DIVINE POEMS AND MEDITATIONS.
IN TWO PARTS.
Written by William Williams of the County of Cornwall, Gent. when he was Prisoner in the Kings-Bench, in the Sixty second, and Sixty third year of his Age.
Psalm 5.1.
Ponder my words, O Lord, consider my meditations.
LONDON, Printed by J. Redmayne for the Author, and are to be sold by John Williams at the Crown, and John Crump at the Three Bibles in St. Pauls Church-Yard, 1677.
LICENSED March the Seventh.
To the Honorable Sir Francis Winnington Knight, Sollicitor General to His Majesty King Charles the Second, and a Member of this present Parliament. And to Sir John King Knight, Sollicitor to His Highness the Duke of York.
NOble Gentlemen, your words spoken for me in the High Court of Chancery, the First day of Trinity Term, 1675. were, like Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver, they are fit to be Recorded to posterity, to encourage other Worthy Persons that now live and may succeed you, to be kind and take part to assist Prisoners, for they can be grateful (if ingenuous,) you little thought what you then spoke for me, would be the subject and occasion of all these following Lines. The First, I took it to be my duty to present to God as my Thanksgiving; And then to you [Page](which bountifully rewarded and encouraged my gratitude.) This unexspected mercy did so raise my contemplations, (which were formerly exercised in vainer fancies) 'twas God and you that raised my Meditations on more Diviner Poems, if there be any thing in them that be good, let God have the Glory, and you as his Instruments, and the for ever most thankful acknowledgments of your favors, to the infinite comfort of
From my lodging in the Mint in South-wark, March 10. 1676.
Your Honors most faithful and obliged Servant. William Williams.
To the Worshipful Arthur Sprye Esq; one of His Majesties Justices of the Peace, for the County of Cornwal, and a Member of this present Parliament.
Worthy Sir,
REnowned Homer, (for whom Seven Cities contended for the Honor of being the place of his Birth,) when he first betook himself to Poetry, thought himself obliged to express his thankfulness to his Benefactors, and first to Mentor who took care of him when he had sore eyes, and to his Master which brought him up in Learning, and he gratefully requited Tychicus the Leather-seller, that received him into his House.
If I endeavor to imitate the worthy example of this darling of the Muses, and render you my most hearty thanks and record to all ages, your so Generous, Free, and Bountiful love to me, and care of me when a Prisoner deserted by my Kindred and [Page]Relations, not sparing your pains in Travel, and cost on my occasions, with your bounty to me other waies, (never to be forgotten) which hath set me sometimes into Admiration of Gods great mercy to me, in raising me such a Friend, that hath sent me so many comforting Letters, which as so many Cordials have revived my sad and drooping Spirits. And that you who are so eminently imployed in the publick, and have so many great affairs of your own, should lay all aside, and Travel, and expend on my occasions, which did never, nor ever was in a capacity so highly to engage you. And all this done, when I was cast down so low, when no satisfaction from me was visible, your favors were then so clear, and continued without any reserve to your self. Your indefatigable pains in being the instrument in Gods hands of setting me at liberty, which is to me the beginning of a new life.
Should not these so eminent favors call me to gratitude, I were worse than the beast that perish.
Sir. It hath not a little rejoyced my soul [Page]that God (in my old Old age) hath enabled me, (amid all this more than Three years calamity) to have something of my own to present you with (though not worthy of you.) They are my Two last years exercises by way of Meditations in the Kings-Bench. They were for the most part written in the House, But Corrected, and Enlarged in the Rules. I beseech you accept them as the most grateful acknowledgment of your so much Care, Pains, Travel, and Expence for me. It is the only requital that ever I can be capable of, and that I can tell afterages that I can be thankful.
I shall be most rude and ungrateful, if I forget the favors which I have so chearfully received from the Right Honorable Right worshipful and many of my noble countrymen, and others, by whose bounty and favors I have bin supported in this my so long imprisonment. Most thankfully acknowledging their favors (especially of some) which have exceeded far beyond my expectation and all beyond my deserts.
Sir, I pray that you will take these papers [Page]with the author into your protection, and continue your favor, that God will continue his grace and favor to you, shall ever be the desires of my heart while I breath and remain.
Your ever obliged Servant William Williams.
INTRODUCTION. A Prisoners thanksgiving, that was by Habeas Corpus brought to the Chancery Bar (by one that he had trusted with his Estate) the first day of Trinity term, where having exprest himself, it moved so much pitty, that it pleased God to raise to his assistance, Sir Francis Winnington, and Sir John King most effectually to plead his cause, without ever being spoke to, or retained, meerly out of principles of pitty and charity, for which the Prisoner at his return to the Kings-Bench wrote as followeth.
CAn I forget thy mercies Lord, this day,
So freely shew'd me? can I make delay
To give thee praise oh Lord, 'twas by thy power
I spake so feelingly, that happy hour
Wherein thou shewd'st thy goodness, Lord, 'twas thine
All powerful providence, not art of mine,
Thou didst direct great councel to assist
A prisoner poor, encountred in the list
With other councel, whose design yet mist me.
Lord, thou didst 'ope their mouths for to assist me,
For which I shall for ever praise thy name,
Too weak's my pen for to express the same.
Accept dear Lord, my thankful hearts expression,
That's fill'd with praises, let not the Transgression
Of my frail heart, be hindrance to declare
Thy prasses in a work so plous, rare
That Lawyers which are men design'd for hire
Should freely speak, 'twas cause thou didst inspire
Their hearts, and made them unto pitty bent,
To plead the cause of the poor innocent;
That was by wiles and promises seduc'd,
Being assured much good should be infus'd
To me and mine. But, Lord, thou truly art
The God of truth, and searcher of the heart.
Thou know'st what cruel threats I have endur'd,
That did expect relief, and be assur'd
Of some kind usage, but that I must see
My whole dependance is alone on thee.
Thou hast still by thy own Almighty power
Preserv'd me, to this very day and hour.
Dear Lord, 'twas thou that dost provide for me
Means of support, when prest with misery.
Continue still thy all preserving power,
Leave me not helpless in my latest hour;
A waken still in me a thankful heart,
That from depending on thee, may not part,
But let my hope be cast on thee that can
Preserve me from the cruel rage of Man,
VVhose projects are to starve this body frail,
Oh keep me, Lord, that they may not prevail.
Thou that canst bless the little stock of meal
And by thy power art able to reveal
VVonderful providences, to preserve
The weakest mortals, who in faith thee serve.
Give me content, oh let me not repine
At thy just dealings for those sins of mine.
Pardon my youthful wandrings, aged faults,
My many weaknesses, and numerous halts,
My crooked walks, oh let my sad condition
Excite a pious grief, for my transgression
Against thy sacred name, let me implore
Thy heavenly grace to help me, oh restore
To me an humble heart, that may submit
To what thy knowing wisedom shall think fit
For me poor mortal, who am weak and frail
VVhose only hopes in Christ is to prevail.
Lord, wash me in his blood, then shall I be
Though black by nature yet made white by thee,
And though I am in Prison cast full low,
Raise me again good God, and now bestow
Thy abundant graces, let thy will be done
I am resolv'd thy will to wait upon,
Until my change shall come, do not delay
That happy hour, that I may see the day
VVhen thou by death wilt perfectly restore me,
Lord, let a prisoners sighes now come before thee.
Psalm 86.17.
Shew some good token upon me for good, that they which hate me, may see it, and be ashamed: because thou Lord, hast holpen me, and comforted me.
Phillippians Chap. 4. v. 12.
I know how to abound, and how to suffer need, &c.
DIvinest Saint, there's few on Earth but thee
Have learnt contentment, a felicity
Beyond all Arts; th'Apostle only can
Approve himself the best contented Man.
A Lesson which the World hath long forgot
To set in practice, (Men affect it not)
This is a thing unpleasing to their tast,
Therefore in sad repining time they wast.
Were Heavens delightful Paths beset with pleasures
For Sence to revel in, our chiefest Treasures
Would there be plac'd, our sensual hearts would be
Too full of Joy, in Earths felicity.
Were there no rubs, nor stops to make us faint,
Who would not be a Convert, and a Saint?
The Crown of Glory, it would truly be,
As the sweet Garlands of Eternity:
But he that enters Heavenly bliss must wear,
A Crown of Thornes e're he attain that Sphear.
Fond Worldlings are so vainly stufft with Pride,
That a Holy meekness can not abide,
Unless it carry pleasing Pomp aloft;
Religious Meekness, it is seldom l [...]
Preaching of Patience, it doth Clearly Show,
There are sublime enjoyments which we owe
Due reverence to, and yet we will not learn
This holy Lesson, fully to discern
Our vain repinings at the Almighties ways,
Who can cast down, and in a moment raise
Our better fortunes; But th'Apostle here
Hath nobly learnt, for to Sustain and bear
His pinching wants, sans Murmurings or grudge
At his Corrections, thats a righteous Judge.
He that hath bid us seek the heavenly glory,
Tells us that earthly things are transitory;
And after this vain Heathens, they do walk;
And shall we Christians like the Heathens talk?
And have no higher prospect, than this world
For which the Angels from the heavens were hurl'd?
Shall we lye groveling in this lower Sphear
Rowling our selves in Carnal pleasures here,
Making morality our only bliss
And have no other thoughts of Heaven than this?
Was it for this that the Eternal Lord
Bow'd the high Heavens, and came with free accord,
Leaving his Throne, to bring us unto glory?
Then let us cease from things so Transitory;
And raise our souls unto sublimer Joys,
For terrene pleasures are but foolish Toys.
Vain is that Man, which foolishly doth wrap
His chief felicity in natures Lap;
And all the dull enjoyments of his Sence
With care, and vehement Toyle, to fetch it thence:
Tell me then man, That doest in pleasures swim,
And hast the Cup with joy fil'd to the brim,
Hast thou forgot thy God, thy Guide, thy Maker?
Be not so stupid, least thou be partaker
Of endless Torments, should the Luminaries
Loose their bright Lusters, that but seldom varies,
And put on purple Robes, that Direful sight
Of bleeding planets, would thy soul affright;
Or if the air were turn'd into a stream
Of blood, by that most powerful hand Supream;
Or could thy deafned ear, but hear the blast
Of the last direful Trump, what speedy hast
wouldst thou then make? & be most fully bent
To check thy Fancy, posting to repent?
Such things prodigious greatly would affright
The Bold'st prophaner, that took delight
In actions, Sacrilegeous wicked ways,
The memorie then of former sinful days
Will fill the inner man, with dismal fright,
And make the Sinner restless day, and night.
Oh man remember this! 'Tis truth alass
The enjoyments of the world are poor, and pass
Away like empty aire, there's no fruition,
But Dives like, we make a sad petition.
So doth the vain voluptuous worldling laugh
At pure religion, and do vainly quaff,
Scorning the poor oppressed Suffering Man,
And shew him all the envious spight they can;
As though a pious life could not enjoy;
Some tides of pleasure; but have still annoy
His sight's bemisted, he can't yet descry
The expected hopes of blest eternity;
He thinks himself Secure, and free from strife
And knowes no Joyes, but in this present life.
Did we but know, these rich rewards will fall
On the religious poor, to crown them all,
What happiness attendeth on the Motion
Of suffering Saints, in their most pure devotion?
'Twould make us triumph in our low estate,
And be in love with hardship at this rate;
Imbracing poverty with a holy zeal,
To enjoy that bliss, which we cannot reveal:
'Twould comfort in our very low estate,
When suffering by the cruel hand of fate
From Men enrag'd, but we are still to learn
The Apostles rule, to wait, till the return
Which crowns, with bliss, the patient waiting Soul,
That still expects in faith without controul.
And yet how hardly do we grief endure,
When smallest troubles do our souls inure
With so much passion, that we hardly can,
Bear the least brunt of Scorne! so vain is man;
So sensless are we of Gods greatest power,
Forgetful wretches, that even every hour
We censure, and accuse thy providence,
Like faithless persons, scarce enricht with sence.
Lord ope our eyes, and make us plainly See
The worlds vain shews, Mans insufficiency,
That empty air, the pleasures here below,
Grant these Joyes that from thy presence flow;
To these good Lord let our hearts still stand bent,
So shall we evermore have full content.
Job 2.10.
In all this did not Job Sin with his Lips.
WAs Job a statue, was his noble heart
Impenetrable? could not Sorrows Smart
Move his so fixed Soul? nor yet Hells hate,
His so Strong bulwark conscience penetrate?
Behold him then, mirror of patience,
Whom all the Legions could not fright him thence!
Nay he could breath divinity in groans,
Make sighs his Musick, and in sacred tones,
Turn sorrows into Sermons, and his pains
To pious Lectures, improving for gains
Even saddest sufferings, and did never vent
The least invective, from foul discontent.
How wondrous is that soul, that is so fixt,
Valiant in conflict, and indeed not mixt
With base repinings, but can bear his Cross,
And triumph in it, without sence of loss!
By suffering much humility hath taught
Job patience, which with greatest care he sought
So nobly that it doth adorn his parts,
And makes them lovely, ev'n beyond all arts;
Like the Philosophers stone, that with each touch
Turns all to gold, and doth the same enrich;
His very grave becomes a cabinet
Of precious dust, the which is all beset
With Saphires, like a Rock that stoutly braves
The raging Sea, and its tempestuous Waves:
Or like the morning Sun that shines most bright
After 't hath long bin clouded from our sight,
And more transparent shines to the eye of sence,
Attracting many muddy vapors hence.
For like the conquering palm, that still doth flourish
Under its pressures, which doe never nourish
His spreading limbs, into a full extent
Maugre the cloggs, and weights of punishment.
Job these are but poor emblems of thy glory,
Like as the Lower Sphears are transitory,
Hurri'd with storms, but still thy high-born soul,
Like the true loadstone, points the heavenly pole,
And turns no other way, although surrounded
With griefs abounding, thou art not confounded.
Tell me of stones, whose power can expell,
Or herbs whose virtue, can indeed repell
The dangerous Thunder, these are of small power,
Compar'd with that most glorious sparkling Tower
His soul, that these flames only purifie
And brighter made, so that we may descry
Our conquering glory, o're the worlds great same
In which he is a Mirror still the same.
And shall our light afflictions temporary
Discourage us from climing to thy glory,
And drive us from thy service, by such Toyes
As Satan casts to hinder purer Joyes?
No, thou dost skreen thy love in discontent,
And shewest thy goodness in our punishment;
And whilst we do most foolishly repine,
And grumble at this providence of thine
Being two much troubled, at the smallest cross
Of wealth, and Honor, which doe us so toss
With vain affections, shews we cannot take
Danger of sufferings for thy blessed sake;
But are without true sence, of thy dear Love,
And the Celestial Glory that's above,
Treasur'd for us, our duty's to submit
To thy blest will, and all thou thinkest fit,
Triumphing in our sufferings, not repine;
Lord bow our wills unto that will of thine
Eternal wisdom, Let it now be done
To thine own Glory, and thine only Son.
Romans 6.12. and part of 21.
Let not Sin therefore raign in you mortal bodies, that you should obey in the Lusts thereof: For the end of these things are Death.
THe Blest, and Learn'd Apostle here doth Preach
Attonement made by Christ, doth likewise teach
Th'effects and power of Baptism here on earth,
Saying, we'er all Baptiz'd into his Death,
And shall be surely raised from the Grave,
By th'only power of him that did us save
From Death Eternal, and may freely walk
In a renewed Life, and thereof talk
To th' comfort of our Souls, and Crucifie
Our foul affections wherein we descry
Sins large dominion in us, it's recoyl'd
Which only Christ in Love did reconcile,
Made us alive to God by's intercession:
Therefore, let sin not raign to the transgression
Of Gods most Holy will, nor yet obey
The raging Lusts thereof, which do bear sway
Within our mortal bodies, while w'have breath,
Remembring that the end thereof is Death.
Who'l fancy such felicity on earth,
Which quite expireth with this present breath,
And the reward of Lusts will surely be
Filled with horror, and calamity.
Had we no hopes, and were our sences gone,
Had we no thoughts of a Resurrection,
To raise again decayed natures frame,
To a more noble shape, than is the same,
Then might we well thus drown our selves in pleasure,
And think on Heaven at our remotest leasure;
Like Epicures Study, and still invent,
New fashioned Luxury with an intent,
For to be thought ingenious, Rich in Wit,
And take felicity to revel in it.
Thinking that all confusion would do well,
And make no reckning either of Heaven or Hell;
But mingle all into a wild confusion,
By making such Athistical conclusion:
Yea, deem't no scandal for to be thus hurld
To Blasphemy, as for to think the world
Is without God; no, stop thy prophane breath,
Sins certain wages is eternal death.
