Divine Passions Piously and Pathetically Expressed
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Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org
DIVINE PASSIONS.
Piously and Pathetically expressed in three several BOOKES.
Viz.
I. Being a Dialogue between Dives and Lazarus, with the Authors Epigrams upon that Parable.
II. A Dialogue between the Prodigal Son, and the Pitifull Father, with Epigrams on that Parable also.
III. Contains first an Argument against Atheism. Secondly▪ an admiration of God's mercy towards mankind. Thirdly, the care and cure of a wounded Conscience.
Written and Composed for private Consolation, and now thought not unfit to be published to all, and presented to certain worthy Persons of this Kingdom.
By Edward Calver, Gent.
LONDON, Printed by T. H. for Richard Harper, and are to be sold at his shop in Smithfield, 1643.
In landem Authoris, On his DIVINE PASSIONS.
CHrists Parables, were always full of worth,
Which here in part thy pen hath well set forth.
Dives
and
Lazarus
well do tipifie
We should not scorn our brothers poverty;
Confuting Atheists, thou God's mercy praysest,
The wounded conscience thou both cur'st & raisest.
Thou show'st a fathers passion, for a son,
That needs would from him prodigally run.
And in thy pleasant Epigrams we read
We all to God are prodigalls indeed:
Thy Book hath so much Passion, that who heart
Thy Stories, must turn Prodigal of tears.
S. W.
To the right Worshipful Sir Dennor Strut, Knight and Baronet, to the right Worshipful William Heveningham a worthy Member of the Honorable House of Commons, to the Worshipful Nicholas Bacon, and Henry North, Justices of the peace, to the Worthy Thomas Baker, Nathaniel Thurston, and John Bayles, Esquires, and to Mr. John Mayhew, &c.
N oble Knight, and Worshipful, and generous Gentlemen:
I being bound to some of you in the bonds of affinity, to all in affection but above all in duty; I cannot but hold it my duty to proffer you the best of my endeavors, and for want of anything worthy, I do here persent you my good will. I presume not upon your Patronage, but only beg your acceptance; considering that if these my endeavors be worth the accepting, they shall need the less assistance. But if anything here brought forth be deformed, it is sure most fit that he which begot it should father it.
The world, peradventure, may wonder that I draw so large a circle, and then turn it to a cypher▪ that I presume to stamp so many worthy Names in the front of this my unworthy work, and then speak nothing of the worth of your worthy persons in particular: But let the world know that it is not for want of worth in yourselves that I forbear the same for I do ingenuously acknowledge I may justly draw your virtues into as large a Volume, as any other who have been most copious in that kind. But I, for my part, do hold it a labor little useful to paint over that to make it pass for currant, which doth shine most perfect in its own color. Besides, I am resolved your modest ears would be rather offended, then fed, with the sound of your own praises though unfeigned.
But the chiefest aim of my desires herein is to do you some service; not flatter for assistance. Therefore, if upon perusal hereof (if your more serious employments will admit the same) you shall reap any benefit, or at least content, I shall, in this kind be sufficiently satisfied. Only I desire that upon your judicious view hereof, you would vouchsafe a favorable censure; of which I am the more confident, because I know you cannot expect anything polished from a hand so uninstructed. But not to be too full in a Preface, to too empty a Sequell, I implore your pardon, and desire to be employ'd, your Servant in all humility.
Edward Calver.
To the Curteous and Capable READER.
REad Curteous Reader, this is for thy sake,
Through want of knowledge thou canst not mistake:
And as thou canst not, so my trust is built
Through want of charity thou never wilt.
Dives.
WHen I in nine months had through
Virgo
run,
That fruitful sign, and then appeared a Sun,
Such fates might from my birth have been collected
As if by noble
Jupiter
aspected.
So soon as born, I had endowments fair,
Not only born, but born my Fathers heir:
And eke with joy my fainting Mother smild,
Whose pains were turned so pleasure in her child.
Great preparation, with the greatest mirth,
Was duly made to celebrate my birth,
Where I received honor, with my name,
Grac'd by the greatest witnessing the same.
My parents joy, with comfort joined was such,
No cost was spared, nor care was thought too much,
But all conduced readily to prove
My earthly bliss, decypherd from above.
Lazarus.
WOe, child of woe! of all the world a scorn,
Nothing but woe appeared when I was born:
Disast'rous
Saturn,
did with
Mars
comply
To make me wretched by nativity.
Born, only born, that Natures care allowd me,
But being born had scarce a rag to shroud me:
My silly Parents sighing for relief,
One cryd for help, the other wept for grief.
Distressted Parents, who all comfort wanted,
Must, for my sake, have now no biding granted:
Prodigious babe! how could the world fore-see
I should a burden to her greatness be?
A wretched Infant in my mothers womb,
But far more wretched in the world become:
So base, yea so unworthy of a name
The meanest blush to witness me the same.
The Authors Epigram.
MOst fatal stars, if stars may fates decree;
Or partfull fate if fates may granted be;
One swims, one sinckes, one hath enough and more,
Another nothing, begs from door to door.
The destinies on little
Dives
smile:
Poor
Lazarus
by them destined to exile:
Rich Matrons run when
Dives
comes to birth;
But cannot stir when
Lazarus
should come forth.
Dives
attended in his cradle lying:
Poor infant
Lazarus
lies neglected crying:
Dives,
his Parents dear and only joy:
Lazarus,
his Parents object of annoy.
Dives
hath dainties, is in purple dressed:
Lazarus
with cold, and hunger is oppressed:
Alas poor
Lazarus
child of woe, indeed:
Kind people take some pity here is need.
Dives.
FOrth from my Nurse, as weary of her charms,
I viewed the world, the world unclasp'd her arms,
And, as another Mother, or as kind,
Imbrac'd me, sought to satisfy my mind.
She set before me all her various joys,
As well jewels, as her wanton toys,
Set open all her Cabinets of price,
And showed me all the pleasures might entice.
She plaid me music, made me understand:
And gave me lovely
Venus
in my hand,
And when my tender spirits did decline,
She taught me to revive the same with wine.
Here I had heaven, or pleasures did excel,
These suited with my youthful nature well,
The world allured, my senses proved betrayed,
The world besieged my senses soon obeyed.
Lazarus.
VNtimely born, and brought up as untaught,
With neither wit, nor education fraught,
My friends full poor could little kindness show me,
My kindred none, or none at least would know me.
But griping hunger forced me to entreat
The world some leave to labor for my meat,
For pity sake unto me to assign
Some meanest office, though to feed the swine.
But all in vain, her greatness did abhor me,
Had neither place, nor yet employment for me,
But sternly told me of my sad subjection
To woeful stocking, whipping, and correction.
Whereat amazed I soon was stricken mute,
Betwixt despair, and growing resolute,
Unto the last bad counsel did entice,
Bad nature too: but grace restrained vice.
The Authors Epigram.
DEceitfull world, deciphering thy state
Who can but err? thou art unto the great
A flattering Syren, but unto the small
A very savage cruel Cannibal.
Thou dandl'st youthful
Dives
on thy knee
Till with thy pleasures he enchanted be,
But having got the thing which thou wouldst have,
Thou makest him then thy most contented slave.
But if poor
Lazarus
seeks to be employ'd,
Or sues for aide, he is by thee denied,
Thou only cry'st he doth thy honor blemish,
Correct the rascal, let the vermin famish.
Alas poor
Lazarus
of the world excluded:
Alas rich
Dives
by the world deluded;
Poor
Lazarus
starves his penury is such:
Again rich
Dives
surfeits with too much.
Dives.
WHen as the world had given my will content,
Or I had given unto the world consent,
Her various beauties did me so inflame.
My very heart was ravished with the same.
