The Great Assize; Or, Christ's certain and sudden ap­pearence to Judgm [...]nt. Being serious considerations on these Four Things, Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell.

To the Tune of, Aim not too high, &c.

Licensed according to Order.

[depiction of Christ in glory]
[depiction of hell mouth]
HEre is presented, clearly to the eye,
A little World, new made most gloriously,
To day here stands proud man like flowers sprite;
But look to morrow, and he's weather'd quite.
How happily might fallen man have liv'd,
For ever, had he not his Maker griev'd:
His num'rous Off-spring never would espy,
Thro' that black Curtain of Mortality.
Alas how fast the daies of man pass by,
Swifter than Weaver's Shuttle they do fly;
As soon as Death does end his days so soon,
Man must appear before the great Tribune.
Death will no succour to a King afford,
For diff'rence make twixt Begger and a Lord;
For Beauty, Riches, favour shall obtain,
He'll take no Bribes to linger out their pain.
Methusalem you see by Death was told,
That dye he must, tho' he was ne'er so old,
Like Fruit, when almost ripe, Storms can it shake;
So Youth, when almost Man, Death may him take.

The Rich Man trusting to his Riches.

And yet, how proud Man is this side the Grave!
As if he never should an Exit have;
(Vaunting poor Worm) and up and down the world
His busie carping thoughts with care is hurld.
He's wealthy grown, and proud of bags of treasure,
Trusting in Riches; raking all the pleasure
His heart can wish for; nay, he does controul
The checks of Conscience to his precious Soul:
Says to himself, Soul, take thine ease, and spend
Thy time in mirth, ne'er think it will have end:
Thus! thus! the Sinner does abuse his God,
And chooses Vice, instead o' th' vertuous Rod.
He Swears, & Damns, & imprecates God's wrath,
To strike him dead; but ah! to die he's loath:
He Damns his very Soul, were it not just
That God should do so too, and say, Be curst?
Roaring and Ranting is his Hellish Note,
Qauffing so long until his senses float,
Drunk, like a Beast, he staggers up and down,
Sleeps like a Hog, and is a Devil grown.
But Oh! if God thus angred, ready be
To say, thou Fool, I do require of thee,
Thy soul, this night, come, give a just account
To what thy Stewardship does now amount.
How dumb & senseless would he stand, to see
Hell ready to devour him presantly,
Calls to the Rocks, and strives to get a place,
Therein to hide him from God's angry face.
But yet, suppose God suffers him to live,
Adds mercy unto mercy, and does give
Him yet a longer time of life, and trys,
If he'll Repent before death shuts his eyes.
He sees that time runs round like to a wheel,
And wrinckled Years upon his brow does steal.
Besides gray hairs on's crazy head doth grow,
Scatter'd it lies like to a drift of Snow,
[skeleton in the grave]
A foggy dimness doth his sight assail,
Striking into his head, his eyes they fail,
His tongue does faulter, and his hands they shake,
And with the Palsie every limb does quake.
His glass most run, he's even out of breath,
Ready to yield his life to conquering death,
Who will no longer favour his old age,
But is resolved in his death ingage.
If peeps behind the Curtain in his face,
Then draws the Schene, then breavful is his case,
His tongue does quiver, and his veins does start,
Like sticks asunder; nay his very heart
Ceases its motion, with his vitals, soon,
And now alas! he's colder than a stone:
His Kinsfolks dear his dying eyes do shut,
So from his Bed he's in a Coffin put.
Thus ends his Earthl'y splendour, and his pleasure'
Wife, Children, Kinsfolk, and his bags of treasure,
Are left behind, enjoy the same estate
A little while, but follow must his fate.
Nay, they're not sure to keep it half a day,
For Death does oft sweep Families away,
The Infants instantly bereav'd of Mother,
Husband from Wife, the Sister from her Brother.
Behold this figure, see the glass does run,
Therefore Repent before thy time is gone,
Both Young and Old have this before your eyes,
You're born to happiness or miseries.
O therefore wretched man this very day,
Strive by Repenting tears to wash away
Thy sins, and then no doubt thy Lord will be
In love and mercy reconcil'd to thee.

The manner of Christ's coming at the Day of Judgment.

Serene, like as the days of Noah were,
So shall the coming of God's Son appear,
Eating and Drinking, men will merry make,
And carnal Souls Security will take.
And like the thief who cometh in the night,
So will the Son of Man in glory bright,
Come down with numerous Angels, and the sound,
Of trumpets shrill, whose voice unnerves the ground
The dead arise, Lord, what a horrour here
Is to the wicked, who must strait appear,
And come to Judgment, O how this begins,
To bring to mind their many wretched Sins.
O what sad shrieks they make, and clam'rous cries,
To see Hell gaping just before their eyes,
The Heav'ns to melt away with fervent heat,
The Earth a burning underneath their feet.

The Blessed State of the Godly.

But happy, ever happy are the Sheep
Of Christ, who joy for evermore will keep,
When he shall say to Saints, come come thee hither,
You of my chosen Flock, blest of the Father.
The kingdom now enjoy for you prepar'd
Before the heav'ns were made or world was rear'd,
Oh what soul ravishing sweet news is this.
Angels attend them presently to bliss.

The miserable State of the wicked.

But dark! what grief the Damned does attend,
Who have no Advocate to stand their Friend,
Sentence must passed be, go, go to dwell
In Firey Burnings in the Lake of Hell.
Depart with Devils which did you entice
To hate your Saviour, and cleeve to Vice,
Go to that Everlasting Pit, and lye
Howling with Firey Fiends perpetually.
O what a wretched sight 'twill be to see
The Devils dragging them to misery,
Husbands to see their Wives convey'd to Bliss,
Whilst they 'mongst Damned, quite Salvation miss.
Son from the Father, Father from the Son,
Must partest be in the great Day of Doom,
Praising of God, and own it to be just,
Their own Relations are with Devils curst.
The Godly they to Heaven take their flight,
Whilst wicked take their course to Hell out-right,
Lord let us watch continually; and pray
That we may be prepar'd for that Great Day.
Give us Repentance, that while here we live,
We may the offers of thy Son receive,
Then feed our souls, good God, with thy rich Grace,
That we may stand before our Saviour's Face.

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball in Pye-corner, near West-Smithfield.

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