'Tis not the fear of death that takes thee hence,
But the horror of a guilty conscience
That doth affright thee: when the sting of death
Seizeth our vital parts, and stops our breath,
The memory of our sins doth smartly sting
Awakened conscience; when we'er hovering
Over our Graves, where we must soon be laid,
Then Hell and Judgment make us most afraid
Who suffred sin to vaunt thus in our blood,
Following our Lusts, and shunning what is good.
Tell me O thou, who makest Earth thy Treasure,
And wrapst thy self up in the softest pleasure;
'Tis but a little Span before thine eyes,
With age grown weak and weary, yea despise
Such objects, when each tired limb doth crack
With anguish of those pains, thy crimes did make,
Which were th'officious instruments to act
Sins fatal Scene, and following the tract
Of Lusts, and Luxury, rev'ling with heat,
That sets thy darling body in a sweat,
Afflicts thee with the terrors of these fires,
Which thou hast kindled with thy foul desires.
Strictly examine now thy self, vain man,
Whether these flattering false enjoyments can
Restore thy soul, which they have stoln from Heaven
Recover it again, and so make even
That long and vast accompt, which heretofore,
Thou hast laid by, and set it on the score
Of thy blest Saviour, stop, I say, bewail
The memory of thy crimes, and so prevail
To get that pardoning mercy, that doth heal
All broken hearts that unto Christ appeal;
Breathing such aires, whose Musick soon would charm,
Like Davids Harp, 'twill drive away all harm;
Still conscience cries, make Musick to delight
Th'Almighties ears, and bring thee to his sight.
Where are those fond diversions, that did take
Up thy vain thoughts, and did as shadows make
A transcient splendor, which prov'd little gain
It could not bribe thy pardon, nor obtain
The least reprieve to keep thee from the Grave,
Or be a means at all thy soul to save.
See ye blind Lovers, of this Mass of Clay,
How quickly your enjoymonts fade away,
Being built on such Foundations, which do slide
And turn to Rubbish, it will not abide
Your vain felicities, they have no power
For to secure you in the latest hour.
Yea, that impartial Conqueror, pale Death
Will seize your Vitals, and stop your Breath:
Such as delight in pleasures, live in flame,
And Death will bring them Torments, Hell, and Shame
All that now spurn at Virtue, and it Scoff,
Following vain pleasures, and the Lusts thereof.
Bewitching World, thou, thou betray'st our sence,
And smoothly wheels us to impenitence,
Making transitory pleasures our delight,
And through dark mists, leads to Eternal night.
Yet we imbrace, and hug the waies of Sin,
And with a pleasing madness live therein;
Stopping our ears to the profers of thy Love,
The which would raise us to the joyes above,
Wildly we follow the dictates of sence;
And all those vile affections flowing thence.
Pitty, O Lord, our Captiv'd natures frail,
And give us such desires as may prevail
Over our Lusts, that our whole Souls may be,
Breathings in perfect longings after thee,
With holy servency, whilst we have breath,
Knowing that sins reward is certain Death.
Matthew 15.28.
And he said unto her, O Woman great is thy Faith.
BLest importunity, that did procure
An answer so Divine, that did assure
The poor impatient woman in distress,
Of'r Daughters cure, to ease her heaviness.
Her answers were so pious, they did tell
That in her breast did all the graces dwell,
And richer Mines of Treasure there were hid,
Then Princes Crowns, though highly valued.
All Palestine, and the rich Spices there,
Could not procure a Cordial, to compare
With her strong Faith, which could have no denial,
But cur'd two Souls, sans any further trial,
Save only this, the great Physitian saith
Unto this suppliant, Great is thy Faith.
Faith is a grace, prevails with God above
To work great wonders, Mountains to remove,
To smooth the rugged Ocean for a walk,
For Peters feet, to hear his Saviour talk.
It stops the Mouths of Lyons, quenches fire,
'Twas the Centurians Faith got his desire:
It cures the blind, in Scripture we may see,
Our Saviour saith, Thy Faith hath saved thee.
And yet the Faith, that hath such wonders wrought,
Is quite neglected, and not duly sought,
Some place the greatness of their Faith in merit,
And think thereby Salvation to in herit:
In many such a fancy there doth dwell,
They think it Faith enough for to do well.
But naked speculations will not get
The heavenly prize, 'tis vanity to set
Our faith in our abilities & parts;
This is a doctrine which exceeds all arts.
Faith's rooted in the soul most firm and stable,
By which the Blessed Abraham was able,
For to believe Gods promise true, to bless
His seed, which God did count his righteousness;
'Tis not profession only, that makes noise,
But wee must practice to obtain true Joyes:
Yet mourning souls, when they do sigh and groan,
Are in the road unto the heavenly Throne:
They'l find acceptance, pardon for defects,
Which doth our souls, and bodies thus perplex.
Let no one think he can take to much pain
To be assur'd that Heaven he shall attain.
Thus was the Womans faith, so firmly fixt
That it no shew of doubting with it mixt,
The eccho of the voice did straight affright,
Foul Sathan from his hold, not all his might
Could keep possession, when our Saviour Spake,
He quickly vanisht, and did her for sake.
Thus doth our faiths divine all powerful Charmes,
Drive Satan to his Chain, and free all harmes,
Raiseth immortal statues to the Just,
And makes their names venerable in dust;
Yea, seals their happiness for ever sure,
With Christ in glory ever to endure.
Thou sent'st thy Son, O Lord, for us to Die,
That we through him might gain eternity;
Him whom thou hast advanc'd above all things,
Is pleas'd to take us under his blest wings;
That we may have the triumphs of his Cross,
And afterward, Heavens glory without loss.
Let not the miseries of our patures frail,
Which first did with thy mercies rich prevail.
Oh let not these which only know thy power,
More zealously acknowledge thee each hour:
Than we to whom thou manifests thy love,
And claim an interest in thy Christ above.
Let us be ever thankful for his merit,
By whose rich bounty we shall sure inherit
The heavenly mansions, and shall ever be
Above faith there, to wait all times on thee:
That faith with which thou givest every grace,
And without which, we nere shall see thy face.
Teach us thy mercies, so far to apply,
That we neglect not means, and so relie
On faith, that's dead, or on a vaine dissembling,
Salvation's had by faith, faith's Join'd with trembling.
John 12.2.
But Lazarus was one of those that sat at the Table with him.
DId Jews take Councel for to put to Death
The blessed Lord of Life, which gave them breath?
Was he aware of their most barbarous talk,
That openly with them he would not walk?
But came to Bethani where Lazarus lay,
And there he freely Supt, and made some stay,
Where Martha ferv'd, as well as she was able,
And Lazarus one of them that sate at Table.
Could Lazarus eat, and did his stomack crave,
That was so lately risen from the Grave?
Is his late Tomb a Table, now his dress
That bound his head, his Napkin at that Mess?
He that but now feasted the worms for meat,
Doth feast himself, and with the Living eat.
The Mercies of our God's above all things,
He sets at Table with the King of Kings.
There hath been some, all liveless pall stretcht out
For Coffin, until others went about
To tin that spark of life that close lay hid,
As glimering in the heart not wholly dead.
And by endeavors have call'd back that heat,
Which hath enabled them again to eat.
But here 'twas otherwise with Lazarus
As Holy Writings testifie to us;
He's rais'd from real death, yet Martha cry'd,
Lord, if thou hadst been here, he had not dy'd.
Behold, him now as risen from his bed,
All flesh and life, no whit disfigured,
Perfect, and whole, really rendred able,
To feast himself with joy at the same table
Where his redeemer supt, a blessed feast,
Where Lazarus is admitted to be Guest!
He's throng'd with multitudes, aged, and younger,
Which came to be spectators of the wonder;
Yet would not believe the power that wrought it,
But wickedly oppos'd, and never sought it.
Thy thought of beaven on earth, inricht with treasures,
Elysian fields, or such like feigned pleasures.
Restored Lazarus though thou hast new breath,
There is a time will bring a second death:
Yet thou art happy in the sacred story,
Inricht with that entitles thee to glory.
A happiness indeed beyond expression,
Death will thee bring unto the full possession
Of the blest Mansions, with the Saints in bliss,
Where Angels Sing and every Comfort is.
Come, tell me Lazarus, didst thou e're believe
T'enjoy the world again, and to receive
Thy rise from grave, before the general day,
And grand assize, which we must obey,
Thy sisters doubted it, but yet did see
This miracle of mercy shewed to thee,
Who wilt so walk, and be a great adorer
Of breath divine, That was thy great restorer.
What numbers of expiring souls are frighted;
At the horror of those crimes, that once delighted
Their sensual appetites? (The dying man)
Scar'd with his pains would leng then out his Span,
And gladly turn their late profaner ayres
To penetential sighs, and earnest prayers;
New tune their lives into most pious strains,
And be sufficient gainers for their pains.
He that defers it to the latest hour
Shall find his weakness, will not have the power
And vigor of that zeal, that should invoke
Mercy divine, for to remove the Yoke
Of sin, that doth so heavy on us lie,
And so benumbs us that we can't descry
Our sins aright, the which we must confess
With truth of heart, and humble holiness;
Therefore, we should make use of strength and parts
To invocate that God, which searches hearts,
And though his Judgments high are and sublime,
He saith to wandring sinners, at what time
You shall repent indeed, and humbly mourn,
I'le meet you, (if with faith) you do return.
And he whose piety hath any taste
Of heavenly Joyes, will never vainly waste
His precious time, nor no more fondly range,
But long, and be ambitious of his change.
Lord, it was thy Almighty power did save
Good Lazarm being carried to his grave,
Return'd him Living. 'T was thy love divine
That made thy Almightiness, so far to shine,
And made thee to discover that great power,
Which can raise mortals, every day and hour.
Oh let thy grace concur in me, to raise,
And to reform my soul, that all my days
I may improve endeavors to fulfill
Thy pious precepts, and perform thy will
Which bind my conscience, dear Christ, do this rather
By that dear love, which drew thee from thy father,
To save lost Man, let th'Scepter of thy word
Have influence on me, that may afford
All spiritual comfort, which may ne're depart
From me, but live for ever in my heart,
That I may live a Life of Joy and bliss,
'Mongst the blest Saints in perfect happiness,
Where nothing else but Sin can shut me out,
Lord, grant thy mercy, then I shall not doubt.
Genesis 2.8.
And the Lord God Planted a Garden Eastward in Eden.
WAS God a Planter? Did he thus take pain
So early for us, with some hopes to gain
Our Souls Immortal? how hath poor vain Man
Fancy'd some other place? tell me, who can?
Where was the Garden plac'd? Leave thy vain quest,
It was in Eden Eastward, be at rest.
See, how ambitious Mortals; here are tost
With nice enquiries, since Old Adam lost,
That there was such a place, we need not doubt it,
Our Parents sin'd, and therefore went without it:
So quickly doth our sin blast our enjoyment,
Man walk'd, and view'd, and lost it in a moment;
Was suddenly expell'd, the rising Sun
But newly warm'd the Earth, Mans Joyes were done.
This Ball was withered, into a dry complection,
And Man deprest to servile base subjection:
The Heavens scarce seated well in their right Orb,
By Pride the Angels fell, that did disturb
The frame Divine, and the base Serpents breath
Cast out contagion over all the Earth,
In that sweet Paradise epitomiz'd
For its rare fragrancy, was Man surpriz'd,
Shut out, excluded from those purer smells
Of new created flowers, took his farewells:
Thus man being stript of his most glorious prize,
By that foul friend the father of all lies;
He takes the fig-tree, for his last retreat,
His leaves for cloathing, and his fruit for meat.
How perfectly, hath Adams issue spent
Their vain desires, and their affections bent
On fond felicities, and gainless Toyes,
Selling Heavens Paradise, and all its Joys!
Covetous man doats on his god of gold,
As though there were no other to behold
Counts his chief happiness is only there,
Though stampt in hell it self, and if it were
The Image of the beast, it will not deter
Man from it, But he'l be competitor
With Prince of darkness, for some glorious Toy
Of Terrene pomp, slighting his chiefest Joy;
Makes wantonness his heaven, and carnal pleasures
His chief divinity, wanting right measures
In this his choice, But he will quickly find
These upstart lights, but darkness to his mind
Sent by the King of darkness, in derision
To cast affronts, and puzzle our religion;
Ecclipse the Gospel by their vain pretences
To bleer our eyes, and to benight our sences.
When they pretend to cloath us with more skill,
They strip us of our cloathing at their will.
They'd shut us out of heaven, I'd rather bee
For ever blind, than by their balme to see
Of Satans making, nor yet be partaker
Of such a lesson to distrust my Maker.
So miserably are we by frailties tost,
Not only Paradise, but Heaven is lost.
We loofe not only pleasures here below,
But joys divine, which thou wilt sure bestow
On us poor Mortals, he that then was chief
Monarch of the whole world, doth now with grief
Groan under his great burden, and doth flie
Amongst the shades in sad obscurity.
We might ev'n all have bin, for ever cast
Out of Gods sight, but he that's first, and last
Breathed a new life into our 'clipsed state,
By his prevailing merits, and he sate
A mediator for our bould transgression.
Lord, grant in mercy wee may have possession
Of Heaven, and heavenly Joys, disdain the Dross
Of pleasures, and indeed may fear the loss,
Of our poor souls; that when we do expire
We may be carried to the heav'nly Quire,
Into that paradise, that never fades,
To sit for ever in celestial shades.
Luke 10.25.
And behold, a certain Lawyer stood up and tempted him, saying, Master, what shall I do to Inherit Eternal Life.
BEhold, Christ's mission he doth freely send
His chosen seventy for this blessed end,
To preach the Gospel, and he doth admonish
Them to have humble hearts, and not astonish
His zealous ones, that do desire to learn
The mysteries of faith, and would discern
The way unto salvation, by such guide,
Not following the over active pride
Of fond Enthusiasts, and their bold intent,
That skip so fast, and run before they'r sent.
No, God's the God of order, law and right,
As the lawyer here observes, at the first sight
His faith was quick, ingenious, bold and rife,
VVhat shall I do to attain eternal life.
T'was the best query, that ever he made,
It gain'd him more, than all his pleading trade
Could ever get him, he was bid to look
Into the law, for fear that he mistook.
T'was no disgrace to follow such a suit,
As did concern his soul, had he bin mute,
Then he had mist the time for to enquire
The way to bliss, which was his chief desire.
This was the highest cause, he'ere could plead,
T'was for him self, Gods spirit did him lead
To make that happy question in such sort,
For he had never read of a report
Given in this case, no, not, in all his reading
Of judged cases, 'twas not his learned breeding.
Philosophy indeed doth reach no higher,
Than moral virtue, it doth not inspire
The spirit of grace, 'tis that which works by love,
That doth acquaint us with the joyes above.
T'was this inspir'd our Lawyer to this task,
To run to Christ, and him so boldly ask.
'Twas now high time indeed for him to run
To move this question, or hee'd been undone;
For he had bin retain'd too long to plead
In others causes, leaving his own in dread.
He almost had forgot his better part,
I mean his soul, which prickt him to the heart,
And it did all his vital senses seize,
Which made him strongly plead for writ of ease.
How natural are enquiries after bliss?
Even pagans study it darkly, and amiss;
The joyes they fancy, Paradise will yield
Are meer Chimera's, their Elysian field
Of carnal pleasures fill'd, are thought to be,
Which they affect as their felicity.
But its the genuin sense of a good mind
Full fraught with virtue, carefully to find
Something above the world, therefore, how vain
Are worldlings, which so foolishly take pain,
Making their chief enquiries, but for dross,
Vexatious vanities, subject to loss
Without a holy care! this Lawyer, wise
Makes right enquiry, and demands advice
Of the best councel, T'whom he doth resort,
Ev'n him that best can answer, and report.
Some, Some, there are that only do enquire
After good titles, make it their desire.
'Tis there divinity, lead them that way,
So they grow rich, they care not who decay:
If they cant Rant, and swagger, cheat and prate,
They'l sell eternity at any rate.
So sadly doe our vices drown religion;
That to enquire of heaven, is held derision.
There's no such airy questions in their books,
It's trivial, of no worth, 't will spoil their looks,
And marr their pleading, yea their gain, that's chief,
Have no such memorandum in their brief.
Stop then vain Man, consider with thy self,
Why dost thou covet to grasp so much pelf;
It's not the flattering title of a name,
Guilded with massey Gold, can keep thy shame
From the Almighty's eyes, so full of light
That do observe thy pleadings wrong or right,
Plead like the Lawyer here for a possession:
It's suitable to every Mans profession
To plead for Heaven; The client must not leave
That suit unfollowed, least he doth deceive
His Heaven born soul, for they must both appear
Before one bar, in trembling, and in fear;
There's no delay when cal'd, no writ can move,
Our day of hearing's fixt in Heaven above.