I freely drunk her pleasures with delight,
Whereof the more I drunk the more I might:
Her profits were unto my hot desire
But as more fuel to increase that fire.
Her greatness, with respect unto her honor,
Did, for preferment, make me wait upon her.
Her glories were so radiantly set forth,
I thought upon no other heaven, but earth.
On earth I only did set up my stay,
I gave my senses and affections sway,
And having treasure which might long endure.
I in that harbor thought myself secure.
Lazarus.
MOst wretched creature, destitute of aid,
Of all men loathed, and in limbs decayed,
I could not work, and therefore might not eat;
But griping hunger and enforce for meat▪
Beg then I must, and so I did indeed,
I made the world acquainted with my need,
I made my grief apparent, but alas I
I must be punished, for I had no pass.
Yet still I begged▪ as to that thralldom tied,
Though oft upon my tender kneen denied,
I cried for succor, and did show my sores
Where people passed, and at rich men's doors.
Thus▪ whiles I begged, I got relief of some,
But without woeful begging not a crumb;
High ways and hedges, were any shrouds by day,
By night full glad to shroud myself in hay.
The Authors Epigram.
RIch
Dives
laughs, and doth in pleasures swim,
As if they only were ordained for him.
Poor
Lazarus
weeps, and makes this pitious mone,
I drink the sorrows of the world alone.
Rich
Dives
doth no earthly comfort miss,
By birth much wealth, if not the world is his:
But silly
Lazarus,
as it doth appear,
Is borne to beg, or borne to nothing here.
Rich
Dives
here is master and commands
Much force, if not too much, is in his hands:
Poor
Lazarus
here is but the scum of all,
Must stoop to mean men, down to rich men fall.
Dives
hath friends, is spoken to most fair,
Dives
the worlds own darling, yea her heir:
Lazarus
is only left, no love, no friend,
Lazarus
is only loathed, but mark the end.
Lazarus.
COnsum'd with hunger, misery and care,
Decrepit with cold for want of rags to wear,
My pined corps, and panting heart for aid
Began to languish, and my health decayed.
With many sighs, in this my sad estate,
I got, at length, unto the rich man's gate,
Where, in my anguish, in my pain and grief,
I hoped for succor, and I begged relief.
I called, I cried, and, as I durst, I knocked,
But all in vain, the rich man's gate was looked:
No gate, no doors, no ears could opened be:
His Curres did far more kindness show then he.
Whereat my heart within my wretched breast
Was struck as dead, yea with mere death possessed▪
Thus left of man, all mercy me denying,
God, everliving, showed me mercy dying.
Dives.
WHat, am I struck with melancholy's dart?
Come earthly comforts, come revive my heart,
What have you lost your virtue, or your skill
Which wont to cure me? Oh! I yet am ill.
What desperate change is now in my disease?
That now offendeth which was wont to please,
My earthly pleasures, and my endless gains
Do now disquiet me, nor asswage mu pains.
Come, make my will then of my wealth with speed,
For now I find it fails me at my need▪
And run to some Physician with my state,
Some learned Doctor, for my pains are great.
Come Doctor, come, my sick estate behold,
Come show your learning, give some ease for gold,
Some present help unto my heart apply,
A world for life, help, help, alas, I die.
The Authors Epigram.
IF
Dives
surfeits and grown sick, is sad,
No earthly aid is wanting can be had,
His friends abound; Physicians dare be bold
To strive sometimes beyond their rules for gold.
But woeful
Lazarus
of the world neglected
Lies sick forsaken, harborless, rejected,
No friends to cheer, no physic for his good,
He surfeits not, but rather sterves for food.
Rich
Dives
now he feels unto his pain
That all his wealth, yea all the world is vain,
When sickness comes their sweetness is but small,
When death their honey then converts to gall.
Poor
Lazarus,
all his life time in distress,
Whose very face deciphers wretchedness,
When sickness comes it makes him death require,
When death it gives him what he doth desire.
Dives.
O Death most cruel I thou hast struck my heart:
O wretched body I thou and I must part:
Thou to a rotting resting place a while,
I to the ruefull dungeon of exile.
Thou now a carkaise, I a cursed soul,
Beset with fiends, which will have no control▪
Out of thy prison, now I see full clear
Most ugly Devils as they are, appear.
They seize upon me with infernal spite,
They tell me I belong to them by right;
I have been by them many years employ'd
Although they by me have not been descry'd.
And therefore now I must with them away,
They long have waited, but have now their prey,
They must unto proud Lucifer return
With me, that monster doth in fury burn.
Lazarus.
LOng wished for day, most welcome death to me,
Which sets me thus from all my sufferings free:
My withered corps now rest, in hope to rise,
My weary'd soul is now on wing, and flies.
Most happy change I how is my chance amended?
On earth cast out, with Angels now attended,
Who all my life did succor me distrest,
And now at death will carry me to rest.
In soul I mean, which from my body freed,
Now views those Angels as they are indeed,
Which sight excels all earthly joys as far
As doth the Sun, the most inferior Star.
Which glorious spirits, with delight inspired,
To see my soul thus out of thrall retired,
Do in their fiery chariots now of love
Thus, in my spirit, early me above.
The Authors Epigram.
HEere I must change additions given before,
Rich Lazarus now, Rich Dives now no more▪
Rich Lazarus now hath more then earth can grant,
Poor Dives now in miserable want.
Rich Lazarus now with Angels is delighted,
Poor Dives now with Devils is affrighted.
Lazarus in peace of conscience doth excel,
Dives in conscience hath a very hell,
Rich Lazarus mounts with Angels him attending,
Poor Dives now with Devils is d
•
scending.
Heaven hath for Lazarus long prepared
•
in
Hell gapes for Dives, and he enters in.
Lazarus received with love, delight, and joy,
Dives with deadly horror▪ and annoy:
Lazarus to have his saved soul contented:
Dives to have his damned soul tormented.
Dives.
OH! cursed, cursed, most accursed soul,
Where am I now? what fiends are these that howl?
They seize upon me, they torment me sore,
I shrike with anguish, they in fury roar.
In earths deep centers dark and dreadful cell,
Where only angry damned spirits dwell
In grossest darkness, yet my sight so clear▪
Most hideous visions to the same appear.
In hell, indeed, where I endure that curse
Which shall not cease, but be hereafter worse,
In fire infernal, out of measure hot,
Which ever burns, and yet consumeth not.
I rave, I curse, and I accuse my fate,
As if such torments were unjust, too great:
But conscience nips me with, not so: I try,
To kill that worm, but oh I it will not die.
Lazarus.
OH! blessed, blessed, oh, my soul most blest▪
In Abraham's bosom, yea in Angels rest:
A Heavenly mansion, made by God, most good,
Made mine by Jesus, purchased by his blood.
In heaven, indeed, where I behold no sight
But only heavenly objects of delight:
Nor hear I ought that doth offend; but here
All praises sing, and Alleluj as hear.
No darkness here, I still have perfect day,
No sorrows here, all tears are wiped away:
No meanness here, I match with Kings above;
No hatred here, but I have perfect love.
Here I have rest which never shall decrease,
Here I have pleasures which shall never cease:
Here I have riches which shall never rust,
Here I enjoy the portion of the just.
The Authors Epigram.
POore
Dives
now within that fiery lake
In hell doth yell, most piteous dolour make,
He sees the fire, although it gives no light,
The devils too; though in perpetual night.
Rich
Lazarus
now hath rest which shall endure,
In heaven, where only harbor is secure:
Views Man in Christ, and Christ in God, which sight
Is the most heavenly object of delight.
Poor
Dives
now is desperate indeed,
His roaring conscience makes his soul to bleed,
The fiends, again, do rage the faster, why?
To make him silent: no, the louder cry.
