,
To my indifferent State of Poverty,
The charming dear One yet could love so true,
Scarce for a Minute I her Absence knew,
Each place abroad, at home, where e're I be,
She, Angel-like, goes, meets or follows me.
Perpetual Kindness LOVE immensly breeds,
LOVE, that all slight in Poetry exceeds,
Where flowing Kindness, tided to excess,
And mine proportion'd more than hers, not less.
Had Fate propos'd a Choice, one I must have,
This fair one's Death, or my own sudden Grave?
The last I should have thought the mildest Doom,
To Engrave her Friendship on my finite Tomb.
But cease, my Muse, cease, lest I now despair,
To think how I lost her, that was so dear;
Marriage, which fixes Lovers in one State,
Divides us two to Places separate;
The Daughter's loss, the Father would repair,
By a High Friendship and Paternal Care,
Whose worthy Soul with Vertue quite is fled,
And, in his Sex, (for ought I know) true Kindness wholly dead.
Sighs may condole: But hold, some Cherub sure,
Allays my Grief with this blest balmy Cure;
Think and consider well, observe the End,
Who was it gave and took away your Friend,
He that gives all things good, and can restore
What-e're you want; cease, Mortal, to deplore,
Use pious Job's Expression, and no more.
An EPITAPH on the Pious Madam Mary Carter.
BRight Soul, whose Sacred Relicks I must mourn,
Till from my Toils I sleep in peaceful Urn;
Then follow thee, to make one Witness more,
Of all thy righteous Deeds heap'd up in store.
Thy Pious Days Heaven does already know,
By Prayers, that minutely did from thee flow,
Such was thy Converse, so Divine below.
Thine Alms, Christ's needy Members every-where,
Refresh'd with Love and Bounty, will declare.
O! with what dazling Glories art thou crown'd!
What Songs in Heaven did at thy Entrance sound.
A SATYR.
AS Dungeons are for Criminals prepar'd,
Tyburn and Gyves too is their just Reward;
So Satyr's Lash dipt, poison'd in Disgrace,
Is fit to Scourge the Vice of Human Race.
Did not the Lamb of God, with Sacred Terror,
Reprove all Pharisaic Sins and Error?
Where's then my Muse? Does my Poetick Vein!
Want Skill or Courage for this useful Strain?
Baptismal Vows engage Heroick Minds,
Women are valiant, tho' of different Kinds,
And tho' my Sex is weak, my Heart's not so:
Lead on my Chief, I fear not where I go.
Instruct me LORD, I wait for thy Command,
Without it I dare stir not Foot or Hand.
I begg'd again, and then my LORD reply'd,
My Precepts and Example be your Guide;
Go follow them. Strait then I call'd to mind
His Golden Rule, propitious left behind:
First cast away the Beam that hides the Light
Of thine own Eye, deluded Hypocrite;
Which, once remov'd, thou better may'st discern
The little Mote thy Brother does concern,
And with more reason ask to pull it out,
When thy clear Light dispels his darker Doubt:
But if black Vice thy Life it self betray,
And thou pretend'st to Guide the perfect Way,
'Tis like a blind Man raving in a Heat,
Inspir'd by some ridiculous Conceit,
He's able to lead all that go astray;
His Tongue crys out, his Feet quite miss the way;
Sometimes his Steps are right, but rarely so;
Still with invective Bawls, You falsly go.
Should this his Conduct be by Prudence try'd,
Would he be thought a Madman or a Guide?
Our Saviour, e're such Work he did begin,
Ask'd, Which of you convinces me of Sin?
And must his spotless Life a Pattern be
Imitable for such a Worm as me?
The great Example I can never reach,
Alas! I want time more to Watch than Preach.
My Self is Task sufficient to look o're,
I find no Moment where I need explore
The Faults of others, but my own deplore.
And now I beg, since my Design has mist,
Make me true Christian, tho' no Satyrist.
Of the HEART.
WHat tho' the Soul mysterious is to Art,
And all in all and all in every part,
Yet we conceive the Heart, by Nerves and Veins,
Does vivifie the Body and the Brains;
For as the Senses from the Spirits move,
Inspiring Rays with Simpathetick Love,
So GOD's Essential Goodness most requires
By Consecrating Gifts to Mens Desires;
Say but from thee the smallest Present came,
It kindles all Acceptance in a Flame;
Hence, hence, the Pulse that gives Life's Lamp its ease,
Hence all the endearing Ties that Lovers please;
So rare a Jewel sure has no deceit,
Nothing that's vain, but Vertue all compleat,
My Thoughts sincerely blest, in my esteem,
All pure, divine, immaculate, did seem,
Whilst my consenting Heart in rapture vow'd,
Henceforth no Sin shall be by me allow'd,
But that my Conscience should in Empire reign,
Never to be oppos'd by Vice again.