Lord let us with delight approach to thee,
Which art chief counsel in extremity,
And not reflect on parts, demurs of wit,
But eye that Throne, whereon indeed doth sit
The Judge of all the Earth, from whose clear sight
No flesh can hide it self, Let our delight
Be to enquire thy waies, which chiefly tend
To that true glory ne'r shall have an end.
The Lawyers most importunate request,
Let it with zeal ev'n always warm our breast,
And stir up in our hearts a holy strife,
To get assurance of eternal life.
John 11.36.
Jesus Wept.
STop! O my soul, and here behold and see,
Thy Saviour sweet in his humanity!
His passions did prevail, he could not keep
His eyes of mercy dry, but soare did weep
For Lazarus, and in him for us all
That wrapt are, and involv'd in sin and thrall.
Oh who can hear this, and yet have the power
To hold his eyes from streaming out a shower
Of tears? what frozen heart can choose but melt
Into a flood of teares, if they e'r felt
A touch of conscience, for those sins of theirs,
And yet will not accompany his tears?
Behold we see the marble hearted Jew,
Censuring his grief, with malice to pursue
Their envious taunts, corruption of their mind,
And jearing said, can't he that cur'd the blind
Keep Lazarus alive, do not deride,
It was that God and Christ be glorified,
And clearly did determine that vain strife,
I am the Resurrection and the life.
No wonder if they did refuse to be
Mourners, which acted such a villany,
And had such small compassion on his grief,
That were become his Murderers in chief,
And op'd that fountain stream of his dear blood,
Which gushed out like water from a flood;
Which still lies op, where we may have access
To him by faith, and truth and holiness.
And yet how many are there, that do bear
Thy title, and boldly pretend to wear
The livery of thy name, but do refuse
The characters of thy Cross, and still are Jews.
How coldly sure are they, stand thus affected
That are not touched with grief, nor yet dejected
For his harsh sufferings, at his latest breath,
Which seems to be forgetful of his death.
How richly are good Mary's tears requited,
Which wash't her Saviours feet, which she delighted;
Her eyes were moving bathes, still running over
To see his brim full drops, that did discover
His love divine, which nothing could remove
To shew his power, his mercy, and his love.
Whom Martha did diswade for want of faith;
Lazarus come forth, our blessed Saviour faith,
Had Lazarus but known; what a rich prize
He was esteem'd in the Almighty's Eyes,
He would have dy'd and not repented
To be thus buried, and so much lamented.
Have such a mourner wait upon his pall
Which is the Almighty Saviour, of us all.
Divinest Saviour, thou didst weep for those
That could not weep, nor yet fully disclose
Their vile affections, it was sin that kept
Them prisoners to their lusts, their sences slept.
Thou pourest out thy tears, thy life and blood,
And shall we not pour ours even in a flood,
That fully should speak out, unfained sorrow
For sin, and not defer it till the morrow.
But we're so plung'd in sin, and many feares,
That we cannot accompany thy tears:
It is to sad a walk for flesh and blood,
Unless thy spirit lead us to what is good.
Shew us thy purer ways, least we intrude,
And give us hearts of pious gratitude,
That we may glorifie thy name with praise,
For our redemption, and that all our days
May be a thanks giving, not to say we slept,
Remembring always, that our Jesus wept.
Matth. 6.33.
But seek ye first the Kingdom of God and his Righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you, &c.
OUr blest Redeemer doth continue here
His precepts, teaching Gospel course to steere,
Contained in his Sermon on the Mount,
A heavenly subject worthy our account.
But we poor wealkings, an how frail are we,
That's last in thought, which ought the first to be.
Our duller parts are now so dead, and numb,
All clog'd with earthly cares, our tongues are dumb
To make enquiry after thy purer ways,
Which should express our duty and thy praise.
Such loyterers are we Heav'n ward, that we make
Small speed, and have more mind, and care to take
Our carnal considerations with us so,
That we cannot effectually let go
Our thoughts from sins but cause our Maker stay
Our leisure, oh the wretched sad delay
Of sinful flesh, that studies to provide
Superfluous things for to abett our pride!
Mean while our better parts lie to th' view
Of Heavens great Eye, with whom we have to do.
Such strangers are we to our souls concern,
That wee indeed don't in the least discern
Thy love and favor to us, whence we miss
These joyes above, ev'n Heavens eternall bliss.
We gaze no higher, than the Lower sphear,
Rowling in meer morality, whilst there,
As though we had nothing beyond our breath
To look for, when wee'r snatcht away by death.
What thoughts, ambitious do we ever carry
For terrene Joyes? how little for Gods glory?
Vain Jolities, and worldly pleasures swallow
The thoughts of Heaven, not suffering us to follow
Gods heavenly Preceps, we do sadly lie
Dead in our thoughts of immortality.
Vain man, what is't that thou dost sacrifice
Thy idle thoughts unto, or wherein lies
Thy chief felicity? The pagans can
Fancy a bliss amongst the shades, vain Man,
And place their trophies in their amorous walks,
Where there ghosts revels, and their fancie talks
Of pleasures, but can we, O Lord, forget
Thy Kingdom, and not once look after it!
He that prophanely wanders, is a stranger
To heavenly Joyes, and sure is still in danger
To loose that would enrich him beyond measure,
With splendid glories, and with heavenly treasure.
How wretched then, are they that so mistake,
And for themselves no allegation make,
But thrive in sin, and still the world do court,
And with its fading glories make a sport,
Exchanging a rich diadem of bliss
For feigned pleasures that are sure amiss!
Were the whole world a scene of choicest pleasures,
Zeraglio of delights, were all the treasures
Of the Arabian region made a field
For man to revel in; these joyes would yield
But low fruitions, truly without thee
Our God, which only makes frail Man to see,
How he is kept in pleasures temporary,
From an eternal weight of heavenly glory.
And yet how many are there which would pawn,
Their consciences, and eagerly do fawn
Upon these vain allurements here below,
Slighting heavens mercies, whilst they do bestow
Their time, in some vain study to invent,
New modes of wickedness, and with intent
T'increase their credit in the world's account,
And do not care how far they swell and mount
Their store in sin, for their content to bee
Laborious in a sweet impiety.
Are there no nobler ways to eternize
Our memories, than thus to loose the prize,
I mean of souls? it's savage cruelty
Them to destroy to all eternity,
For to espouse our names to fowlest shame,
And ever vainly glory in the same,
Making a mock of sin, and loose all sence
Of loosing our religions reverence
Unto our Maker, which makes no Man worse
By serving him aright, with true remorse;
But makes Men sweeter in a heavenly frame
Of rich contentment, and doth breed no shame,
But gain enlargement of his bounteous love,
For which we owe our praise to God above,
That is the only giver of our bliss,
And ought to have our humblest thankfulness.
Lord, raise in us those aims that truly tend
To heavenly joyes, and let our cares most bend,
Our thoughts that way, then we need not to fear
Misfortunes cross, nor harms ev'n when they'r neer.
This is a policy that will non plus
The poring worldling, hel'd be baffled thus,
And after generations they must yield,
That pious policy shall win the field.
How senceless of our chiefest good are we,
That doe prefer the world's felicity
Before thy glory, and can spend in sin
Our precious hours, which should indeed have bin
Devoted, in sincere returns to thee.
Behold, in mercy Lord, how frail we be,
That we account a little moment spent
In serving thee, a tiresome punishment.
So sottish are we in the ways of pleasure,
That for to do thy will, we find no leisure.
We morgage our dear souls for vainest toyes,
And fondly undervalue richest joys;
Fading contentments, which we fancy here,
We purchase at a rate extreamly dear.
Lord, raise our Heaven born souls that we may see
Our vain delights in sin, and turn to thee
By true repentance; give us grace to leave
These low enjoyments, that in truth bereave
Us of our purer Joyes, O give content
In stooping to thy holy regiment.
Let our dear souls for ever more despise,
The flatteries of the world with its disguise,
And as our souls are made by, and for thee,
So keep them Lord, to all eternity.
Enable us to breath forth thy high praise,
And give us of thy blessing all our days
What ever we do receive, it is from thee,
The fountain of all true felicity;
Who only canst our pretious souls advance
To heavenly dwellings, Saints inheritance;
To which we seek a promised access,
Lord, grant thy Kingdom and thy righteousness.
John 13.23.
And there was Leaning on Jesus bosom one of his Disciples whom he loved. &c.
HEre Christs transcendent love to John is seen,
Being admitted on his breast to lean;
And as a bosome friend, whom Jesus lov'd,
He took the boldness and was not reprov'd.
How freely did he make his Saviours breast
His pillow, and the place of sweetest rest.
Oh blessed Kindness! would not Monarchs great
Ambitious be of this, and leave their seat,
And royal Canopies for to repose
In such a bosom? as all wisdom knows
The most ambitious souls can climb no higher,
To better rest poor mortals can't aspire
Then in that bosom, Saints Securest nest,
VVhich is the eternal mansions of the blest.
What carping worldling can find out a treasure,
To satiate himself with fuller pleasure?
The amorous wanton would with speed forsake
Admired beauty, if he might partake
Of such a bed of spices, heed insist
On Courtship to so fair an Amorist.
Was not this happiness above the rest
To have procedency in Jesus brest?
A dignity might give him much delight
To be accounted the chief favorit.
How pleasingly doth John here lay his ear
So close Christ heart, it did him greatly chear,
And raise such raptures in his longing breast,
As well might rock him into sweetest rest;
And make his dreams occasions for to raise
His heart to joy and gladness, thanks and praise.
Stop here my soul, behold, admire, and see
The emblem of most true felicity,
A perfect shew of meekness, and of love,
Mercies great tipe descending from above!
See Christ upon his Cross, his armes extended,
T'imbrace lost Man, was his heart blood expended,
To wash us from Our guilt of sin, and shame;
Lord let me ever glorifie his name,
Repose my self on's breast the seat of love,
And thereby have true comforts from above.
Did Mary whose compassions quickly turn'd
Into a flood of teares? Her grief so mourn'd.
Had shee bin graced with so great a favor,
As to lean on the bosom of our Saviour?
Her eyes as living springs that sweetly meet,
Her haires to wipe her blessed Saviours feet,
Such grace, and priviledge would ev'n let out
Her noblest blood, in passion it would spout
Out into grateful streams; for such a price
And blest acquaintance, 'twould require her eyes
That sent forth streames, yet it would make clean
Her putrid soul, had she but leave to Lean;
'Twould transport her in raptures of true mirth,
For such a blessing to enjoy on earth.
Which John enjoyed as a favor to him given,
A blessed Emblem of the joyes of Heaven.
Did Peter give a beck, and did John ask?
Who should commit that bold and bloody task?
Did Christ make answer? did his God reply?
O blessed condescention! that the high
And the Almighty King should so submit
To mortals, as to daign with him to sit
And commune with them, o let mankind learn
All humble meekness! and in truth discern
This holy love of Christ to man on earth,
And see how lovingly he invites new birth,
To be born a new by faith and repentance;
Such holy practice will his soul advance
Into the bosom of God, do not delay
Thy turning from the vain, and idle way
Of sin, which causeth endless shame and death.
Consider it ye mortals of the Earth,
Who now carouse in sin and sport away,
Thy blessed time of love by your delay.
Be not bewitcht with sin, return and blest,
Behold our Christ admits you to his feast.
Oh let the endearments of a comon sence,
Of love and lively faith arise from thence;
And let sweet raptures of a holy zeal
Raise in my soul, such joyes as may reveal
My constant faith, and love to him alone,
That is for ever seated in the Throne
Of heavenly glory, Lord, do thou permit
Me in his arms of love, and cause me sit
Amongst the Saints above, which take delight
To sing sweet Hallelujahs day and night,
To that blest quire good Lord in time unite me,
And let thy praises ever more delight me.
Then shall my longing soul have quiet rest
In the bosom of that glory ever blest.
Luke 19.9.
This day is Salvation come to thy house.
BEhold, our Jesus trav'ling for to gain
Lost Man, and see with what a loving pain
He passeth Jericho, after he'd wrought
Such mighty works, and cur'd them all that sought
To him in faith, of which Zacheus hearing,
Hastning he climbs to see his Christ, not fearing,
The publicans could hinder his good nature,
His zeal being warm although but low in stature.
He takes the Sicamore, as here we find,
To raise his body equal with his mind.
VVell warm'd with faith, and a desire to see
His Lord and Christ, from branches of a Tree:
VVhere being seen, and call'd, he made no stay,
But with all Joy of heart, he did obey.
His infant faith did soon break forth in action,
And chearfully he vowed satisfaction,
And restitution; no Man did ever more
Largely express his Love unto the poor,
By all he did it truly demonstrate,
That Christ assur'd to be with in his gate.
T'was time for him to hast, and not desist
To entertain so merciful a guest;
That did so passionately express his love,
Calling Zacheus, from the Tree above.
He leaves the branches, that did him advance,
Prostrates himself with humble reverence:
Had his low limbs been of a higher extent,
He might have wanted that true zeal he meant.
But being low in stature, high in grace,
Hee's call'd to see his Christ, ev'n face to face.
Oh humble kindness of the King of glory!
As its recorded in the sacred story.
See how coldly th'world doth entertain
The Lord of life, which finds too much disdain.
'Tis he invites who well could pay the cost,
That came to seek, and save such as were lost.
The Jew doth vainly look for his Redeemer
To come in pomp, which shews he's an esteemer
Of worldly majesty, but hee's become
A wandring vagrant till the day of doom.
Stop, stop, ye glorious mortals, which do ride
In golden Chariots, stuft with carnal pride.
See your Redeemer, a blest president
To true humility, with care repent;
Place not felicity on Thrones of Gold,
But on the Scepter of Gods word take hold;
And if you'l climb, climb like Zacheus here,
Not after pomp, but with an awful fear
Cast down your selves, even from the lofty Tree
Of carnal Lusts; Hear Christ saith, come to me
All that decline a Carnal conversation,
To them he offers life, joy and salvation.
Who would not welcome such a noble guest,
And treat his Saviour at a Bounteous feast?
And sacrifice even all with joy, and love,
Sith every perfect gift is from above,
And giv'n by him, that can repay us double;
Conferring perfect happiness for trouble.
But there are some that think it to much charge,
If vestry ornaments be something large,
To express th'honor, dignity, and worth
Of sacred things, and decently let forth,
As late religious arts perform'd in order;
They say that on Romes Church we neerly boarder,
If they see Gap, or Surplice, Hood, or Scarse,
Like silly momes, they flout, and jeer and laugh;
But such must know, uniess they will be fools,
These are distinctions in the learned Schools.
How happy was Zachem with the favor
Of Christ his presence, whose persumes did savor
Of humility, in that he'ed condescend,
To come to sinners, as unto a friend,
And be a guest unto such a kind of Man,
As was a meer professed publican:
Nor is his mercy shut up here alone,
But it extends to all that sigh, and groan;
Yea every houshould, that indeed doth clime
And mounts by virtue surely shall see him:
Hark, you that sacrifice your lives and blood,
And with a hearful zeal, do fly from good,
That foot the musick of a vainer life,
And with true virtues, ever are at strise,
Strangers to God, his holy ordinance
The precious sacraments, that sure advance
The flight toward Heaven, and make thee see,
Like good Zachem here as from a Tree
Of grace, if this be planted in thy heart,
Then Christ will be thy guest, and nere depart:
If this be water'd with repenting tears,
Then it will bring forth fruit, in which appears
A holy life, which will the comfort give,
And in true Joyes thou shalt for ever live,
After thy body is by death mowed down,
Thy soul shall have a pretious heav'nly crown.
Oh Lord, we are as nothing in thy sight,
'Tis thou haft rais'd us by thy power and might;
And when the least desire we feel, or find
To come to thee, 'tis thou that stirs the mind,
And makes us climb, for we are low of stature,
Lame, and decrepit, poor, weak things by nature,
Unless we take advantage by the Tree
Of faith, and holy life, wee see not thee;
And climb O Lord, wee can't without thy grace
Raise us O Lord, by it to see thy face:
Infuse in us each holy good desire,
Blow up in us a zeal as hot as fire.
A zeal that may a doubtless warmth sure bring,
Then shall we praise thee, and for ever sing
Loud Halelujahs to thy blessed name,
That art th'Almighty God, ever the same,
Whose mercies condescend to every one,
And gives assurance of salvation.
Luke 9.57.
Lord, I will follow thee wheresoever thou goest.
BEhold, our Saviour here who doth reprove
Revenging rashness, prompting peace and love,
When his Apostles fill'd with desire
To be reveng'd would set a Town on fire,
And in that passion were so fully bent,
They urged to Christ a former president:
Saying, did not Elias do such things,
As'tis recorded in the book of Kings;
But Christ reprov'd them, with a serious frown,
And pull'd their high avenging spirits down.