Rich
Lazarus
now it blest above measure,
Hath heaven for glory, happiness for treasure,
Yea double happy, he in heaven abides,
And in his conscience hath a heaven besides.
Dives.
MOst cursed soul, with Devils now in chains,
I feel not only hells infernal pains,
But also have a hell within my spirit
For loss of heaven, which Saints above inherit.
Damn'd soul, I curse, but cannot God accuse,
He proffered grace, but I did grace refuse;
He often touched my conscience with a nip
Which still I smothered, or in vain let slip.
He sent his servants, yea his only Son,
Who still did woo, but I would not be woon,
He gave me riches to relieve the poor,
Whom I neglected, or disdained the more.
But now I am for evermore rejected,
No means of mercy now to be expected,
But fiery fiends must pay me now my due
Without remorse, who would no mercy show.
Lazarus.
MOst happy soul now from corruption free'd,
Which in my body was corrupt indeed,
I then (yea I, for now I do subsist
Within my soul) was then with sin distrest.
My earthly body as a house of mire,
Or dirty clay, polluted my desire,
Depraved Nature, with corrupted sense
Seduc'd my will, abused intelligence.
Yea infinite allurements unto sin,
The world without, the wicked one within,
All joined in one, a very host, indeed,
To race my Towrs, which were, alas, but Reed.
But God, who still defendeth from above,
Did look upon my weak estate, in love,
And in his Son, accepting what I wanted,
Where power I had not, there he pardon granted.
The Authors Epigram.
IF
Adams
Seed be still the same by birth,
Or
Dives
yet hath brethren upon earth;
Here let them hear him in his soul complain
For loss of what they yet have time to gain.
If men distrest remain in sorrows striving,
Or saved
Lazarus
yet hath seed surviving,
Here let them in their sorrows overflown,
Behold his joy, and in his joy their own.
Dives
as in an Ocean, did abound
In earthly joys, wherein he swimming, drowned:
Lazarus,
as in a channel with his oar,
Was crossed, and tost, and yet got safe to shore.
Dives
had warnings of a future night,
But present joys put future cares to flight:
Lazarus,
with present miseries oppressed,
Was soon incited to ensuing rest.
Dives.
COnfounded soul, when I was found in earth
I lost myself, but most of all my worth,
Nay I could very hardly then descry
That man had any such a thing as I.
The curious cob-web of my body twin'd,
Wherein I, out of sight, was out of mind,
Was then the object that I counted dear,
Because, in deed, that only did appear▪
That, that I pampered with the choicest cates,
And decked with jewels of the highest rates;
And that so fully my affections swayed,
That I, who therein should have ruled obeyed.
But now poor soul, I see thee as thou art,
A power immortal, once the better part,
I see the worth wherein thou were infused▪
And to what end, but all, alas, abused.
Lazarus.
MOst happy soul, thus out of thralldom risen,
Thou in the body wert indeed, in prison,
That house of clay wherein thou wert enclosed,
Confin'd thy power, and made thee ill disposed,
Thou, in some motion to the better things,
Wouldst then have hover'd, but that held thy wings:
Thou then didst see, but then thy sight, alas,
Prov'd much deceitful, looking through that glass.
But now, my soul, thy nimble sight is clear,
Thou as thou art, dost to thyself appear,
A jewel most inestimable, such
As doth in worth exceed the world by much.
Pure in thyself, and pure in thy desire,
With Angels equal, and shall yet be higher,
In present joy, and art inspired with some
Sweet speculations of more joys to come.
The Authors Epigram.
DIves
in hell, confounded at his state,
Now sees his folly's, when it is too late,
Confesseth too with most outrageous cries
What, whiles he lived the world might not surmise.
Alas poor
Dives
heaven hath now denied thee,
The world which was thy joy, doth now deride thee,
Unhappy
Dives,
how art thou undone?
Thy soul is lost, and yet no world is won.
Thrice happy
Lazarus,
who in sorrows tost,
Hast gained what
Dives
in his pleasures lost,
Hast heaven, where thou art ravished with mirth;
Dives
hath neither joy in heaven, nor earth.
If sorrows here foretell such future gain,
Or present pleasures such ensuing pain,
Why strive we here in pleasures to excel,
Or count distress and sorrows here a hell?
Dives.
THrice wretched, yea most wretched soul am I,
Wretched? yea wretched, drowned in misery,
Drown'd? yea and bound in that infernal pit
Which hath no bottom, yea more wretched yet,
Not only bound, but bound in chains, a yoke
Perpetual too, which never shall be broke,
Never? what never, without end, or date?
Oh! this word never makes me desperate.
Desperate, indeed, no hope for me remains,
I am in hell in everlasting chains,
This purgatory I am in, indeed,
Am in, 'tis true, but out cannot be freed.
Hence to redeem me men may be at cost,
But all in vain and to no purpose lost,
Here intercessions dirges are too late,
Mans love is vain, where God above doth hate.
Lazarus.
THrice happy soul am I, what happy thrice?
Yea infinitely, in a Paradise
Eternal in the heavens; oh best of all,
And yet more happy, where I cannot fall.
No Serpent here to tempt me to rebel,
I have a place from whence that Serpent fell:
No apple here whereby I can be tried,
No choice offends where nothing is denied.
Nor can I now in my affections stray,
Corruption thence is purged clean away,
And with the Angels which have ever stood,
I, freed from ill, am now confirmed in good.
I now, indeed, am from all danger free,
I cannot sin, then cannot punished be;
I now am happy beyond end, or weight,
And therefore happy beyond all conceit.
The Authors Epigram.
DIves
in hell now suffers for that sin
Which we on earth do take our pleasure in▪
Dives
in soul is with his sin tormented,
We in the body are with sin contented.
Dives
in soul contemplates his hard fate,
We in the body ponder not our state;
Dives
in hell, as desperate, must endure;
We upon earth are desperately secure.
Lazarus
in heaven contemns all earthly toys:
We upon earth regard not heavenly joys:
Lazarus
in soul, now freed from earth hath rest
We in the body think that thralldom best.
Lazarus
in soul hath now in fault to mind:
We in the body nothing but offend:
Lazarus
in heaven hath now no cure in
•
ache:
We upon earth have our accounts to make,
Dives.
DIstressed soul, my miseries indeed
Are out of measure, yet must more exceed▪
Distressed soul, what punished by art?
Thus fully tortured, and yet but in part?
I in my soul am hellishly distrest,
While my corrupted carcass is at rest,
But that and I ere long must meet again,
Not to asswage, but to increase my pain.
Unhappy soul, was I, indeed, the first
That did offend, that I am punished worst?
I am in hell, the body yet seems free,
Did I pollute the body, or that me?
But this is sure, both were created good,
And in that state (wherein we might have stood)
The Apple was unto the eye presented,
But I unto the eating in consented.
Lazarus.
I Happy I, who once was wretched healed
Am now in soul in that Elysian field
Mear heaven, celestial Paradise; where I,
In boundless pleasures, greater to descry.
I, happy I, have many years enjoy'd
What pleasures may be, from the body void;
Which freedom might have justly been reputed
A comfort when the body was polluted.
But when the body shall new formed be,
And made immortal from corruption free,
Shall to me, by the hand of the Creator,
Be join'd again, my joy shall then be greater.
My present joys are infinite, yet some
Of them in hope, which hopes shall then become;
All hoped for pleasures then shall be suppli'd,
The new formed Bridegroom have his reformed bride.
The Authors Epigram.
MOst happy
Lazarus,
how art thou renowned:
How are thy sad and patient sufferings crowned
With ample, yea within
〈◊〉
victories?
And shalt have, yet is greater weight of glories.