And as my weary Knees the Centre press'd,
It seem'd convulsive in my trembling Breast,
Darting full Torrents through mine Eyes in Tears,
And shivering gasp'd, almost expir'd in fears,
Implor'd the LORD in this distress of need,
T' assist a Heart, that for Offence does bleed;
Kind Heaven assents, and, with propitious Grant,
Assur'd the Comfort that my Heart did want,
And, from the depth of Sin, drew it as high
As the bless'd Region of Immortal Joy:
From this Divine Ascent, transported, cry'd,
Vain is that Fool that does in Sin abide.
My Lips o'rejoy'd, at the Conversion, sung,
As David when his tuneful Harp he strung,
And, to my pleasing Thoughts, these Words I mix'd,
My Heart to Sacred Joys is ever fix'd.
Thus liv'd I in Serenity and Mirth
An Angel's Life almost upon the Earth.
But O! the Blast this pious Life destroys,
Hypocrisie the blissful Stream annoys;
My Conscience, to whose Empire my Heart swore,
Strives to depose the Conduct of its Power,
Till with a hideous Guilt, by horrid Sin,
Agast, I durst not cast a Look within,
And tho' my conscious Heart stood knowing by,
That Acts nor Thoughts from the Omniscient Eye
Was hid in vain, Delusion seem'd to think.
That the All-just should at our Frailties wink,
And when my Private Prayers I do direct
With Holy Praise and most Divine Respect,
Yet, when GOD's Sacred Court I come within,
I contemplate and gaze, all dark with Sin,
And, while the Pteacher tells what I should learn,
My Thoughts rove, busie in some strange Concern,
Confus'd with odious Things, I cannot speak,
And which, to shun, Mortality's too weak;
My Mind grows wild, my Soul in terror rav'd,
By what I trusted thus to be deoeiv'd.
Then, to my GOD, with weeping Eyes I turn,
In deep distress I supplicate and mourn;
All-powerful GOD, this Heart from me receive,
Since, by Despair, I must for ever grieve.
Or, if this longer must with me remain,
Vouchsafe, great GOD, once more to make it clean,
I know thy Blood can wash out every stain.
And, whilst I live, henceforth I'll set a guard,
Surpizing Thoughts, not good, shall be debarr'd;
A Watch I'll keep as long as I keep Breath,
To help secure my Vertue till my Death;
I'll send to all my Friends to do the same,
And trust to more this rarity of Fame.
But always Watch and Pray, Suspect and Fear,
While thou dost justify, and make me Clear.
Thinking on the Life of our Blessed Saviour.
WHy did my Lord, whom Heaven could not contain,
Chuse to spend Life on Earth in toil & pain,
And not the Ease and Splendour of a Raign?
Why did he, like a Man unfortunate,
Walk thousand weary Walks? No Pomp or State
A Servant to that World he did create.
Why did he let his spotless Name be us'd,
With Lips that slandrously that Name abus'd?
Why did he, who was all pure Innocence,
Endure such Rigours as attone Offence,
Or bring the Wicked into Penitence?
Methinks an inward Whisper tells me why;
Tells me, my LORD was pleas'd to do't, that I
Might not despise those Methods he approv'd,
Nor hate that sort of Life himself has lov'd.
Reflections upon my extraordinary Joy, at the Certain and Sudden News of Peace being concluded, Sept. 1697.
NIne Years Bellona brandish'd in full Pride,
Till Christian Land with Blood was ruddy dy'd,
But Kings are reconcil'd and Wars must cease,
To give admittance to a glorious Peace;
PEACE! is the Cry, assured Peace is come,
The charming Wonder strikes my Senses dumb;
Felicities in Loads a Peace repair,
And fill my Mind with more than I can bear;
My Knees fall on the Earth, to hear the Sound,
And Tears of Joy run rowling to the Ground;
The heating Beam does take away my Sleep,
Exhales that Dew did my lull'd Spirits steep;
Like Philomel, my watchful Thoughts employ;
Her Thorn keeps her less waking than my Joy.
Give me Assistance, some kind Power, to bear
The Extasies, while this bless'd News I hear.
I did not think all Earth could give or find
Such Pleasure to my Pleasure-hating Mind;
'Tis true, the Joy is rational and just,
Fitting to be allow'd: But dare I trust
My Thoughts to rove in such a vast Content,
And Raptures of unlimitted Extent;
When this is not the Peace, my Soul must calm,
Nor this the fair white Dove, that brings my Palm,
The great IRENE, that secures me blest
In endless Joys, the Eternity of Rest?
No, that's [...] Peace in my own Empire-mind,
A Place of Residence for GOD design'd,
By Actions just and pure of every kind:
'Tis on this Peace that I must build alone,
Tother I may enjoy, yet be undone;
This is the Peace resplendant Beings praise,
And to the Spangl'd Roof the Eccho's raise,
The lofty Arches mightily resound,
And Heaven's Inhabitants, in Raptures drown'd,
The joyful Chorus charm Eternal round.