I came not to destroy mens lives, but save
All such as in humility do crave:
This heard, the scribe professeth without boast,
Lord, I will follow thee where e're thou goest,
Oh blessed boldness in that resolution,
A happy confidence to make intrusion
Into such company, there's none can blame
His passionate affection, it became
Holy desires, which did indeed express,
His fervent zeal to God, and holiness.
The wondrous miracles which thus were wrought,
Brought him to Christ, whom he with fervor sought
That divine light, whose powerful influence
Attracts all Eyes with holy reverence,
And all in raptures, proud of company,
That led him Heaven-ward in such Majesty.
Thus came the scribe attendant for to be,
Saying aloud, Lord, I will follow thee:
Nor could his poverty stop his intention
Of following Christ, he could have no prevention
But suffer all the miseries, can attend
So good a Master, that can him defend:
In whose deep wants there is more fulness hid,
Than Earth amounts unto, if valued.
This scribe's a Coppy, ought we not to write
After this Jew, and yet how blind's our sight,
We cannot see, our senses are bereav'd
Of the true light, our souls they are deceiv'd,
Else would we not suffer this publican
Out strip us in our duty, ah vain Man!
Where are thy thoughts, that thou dost thus despise
That guide that leads to that blest place; where lies
All the hid treasures, which can be exprest
Of Saints, and Angels in the heavenly rest.
Were we to follow through a bed of flowers,
Who would not run, who now his visage lowres.
The sensualist would walk, but that he scorns
To prick his tender feet, amongst such Thorns,
With prickles sharp, this rose is all surrounded,
He cannot follow, that's with care confounded.
Cares of this world, nor can the Epicure
Follow, cause abstinence he cannot endure,
He cannot fast, this, this will spoile his mirth,
And hinder his enjoyment on this Earth,
Which prizeth pleasures, and at greatest cost
Them to endulge, although at last he's tosh
Into the Dungeon, 'mongst eternal pains,
The just reward of his licentious strains.
So hard it is for to correct our blood
To leave the world, and follow that is good.
The blandishments of sence invalids bliss,
And robs us of the fruits of happiness.
Fruits that attends endeavors, if we took
A Serious prospect, and with care would look
Into the ways of virtue, we might spie
The sad effects of vain morality,
Which are but tinkling Simbals to our ears,
Though fill'd with musick, it may end in tears.
And yet how many are there that pretend
To follow Christ, and will their ways amend;
Yet still are strangers to his footsteps pure,
Treading their own tracts, and can not endure
Sound councel, but do beat these pathes anew
Scarce ever trod, but lately with a crew
Of confident assertors, that can find
A nearer pathe, which more disturbs the mind
In their blind zeals they do too boldly say,
That th'holy Martyr'd fathers mist the way.
They think they have a neerer cut to Heaven,
And that a better guide to them is given,
Then Christ and his disciples, their new light,
Indeed will lead them to eternal night.
So various is their zeal, and given to change,
Which make them wander, and most fondly range
To find fresh oyl, for to enflame new light,
Though meet impostures, yet they think them right;
Scorn ancient foot-steps, and approved form
Of holy Church, which doth so much adorn
The grandure of true worship, but they'l find
Meanders, and Euthusiasts still are blind,
For in the darkness they do sadly grope,
And for to find the door, they'r sans all hope:
Wanting good government to keep them in,
From their blind zeal, the occasion of their sin.
But hear the poor Man doth not make delay:
To come to Christ, who is the persect way;
His humble resolutions, he did press
In begging confidence, he made address.
How vile am I, O Lord, thou only know'st,
Oh! I will follow thee where e're thou goest.
So raise our souls from off the world, O Lord,
In seeking thee, we friendly may accord.
Thou art ascended to thy heavenly Throne,
Where all true joyes are lodg'd in thee a lone.
O draw our souls in raptures of thy love,
And spiritual exhalations from above;
That may enrich our souls, and make us be,
True converts shunning sin, and following thee,
Which art the only fountain from whence springs
All streams of mercy, thou art King of Kings.
Grant us admittance, for to wait on thee,
Then shall our souls enjoy eternity.
Sir Anthony Bateman being then a Prisoner in the House, lay the next Chamber to the Author, He having received the sad, and sudden news of the death of his beloved Daughter, which died the Tenth day of December last. It being the very day Twelve moneth, that her Mother the Lady Bateman died, and neer about the same hour the day before. The deceased was much busied about thoughts of death, and writ her Will, and something about ordering her funeral, yet went to bed, Seemingly much grieved, and very p [...]. The Author to comfort him writ as followeth.
SIR, Death hath surprized your Daughter, so that she
Thereby's translated to eternity.
Her virtues follow her, that golden Chain,
Whose links are purest gold, doth still remain
Unblemist, her pure soul, with joy to find
A heavenly rest, her charitable mind
Richly rewarded is with heavenly treasure,
Her sorrows turn'd to joyes, beyond all measure.
Her mirth is endless, and she doth aspire,
To sing sweet Anthems in the heavenly quire.
Cease then your tears, and forbear thus to grieve,
She's gone before, where death hath no reprieve.
VVe all must follow her, no writ can move,
Our day of hearing's fixt in heaven above;
VVhere Angels can chant forth praises, and still sing
Most divine Anthems to our God and King.
I [...] which she bears apart (I hope) on high,
VVhere Saints are crown'd with bliss eternally.
An Elogy on the name and death of the virtnous Lady Martha Bateman, who departed this life the Tenth of Decemb. 1674.
Most happy Saint, by the eternals will
Amongst the Gods, where thou art ever still
Rankt with the heavenly sitters, most sublime,
To teach us mortals, that abuse our time
Here in this vail of Earth, where we may see,
As in thy mirror, how weak, and frail we be.
But now a flower of a sweet fragrant smell
Amongst the roses, anon the passing bell,
Tolls the sad ditty of her last farewel,
Even under the sore pangs of mortal death,
Most willingly surrenders up her breath;
Altering her earthly shape, she did lie down,
Natures frail case for a celestial Crown.
Nature expostulating with death.
Grim death! why dost thou aim thy fiery dart,
In so direct a posture at my heart?
Be not mistaken, My flesh is tender,
And will not yet admit of a surrender
Of my pure vitals, why so cruel bent,
'gainst this afflicted family for thy rent?
For to exact it the same day, ô why so cruel?
Might hot my dearest Mothers precious Jewel
Be price enough, to stay thy angry fate
But must pursue her issue with thy hate?
And that same very Tenth day of December,
Must our sad family with sobbs remember.
Ah is it so, be not in hast to kill
My panting heart, O let me write my Will.
Let me have nought to do but sigh, and die
Then farewel mortal, come immortality.
Into which joyes no prying eye can peep,
It is beyond our knowledge, and too deep
To search into, ô lets a while admire
Her great perfections, that did thus inspire
Her more diviner soul, that did prepare
Her funeral, and friends with love, and care.
Her earthly part she did, as sleep lay down,
Her temporal for a Celestial Crown;
So that henceforth it truly may be said,
She is transplanted, rather than decayed.
Meditations, written by William Williams Gentleman, Prisoner in the Kings Bench, Anno 1676.
And in the sixty third year of his age.
Numbers 27.16, 17.
Let the Lord, the God of the spirits of all flesh, set a Man over the congregation. Which may go out before them, and which may go in before them, and which may lead them out, and which may bring them in; that the congregation of the Lord be not as sheep which have no shepherd.
DId God command good Moses to ascend
The Abarim mount, unto that very end
To see the promised Land? did he not express,
How that he sinned in the wilderness,
At Meribab? was he denied possession
Of Canan's land, for this his his foul trangression?
The which he shall no sooner see, but die,
Yet ceas'd he not unto the Lord to cry.
Let God, the Lord of spirits continue on,
A shepherd to the congregation.
Did not the Lord soon grant to his request
Behold, take Joshua my spirit's in his brest,
But lay thine hands upon him, give him charge
In presence of the people (not at large.)
Set him before Eleazar the chief priest,
He hath the Urim and Thummim thou seest:
Let all go in, and out at his sole word,
Yea all the congregation of the Lord.
Moses obeys, sets Joshua in their sight,
Lays on his hands with reverence and might.
Behold, this mission did the Lord want power
To send out Joshuah, at that very hour.
Needed he the help of Moses to compleat,
A holy priesthood to succeed his feat?
Needed he the hands of Moses to confirm
The blessed orders and decrees of Heaven?
No, 'twas his wisedom to make all to know;
That God's the God of order, to which we owe
All possible obedience, with submission,
To his blest precepts, taking a commission,
And run not on, in a furious presumption,
Scorning all order and the holy unction.
Did not this tipe in Meses represent
Christ's mission to his holy Government
Of his succeeding Church, T'adorn the Station;
VVhen Christ bids go, and preach to every Nation,
His Apostles boldly went, and not till then,
They were not made the blest fishers of Men.
Then stop, thou bold Intruder, Learn and heark,
VVas not Uzzah struck for touching the Ark
VVithout a Call, Let his Example learn
The meekness, that thou may'st truly discern
The way of order, continued in all ages,
And is from thence descended to the sages,
And Governors of the Church, it doth preserve
A holy Ministry, faithfully to serve
As Ministring spirits, truly to represent
Our dayly wants, and help us to repent
And bewail the times, never be at rest
Still praying to send laborers in the harvest.
No prayers so needful in this presumptuous age,
When persons run like players on a stage;
Venting their fancies, their vain shapes and guise,
Their fond delusions, which amuse the wise;
Who would not labor, and devoutly pray
To be freed from these blind leaders astray,
Which proudly prattle of their gifts and vaunt
Their inward calls, I compassionate their want
Of sober meekness by which they may be,
Instructed in the rules of Modesty.
Who can be hold this Garden become a field
For beasts to revel in, and their hearts not yield
Compassionate tears, to see foxes pray
On silly lambs, and bear their souls away
To wild, and strange delusions by their prate,
And bold assertions do insinuate.
How vainly do they thus pretend new light,
When they do strip their mother of her right,
And cry up the rash fancies of their brain,
Beyond the decent holy gospel strain.
Can there be want of Laborers in this rout?
No, no, there are too many go about,
To lead away souls by their vain delusion,
Thinking it zeal to bring in such confusion;
Where sheep become shepherds, their brains are sickle,
Presumptuously handling the Gospels sickle,
Yea, he that can but talk in a Gospel phrase,
Doth think himself inspir'd, but doth not pause
On the hid mysteries contain'd therein,
But vomits forth his ignorance and sin,
And climbs a pulpit in some publick heard
And there to vent his folly is not affear'd.
He that doth love his Saviour will delight
To honor his spouse, the Church, and in her right
Lay out his interest, firmly to maintain
Her reverence, and esteem, is all his aim,
And triumph in the felicity of her health,
And beg the perpetuity of her wealth;
In whose arms alone he can be mounted high,
Into the Throne of blest eternity.
He deserveth not to be sharer in bliss,
That eternal harvest of true happiness,
That will not labor and devoutly pray
To send forth Laborers in that needful day,
And shepherds, that most faithfully will feed
Their flocks, and keep them in the time of need,
And save them from those wolves that would devour
Their harmless lambs, if gotten in their power.
Oh Lord, who can behold this bleeding spouse,
And not shed tears, and ev'n with fervor rouze
His very soul, in contemplation
Of this afflicted Church and Nation.
Shee that not long since, was but little less,
Than a Princess amongst the provinces
Is become a widow, weeps sore all night,
And is bereav'd of comfort, and her right.
Her lovers have forsaken her in such sort,
That many flout, few yield her true comfort.
She once, was worthy the kisses of his love,
That priz'd her highly as a Queen above.
And at her glory did no whit repine,
But magnified her love better than wine.
But now she's black, but comely to the view
Of Heaven, though her locks are werted with the diew;
Yet is continued that sweeter breath;
Tell me O thou, who my soul so loveth,
Where thou feedest, and sets thy flocks to rest,
Besides the shepherds Tents, they are safe and blest.
Such a sweet dialogue the Church once had,
Though now grown pale with grief, heavy and sad;
Yet is she still belov'd, though in mourning dress,
The time will come to cast of heavyness.
Oh! let the accustomed mercies of thy love,
Protect thy Church from rapine, and remove
Those Boars, and Foxes, that strive to devour
Thy vine, Oh keep it by thy Almighty power
From envious storms, for thou hast plac't it high,
Where all may see it, and with hearts apply.
Oh! lets approach to it, not turn'd away
By such blind guides, that vainly go astray.
Let ne're thy sacred Oracles want power,
Nor priest to lead us, in our latest hour.
Nor let the gladsome tidings of our peace
Be turn'd to silence, Oh! let it never cease
Thy holy Ministry, but, O Lord, supply
Their defects, pardon the wild vanity,
And ignorant phantastick zeal of those;
That thus abuse thy Church and are thy foes.
Give them true light, thy mercies quite dispel,
That darkness which will lead them down to Hell.
Let us rejoyce in the Mercies of his love,
In sending us his Son, which from above
Hast left a holy Ministry to be our guide.
Oh keep us safe that we may never slide
Into such pathes, that may lead us astray,
But follow our shepherds in a holy way;
And from a peevish zeal, good Lord, restore us,
And grant us shepherds, that may go before us.
Matthew 5.8.
Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God &c.
GOd of his abundant love, did send his Son
Into the world, to preach salvation
Upon the mount, whereon he freely taught
His blessed precepts, unto all that sought
To him in faith, and obedience to his will,
Minding his holy precepts to fulfil.
He pronounced nine blessings with their recompence,
If we observe them with true reverence,
And keep his holy Lawes, not from it start,
Surely blessed are they, are pure in heart.
Who would not then strive earnest to be pure,
See David's fervent zeal for to assure
His panting soul, which long'd full sore to find,
A place of rest for his so grieved mind.
To attain the which, he passionately cri'd,
Lord, from thy precepts let me never slide.
That he would cleanse his heart, he might inherit
The gifts, and graces of his holy spirit.
Hath piety such a reward, no disgrace?
Shall the pure in heart behold him face to face?
And with blest spirits ever happy raign
In endless glory, and true peace obtain.
Who will not labor to imitate the just,
VVho have such heavenly visions in their dust.
Shall the treacherous vanities we enjoy
Steal off our hearts, and rob us of true joy,
And bereave us of the glory of that light,
VVhich is of endless splendor, power, and might;
So strengthen me, That I may rather choose
The divine light, and all false lights refuse.
A sight the which in glory doth surpass,
All triumphs in the world that ever was.
VVhat splenders are there, compared to this,
It is an empty air, Nothing less;
A sight which no eye ever saw, but may
If the worlds objects lead them not astray,
After the harmony of deluding Charms,
VVhich lulls frail flesh a sleep in natures arms.
The Idea of this sight cannot be drawn
In lively colors, least we do prophane;
The speculations of the brain can never
Portract him truly, that doth live for ever.
Then cease thy fancie, and forbear thy art,
His liveless Character is in thy heart.
The divine Traveller, though but newly there,
Could give no full description of that sphear.
Scripture Characters doth but even allude,
And set it forth but in similitude.
And shew, how infinitely transcendent
Is that glory, which is omnipotent.
VVere diamonds all join'd, to make one splendor,
They were but Attoms to the Sun, not render
The smallest glimps, to that luminary
Of life and heat, the which by motions vary,
And feed a throng of sparkling stars, that are
Inlivened with his light, which from a far
VVe do behold, each one in's proper place,
How dim's it to the glory of thy face.
VVho then would thus so vainly sacrifies
Himself to sin; and so bewreave his eyes
Of that blest vision, and the chiefest good,
To gratifie his wild extravagant blood,
And revel in delights of sin and shame,
And stiffle his nobler passions, and that flame
Of holy zeal, that should chiefly delight us:
To the triumphs of thy bliss, Good Lord unite us.
He that would dwell amongst those sacred fires,
And holy spirits, by whose true light inspires
The mind with holy motions, he must turn
His heart unto an altar, and their burn
The holy sacrifice of penitence,
And lively faith, with all due reverence,
And humbleness of heart, which will do well,
For the graces of Gods spirit there do dwell.
The heart that mourns within us, there must be
The only seat of life, and love to thee.
The graces of the spirit there must rest,
And be so firmly fixed in the brest.
Naturalists, do well observe, that to the heart
Is first giv'n life, then death it doth them part.
Oh Lord, our hearts are frail, there cannot be
Strength to support, unless it come from thee:
Give thy supporting graces, we are weak;
Touch thou our hearts and tongues, that we may speak
To the glory of thy name, and so dispise
The vanities of the world, with its disguise.