Thou in thy body were
〈◊〉
distrest:
Thou in thy soul art now in heaven at rest:
Thou in thy soul and body join'd again,
With Saints made perfect, shall triumphant reign,
Vnhappy
Dives,
thou hast done thy mirth,
Thou in the body hadst thy heaven on earth,
But now thy spirit, from the body freed,
Doth find its self in very hell indeed.
Thou in the body only but devised
To make the body were imp
•
rudis'd:
But on thy soul, and time to come unheedfull,
The state in both is therefore now most
•
readfull.
Dives.
MOst wretched I, besides the woes I have,
Methinks I hear my bones within my graye,
(As troubled with some fatal Trumpets sound)
Begin to shake and shiver in the ground.
Disquieted bones why rest you not as rotten?
Why are you not eternally forgotten?
What awful power, or dreadful earthquake rather
Is this which wakes, and shakes you thus together?
But can the bones consumed into dust
Restored be? Yes woeful yes, they must,
Both bones, and flesh are but in earth refined,
They must together once again be join'd.
Oh! how have I offended? is not death
Of body for the body condign wrath?
And hell sufficient for the souls reward?
No, no, there is a sentence yet more hard.
Lazarus.
MOst blessed I, what joys have I in store?
How out of measure can they yet be more?
Yes, joyful yes, I yet more joys shall find
When once my body to my soul be join'd.
When that, long looked for, act is to be done,
How shall my flesh and bones together run,
And, by the rising of that Lamb was slain,
Have power infused to stand up again.
Then from the sad sepulcher of annoy,
How shall I but lift up my head with joy?
And in the body deeply ravished be
Thus from that prison set forever free?
Besides, my body which now rests in peace,
Shall then from all corruption have release,
And like a Bridegroom ready trimmed, to me
The bride forever shall new marri'd be.
The Authors Epigram.
OH,
Dives, Dives,
thou on earth hadst store,
Hadst all things in abundance, no man more:
But, when thy sleep be slept, dost understand
Thou shalt awake with nothing in thy hand.
Oh! whither would thy soul then take her flight
To keep out of the body if it might?
How would it rather forth the body dwell,
Then in the body feel another hell.
But
Lazarus
thou shalt then come forth with joy,
Thou in the world hadst nothing but annoy,
But when that day of restitution comes,
Thou shalt have plenty,
Dives
not the crumbs.
Thy body which in rags was bound up here,
Shall then in most celestial robes appear,
Thy soul therewith much ravished and delighted,
Shall in much pleasure, be thereto united.
Dives.
TIs true indeed, yea too to true, alas,
(As Scripture speaks, which always comes to pass)
It is decree'd for all men once to die,
But were that all, more happy then were I.
But oh! this sentence is not here confined,
The soul and body must again be join'd,
The soul from hell, the body from its tomb,
And after death, must unto judgment come,
Confounded wretch, how shall I then subsist?
Which if I might not, I the more were blest,
But yet I must, alas, I must appear,
But with what face, alas I tremble here.
I in the body made of sin a sport,
I in the body then must answer for it:
The Judge of all will justly then define
Whether his ways were equalest, or mine.
Lazarus.
OH! blessed body, though a while in prison,
How will the soul take pleasure in thee risen?
And how again, will thy delights increase
When as the soul returns to thee in peace?
How like the Turtle sent out of the Ark
After the stood returning to that Bark
With signs of joy, shalt thou my soul my Dove,
Be in that day, returned with signs of love?
How shall my late dry scattered bones up stand,
When thou thus bringst a pardon in thy hand?
Yea with what comfort shall I be inspired
When thus my corps is from the grave retired?
Nay with what courage shall I then appear,
What joy, when my redemption draweth near?
What tongue on earth is able to express
What joy in conscience I shall then possess?
The Authors Epigram.
MOst fond, yea most infatuated we
Have ears and hear not, eyes and will not see:
Or else how could we, whiles we here remain,
So blinded be in things which are so plain?
How could we else, like men whom charms benum,
Be so unfeeling of the chance to come
To not observe, like men most sure to die,
What
Dives
lost, what
Lazarus
gained thereby.
Here who but
Dives
had the cap and knee?
Here who came forth with greater pomp then he?
But lo! hereafter, dead, and cold again,
Alas he comes forth trembling in a chain.
But blessed
Lazarus,
who was here a scorn,
As out of time, or most untimely born
Shall, when the dead are summoned from the grave,
Come forth with comfort, then most honor have.
Dives.
OH! dreadful, dreadful, in what dreadful terrors
Am I in hell tormented with my errors?
By only meditating on that horror
My soul shall be in when the Judge sends for her.
But with what fear shall I be then possessed,
The fear of which doth thus my soul molest,
When I at last shall feel the thing I fear,
Shall rise you dead, and come to judgment here?
How like a prisoner in a chain at last
Shall I stand forth to hear my sentence past?
How like a most condemned wretch? alas,
I am condemned ere the sentence pass.
My conscience, which once counterfeited sleep,
Now in my soul a restless court doth keep,
And then shall make a Register come forth
Worse then a thousand witnesses on earth.
Lazarus.
WHat joys are these which now so near approach?
Divinest thoughts, may you thereon encroach?
Incroach? Oh! seise thereon, be not deterred,
They were for me before the world prepared.
For me? what me, who begged from door to door?
And in myself, am to myself as poor,
Have neither birth, nor worth in me whereby
So mean a wretch should challenge joys so high.
Yet see, and wonderd to these joys divine
I have such right, that they by right are mine:
God did prepare, Christ purchased, I by faith
Receive them due; thus imputation saith.
But oh! my sins are great, but that's no let,
In purchasing my joy; Christ paid my debt:
But I must give account that's yet to make;
But He that paid my debt, my count must take.
The Authors Epigram.
OH! happy
Lazarus,
how mayest thou stand sure?
How swimst thou in a sea of joys secure?
Thy debt is paid, which was so out of measure,
And paying that hath purchased thee a treasure,
What needest thou shake then at a judgment day?
Or of accounts, who hast no debts to pay?
Or why shouldst fear the Judges face to see
When as the Judge shall thy redeemer be?
But wretched
Dives,
wretched sure indeed,
Thou hast a boundless fearful bill to read,
Wherein thy debt is manifest and clear,
No crossing there, no cancelling appear.
There was a time, but now that time is lost,
Wherein thou mightest have got thy reckoning crossed:
How wilt thou answer to the Judge of heaven?
Thou canst not pay, nor canst thou be forgiven.
Dives.
MOst woeful I, who now in woeful ruin,
In hell still muse of greater woes eusuing;
One woe doth another woe foreshow,
Woe, endless woe, my foresight is too true.
My woes again are yet as to begin,
Wretch, I have yet to answer for my sin,
Where my indictment must be found indeed,
Before a Judge too, who will not be feed.
A Judge whose mercy I would not embrace:
Where mercy moves not, justice must take place:
A Judge who once cried gently come away;
But thou shalt to me, go you cursed say.
How will those Angels and those Saints abhor me
Which I abused, once seeking to do for me?
How will those devils which I once obeyed,
Then cry my wages shall be duly paid?
Lazarus.
YEe Cherubims and Seraphim, divine,
Come aid me with your tongues, or teach you mine,
That, in some measure, I may so express
My present joy in future happiness.
My joy conceived of my Redemption day
When I shall meet my Savior in the way,
Where I shall bless the hour that I was borne,
When all the kind'reds of the earth shall mourn.
When earth, and all the burden on the same
Shall burn unto that nothing whence they came:
The skies shall melt, the stars, the sun, the moon
Shall join to make perpetual night, at noon.
When, out of heaven, the Judge of all, most true,
Shall come down riding on the clouds, in view,
To bind the Devils, and the damned down:
How sweetly shall He smile on me? not frown.
The Authors Epigram.