O! New Jerusalem, for thy Peace I long,
Thy Io-Peons in Immortal Song,
To Heavenly Lyres and Hallelujah's tun'd,
Ayrs that Britannia's Peace can never sound;
Thy Triumphs are magnificent and rare;
Thy Joys unmix'd with Sin, with Fright, or Care;
Brighter than Sun, more lasting far than Time;
Eternal bless'd, unparalell'd sublime;
O! that my Hours to come may all be spent
In seeking this, above all Earth's content:
O! that I could express what Joy there lies
In but a Hope of this unfading Prize;
The Universe comes short to equal this,
In Glory or Duration, State or Bliss.
Go then, my Pilgrim-Soul, pursue the Way,
Through Brakes and Rocks, Black Seas and Stormy Day;
Through wonted Conflicts and tremendous Griefs;
Through narrow Passages and straitned Cliffs;
Through Vanities to allure, and Foes to Fright;
The Snares of Flattery and the Darts of Spight;
Through Pains and Miseries, Tears, Toil, Doubts and Strife,
All the whole long-train'd Cavalcade of Life,
Through Slanders, Slights, Wrongs, Wants, the swelling Flood,
That does but Tempest-toss poor Flesh & Blood:
Through these, all these, and thousand, thousand more,
Sail, happy Voyager, to that bless'd Shore,
Where no Waves dash, nor Winds nor Tempest roar;
To that Divine, true Halcion Nest above,
The Mansions of Beatitude and Love,
That Union no dividing Foes shall sever,
But the white Flag of Peace hangs out for ever.
To my Mother the CHURCH.
UNfeign'd, as Martyrs in the Days of Yore,
Whose precious Blood their Testimonials bore,
Grant, Holy Mother, (high Oblation due)
My Humble Lays I consecrate to you,
Whose Pious Care in Infancy did bloom
With Fruit, selected from corrupted Rome;
Your Hallow'd Rites inspir'd me first to see,
And from Exreams of Peril set me free,
Guiding to blissful Rest the Milky Way,
Whose Streams of Light point to Eternal Day:
No Superstition does your Precepts, stain,
Nor Zeal enthusiastick with you reign;
But Love divine slows with a kind Embrace,
Kindles Seraphick Flames, enlightning Grace,
Whilst Heaven, like Life, which centures in the Heart,
Inflames religious Beams through every part,
By Spiritual Manna fed, I Wisdom sind,
Blest Mistick Rules invelope in my Mind;
Free-will directs my Actions how to square,
But Sacred Instinct cautions to beware,
It bids me not this World and Life abjure,
But checks my Paths where vicious Baits allure,
Instructs with Hallelujahs praise to sing,
Unerring Truths of Sion's gracious King,
True Dictates of Parental Heavenly Guide,
Which does ensure Salvation on my side.
These and the rest, more fully to reherse,
More Volumes crave than Tribute of my Verse;
But, as in Duty bound, Devotion shall
For ever pray for you, as you for all,
Whilst Cherubs sound in their melodious Choir,
And I still Offerings pay on constant Lyre;
Reign, Phoenix-like, thy Ashes gives new Birth,
Nor finite perish in the mouldring Earth,
But as in Sickness Nature's Power will strive,
The Patients strong do grow and Pains survive;
So let the past Convulsions reinstate
Immortal Health, to foil the Stroke of Fate,
The Triumphs of thy Toils shall endless be,
And sweet too, as the Love I bear to thee.
On the VERSES some Gentlemen presented me, which are placed at the beginning of my Book.
VAst is the Joy, when Transports do inspire,
Which, Lightning-like, strikes with Poetick Fire:
Ravish'd! I gaze, and wonder to reherse
Those high Encomiums you vouchsafe my Verse.
But, O what Chill does Nature's Frailty raise!
Truth strikes a Damp in Contemplations maze;
I view like him that sees the Weapon fly,
But can't avoid the Dart that makes him dye,
Such dazling Flights so great Surprize impart,
As does confuse and wound my sinking Heart;
A thousand strange Reflections seize my Breast,
And trembling Fits my peaceful Hours molest.
Discourses, grave and mystick, use to move,
Perplex my Mind with Wisdom from above,
As Nathan's Charge to David did controul
That Man of GOD with Anguish in his Soul;
So you, like faithful Monitors, declare,
My Time and Life but transitory are;
Tell me of my Translation and of Powers,
Of Finite Beings, and of Fleeting Hours,
Inferr the Grave compleatly all devours,
Dismal and heavy Thoughts methinks to me.
Your lofty Verse proclaims Mortality,
As tho' it were my Living Elegy;
Deck'd with a Theme of Praise and Mournful State,
Like warning Trumpets, o're my Death and Fate,
I'm flatter'd with a Crown of Sacred Bays,
With polish'd Sence, express'd in tuneful Lays;
Melodious Peals, which charm me to apply
Some Tears, to suit the Solemn Obsequy;
Tears that allay and quench disorder'd Strife,
Fitting Attendants for a Dying-Life,
Whil'st your harmonious Muse in Vertue sings
Sweet Strains of Death, which happy Life to me here-after brings.
FINIS.