O raise our contemplations to thy glory,
Cast down our vain affections transitory;
That proudly do oppose it self in error,
Correct our thoughts, oh let it be a terror
Unto our hearts, and make us plainly see
The horror of our crimes, Lord against thee.
Sanctifie to thy self our whole devotion,
That we live holy lives in godly motion.
Oh let our chiefest contemplations raise,
A holy zeal in us to give thee praise,
Let it be our delight to do thy will,
And all thy holy precepts to fulfill
That when we shall lay down our lives in dust,
VVe may be glorified with the Just.
And sweetly seated in that blessed place.
VVhere we may all behold thee face to face.
Daniel 12.3.
And they that be wise shall shine as the Brightness of the firmament and they that turn many to Righteousness as the Stars for ever and ever.
DId Michael th'archangel not stir thence,
But stood most valiant, like a mighty prince,
To assist Gods people in their times of trouble,
And said their sufferings would be requited double.
If that their hearts would be to wisdom bent,
Should shine for ever in the firmament,
And such as by their pious pains do turn
Others from sin, so that they sigh, and mourn
Shall shine as starrs, and be for ever blest
VVith glory, in everlasting rest.
Who then would not be studious for to gain
True knowledge, that he might thereby attain
Such promised glory, and become most pure,
Holy, Celestial, to be ever sure
To shine forth, as the Sun, oh blessed sight!
In whose most glorious raies is the chief light:
Where mans diviner part not only lives,
As living splendor, it for ever gives
Transcending beams of lustre, which shall shine
In the imperial heavens, most divine,
And there be ever fixt, and never sever,
But shine as stars for ever, and for ever.
Look here, ye blind admirers of Earths bubble,
A robe of purple, or some glorious trouble,
A diadem of honor in this Earth,
Which brings forth care, small comfort after death.
So vain is Man, that fondly doth desire
Such trifling honors, that do soon expire;
Which carrieth not that light will give access,
And by its virtue turn to righteousness,
Which would make them Stars, but some desire t'enjoy
Their fading pleasures, such a splendid toy.
Hear this all ye, that can on shadows dote,
And you that can to Transitory pomp devote
Your souls, and care not for immortal bliss,
And think there is no other Heaven but this.
Sublunary pleasures, couldst thou call down
A robe of morning Stars to deck thee round.
Such Royal luminaries it would be
But gloomy splendor, a bright obscurity
Compared to that lustre, 'Twill shine but faint,
Not like that glory, that enwraps a Saint.
That azure spangled Heaven, which we do see,
Where the magazin of Stars so fixed be,
Which stocks the world with light, its but a vail
Or curtain drawn, to keep our sences frail,
From over prying into th'almighties Throne,
Where only is felicity alone.
Which no eye ever saw, nor yet shall see,
The hidden glories of eternity.
Tombs are but wardrops, or Chambers of death,
Hung'd with their winding sheets beneath the Earth,
Where we shall all after this life be laid,
Till to our fathers we be gathered.
If that same heavenly glimps, which did appear
Upon the mount, did the disciples chear,
Which made them wish, that they might there strait raise
Three Tabernacles to eternal praise,
And there abide. Oh if that beauty then
Reveal'd from Heaven unto these blessed Men
Was so Transcendent, how will th'enjoyment be!
Oh ravish us with desires, that we may see
Where Christ is gone before, 'twas the Martyrs Joy
Amid their tortures, valued as a toy,
Though their limbs were broken, and mangled,
Yet they were sure their hairs were numbred.
If Peters shadow had that healing power
To cure the sick, which applied to him each hour,
How powerful is that shining glory then,
Which doth such wonders for the Sons of Men.
Let no one doubt, nor be at any strife,
If once his name be in the book of life.
Though his earthly Tabernacle be laid down,
Yet he shall have an everlasting Crown
Of endless glory, beyond expression far,
And shine in Heaven like a glorious Star.
Who is it would not slight, and disregard
The vanities of this life for such reward,
And welcome poverty with all its chains,
And triumph in the assurance of such gains.
As that nobly divine transcendent love,
That is prepared in the Heavens above,
Where there's assurance for to live for ever,
And sweetly rest in the bosom of the father.
Thou didst create us Lord, for to serve thee,
But by our frailties we'r become to be
For ever lost. But thou of thy great love,
Didst restore us to true joyes above
Oh fill us with meditations of thy praise,
Which may elevate our spirits all our days;
That we may walk in some measure divine,
That by a holy practice we may shine,
As Stars in the lower orb, and express that light,
We have by faith received by thy might,
And power divine, Oh let our hearts be ever
Filled with praises, and be silent never;
And still express our thanks and not have done,
Until we shine in brightness, like the Sun,
And from a holy walking never sever
But shine as Stars for ever and for ever.
Matthew 2.10.
And when they saw the Star they Rejoyced with exceeding great Joy.
I'm still surpriz'd with wonder, at the love
Of our offended God, that from above
Should shew his Star to wise men of the Fast,
Which welcom'd such an object, did not rest,
But gave it reverence, with an holy fear,
They well knowing the motions of the sphear.
That blessed object, that unwanted Star,
Which they did with much joy behold, from far
And there was kindled in them a desire
To post unto Jerusalem, to enquire,
Where's he that is born King, we've seen his Star,
To worship him with joy, are come from far?
Herod seem'd troubled at such sudden news,
And all the congregation of the Jews;
On went these Men, the Star being still their guide
It rested where the blessed Babe was laid;
There they rejoyce, no frights did them annoy,
Seeing the Star, they had exceeding joy.
Rouse then my soul, in a holy contemplation
Of this bright Star whose radiant beams and motion
Did quickly spread it self Judea over,
Its powerful influence did soon discover
Divine effects, that it did fully tend
To be a tipe of mercy, to the end
To save lost Man, oh beauteous Star of light,
The effects whereof will keep us from that night
Of utter darkness, in which we all lay hid,
And by it's mercy shall be glorifi'd!
Had the ancients known this Star't would raise their sence
And enrich their genius with due reverence.
This sparkling splendor did surely outshine
The knowledge of that age, it was divine.
T'was such a lustre, That it did adorn
The orb, beyond the glory of the morn.
That powerful luminary that directeth time,
That blessed morning Star, shin'd more divine,
And prov'd a happy guide, them safe to bring,
With holy offerings unto Christ their King.
And in a joynt harmony with one voice,
They having seen the Star did much rejoyce.
See how these pagans footed it, what pain
They took in travel for that happy gain
And blest fruition of that g [...]orious fight
Though poor, is full of Majesty, and might.
They nimbly walk from the remotest parts
In pure devotion, and with chearful hearts;
When some that boldly do profess thy name,
Will scarce come forth their chamber: O! the shame
Of such besotted souls, as will not rise,
And prostrate themselves, before the eyes
Of their offended God, though ne're so cheap,
But snug and snore in sin, and fondly heap
Crime upon crime, not from their vices part,
Though th'offering small, an humble penitent heart.
But these wise Travellers did freely bring,
Gold, Frankenscence, and Myrrhe, to Christ the King,
And made an Inn a Temple, there to pay
Their tribute, O the miserable delay
Of pure devotion! 'Tis their greater shame,
That stript him of the glory of his name,
It should exalt all hearts for to rejoyce
With adoration, and a thankful voice.
They'd but one single Star to be their guide,
But we have many, that with active pride
Do darken religion, and have it in derision.
Such quaking Comets making an apparition
And fiery aspect, that will fright away,
Rather than lead, will cause us go astray
Into their sottish errors, to prevent
Lets keep close to the holy government;
Which Christ, and his Apostles left behind,
To rectifie the errors of mankind;
Which if we practice, and study aright,
We need not fear Sathan with all his might.
Pretended illuminations in religion
Eclipseth real light, with foul derision,
And such a nasty Mist doth often gather,
That in stead of clearing Eyes do blind them rather,
'Twas a true light by which the wisemen steer'd,
Which brought them in such triumph, that it cheer'd
Their hearts with joy, that they did see the day,
Which some do study, to forget, and lay
A load of obliquy on such pretence,
Not allowing it a day of reverence.
But let them wallow in their haughty pride,
It prov'd a blessed day, and happy guide
To unwearied Travellers, but for such as they
That sottishly, and wildly run a stray,
And have no Star to guide them, but let them wander,
And fall in their own pitts, that thus do slander.
Thou that hast stockt the world with so much light,
And enricht it with so many Stars so bright,
To serve us Mortals, 'Twas fit thou shouldst take
One to thy self, thy herald for to make,
And cause the brightness of that Star surpass,
All other Stars that now, and ever was.
To declare thy birth all creatures do obey,
Save us wild Mortals, that do vainly stray,
And stop our Eares to the harmony of thy law.
But these wise Men inspir'd, no sooner saw
The Star of light, which did foretell thy birth,
But immediately did run with Joy and Mirth,
And grew angry with time, least it delay
To begin their Journey in that happy day;
Which to direct, a Star became their guide,
And attracts their Eyes, which in a holy pride,
They still lift up with reverence to behold
With humble zeal, this Mystery to unfold.
Oh Lord, so elevate our eys to thee,
Which art the Star of blest eternity,
And take us from the vain delights of sin,
And kindle an holy fire of faith within
Of love and zeal, oh let his mercy great
Ravish our souls with Joy, let us repeat
Loud Hallelujahs to thy name, and sing
Most thankful Anthems for our Christ and King.
As the good wise Men with a chearful voice,
Having seen the Star exceedingly rejoyce.
Ecclesiastes 12.13.
Fear God and keep his Commandments for this is the whole duty of Man.
WHat needs the preacher more, is not this verse
It self, a sermon, why should he rehearse
So many precepts, but he doth espie
Mans weak estate, subject to vanity;
Therefore he taught the people to take heed
And shun disorders, every evil deed,
He wisely sought out all due means to find
Words acceptable, that would please the mind,
That with Compliance with them, he might gain
Upon them to believe, all things are vain,
Save to fear God, and serve him all we can,
This is the all that is required of Man.
And yet how few are they that will observe
This precept as a duty, though it serve
To their advantage, in that great great day,
When all Mankind formed of Earth and clay
Shall cited be before the glorious Throne
Of Christ the lamb, who then shall Judge alone.
Oh be advis'd in time to take delight,
To adore thy maker, study it aright,
And be in love with wisedome, and her ways,
Living to God, unto his dayly praise.
Glorifie him alone, above all things,
Then shall he shroud thee under his blest wings.
Thy labor shall be gain, no time mispent,
Then fear thy God and keep his Commandment.
But ah! how few there be of Davids spirit,
That prize Gods laws, and would indeed inherit
Eternal bliss, which he did meditate
Both day, and night, and often sadly sat
Wailing his sins, but we delight to break
His holy law, opening our mouths to speak
Rudely of God, his worship and his lore,
Letting our tongues run lavish on that score,
We pray not him to close our vainer lips,
But still give way to vent those frothy slips,
That dayly arise from our Corrupted heart,
All which exposes us to the biting smart
Of his severest Justice, thus poor Man
Ruins himself, not doing what he can.
Some think it is an honor to fly high
In vile attempts, and loose debauchery,
And to be bold in sins affecting oaths,
Like to vile Atheists, that are virtues foes.
Which count it valor for to stab religion,
Having its practice in such vile derision,
And make a paradox of the preachers wit,
A meer Apocrypha, and jeer at it,
And Scandalize the law, and them that speak it,
And think it but a piece of wit to break it.
It is no wonder Atheism doth abound,
And that religion sadly falls to ground.
Search all the ancient records page by page,
Vice ne'r engendred so, in any age.
The VVorld ne'r multiply'd so much in sects,
Because Men don't fully consult this text.
Prophaneness it descendsby propagation,
In next posterity this vitious Nation
Is like to be of a heathenish complexion,
If God prevent not by our due subjection
To his blest law, Atheism will gather ground,
And Men grow proud, because the'r Atheists found.
Bold sons of Belial glory will in it,
And boast in slighting as a piece of wit.
Do ye blind followers of the world intend
To laugh at Heaven, and therein your time spend,
And make divinity a cloak to cover
Your fouler parts, that none may them discover
Your outsiide piety, and cunning trades,
Your specious shews, and guilded pious frauds.
No, no, you cannot thus delude the Eye
Of the all seeing God, he will espy
Your want of zeal, though painted fair they be,
There's nothing hid from him that all things see.
Oh Lord, how sadly do we thus forget
To do thee homage, and to pay the debt
VVe owe unto thy love, that didst make
Thine only Son an offering for our sake.
But like ungrateful wretches we do still,
Most rudely scoff at thy revealed will,
And cast thy precepts from us, which should be
Our guide unto the blest eternity.
Good God! it was thy bounty to bestow
Gifts of reason on us, for which we owe
All thanks unto thee, for so great a boon,
VVhich we do misemploy much much too soon;
Turning our reason 'gainst thy Laws most right,
And act disorderly with all our might.
Teach us to see our failings, and endeavor
To hearken to that voice, that lives for ever,
That the Oratory of thy sacred word,
May win us to thy Love with one accord,
Renounce prophaneness, planting in its place
Desired virtue, and each heavenly grace.
Let not blind heathens, which do not know thee,
Out strip us in their moral honesty.
Then we, which have sure hopes by faith and love,
To be received into the joyes above;
As thou dost by thy holy word reveal
Thy self in Christ, to whom alone appeal
Is to be made, make us to understand,
The advantages we have from thy good hand
Of mercy, grant our minds be fully bent
To fear our God, and keep his Commandment,
VVith all the holy fervency we can;
This duty is required from every Man.
Matthew 8.2.
And behold! there came a Leaper and worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.
SIn 's an infectious Leprofie that is spread
It self all over from the foot, to head.
Is this the Leapers prayer only, no
It is all sinners too, that have let go
The rains of virtue that it should restrain
All vitious ways unto an holy aim.
He that had seen the Leapers body over,
VVould think his prayer proper to discover
His loathsome parts, and yet would he but view
His soul, he'l find it of a blacker hiew.
A sadder object to affright his sence
VVith horror, if he strickly look from whence
It did proceed, O the miseries of his blood,
VVhich lost its verdor, and became a flood
Of putrid nurtri [...]re, yet it mov'd guilt,
To cry with faith, Oh Lord, if that thou wilt!
And he whose never failing goodness lacks
To shew compassion, and it never slacks
His power and mercy, where it is concern'd
To cure those limbs, that were fully discern'd
To be already so, o'rewhelm'd with grief,
That was new bath'd by it, receiv'd relief
By the bounty of a touch, he was made clean,
VVhich was before both loathsome, and obscene,
Thus, thus the Leapers bodied a new,
But we don't see what good there doth accrue
Unto his better parts, and that perhaps
Lies bed-rid in a very sad relaps.
His successor was happier, whose disease
And sin, were both remov'd which did appease
His piercing pains, at the Phisicians talk,
Which said arise take up thy bed and walk.
How many are there like the Leaper foul,
Look no higher than their bodies do controul!
All other considerations, but to cover
Their fowler parts, and willingly do smother
And slight their nobler parts, which should adorn,
It lies infected, and exposed to scorn.
We are so eager to procure Chimestry,
And all that art can make to prompt Luxury;
To make our natures feed upon its flame,
While our better parts lie naked to the shame
Of mankind, that should with right zeal desire
To feed, not quench the true Celestial fire,
By which our souls shall ever truly be
Enlivened, and preserved, O Lord for thee.
How do the Torments of a limb an hour
Move us to feel, and want thy healing power▪
VVe practice more devotion in that fit,
Than many a moneth before we did feel it.
The loath'd deformities of our worser parts
Gives us more grief, and more aflicts our hearts,
Than those pale and infernal shapes, that thus
Dissigureth Heaven's Character in us.
Come shew that beauty is without a blot,
That hath no blush of guilt, no Leprous spot,
That saintlike infant Man, that knows no guile,
I'le sit, and here admire him for a while.
VVe're all conceiv'd in sin, and cannot be
VVithout our spots, until we're washt by thee.
VVere our vains purer than the violets smell,
And could perfume the air yond paralel.
VVere Adams sin a stranger to our blood.
And could our innocency have withstood
Thy justice, our rebellious going astray
VVould Check our Lusts, and prompt us thus to pray.
The blackness of our thoughts would proclaim
(Though silently) sin is our chiefest aim.
Yet, was there not a generation
That thought themselves clean without contagion,
VVere right in their own Eyes, and did deride
The world as Leapers in their scorning pride.
The Pharisee was the more polluted Man
Than the soft hearted humble Publican,
VVhich did so proudly his best plums display,
VVhich carried more contagion in that sway
Of pride and ostentation, but he's the winner,
Oh God be merciful to me a sinner.