MOst lamb like
Lazarus,
thou shalt be set by,
Thy blood is not required, thou shalt not die,
When sacrifice forever shall remain
In hell for sin, the goats shall then be slain.
Thou here wert famished, when the goats did feed,
Their hearts were cherished, when thy heart did bleed,
But, when they shall be severed from the sheep,
Thou shalt rejoice, but they shall howl and weep.
But goat like
Dives,
thou shalt pay full deer,
For eating up the sheep's allowance here,
When they shall scape, thy blood shall then be shed,
Thou wert but for a day of slaughter fed.
Fond thou, who here wouldst have the upper hand,
Must on the left at heavens tribunal stand,
And hear the Judge this sentence on thee pass,
Go, cursed goat, my sheep must have the grass.
Dives.
OH! wretched I, what shall of me become
When wretched, Go ye cursed, be my doom?
How shall my soul and body both affrighted,
Then curse the howr they were again united?
Then in what glory shall those Saints appear
At whom, proud asse, I once did slout and jeer?
How shall their blessing then increase my curse?
My conscience for a busing of them, worse.
How shall the Devils then with fury driven
Seaze me for hell, thus sentenced out of heaven?
And on me with much insultation rage;
As if my torments might their own asswage.
Then, with the hideous howling herd of hell,
I shall be thrown down to that dreadful cell,
Where we in flames, which never fail, shall burn;
From whence we never, never, shall return.
Lazarus.
HOw shall I prize those words to me expressed
Oh! Come thou blessed, enter thou my rest?
Sweet meditations, heavenly joys in heart.
These thoughts, indeed, are very heaven in part.
How shall I then, who once was most debas'd,
Be, with much glory, on the right hand placed?
And sit with Angels, and with Saints, to see
The bad condemned, and the good set free.
How shall I thence ascend up far above
When my Redeemer shall his Court remove?
When Saints shall sing, and Angels shall rejoice,
How shall we mount up with a merry noise?
How justly then shall Jesus wear the crown,
He having put all adversaries down?
How loud in heaven shall I his praises sing,
There graced to wait upon so great a King?
The Authors Epigram.
ONce silly
Lazarus,
now a Saint at rest,
Ere long a judge, at last a son most blest:
Who could have seen when thou wert upon earth
That thou hadst in thee any sign of worth?
When Kings and great men shall be in despair
At the great Sessions holden in the air,
There thou shalt in Commission sit: and thence
Ascend far higher with the highest Prince.
But once rich
Dives,
now poor
Dives
named,
Ere long arraigned, at last forever damned:
Who would have thought when thou wert in thy pride,
That robes of purple could such ruins hide?
When Saints, which here thou madest to mourn, shall sing
At heavens Assizes, thou thy hands shalt wring,
And to the mountains and the hills complain
To fall, and hide thee; but alas, in vain.
Dives.
TOrmented wretch, might I remain in hell
Only in soul tormented it were well,
Well, though in woes which cannot be expressed,
Yet, to the woes which are to come a rest.
But oh! my body, which in earth now lying
Is as but in a furnace purifying
Till it be such (when it is fully tried)
As may forever burning flames abide.
That must again my woeful soul engage,
Which burning prison shall my soul enrage,
The one unto the other adding fuel
The angry devils evermore most cruel.
Oh!
Adam, Adam,
why fogot'st thou this
When thou forever mightest have lived in bliss?
When thou on earth in Paradise didst dwell,
Thou thought'st not then on a perpetual hell.
Lazarus.
NOw happy? yea now heavenly I: and sure
'It is only that makes happiness secure;
When once my body from the grave be freed,
How shall I then be comforted indeed?
When my blest soul and body both united
Shall reign in heaven, how shall I be delighted?
How shall I here be fully satisfied,
Where pleasant streams of endless pleasure glide?
One joy doth here another joy begin;
Increase of joys makes joy increase therein.
Here from one fountain rivers do distill,
Where Saints and Angels ever drink their fill.
Here are those riches which all wants supply,
Because they always fully satisfy:
Here are those joys which are forever crowned:
Here nothing else but joy is to be found.
The Authors Epigram.
LAzarus,
Thy soul shall down ere long retire
To give thy body motion to mount higher,
Most swiftly soaring on thy Eagle wings,
From earth to heaven unto the King of Kings.
How highly there shall heavenly Angels place thee?
How sweetly there shall fellow Saints embrace thee?
How welcome there shall Christ thy Savior make thee?
How pleasing there shall God the Father take thee?
But with thee
Dives
thus it shall not be,
The clean contrary shall be true in thee,
When thou in soul and body shalt be cast
Into that gaping cave of hell at last.
How eager shall the devils then be on thee?
How gastly shall the damned gaze upon thee?
What outward tortours shalt thou feel within?
What endless torments shalt thou then begin?
Dives.
OH! savage senses, brutish appetites,
In sensual pleasure was your choice delights:
Your rage was only ruler in my heart,
You did command my understanding part.
Yea in my little Microcosmus, vain,
Did like so many heathen Princes reign:
The world, and all things in the world at will
Were yours, and yet you unsufficed still.
Thus all that world could not suffice my lust,
The devils therefore in another must;
My appetites, which there did so excel,
Shall here be gorg'd with infinites in hell.
Each several sense which could not there be cloy'd,
Shall here be fed till it would food avoid:
Only the difference that shall then appear,
There fed with pleasures, but with torments here.
Lazarus.
THe outward senses, which to some are those
Where at they drink in rivers of repose:
Were unto me but Cunduit pipes of care
To let in floods of misery and fear.
My senses, and my appetites I grant,
Did often gape and hunger in my want,
But, for the most part, hunger'd in despair,
Or fed on troubles, and infected air.
But when my body here above shall reign
My senses shall not covet here in vain,
Each several sense, and secret appetite
Shall here be fed with fuln
•
sse of delight.
Here is that banquet, which delight▪ each taste:
Here is that oil, which drawn on doth not waste:
Here are those cases, once figured in a sheet:
Here is that manna which is ever sweet.
The Authors Epigram.
THus purblind we on earth may partly see
What plagues in hell prepared be,
That seeing those we so may have a care
To kill sin here, if be not punished there.
Thus, sinful we, whose sins, or souls must die,
Our sins here, or our souls eternally,
May labor here to put our sins to death,
Our tender souls may scape eternal wrath.
And thus, again, when we have got, like men,
Some manly conquest over beastly sin,
We may with comfort view those joys on high,
Where men shall live, that make their sins to die.
Thus we of all may rightly make good use,
Fore-sight of danger oft prevents abuse:
And where the prize is glorious to behold,
It makes the dullest enterpriser bold.
Dives.
MY sense of taste was upon earth that Cook
Within whose Kitchen I most pleasure took,
And when its sacrifice was on the fire,
I offered up my earnestest desire.
This sug'red sense, or rather savage beast,
Which oft devoured, when I could not digest,
Which still cried kill, let sacrifice be slain;
And drunk down liquor as the earth doth rain.
This idol sense, shall one day have its fill,
When soul and body's sacrificed in hell,
Where fiery fiends are cooks forever killing,
And Devils tapsters, diligent in filling.
Which cookes with scorching shall my throat inflame
Those tapsters pour down sulphur in the same;
My soul with torments tortured for my sin,
Shall curse, blaspheme, and roar, and rave within.
Lazarus.
MY sense of taste, or taste of sense, indeed,
Because I was most sensible of need:
Requir'd on earth no cook at all, because
Still griping hunger gave my meat a sauce.
Yea, I full oft was glad if I had meat,
Yea glad of that which others scorned to eat,
Yea glad of crumbs, yea often driven to fast,
And glad to smell the meat I might not taste.