But he that trusts to merit and its paint,
And thinks himself a convert and a Saint
May loose these Joyes, if that he doth despise
The mercy seat, where the true comfort lies,
And rely on his so great stock of parts,
His humane Learning, and his skill in arts;
VVithout thy polishing they cannot be
Made useful in our returns, O Lord, to thee,
No saint, nor Angel can procure us bliss,
But the only begotten son whose merit it is,
The leaper is a beauty far beyond
My soul's more foul, and my vile courses tend.
Yea Lazarus which had so many soars,
Are less in number far, than my vile scores,
Which I have run in sin, and am as lame,
As the poor criple cur'd of sin and shame.
Oh wash me, Lord, in thy Bethesda pure,
I shall be cleansed, and be ever sure,
Of thy healing mercies, let me not be
One of the nine ungrateful, Lord, to thee.
It will make my soares loathsome in thy sight
And me eject unto eternal might,
But I do know thy goodness, and thy power
Doth still preserve us mortals every hour;
That ever can keep us in a holy mean,
Lord, if thou wilt thou canst make me clean
1 Kings 19.9.
And he came unto a Cave and Lodged there.
DId the good prophets zeal so far provoke
Proud Jezabel to threat the heavy stroak
Of death? did he then fle th'threatned rage
Of a furious woman to be more at large?
He came to Beershaba in so great fear,
And in much hast he left his servant there,
While he journied on, in his so great distress,
Until he came unto the wilderness.
Where under a Juniper tree he humbly sate
With heavy sobs, sadly bewail'd his fate.
Come Lord, it is enough, do not delay
Thy severe Justice, take my life away,
But a good Angel he doth interpose,
And wakes the sleeping prophet from's repose,
And bids him eat, and cease, this moan to make.
Behold, a cruze of water, and a cake
By divine providence prepar'd to be,
A support to natures necessity.
He eat, he slept, and willingly obeys,
And in that strength he travel'd forty days
To Horcb, the Mount of God, though still in fear
He came into a cave, and lodged there.
Behold, enraged Malice it doth force
Eliah to a Cave, there's no remorse
In a Womans fury, there is no suspence,
No liberty for life, or conscience;
He must fly to a narrow compass to save both,
They are in danger if he admit of sloth.
Behold him now a Hermit to his pain,
For prophesying against wicked Ahabs reign
'Twas but a kind of tipe, that did foretel
To after ages such a paralel.
Those votaries of the Church the which did turn
Caves into cloisters, and therein did mourn,
And fill these silent grots with divine love,
And chant forth ecchoes with the saints above,
And make them Chappels there to laud and praise,
In sacred Halelujahs all their days.
The purity of their zeal I much admire,
Make solitude it's mirth in such retire,
Can make Melancholly devotion fit
Object of glory, and the Joyes of it,
And sequester themselves from vain delight,
To contemplate with Angels day and night,
So those divine retirers have done well,
If they ring not too loud their merit bell.
If in imitation of the King of glory,
They fast and pray, I such a votary
Do highly prize, but if his vain tradition
Take place, he must be brought unto contrition.
If that those pious exiles in devotion
Not studying humane praise, but virtues motion
Do contemplate with Heaven, and of its glory,
Abandoning the world thats transitory.
Such self denial no Man ought to blame,
But worldlings court it, to their greater shame,
Not caring what vile courses they pursue
To satisfie their lusts, it is too true;
All rapine, and disorder they commit,
And fondly brag, and boast, and glory in it.
But these our pious exiles, they do give
Up both their names, and lives that they may live
Religiously devout, 'tis strange to have
A Prophet now retir'd unto a Cave.
No, no, they've higher thoughts, and their devotion
Tends much the way to get the best promotion.
But he's the Man that humbly can deny
His tempting lusts, when fortune cast him high,
And can out face the world, and conquer it,
And with our Prophet in a Cave down sit,
VVith sweet contentment lodge in it all night,
VVhen high revenging rage sets him to flight.
Prisons and Caves are solitary places,
VVhere friends think it much if that they shew their faces
And give a word of comfort in that condition,
But leave poor prisoners to their said contrition.
They'l say 'tis out of the way, they cannot stay,
They have no business that doth tend that way.
Such cunning slights they often do relate,
Let them have care they meet not with such fate,
And then their cruelty may be required,
And their harsh dealings, in which they delighted.
He's the divine Hermit, that can gainsay
His carnal motions, and nobly obey
His virtue, which will quickly mount him high,
If he pursue the arts of Charity,
And not so slight the poor suffering Man,
But add unto his comfort all he can,
And make him musick with his Christian love,
Which will intitle him to the joyes above.
These are such graces in which God delight;
It Will have good acceptance in his sight.
If I am in a Cave, Lord, let me be
Refreshed, and comforted alone in thee
Thy mercies doth refresh me every morn,
Though by my friends I have been held in scorn,
Thou hast given support to me from hands unknown,
And many mercies unto me have shown.
Give me a thankful heart in my distress,
That I may follow thee, in the wilderness.
Oh let me worship with a reverence due
To thy great love, whose voice did thrice subdue
Thy murtherers, oh teach me to submit
My self to what thy wisedom shall think fit.
Teach me all humility to make
A prison comfortable, and therein take
My whole delight in thee and of thy ways,
And sing forth Halelujahs to thy praise
With Paul and Siloas, let me sweetly sing
The praise and glory of my God and King.
O let not griefs confound me in this loss,
But bear with patience this so heavy Cross,
Which would sink frail flesh and blood, did not thy hand
Support my weak, and feeble soul to stand
First to my confidence alone in thee,
Which hath appeared a Loving God to me,
Which truly is my hope, and help to save,
Which did relieve the Prophet in a cave
Wherein he lodged, and did take quiet rest,
And was in thy preserving power blest.
That I may do so, Lord, grant me thy spirit
To give due praises, then I shall inherit
Eternal mansions, thou my soul wilt save,
And raise me from a Prison, or a Cave
Into eternal bliss, the highest sphear,
'Mongst Saints and Angels to be lodged there.
Genesis 28.12.
And he dreamed a Dream and behold a Ladder set upon the Earth, and the top of it reached unto Heaven, and behold the Angels descending and ascending on it.
DId Isaac call? surely he did no less,
And with a holy zeal his Son to bless,
And give him charge how to demean his life,
Forbidding Canan's Daughters for a Wife.
He bids him rise and go unto none other
But unto Laban his own Mothers Brother,
At Padan-aram withour any stay,
And God Almighty bless thee in the way,
And multiply thy seed, that thou mayst be
A mighty Nation; next posterity.
May inherit the blessed promise in good deed,
Which was made unto Abraham and his seed.
Jacob obeys and travels all the day
Until the Sun declin'd, he made no stay,
Then laid he down his weary bones to rest,
Stones were his pillow, where his sleep was blest.
He dreamt, and behold a ladder there was set,
Where Angels did descend, ascend on it.
No sooner had good Jacob's soul tak'n rest,
His contented humility was blest
With an heavenly vision, which salutes his sence,
That blest obedience that brought him thence
Was ravisht with an object, that did prove
A blessed guide unto the Heavens above;
Where these blest spirits so enricht his sence,
With a sweet and harmonious influence,
These divine Travellers not contending
But orderly ascending, and descending.
Oh happy solitude, that thus doth meet
A heavenly company so rich and sweet,
A blessed interview, that did requite
The hardness of his lodging with delight,
In such an object did his soul take rest,
And with such dreams, was his stir'd fancy blest.
That the Lord of all the Earth should not dispence,
To make good his fore promis'd providence,
By Angels which did gradually ascend
Up to that Heaven, which never shall have end.
When I behold the posture of this sleeper,
Whom Angels had the charge of, as his keeper,
And his hard lodging, which gave him delight,
He had eternal glory, in his sight.
I cannot choose but wonder, (in derision)
At them that lasily expect a vision
Upon their beds of down, when most at leisure,
Expecting apparitions in their pleasure.
Their spirits would grow sick of some disease,
If visions should disturb, or move their ease,
They quickly would catch cold, and loath to say,
At midnight I'le arise my vows to pay.
'Twas holy Davids zeal, he did not slumber
(Being fully awak'd,) his sins did cumber
His new refined soul, Took much delight
In humility to prostitute, in the sight
Of his offended God, did oft confess,
How much he sinned 'gainst his holiness,
With many a sorrowful plaint, and piercing fears
He often washt his couch in penitent Tears.
God drops not miraclesin the wantons lap,
Nor communicate grace, by chance, or hap;
But confers his rich glories, chiefly to those,
That study virtue, and are vices foes,
And are cast down in trembling sorrows deep,
Are comforted with visions in their sleep.
John must be an exile, and brought low to pine
Before he be enabled a divine,
And confer with Angels in a holy trance,
Before his humane learning can advance,
And make him a fit Harbinger for Heaven;
Such gifts are not attain'd, but divinely given
By the wise disposer of all events,
Which turneth sufferings to their hearts contents.
This Holy Mans obedience made him leave
All carnal thoughtsbehind him, least it bewreave
Him of the blest fruition of that bliss,
Prepared for him in true happiness.
His prayers and meditations only keep
Him company, it caused an happy sleep,
So pleasant, that he for ever disclaim'd
All converse with the world, and it disdain'd
All secular interests, he did entertain
More noble thoughts, which prov'd his richer gain,
And made him an happy instrument of glory,
As 'tis recorded in the sacred story.
Jacob had only a rich Canopie,
The azure spangled Curtains of the skie;
His lights the lamps of Heaven, O safe and blest,
Where Angels did protect, and guard his rest,
Ever in motion with their care defending,
In a holy zeal ascending, and descending!
Oh how securely doth he ever rest,
That leans on providence, and is not prest
With worldly cares, but joyfully doth make
Providence his guard, and therein chiefly take
His sole felicity; he cannot miscarry,
If divine thoughts become his sanctuary;
Nor need he fear disturbance in his sleep,
Where God and Angels do him safely keep.
Yea his very dreams will chear his soul with joy,
No dangers, nor assaults can him annoy.
Good Jacob having no sooner clos'd his eyes,
But by an inspir'd fancy he espies
These holy Porters with endeared love,
Inviting him unto the Heavens above;
Presenting him a ladder, whereby he sees
There is no leaping there, but by degrees,
VVe must carefully climb Heaven, that Throne is high
By gradual steps of faith, and charity.
Every virtue is a step, if by it we climb,
That ladder will advance us to see him.
If we tread our vices under, and by it show
They'r fixt unto the Earth, that is below
Where the foot doth rest, but we must leave behind
Our vain delights, the frailties of Mankind,
And studiously be industrious for such gain,
As will requite the trouble and the pain
Our progress must be constant, and not slack
A holy pace, if that we once look back
Into the plain, the world will steal our sence
From climbing with a religious reverence.
O Lord! how doth this subject meet my case,
That am cast down into a stony place.
I mean a place unpleasant, 'cause not free,
But it ha [...]h mounted me, to come to thee.
Thou hast shew'd to me a ladder, thy blest ways
Enliven me, O Lord, to give thee praise.
Had I bin rich, and had of plenty store,
I should have scorn'd this ladder as heretofore;
I thought on pleasures, and the worlds vain guise,
Did too too much affect and bleere these eyes
That now look up to thee, O let my sight
Be clear to see the blest eternal light,
Thy abundant graces! oh thou which truly art
The great Physitian, which can cure my heart;
Give me a holy longing, and inflame
In me a servent zeal to praise thy name.
If bitter potions be for my souls health,
Apply them, Lord, although it purge my wealth.
There is more true riches in thy love in store,
Than ever I could lose all times before.
Thou hast given, thou hast taken, thy blessed will be done,
Give me thy mercies in thy only Son,
To be my ransom, I shall be richer then,
Then e're I was amongst the sons of Men.
This casting down will raise me to that Throne
Of mercy in whom is my faith alone,
And I therein rejoyce, though thus cast down,
That thou look'st not on me with angry frown,
But hast often sent thine Angels to support
My feeble state, when they to me resort,
And cherish this frail body, 'Tis from thee
That so much love and bounty comforts me,
Give me thy grace so far to use thy love
With temperate meekness, and from me remove
All carnal confidence and humbly bend
My studies to please him, that me defend.
Thy promises, O Lord, do never fail,
And yet how careless are we, that are frail;
Thou shewest us the living way unto thy self,
Yet we are blinded with the love of pelf
Of this deluding world, we're loth to walk
Thy pathes, yet proudly do we brag and talk
Of coming to thee, but we are loth to climb
That ladder, that will mount us to see him
That sits upon the Throne, O how weak and lame
Are our devotions, 'tis our greater shame
To see how nimbly, we do thus pursue
The perishing delights within our view,
But make so little progress in that race,
That thou hast set all ways before our face.
Oh quicken, and make us earnest with holy love
To invocate our Christ, that sits above
To give us of thy spirit, that we may move
With holy zeal to the Altar of thy love,
Where the blest Angels do ever attend,
As ministring spirits that ascend and descend.
Proverbs 18.14.
But a wounded spirit who can bear!
HEark O my soul, consider this wise prince,
Mark well his Councel, and not stir from thence.
Incline thine ear to wisedom, don't delay
To mind his pious precepts, let it sway
VVithin thy heart, O let instruction learn
Thee to delight, and study to discern
These many moral virtues, which are taught,
And may by grace be obtain'd, if they be sought
VVith a holy zeal, O let true virtue be
Thy chief desire, then oyntment it will be
Unto thy neck, as Bracelets to thine arm,
If thou these precepts keep, 'twill keep from harm.
Therefore so value them as a rich price,
And observe how fully it correcteth vice,
And helpeth much mans spirits to chear,
But alas, a wounded spirit who can bear!
VVhere shall I find a temper can endure
Such stings of conscience, of the sad pressure
Beyond belief, which rageth and is mad,
At every gripe and pain the soul is sad.
The very Earth trembles, and can't sustain
It self, it groans and travels with its pain
To be delivered, the Ambitious Angels fell
And through their foul despair, do roar in hell.
How dolorous is despair? that wound is deep,
VVhere mercy is shut out, and Devils do keep
The festerd wound a bleeding, without sence
Oh the Horror of a wounded conscience!
It so afflicts, and startles all the parts
VVith the terrors of the pains rais'd by such arts,
Yea all the tortures which the Martyrs felt,
VVere flea-bites to those pains raised by this guilt;
Tortures of cruelst shape, would well become
Be easy sufferings, a pleasing Martyrdom
Compared unto those never dying pains,
Those living deaths, those tortures and those Chains,
That so strongly hold the sences Captive in,
Satans foul bands, the reward of their sin.
VVhat can there be compar'd! not all our sence
Can paralel a wounded conscience.
The shreiks of oyls, which add blackness to the night
Offends the ears, yea dying groans that fright
And fill our souls with sadness, at such cries
As conscience makes, it even rends the skies
With the screetches of those pains their conscience utter,
It beats within and horrid pains they suffer.
Despair so rageth with a furious voice,
That it distempers all with its hideous noise:
It descants, it writes Satyrs against it self,
Sad dying elogies, alas poor! Elfe;
VVhat fatal Ideas dost thou thus shape
VVithin thy fancy? what a tone dost make
Surrounded with all the tortures, black grief
Can add? oh! 'tis so far beyond belief
To express that suffering in a perfect sence;
Oh the terrors of a wounded conscience!
Did David walk on mourning all the day
And night, his prickt conscience to allay?
Did not his eyes run over with his tears,
These weeping springs rais'd by his many fears?
He breaths nought, but such sad trembling accents,
As ariseth from his souls sad discontents,
Despairing Ecchoes, thinking it too late
He sighes, he moans, and thus he expostulates.
Dear God is thy Mercy shut up for ever?
Shall my poor soul enjoy it never?
That attribute of thy Mercy and thy love,
VVhich thou hast treasur'd in the Heavens above.
Oh shut not up from me that humbly crave,
But grant thy pardoning mercy, Lord, to save
My afflicted soul, I hope thou wilt not be
A God of love to all, and none to me.
Let any other torment fright me hence,
Than the terrors of a guilty conscience.
Let me for ever dwell in dungeons deep,
Or such a cell as light durst not to peep,
In some forsaken vault, or dismal place,
So as I may enjoy thy glorious face.
Let all the poverty that can attend
A wretched man, yet if thy Love thou send
And cover my naked soul, that is thus storm'd
All Leprous with sin, and much deform'd
VVith the terrors of thy Judgments, which may take
Vengeance on me if thou dost once forsake
My spotred soul, oh hide these spots of mine,
Then shall I be a beauty that will shine,
And invite thine Eye again, for to look on
A wretch that was furlorn, lost and gone.
Consider this ye Riotors in lust,
VVhich dally with damnation till ye burst,
VVhat agonies they endure, whilst void of sence
By the griping of a wounded conscience,
VVhich so doth rack them into many a fear
Of grief, but a wounded spirit who can bear!