But when I in my body shall be graced
To sit in heaven where none but Saints are placed,
And, at most sacred invitations given
Shall taste the Supper of the Lamb in heaven.
My taste shall then in relishing be skilled,
And, with each sweet distinguished, be filled:
Yea taste the sweetness of those streams of blood,
Those heavenly Fountaines, which on earth were shed.
The Authors Epigram.
DIves
on earth with delicates was filed:
We taste all dainties that the earth can yield:
Dives
did in excess of liquor sin:
We tun down barrels, drown ourselves therein.
Dives,
thus drinking, thought not on the poor:
We are so drunken we forget them more:
Dives
in hell must therefore suffer need,
Yea hellish woes: then how shall we be freed?
But once poor
Lazarus,
who on earth distrest,
Was both with hunger, and with thirst oppressed.
Yet in his conscience then enjoy'd that feast
In which we famish, or much fast at least.
He now in heaven already hath that store
We never tasted, and shall yet have more:
For which he sought: to which we make no haste:
For which he longed: in which we feel no taste.
Dives.
MY sense of smelling which was once so nice,
Each stink offended it, but stinking vice;
I stopped my nostrils, and I shut my doors,
To shut out
Lazarus
with his fest'red sores.
Which airy sense refreshed my other powers
By sweet perfumes, and odoriferous flowers,
Extracting thence such savors of delight
As fed that most attractive appetite.
This sense in the infecting fogs of hell
Shall suck most deadly savors by the smell,
And, stead of flowers, and sweet perfuming, shall
Be fed with fumes of sulphur boiled in gall.
Besides, the loathsome savors in this den
Of plagued, poison'd, and tormented men,
The stink of fiends, and devils unto me
Is now most gross, and shall more grievous be.
Lazarus.
MY smelling did on earth some comfort give,
When I was forced Camelian like to live:
But sweet perfumes and powders vainly spent
Made me not proud, to make the world a sent.
Barns, styes, and stables, and full glad of those,
Were my persumed lodgings of repose:
My empty stomach of this sense annoy'd:
My stinking sores my empty stomach cloy'd.
But when my body shall exalted be
To reign in heaven, from all corruption free,
Where all things are most sweet and purely tried;
This sense shall then be sweetly satisfied.
This sense shall then have the preeminence,
Made, of the five, the most reviving sense;
If senses then such instruments shall prove,
By sucking in some living air above.
The Authors Epigram.
IF
Dives
now could but those dainties smell
He tasted here he would give thanks in Hell:
We taste like dainties double, if not thrice,
And yet ungrateful in a Paradise.
But
Dives,
who here thought not at his board
Of God, hath now what Devils will afford:
We oft forget both God, and eke ourselves,
Then what hereafter can we look for else?
If
Lazarus
were on earth again, no doubt,
He would but of our sweetest odoures flout:
We, with our seeming sug'red sweets in love,
Are but in jest with sweetest joys above.
Lazarus
did wisely send up, ere he went,
His suits as incense, which now yield him sent:
We, if we will not of the like despair,
Must send up first a savor sweet by prayer.
Dives.
MY sense of feeling, which on earth was that
I nurs'd most gently, as a tender brat.
No care was lacking to preserve that sense
From the sustaining of the least offense.
This sense forsooth, might not endure the wind,
I little felt the smart in any kind,
Of want, of woe, of sickness, or of sin,
Within myself, much less in other men.
But when my soul ascending on a chain,
Shall fetch my body hither from the slain,
I here in hell
•
hall in that tender part
Be most tormented, feel the greatest smart,
My body here fast bound in fetters lying.
Shall tortured be in flames of sulphur frying:
My soul most fully then shall feel the sting
Of sin, that serpent in my conscience wring.
Lazarus.
FRe I was borne, within my mothers womb
My sense of feeling suffered in that tomb,
And only, sadly, coming forth that cage,
I in that part did first salute earths stage.
And in that part I panted out my breath,
Till I was taken off that stage by death:
A wretched life insu'd a painful birth,
Most wretched, painful Tragedy on earth.
But, as my soul, which was on earth distrest,
Is now in heaven, returned unto its rest.
So shall my body breaking ope its grave,
Ascend up hither from that silent cave.
Where it shall feel no hunger, cold nor smart,
But heavenly fullness, and content of heart;
My feeling sense to make its fullness measure,
Shall here be only sensible of pleasure.
The Authors Epigram.
LAzarus
was here most patient in distress:
We murmur, yea seem often mad in less:
Lazarus
was not here with his sin diquieted:
We feel not that, or are with that delighted.
But
Lazarus
now doth feel his soul at rest:
Our souls, alas, not yet with sin distrest:
But would we find what
Lazarus
now doth feel,
Our hearts must first be gentle here, not steel.
Dives
here might not feel the least annoy,
But
Dives
he had there for here his joy.
If here we feel not penitential grief
We shall feel desp'rate with the damned thief.
But
Dives
in his feeling sense in hell
Is now most plagu'd, which plagues shall yet excel.
If we here make that tender sense our god,
It will in hell be our most torturing rod.
Dives.
MY sense of hearing which was once most nimble
To hear each
Sirens
sugared tongue dissemble,
Each sound of pleasure, music sweet, and worse,
Hells language, people swear, blaspeme and curse.
But when the cry of
Lazarus
full of care,
Did pierce the heavens, it could not make me hear:
Nor could those voices sent from heaven, by preaching
Repent, repent, awake me with their teaching.
This sense in hell, instead of music sweet,
When all the damned shall together meet,
Shall be compel'd to hear me help to make
A cry in hell would make the earth to shake.
We desp'rate creatures roaring in hells flame:
The damned devils raging in the same:
God's voice of justice like most hideous thunder,
Above us with his vengeance boiling under.
Lazarus.
MY hearing sense I once did exercise
With the sad echoes of my children's cries,
My beating heart was in my bosom stung
To hear those infants cry for food so young.
Besides the sad heart-breakings at the door
Of rich men, rating of my children poor;
With churlish checks, and threats of further grief,
Instead of yielding comfort or relief.
This sense in heaven shall no such language hear,
But come you blessed, kindest welcomes there:
No churlish motions ever shall repel
My suits there granted;
Dives
is in hell.
This sense in heaven to music shall attend
Which earthly senses cannot apprehend,
For ever ravished with those glorious Three,
To hear how sweetly they in one agree.
The Authors Epigram.
DIves
denied what
Lazarus
begged in want:
Dives
now beg's, what
Lazarus
must not grant,
Impartiall Justice, dost thy hand so guide
One drop of water may not fall beside?
Then why are we so in our hearing gul'd
With the fond false enchantments of the world?
To stop our ears when poor men ask? and know
We must not beg, if we will not bestow.
Dives,
in hell, is now with horror filled:
Lazarus
hath music what the heavens can yield:
Dives
hence forth shall never hear of joy:
Lazarus
shall never hear the least annoy.
Let
Dives
then our daily warning be,
He once had music, mirth as sweet as we:
And, wisely working on examples given,
Let
Lazarus
now allure our ears to heaven.
Dives.
MY eyes which once as windows did appear,
Through which the worlds polluted face seemed clear;
By which false view my most fond heart became
To fall in love most deeply with the same.
The world, indeed, did so my wits surprise,
Its moale-hills seemed huge mountains in mine eyes:
But to this casement sense of mine, alas,
Heaven seemed a mote: oh! most deceitful glass.
But these same eyes shall so wide opened be
In hell, that I shall here be forced to see
How they were once deluded; and confess
Heaven is the mountain, earth a moale, or less.
Besides, my sight shall be tormented most
In hell, beholding hells infernal host:
Where I forever, one of them, shall view
How ugly fiends shall use that hideous crew.
Lazarus.