Oh who can mind his Murthering sins with pleasure,
And recount his bitter sweets at his sad leisure,
He'l meet an ill account, sin leaves behind
Having mispent his nobler parts, his mind.
VVer't thou to die, would not thy parting groan
Mind thee of thy sad life, so past and gone.
Flattery will prove small comfort in that hour,
VVhen vain excuses will have little power
To still the conscience, or thy thoughts to chear
VVith joy, a wounded spirit who can bear!
Shew me that Sampson conscience with his strength,
But that this ugly vulture will at length
Both master, and subdue, what frozen soul
Those ashes would not melt, and so controul
The sturdy sinner, laden with loads of guilt,
VVhich hangs so heavy, that his conscience felt
That nasty load of crimes, that down hath hurl'd,
His active parts into the lower world?
Not all his art, or courtship, cannot save
His Treacherous soul from the terrors of the grave;
They are but trifles to it, could it but shroud
The guilty soul from darkness, oh how proud
VVould the soul be, if that he might be free,
From the terrors of a future misery!
But these are empty shadows, cannot keep
The tortur'd soul, it cannot sweetly sleep.
Sum all the crosses that the soul surrounded
The Catalogue of afflictions, thus confounded
There's none like this, which his vices thus inherit
The grief, and anguish of a troubled spirit.
That intolerable grief, which admits no chear
Or joy, but a wounded spirit who can bear!
VVhat burthen then doth a wounded spirit endure,
Unsupportable of his pains? griefs are sure
Still charged with the frights, which ariseth hence
By the terrors of a wounded conscience.
Oh let nor the apprehensions of thy wrath
So far afright us, thy sweet mercy hath
Much balm in store to cure a wounded spirit,
Which being applied by faith we may inherit
Eternal bliss; in our bosom thou hast set
A perfect Register, let us not forget
To summ them up in tears without delay,
Recounting all the ills, that did bear sway
In our most raging lusts, then shall we be
Cur'd of our festred wounds, O Lord, by thee,
Which art the great Physitian, which can heal
All wounded spirits, when they with faith appeal.
Lord, ope our eyes, then shall we clearly see
Our many fold transgressions against thee,
Then shall we by thy mercy sure inherit
That blessed balm will cure a wounded spirit.
Matthew 24.38.
And knew not untill the flood came and took them all away.
HOw great's the love of Christ, that did condescend
To acquaint his belov'd disciples with the end
Of the old world, as the days of Noah were
Before the flood, whose lofty waves did bear
The preserving Ark, he saith they all shall see,
That so the coming of the Son of Man shall be.
For in those days, before the raging flood,
They eat, they drank, did little that was good,
Marry, and give in marriage, till that day
The flood came on, and took them all away.
How fondly, and securely did they feast
Themselves for ruin! they did make a jest
Of sin, they only striv'd to feed their lusts
And cram'd themselves in riot till they burst.
For lust, and luxury took up their heart,
And so possest it, that they could not part,
Till deaths divorce, they were so firmly married
Unto their lusts, until the Ocean carried
Them all away, oh how sad's that feast,
Where overflowing Judgment takes the guests!
Just Noah's preaching could not yet perswade
This drunken Crew, that still did swine-like wade
Into all filth, his fluent admonition
Could not prevail to bring them to contrition.
But the rougher waves made a language to detect
Their ranting noise, in their own dialect.
The prodigious raging of the angry deep
Silenc't their prophane noise, in deaths last sleep.
Had not God bound himself by promise sure,
That the Earth no more a deluge should endure,
And hath his party colored bow so fixt,
As that there is no doubting with it mixt.
But how often hath our debauch'd vain ways
Corrouz'd, and rioted, in those our days,
That we can teach the Epicure to revel,
And so provoke incensed wrath to level
Just judgments on our heads, if we aspire
Our next refining will be all of fire.
The former vices of our predecessor,
Come very short of the present transgressor
Of these our times, we're giants now in growth
In sin, by our unwairy lazy sloth,
That doth beset us, and subdue our sence,
That we grow monsters without penitence.
We study vices dayly, as though the Earth
Like an infernal Affrick hatcht new birth
Of ugly monsters, such huge prodigies
Of minted sins, which dayly doth arise;
It startles reason, and as though we were
Only to feast in sin, and frolick here.
Was the world drown'd, did not the waters stay,
But carried these living dead Men away?
And were they taken in their great excess,
And shall we think to escape this wickedness?
And be careless, of our lives? shall we not cry,
That have lived so long in such impenitency,
And here behold them drown'd, that thus did scatter,
And freely drank iniquity like water,
And were shipwrackt in their houses thus surpriz'd
By death and Judgment, which they so dispit'd.
So righteous art thou, Lord, in thy judgment
And pure in justice, if we not repent,
Thy hand of justice will us overtake,
For our impenitency, if we don't forsake
Our foul transgressions, it will so incense
Thy justice in thy wrath, to sweep us hence.
And yet how good is thy transcending love,
That never sendest punishments from above,
But when our faults encrease so boldly high,
As to provoke thy sacred Majesty:
By our impenitencies we do provoke
Thy divine justice to the heavy stroak
Of judgment, which doth thus highly incense
Thy wrath in justice for to sweep us hence.
Lord, 'twas thy mercy, out of thy great love,
To assure us by thy promise from above,
To free us from so great a punishment,
Its memory should make our hearts relent,
And to admire thy mercy, meekly turn
Our hearts to holy penitence, and mourn,
And meditate, how thy judgments did o'retake
Them, that all virtuous precepts did foresake.
Let their example mind us to repent
Least we fall under such just punishment.
Luke 7.5.
For he loved our Nation and hath built us a Synagogue.
WAs the servant sick, and did his Masters love
So far exceed, his charity to move,
As to send for help to him, that was able
To cure his soul, (though born in a stable?)
He knew it was his Jesus which had power
To heal, he was his only Saviour,
To him he sent, and did passionately say,
I am not worthy, Lord, that thou shouldst stay
Under my roof, but speak and he shall be
Healed, and give his praises unto thee.
To which the great Physitian freely saith,
I have not found in Israel so much saith.
The elders importunity exceeds
Most gratefully magnifying his deeds,
And his love unto his nation did express
He built a Temple unto holiness.
Behold the character of a pious Man,
Which by virtue doth oblige all that he can,
And lay out his outmost interest to encrease
His countries good, prosperity and peace!
And as a father he doth still endeavor,
To serve his comon wealth in all what ever
Lies in his power, that he is justly stil'd
A vertuous patriot, ever meek and mild.
This good Centurion was not only high
In place alone, but lov'd true piety,
Where he was chief, and all Judea over
Could not paralel his worth, it did discover
A mine of treasure, in his soul lay hid
Of precious faith most richly valued.
Did they not hate Idolatry to prize,
They would his person too much Idolize,
And pay respect unto with adoration,
Who was so great a lover of their nation.
Herod indeed their Temple did repair,
But it was not for love, but panick fear;
'Twas but in policy for him to get
The Crown, that ambitiously aspir'd to it.
Devotion had in him the smallest aim,
Not a religious zeal for to maintain;
'Twas not his aim, he did not mind the thing,
His whole religion was to become King,
And as a Tyrant live, for to suppress
Christ's purer ways, which tend to holiness.
Such is the sanctity that worldlings shew
By pretence to virtue, whilst they bestow
All their endeavor to guild o're their crimes,
Make seeming virtue footstools to their aims.
Pretence of zeal, a passage to ambition,
Thinking they creep along without suspicion.
But the Centurion's zeal was nobly bent
To honor his nation, with a full intent
To befriend religion with his countenance,
And pious acts of virtue to advance
With sincere intention, not pretending,
But faithfully their souls, and church defending.
Unlike those rulers, which do set aside
Religion, to set up their haughty pride,
And think themselves the wisest of the crew,
If they have no religion in their view:
And as our new Enthusiasts do delight
To pull down holy Temples in despight
To holy things, and raise even to the ground
The carved works of structures, and abound
In novelties, and think it good to fight
'Gainst Kings, entrusted with protecting right,
Which sparkles like to Diamonds in their Crown,
And fills them full of splendor and renown;
They are the Churches patriots to preserve
All divine right, and faithfully to serve,
As conservators of that dignity,
Which they do hold from God in humility.
No, these material Temples cannot be
Sure monuments to all posterity;
Could we build Pyramids to reach the sky,
Or Alablaster piles carv'd curiously,
Or plates of brass, to eternize our name,
They were but empty shadows to the frame,
That building without [...]ands which none can sever
From the immortal soul, which lives for ever.
The Synagogue, which the Centurion raife
Became a greater monument to his praise,
And lasted longer, it engaged the Jews
To gratitude, and wonder, they did muse
At such unwonted favor, they swift did run,
And became advocates to heal his son,
And prest him with such arguments to move
His pitty towards him, shew'd so much love
In such abundant measure, he did raise
A synagogue to his immortal praise.
Such honor is return'd to all that aim
To advance thy glory, and to praise thy name.
Such as have zeal for glory shall be blest
With spiritual joy, and ever be at rest.
The meanest offering they do make to thee,
It shall not only here accepted be,
But so rewarded in eternal bliss,
Where all true joy, and every comfort is,
And stir up emulation, who should be
Most forward to express true plety.
Lord, let not those are ignorant of thy power
Outstrip us in devotion, that each hour
Depend on thee, and seemingly profess
The true religion in truth and holiness.
Oh! Let our holy carriage so adorn
Thy publick worship, and not be a scorn.
Let our bodies be Temples, not a cell,
That grace, and all the virtues there may dwell.
So teach us, Lord, our living souls may be
Temples, where praises may be given to thee,
And raise our hearts ever to make address
To thee alone, who art only goodness,
And let us not think building structures will
Eternize names, unless we do fulfill
Thy holy precepts, and there fix our thought,
All other buildings are but vain and naught.
John 20.11
But Mary stood without at the Sepulchre weeping, and as she wept she stooped down and looked into the Sepulchre.
DId Mary weep? and can our Eyes be dry?
Will nought afflict our sence? no misery,
No loss so great, make us shed tears? but stay!
Consider it is the resurrection day,
When her blest body bowed to look in there,
Where he was laid, the loathed Sepulchre,
Where she beheld her Saviours tomb with grief,
Which was her sweetest comfort, and relief,
See how religiously she stoops to look
Into the grave, with care, least she mistook!
When her younger sisters vainly did mispend
Their precious time in dressing, which doth tend
To carnal pleasures, some will scarce allow
A modest kneeling, or an humble bow
In their religious worship, they so slight
All reverence due to Majesty and might.
See, see the power of love that is divine,
Made Mary look into a loathed Shrine!
Which could strike the world with paleness, and affright
The boldest Champion Saint, and put to flight
Our faith, had not the perfumes, which came thence,
Rarified the air with its sweet influence,
And perfum'd thac nasty vault amongst hardstones
And crazy coffins, rotten dead mens bones,
Which were his pillow, till that joyful Morn,
When he arose in triumph to adorn
The heavenly Throne, and there doth ever shine
In perfect glory, which is most divine.
See, how the Martyrs Triumpht in their flame,
And gloried in their suffrings for his name,
And were carried in raptures through the fire
In holy love, and zeal! they did aspire
Into true joy, that element did warm
Their earthy parts, and did their souls no harm;
They nobly met with death, their souls did sing
Most divine Anthems unto Christ their King.
Their chains were Musick, they did seem to be
Rather Priests than victims in that solemnity.
How sweetly did the blessed Martyr Stephen
Expire, he having seen his Christ and Heaven!
That heap of Cursed stones, rais'd to torment
His earthy part, prov'd a blest monument,
Far richer than the chiefest Artists skill
In the proudest marble it could paralel.
He cimited it with his blood, and made it faster,
By the undaunted spirit of the first Martyr.
Thus did the suffring saints their tortures turn
To pleasures, and the terrors of the urn
To a stream of mirth, not all their rage
Of fiercest Tyrants could once disengage
Their souls from comfort, nay the newest pain
Of studied torments could not hinder their gain,
Or force them from their pious Christian love,
They ever bore to Christ who sits above.
He that so loves his Saviour will arise,
And stoop with Mary to enrich his eyes
With the fruition of that desired sight,
That is so full of splendor, power, and might,
And not only stoop, but step into a tomb,
And embrace a coffin in that dismal room,
And look on death, but as the door to bliss,
The Messenger of glory, and happiness.
And with St. Paul in raptures all in flame
Begging a dissolution of this frame,
While his soul in extasies transports its sence
Into a holy zeal, to be mov'd hence.
O Lord, with what regret do we forsake
Earths vanishing pleasures in which we do take
So great delight, the which should make us sorry,
That we do strive so little for thy glory.
But are ever unwilling to let down
Our lives our pleasures for an immortal Crown,
In obedience to the law of the blest Kingdom,
Which saith thy service is a perfect freedom.
And yet we count the sweetest sanctuary
A Prison, and trouble, if we find it vary
From our vile lusts, and think our selves to blame,
If that we pay due honor to thy name.
Pardon, O Lord, the corruptions of our frame,
And teach us how to love, and prize thy name;
But whether we live or die, we may delight,
In that which is most pleasant in thy sight.
That when this Tabernacle shall dissolve,
Our earthy bodies may surely involve
Into everlasting joyes, the seat of bliss,
The only residence of happiness,
And stoop withal due reference and fear,
And look into a loathed Sepulchre.
Ecclesiastes 12.1.
Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth.
HOw sweet's the preachers voice that doth invite
Youth to a plous care, and doth excite
A holy life, it is the best expression
In all his sermon, checking youths transgression.
Here younger Ones, are bid to have a care
Of spending time, least that they do ensuare
Their souls in sin, for none indeed can tell,
How soon young Men may hear their passing bell,
Toll the sad ditty of their latest breath,
Surrendring up their sences all to death.
The divine preachers chiefest aim is this,
To stir youth up to early holiness.
And yet the worlds not pleased with the strain,
It sounds too harsh, though it design their gain.
Look on the creatures with a single eye,
And you this doctrine quickly will espy;
They plainly preach it, yet we slug and slumber
With open eyes, our duller thoughts do cumber
Our purer meditations, which should be
Of our backslidings, and returns to thee.
Regardless youth delighteth not to hear,
This silver trumpet sounding in his ear.
It spoils his mirth, and sours his sweeter Muse,
Stirs thoughts of Heaven too soon, he'd rather choose
His Carnal sports, than thus to dull his wit,
Make him look grave, before he attain to it.
His spritely blood thinks it too hard a task
To be religious, he prefers a mask
And rather ravel out his time in pleasure,
Whose vainest sports, are held his chiefest treasure.
Fond youth, call in these thoughts, lament thy way,
Remember the approaching judgment day,
When we to God, a sure account must give
Of all our actions, whilst we here do live.
Let not these fleshly objects of thy pleasure
Transport our sences, beyond a due measure
From Heaven, and heavenly things, which should rejoyce
Our very hearts to hear the Preachers voice.
And shall these lusts, which we pursue in pleasure
Bewreave us of our joy, our only treasure?
Shall we have greater zeal for to transgress,
Than for to magnifie thy holiness?
And shall those pleasures that do quickly die,
Quite drown the thoughts of immortality?
My life, that's but a span, let it decay,
And shorten rather, than mispend my day.
Better this earthy tabernacle be
Dissolved, than I by sin should fall from thee.
Much better 't is that I should quickly pay
Nature her debt, and turn again to clay,
Than with thy justice run too far in score,
That so thy goodness may again restore
Me to thy blessed self, which cannot be,
But by thy mercies Lord alone to me.
'Twas thou didst bring me from the lowest dust
To serve thy self, not base, and filthy lust.
Thou didst implant in me a sacred ray
Of thine own self, to light the ready way
Of thy commands, which if we do pursue
With upright bearts, then surely will ensue
Such joyes, as do accompany thy grace,
Then cause me, Lord, no longer to misplace
My roving sence, but henceforth fixt it fast
In my desires to follow Christ at last.
Make me, O God, ever to prize thy glory,
Declining pleasures meerly transitory,
And teach me for to use this vain vain world,
As that which may again by thee be hurl'd
Into a Chaos, let me not lose thee,
Nor the blest mansions of eternity.
Dear friends prize virtue though your blood gainsay,
Love and delight therein, 'tis the true way.
Other are by pathes, which do tend to sin,
Much joy you'l find if that you walk therein.
Pursue it strictly, 'tis a serious truth,
Remember your Creator in your youth.
Luke 18.11.
The Pharisee stood up and pray'd, God I thank thee I am not as other Men are.
DId Christ reprove by parable these Men,
Which trusteth in themselves, and rudely bin
Despisers of others, in a haughty pride,
An humble sanctity could not abide,
But overvalued in a fair pretence
Of self conceit, not giving reverence,
And humility to those parts they had receivid,
But boasting of themselves they had deceiv'd
The world, till Christ did sharply them reprove,
In which he shew'd his mercy and his love.