MY sense of sight which in me, as the Sun
Doth to the world, did show me what was done:
This sense, most clear, when I on earth indur'd,
Was clouded most by storms of tears obscured.
And how could I forbear such showers, to see
The world in robes, and none but rags for me?
The world in pleasure, I in pain and grief?
The world in plenty, I without relief?
But this my sense, or those my very eyes,
Restor'd my body when it shall arise,
Above all clouds, shall from eclipse be free'd,
All tears shall then be wiped away indeed.
Then I shall in my body both behold
My body more resplendent made then gold:
And ever view that heavenly vision sweet
Wherein conjoined all heavenly joys do meet.
The Authors Epigram.
LAzarus
on earth, by earthly sorrows driven
To loath the earth, did lift his eyes to heaven:
We upon earth, by earthly joys enchanted,
Conceive no other, heavenly are not wanted.
Lazarus
in heaven doth now enjoy that mirth,
Which unto heaven he looked for, upon earth:
Our eyes asleep, with earthly beauties lul'd,
Lose the Creator, by the creature gul'd.
Dives
on earth, with earthly Saints in love,
Look'd not for objects fairer far above:
If we here living, look not having sight,
For heaven, we dying shall not then have light.
But
Dives
now his cursed soul acquaints
In hell with such as here he made his Saints:
If we hereafter better mates require
We must look here to get acquaintanc
•
higher.
The Authors Petition to the Throne of Grace.
DIvinest powers, thus by your aid inspired,
My restless muse with quenchlesse sparkles fired,
Dosts through the world, each fragrant garden views,
And plucks those flowers, she thinks most fit to use.
Thus safely mounted on her hovering wings,
I taste some sweetness of those higher springs
Which from the pipes of sacred fountains flow,
By odds more pleasant then the streams below.
Thus whiles the doter upon earthy toys,
Delights in trifles, or more earthly joys:
My thoughts are towering, not down stooping here,
I take my pleasure in a higher sphere.
Thus, whiles the worldling night and day is tost
To gain that wealth which must again be lost:
I reap such gain as thieves cannot betray,
Nor time, nor fate, nor tyrants take away.
Thus I of wealth in poverty may vant
Of mental wealth, though otherwise in want:
But oh! you Authors of divinest thrift,
Do you enrich me with some further gift.
Thus leave me not, but give me power to strive
To reach a strain beyond contemplative;
Oh, teach my heart, do that in temper bring
To strike more fully on the practique string.
Thus give me power that I myself may tread
Those active measures I myself have made,
That what I proffer to the public view,
May in myself be secretly found true.
Not thus with sweets fill others hands with posies,
And in my bosom cankers stead of Roses;
Not by my lines thus limit out a way
For others steps, and run myself astray.
But make my action such, as in some part,
May give some life to my unpolish'd art,
That these my labors so may fruitful be,
If not to others, yet at least to me,
And others, by that concord sweet invited,
Shall with the music be at least delighted.
THE PRODIGALL SONNE, AND THE PITTIFVLL FATHER.
The second Book.
The prodigal Son.
MY wrestles thoughts what move you thus to rome?
Why rest you not? what would you do from home?
What doth incite you? have you found some prey
Worth your adventure, that you needs would stray?
Yes, yes, rich treasures are abroad no doubt,
My straggling thoughts have found some jewels out.
But I am tender, travels rough; and yet
My skill but small, for travels much unfit.
But wherefore should I thus restrain my will?
I have my portion, that shall purchase skill;
Discreetest Fathers do not much deny
We younger Brothers should our fortunes try.
Besides my sails thus filed with motion strong,
Most sweet companions do entice along,
With earnest proffers of an equal share
In treasures, pleasures, and contentments rare.
The Pitifull Father.
MY Son, my Son, who art to me so near,
And whom I tender as a child most dear,
What worm is crept into thy troubled head?
Or by what serpent art become misled?
Whither my child, oh whither wouldest thou go?
What is the reason thou wouldest leave me so?
Dost thou suppose it is no grief to me
Thus of a Son to disregarded be?
Alas my Son, thou art too young indeed
To make a venture will such danger breed,
What favor canst thou look to find in lands
Most strange to thee, and at mere strangers hands?
Strange lands, and people, and from me as far
As Egypt is, or Sodom's people were,
Where thou shalt find thy hopes but mocked vain trust,
For freedom bondage, and for fruit but dust.
The Authors Epigram.
MOst sinful sons rebellious we below;
If that a son such disobedience show,
A son too by the woman that is free,
How desperate must the feed of
Hagar
be?
Too venturous children, from our Father stray
To make ourselves unto our fees a prey,
Our sin a monster, but our grace a brat,
And yet we will be prodigal of that:
Our tender Father, who best knows our frame,
Our weakness, sees, and warns us of the same,
We are so willful, though most weak, indeed,
That we will trust unto our strength, that reed.
Our Father sees what snares abroad are laying,
And therefore seeks to keep tis in from straying;
We, by the worlds alluring wiles mistook,
Suck down the bait, suspecting not the hook.
The prodigal Son.
WHat shall I do? my Fathers head doth shake
Against the course I go about to take,
But doth he see occasion of such care.
Is there such danger, and I see no snare?
Fathers I know are fearful, and indeed,
Are oft more fearful in this case then need,
But that is out of tenderness and love,
Which sons must therefore suffer, not reprove,
But I have found my tender Father kind,
And unto pity ever much inclinde,
And though I some forbidden pleasure take
He will not punish for compassions sake.
Besides my youthful blooming years are such
As do by nature challenge freedom much,
Fly then my thoughts, and seise upon such prey
As shall admit you pleasure in your way.
The pitiful Father.
MY tender son, I see thy tempted heart,
I see therein how thou distempered art,
What forces fight, and enemies persuade
Against thy little weak resistance made.
I moan thy case, and in a fathers care
I curb thy foes, and with thy weakness bear,
Yea though they sometimes in thee do remove
All filial fear, yet I have fathers love.
But oh, my son do not my love abuse,
That was the fault of the forsaken Jews:
Be thou not like the spider in his looms,
Suck thou not poison from these honey combs.
Because thou seest my tenderness is great
More apt to grant, then thou art to entreat,
Let that not breed presumption in thy mind,
Not fault thee more because that I am kind.
The Authors Epigram.
MOst tender Father gentle God, indeed,
Whose matchless love doth mothers love exceed,
How sweetly sing'st thou with most nursing charms
To keep thy children quieted in thy arms?
How loath art thou to let us off thy hand,
Because thou seest our backwardness to stand,
And, when we weak and heedless babes are down,
Thou take'st us up, bemoan'st our sals, not frown.
Shall we be won then with mere toys, or worse,
Out of the arms of such a tender nurse?
Toyes proffered too by strangers, and our foes,
Allure us from this bosom of repose?
Or yet more fond, shall we ourselves defile
Because our nurse will wash away the soil?
Or, worst of all, for sake our loving guide
Our God, because we find him slow to chide?
The prodigal Son.
NO doubt but fathers in affection burn,
Heat of affection into flames will turn,
From whence full oft, though often more then needs,
The quenchlesse sparks of jealousy proceeds.
This tender care I ought not to forget,
Nor will, I hope, in anything is fit,
But sometimes pearls in fathers eyes appear
But dim, which are to younger eyes most clear.
Those youthful beauties, objects to the eye,
Which aged fathers cannot well descry:
Could they but view them as they are, no doubt
They would not curb us busi'd there about.
Sweet beauties, faces fairer then the Sun,
Where stars, like crystal, too and fro do run,
Whence sparks, like Fayries, father such a dart
As flies, and hits, inflames and burns my heart.
The pitiful Father.
DEluded infant wilt thou be thus cheated?
My tender son wilt thou not be entreated?