How proudly do the Pharisee give thanks,
He stands on tip-toe venting his vain pranks,
Ungrateful pride hath alter'd his disposition,
Which used long prayers, and vain repetition.
The fits not now upon him for to pray,
He's out of tune, but opes his mouth to bray,
Not to adore his God, but commend himself
In such proud boasting: but alas poor elf,
That is so highly ravisht with his parts,
Not caring for to study divine arts.
But with so cold a zeal a posture ill,
'Twere better he had bin unthankful still.
He exceeded other Men in his own sence,
In a superlative kind of impudence.
How largely doth he set forth his own worth,
Making no Apology for his filthy froth.
He thanks God with a mind that's fully bent
To praise himself, 'tis rather complement,
Than prayer, he thinketh it Idolatry
To worship images, yet his vain folly
Makes him adore himself with his own praise,
As do the Catholick Pharisees of our days
In works of superarrogation high,
And think by it strait unto Heaven to fly,
Having numbred o're their beads their Ave-Mary's,
Their superstitions rights, that fouly varies
From the true Catholick Church, that blessed spouse
Of Christ, whose splendid glory doth even rouse
My soul, in contemplations of its love,
Which will ne're be perfected, till with Christ above.
Though that Rome's Juglers do pretend they can
Open, and shut the door to every Man,
And enjoyn such pennance as Christ ne're require,
And teach by pilgramages, they aspire
The heavenly Throne, by their excess of merit,
Thinking thereby salvation to inherit.
Let them forbear further to urge this strife,
'Tis Christ which saith, I am the dore, and life.
How nimbly our Enthuafiasts follow their Leaders
These trembling Saints, these sanctimonious pleaders,
By imperious purity seem to reform
The world, and with an attack of words to storm
The whole Creation, new model it again
And Saint themselves new stile, with all their train,
And tell God plainly with their tongue and pen,
They are the elect, not like to other Men,
And railingly proclaim, that we are down hurl'd
And they the only true lights of the world.
In such a pious lunacy and strain
They rant, as come to Gospel us again,
Extravagantly prescribing religious rights
To the melancholly fancy of their sights,
And in a sullen zeal, they think they shine
As Stars, counting themselves purely divine,
Secluded from others in a peevish trance
Of supposed zeal, their ignorance to advance,
And proudly vent their follies with so much vanity,
To the loss of all good order, and humanity.
See how vain Man doth thus delude his sence
In performance of religious reverence!
How is his heart taken Captive with such wiles,
As Satan casts before him with his smiles,
And make him think he's better than other Men,
When alas poor soul, he can but badly ken
His way aright, yet with all his might,
Urge his performance boldly in the sight
Of his Creator, whose all seeing eye
Beholds his weakness, and his faults espy.
Humility Crowns all graces, and puts on
A comely beauty to religion;
When confidence in merit doth deform,
Most zealous actions done with so much scorn,
And secludes us from the enjoyment of that bliss,
VVhich attends an humble zeal in happiness.
Teach us, O Lord, an humble gratitude,
And self donial of our selves, not rude
Prophaness to approach thy glorious Throne
Of mercy, which is our hope alone.
Oh lets not be forgetful of that power,
VVhich chastiseth mortals every day and hour,
Nor pride our selves in works, though ne're so great
But humbly prostitute before the seat
Of our offended God, and there confess
Our great presumption 'gainst his holiness,
And bewail the imperfections of our spirit;
By such an holy meekness we may inherit
The heavenly mansions, where we may have access
By faith in Christ and devout holiness.
Matthew 16.26.
For what is a Man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul.
BEwitching world, how hath thy baits deceiv'd
Poor Man, by thy allurements, and bereav'd
Of purest comforts, for a moments pleasure
To be shut out of the blest joyes for ever?
The enjoyment of our carnal pleasures here
Are purchas'd, at a rate extreamly dear.
The Indian Mines are of too small a price,
In value for that place where comfort lies.
All Crowns, and scepters, the earths highest bliss
Are trifles to that infinite gloriousness.
Then cease thy proling humor, and controul
Thy pining cares, least that thou lose thy soul.
And yet poor Man labors under mistake,
Thinking the world his Heaven, and never take
Right aims, but with a covetous desire
Of greatness, earnestly striving to aspire
To some great title, or bubble here on Earth,
Which quite expireth with its latest breath,
And while he labors with uncessant toil,
Is diappointed by some petty foil.
He frets, and fumes that he hath lost his station,
And so is turn'd to bruitish transmutation,
And buries his souls divinity in this Earth,
Which should have greater happiness after death.
Here this all ye that study complements,
And look no higher than the elements.
Ye gallants of the world, that are on fire
To pawn your souls to satisfie your desire
For fading pleasures, chief felicity
A seemingly delightful misery,
Which glisters for a time, you'l surely find,
They are but shadows, that delude the mind.
Heark all you lofty aspirers to ambition,
Check your proud fancies with a fair submission.
You that can worship Sathan with delight,
And do him homage with your strength and might,
And glory in your lust without controul,
And pay the immortal tribute of your soul.
Thy revellings will be horror in that day,
When sad regrets will check thy soul, and say,
What profit is it for to gain the world,
And lose my immortal soul, and so be hurl'd
Down from my lofty state, to endless flame,
Where's dread, and horror, infamy, and shame.
Heark you sensualists, that make disputes,
Whose souls are as unconcern'd as bruits,
And panteth after pleasures seeming fair,
With more desire than Camelion for air,
Thou, that wad'st in soaming floods of vice
O're whelm'd with wantonness at any price,
Sporting thy self in the full bathes of pleasure,
Shunning that Christal stream, divinest treasure,
Counting religion dross, and do seem able
To correct divinity, as a very fable,
And in such height of humor thy thoughts advance,
Thinking the lives of Saints a meer Romance,
Laughing at Heav'n, and that diviner light,
Keeping the worlds vain objects in thy sight.
It will bleer thy eyes unless thou dost repent,
Thy looser ways will suffer punishment.
Hearken thou miser, that hath given thy eat
To the Rhetorick of a bag, thy soul doth chear
At the musick of a purse, where is thy aim
That gaze thy eyes to blindness at a Jem,
Wishing thy self an Judian for such pleasure,
That thou mayst ever dwell amongst such treasure,
Inhabit mines, until thou art turn'd to oar
Thy hairs to silver, and thy heart, which poar
On the worlds filth, into a wedg of gold;
Then wilt thou be a person fit to hold,
Correspondence with the Devil in the lower vaults,
Which will severely strip thee for thy faults;
Though thou art seemingly in a golden slumber
He'l find a time thy covetous thoughts to cumber,
With his severe corrections, thou wilt howl,
That thou so lov'st the world, to lose thy soul.
Hearken ye gallants, which have lost your sence,
And are enamored on fashions, with pretence
To beautifie your Limbs with better shapes,
Have lost your true Ideas, are turn'd apes,
And meerly live to feed vain luxury,
With studied dishes for debauchery,
And martyr many creatures to fulfil
The unchast desires of your wanton will;
Like Epicures on that abundance given
By the most good and bountiful hand of Heaven.
Are your veins purer, have you nobler spirits,
Then should your passions be full of great merits,
Abandoning a base, and covetous mind,
In getting wealth, which will scatter with the wind,
And breath of the displeasure of the giver,
Which soon can blast our hopes and make them wither
Into a sterile, dry, and pale complexion,
And make thee know, that thou art in subjection
To powers divine, that can stop thy career;
And make thy griping covetous purchase dear.
Could we live old, and still recover strength,
Not finding the miseries of age at length;
Could we unwind time, and reverse its wheel,
Stop the celestial posts, and make them reel,
And set the worlds great clock far back again,
What shall we get by it, but trouble and pain,
Imaginary selicities here,
Sliding contentments, purchas'd very dear?
And when we're listed in the dismal book,
That accursed catalogue of the damned, look
And ask Dives, without any controul,
What did it profit him to lose his soul.
Oh Lord, what is there in this world to prize,
And weary our selves with vain desires to raise
A temporary felicity and name,
Which quickly vanisheth, as a blast or flame.
'Tis hard to him, that's to thy law a stranger,
To apprehend the misery, and danger
Of covetous desires, the length of time
Hath made that vice a habit, and incline
Our natures to the breaches of thy law.
Oh Lord, teach me with care to stand in aw
Of losing thee my God, my only pleasure,
Whom to enjoy is the divinest treasure.
O let the blessings thou hast freely given
Quicken our duller souls, with thanks to Heav'n,
From whom we have receiv'd the chief promotion:
Let it not flack, but quicken our devotion,
And raise contemplations, not vainly rude
But with obedience, and humble gratitude,
That so the vanities that are here below
May be our scorn, but the graces with do flow
From thy abundant mercy may delight'us
To the bosom of thy Church, good Lord, unite us,
And raise our spirits, our vices to controul,
And think no profit for to lose our soul.
Canticles 2.1.
I am the Rose of Sharon and the Lilly of the valleys.
'Tis Solomons song, his most Seraphick strein,
That in high, and transcendent raptures aim
To express Christs love, to his Church the sacred spouse,
Doth not his fervent divine fancy rouze
These high passionate expressions divine,
The Rose of Sharon, love better than wine;
Lilly of the valleys, turtle undefil'd,
Love of delights, sweeter than spices mild,
Spikenard and Mirrhe, Saphron and Frankincense,
All these allusions, in an amorous sence
Of divine love, as in a holy song,
VVith lofty ejaculations all along
In a devout harmony doth allude
In allegory, and similitude.
The Rose is natures perfume, it displays
Its treasures through the air unto its praise;
It delighteth sence both in color, and smell,
Whose odoriferous beauty none can paralel.
Other flowers (like Hypocrites) are fair of color,
And in a painted shew they do seem fuller
Of various shapes, but they have not the scent
Of that sweet Rose, that still is fragrant,
And retains its sweetness, ev'n in withered dust,
When other flowers of Color pine, and burst
Into a nasty shape, of the Rose is made
A cordial, so, that it doth never fade;
It's virtues are still useful of great price,
Of vegetables natures paradise.
In this wonder of flowers, we may espy
Not only Physick but Divinity;
It wears Heaven's livery, in its beauteous color,
Natures master piece, nothing is fuller
Than the sweet lovely blushes of the Rose,
That Rose of Sharon, which all wisedom knows
With many prickles, was his head surrounded,
VVith tanting scoffs, was his pure soul confoundad;
The perfumes of his prayers rais'd a richer smell,
Than all Arabia's spices can paralel,
His divine miracles were higher scented,
Than all odoriferous gums, if sublimated
Into one perfume, its a rifle to that sweet,
That cordial posie where the God-head meet
As join'd in one, and sent such perfume thence,
VVhich should enamor our hearts with reverence,
To adore that Rose of Sharon, which will never
Lose its perfume, but will smell sweet for ever.
Oh let us run with meekness, (not presume)
After the odors of thy sweet perfume;
And have fervent desires for thee alone,
And for the streams that do flow from thy Throne.
Imprint in me such rays of divine grace,
A purity capable to see thy face.
The greatest perfections in creatures lie,
But a drop of transcendent excellency
That is in thee, let me have a longing strife
To imitate the purity of thy life,
And in an humble meekness to submit,
To such indignities as thou think'st fit,
And when I shall lay down this earthy feature
I may be raised a renewed creature;
And be comforted with perfumes of thy love,
VVhich are prepared with the Saints above,
In the eternal paradise of rest,
VVith the true Rose of Sharon ever blest.
Psalm 119.92.
If my delight had not been in thy Law: I should have perished in my trouble.
FINIS.
To the Honorable the Lord Chief justice Raynsford, upon his adding St. George's Church to the rules of the Kings Bench.
THanks noble Raynsford, for this bounteous favor
To prisoners restrained, it doth sweetly savor
Of a pious clemency, thus to enlarge
The footsteps of those Men under thy charge,
You've outdone loyal Keeling (that act we'le sound)
He'n larg'd the rules, thou givest us holy ground,
St. George's Church, Englands Titular Saint,
VVhere we may freely go, and make complaint
Of our hard ereditors, and devoutly pray,
That he'l enlarge his mercies in the day
Of your account, we'l study to express
All ways of gratitude, for this happiness,
With thanks unto our Marshal for his love,
VVhich doth oblige us faster, far above
All other obligations, we'l express
All cordial love with humble thankfulness.
Pardon Dear Sir, that I this silence break,
That am the meanest, how could others speak?
An Elogie on the death of Edmund Lenthal Esq: late Marshal of the Kings Bench.
ARe prisons sad? is't not a place of grief,
To be restrain'd from liberty, the chief
Desire of Man, but here a comforts given,
VVhen a mild keeper is decreed from Heaven.
Such one we had, but suddenly snatcht hence
By the impartial hand of providence.
Death with his pale fac'd Envy hath bereav'd
Of comfort, in which we were not deceiv'd.
His carriage was obliging sweet, and kind,
Expressing still a bounteous noble mind,
And generous Courtesy, yet his care was just
Preserving them, that did oblige his trust.
In such an harmony his acts did meet,
Mixt mercy with justice in consort sweet.
My meditations of Joy, and gladness
Are turn'd to Elogies, and songs of sadness.
He's taken hence, which my sad soul did chear.
I cease to write, surpriz'd with mournful tear.
THE TABLE Of the FIRST PART.
- Philippians Chap. 4. v. 12.
- 1. I Know how to abound, and how to suffer need, &c.
- Job 2.10.
- 2. In all this did not Job sin with his Lips.
- Romans 6.12. and part of 21.
- 3. Let not sin theresore raign in your mortal bodies, that you should obey it in the Lusts thereof: For the end of these things are death. 7
- Matthew 15.28.
- 4. And he said unto her, O Woman great is thy Faith. 11
- John 12.2.
- 5. But Lazarus was one of those that sat at the Table with him. 14
- Genesis 2.8.
- 6. And the Lord God planted a Garden East-ward in Eden. 17
- Luke 10.25.
- 7. And behold, a certain Lawyer flood up and tempted him, Master, what shall I do to inherit Eternal Life. 20
- John 11.36.
- 8. Jesus Wept. 23
- Matthew 6.33.
- 9. But seek ye first the Kingdom of God and his Righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you, &c. 25
- John 13.23.
- 10. And there was leaning on Jesus bosom, one of his Disciples whom he loved, &c. 29
- Luke 19.9.
- 11. This day is Salvation come to thy House. 32
- Luke 9.57.
- 12. Lord, I will follow thee wheresoever thou goest. 36
- A Copy of Verse to Sir Anthony Bateman on the Death of his Daughter. 40
- An Elogy on the Name and Death of the Virtuous Lady Martha Bateman, who departed this Life the Tenth of December, 1674. 41
THE TABLE Of the SECOND PART.
- Numbers 27.16, 17.
- 1. Let the Lord, the God of the Spirits of all flesh, set a man over the Congregation. Which may go out before them, and which may go in before them, and which may lead them out, and which may bring them in; that the Congregation of the Lord be not as Sheep which have no Shepherd. p. 1.
- Matthew 5.8.
- 2. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God, &c. 6
- Daniel 12.3.
- 3. And they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the Firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness, as the Stars for ever and ever. 9
- Matthew 2.18.
- 4. And when they saw the Star, they rejoyced with exceeding great Joy. 12
- Ecclesiastes 12.13.
- 5. Fear God and keep his Commandments, for this is the whole duty of Man. 16
- Matthew 8.2.
- 6. And behold! there came a Leaper and worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. 20
- 1 Kings 19.9.
- 7. And he came unto a Cave and lodged there. 23
- Genesis 28.12.
- 8. And he dreamed a Dream, and behold a Ladder set upon the Earth, and the top of it reached unto Heaven, and behold the Angels descending and ascending on it. 27
- Proverbs 18.14.
- 9. But a wounded Spirit who can bear! 33
- Matthew 24.38.
- 10. And knew not until the Flood came and took them all away. 37
- Luke 7.5.
- 11. For he loved our Nation and hath built us a Synagogue. 40
- John 20.11.
- 12. But Mary stood without at the Sepulchre weeping, and as she wept she stooped down and looked into the Sepulchre. 44
- Ecclesiastes 12.1.
- 13. Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth. 47
- Luke 18.11.
- 14. The Pharisee stood up and pray'd, God I thank thee I am not as other men are. 50
- Matthew 16.26.
- 15. For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? 53
- Canticles 2.1.
- 16. I am the Rose of Sharon, and the Lilly of the Vallies. 57
- A Copy of Verses to the Right Honorable the Lord Chief Justice Raynsford.
- An Elogy on the Death of Edmund Lenthal Esq;
FINIS.