Wilt thou, oh wilt thou stop thy ears unto
Thy tender Father, listen to thy foe?
Can fading beauty, like a bait, entice
Thee from thy Father, and all good advice?
Can a mere color, and of all most fading,
Be in thy bosom most of all persuading?
My wanton son tis thou art weak of sight,
Thy infant eyes cannot discern aright,
Thou dot'st on shells, but dost the curnell lose,
Thou leave'st the substance, dost the shadow choose.
But stubborn child, although thou stop'st thy ears
At my persuasions, yet regard my tears,
Let not a fainting careful Father weep
Over a sullen careless son a sleep.
The Authors Epigram.
OH gracious Father, can thy care be such?
Oh graceless children can we err so much?
Canst thou lament, when we in mirth are mad?
Can we be merry when thou art so sad?
Wilt thou pursue us when we from thee run?
Wilt thou thus woo when we will not be won?
Shall we forsake thee, who in love pursues?
Shall we with scorn thy tender care abuse?
Oh ignorant children, and most apt to fall,
How earnest is our careful Fathers call?
And yet we stray, as if we were so young
We did not know our tender Fathers tongue.
But thou our Shepherd who dost still behold
Thy silly sheep thus straying from thy fold,
Forsake us not thus, in our way mistook,
But bring us back, though it be by thy hook.
The prodigal Son.
YOu my companions, my associates sweet,
Who with most courtly kind embraces greet,
With whom I count myself at home and best,
By whom my fancies are become possessed.
What shall I do? oh do your answer frame,
My careful Father doth my courses blame,
He would persuade me you do but delude,
And that such pleasures will with grief conclude.
But sweet contentments, is it so indeed?
Do you betray me, will you fail at need?
Oh tell me truly, do you but beguile?
Thus make me frowned on, only for a smile?
Sweet voice! me thinks I hear you answer no,
You have no purpose to delude me so,
You will be constant, and I yet shall find
Increase of pleasure, greater joys behind.
The pitiful Father.
DIstressed Father, just as Scriptures tell,
I brought up children, and they now rebel;
I gave them being nurs'd them up, and loe,
They turn their backs as soon as they can go.
The savage suckling, when his feet he feels,
Against his breeder can but turn his heels.
But none so savage nature, never frames
Such Monsters as do quite reject their dames.
But thou my child, with whom I grieve to chide,
For whom I have all means of pity tried,
To whom hath given a portion may suffice,
On whom hath labor'd that thou mightest be Wise.
Wilt thou revolt, art thou so simple grown
To seek for wisdom, having lost thine own,
At strangers counsel? and besides, of those
Which are me or cheaters, and thy chiefest foes?
The Authors Epigram.
MOst sad relation! from the savage
〈◊〉
True births appear: but monstrous sons of men?
Of men? oh most depraved natures rod:
But what is this then, monstrous sons of God?
Most holy Father from whose streams we know
The least corruption cannot ever flow:
How canst thou look down as a Father mild▪
Upon such sons thus by ourselves defiled?
Defil'd, indeed, we must be so reputed,
How can we choose who join with the polluted?
The sin
•
st piece doth soonest take a stain,
The fairest color shows a scar most plain.
But why do we so low polluted lie▪
And can derive a pedigret so high?
Meer beasts do not beneath their nature fall.
Can we be most degenerate of all?
The prodigal Son.
WEll, I must travel, I must cross the Seas;
My awful father is too hard to please,
His age so much civility requires
That he forgets what tender youth desires.
Perhaps if I were further off employ'd
My Father would be nearer pacifi'd,
Or at the least wise then his frequent checks
Should not my youthful disposition vex.
Come then companions let us get on board
Whiles tide doth opportunity afford;
And safely sally on the Ocean flood,
With sails all spreading, whiles the winds are good.
That we, thus surg'd on
Neptunes
billows, soon
May pass through those dominions of the Moon,
Arriving at those Indian banks of treasure,
The shoares of sweet security and pleasure.
The pitiful Father.
VNhappy child, now what means all this speed?
What, art for Tarsus? wilt thou flee indeed,
Wilt thou be so deluded? art so blind,
Canst thou forsake thy Father in this kind?
Oh, how have I offended thee my son?
What wrong, or what unkindness have I done?
Or rather what most fatherly endeavor
Have I left undone to protect thee ever?
Only with gentle admonitions due,
Drawne from the center of affection true,
I labor'd to reduce thee in thy way
Who art thus subject to be led astray.
Remember
Jonach
in the raging deep
When once he was awaked out of sleep,
How was his soul tormented with the woe
His willful straying then had brought him to?
The Authors Epigram.
MOst loving Father, dost thou thus persuade
Poor dust and ashes which thy hands have made?
Dost thou thus draw us with thy cords of love,
Who mightest most justly with a rod reprove?
Thou with one touch canst crumble down this frame,
Our walls of clay to rubbish, Whence they came,
And in an instant utterly subvert
The most rebellious castle of the heart.
Shall we poor children then, who cannot stand
Resist thy just and fatherly command,
Thy gracious will most willingly resist
Who at thy will can scourge us as thou list?
Nay yet more heavy, when thou seemst to hide
Thy grievous rod, nay griev'st that thou must chide:
Shall we then for that plaster make a sore,
Because thou favor'st we offend the more?
The prodigal Son.
MOst pleasant course! oh with what winged motion
On this indented pavement of the Ocean,
Glide we along? Or rather swiftly run,
As mounted in the chariots of the Sun.
Successive sure, no expectation fails,
Most prosp'rous winds do fill our lofty sails:
The air is gentle, and our vessel strong,
All promising a happy shore ere long.
A happy shore indeed; oh see, behold,
Are yonder not the hills where men dig gold?
Sure yes the same; let down your plumets, sound,
The banks appear where pleasures do abound.
Come then some skillful Pilot with your oars
And tole us in unto your happy shoares,
Your flowery banks sufficiently declare
What sweet contentments in your confines are.
The pitiful Father.
FOrsaken Father! is my son on float?
Now whither will he in his cockle boat?
What fatal wind doth now thus constant wait
To transport such a transpossessed freight?
Unhappy voyage, it must needs be so
Where head-strong will doth heedless master go:
The ship, the shell of reasons frail fore-cast:
Fond sense the sails, and most proud flesh the mast.
The seas, the streams of sensual pleasures flowing:
The winds untamed affections strongly blowing:
False
Sirens
charmed security, the calm:
Blind judgment Pilot: Satan steers the helm.
The haven where to this vessel makes this speed
Is hells own channel, though not hell indeed:
The seeming pleasures which are thence accruing
Conclude in sorrow, if not utter ruin.
The Authors Epigram.
Most prudent Father, who dost thus disclose
The sublile malice of our secret foes,
Our inbred traitors, join'd with Satan's force
To hale us on in a rebellious course.
How justly mightest thou in our straying leave us?
Or over-board with straying
Jonah
heave us?
And make us, who will here not hear thy call,
Cry out unto thee in the boiling Whale?
Oh foolish children, yea enchanted we
Who, in this danger, will no danger see,
But rather do endeavor, yea devise
To cherish these our chiefest enemies.
Our wills are stubborn; and we will resist:
Our reason blinded, and we love the mist:
Our hearts unjust, and we delight deceit:
Our eyes are wanton, and we lay a bait.
The prodigal Son.
MOst pleasant borders! where am I on shore?
Your sands are silver, banks are golden oar:
The gates within your marble walls are those
Which open to the gardens of repose.
No other sure then Paradise below,
See here what various fruits of pleasure grow,
How full with clusters doth the tender vine
About the trees of golden Apples twine?
Under whose shadows, as most pleasant bowers,
Doth safely sit the choice of beauties flowers,
Whose sweet perfumes, and colors of delight
To highest raptures of content invite.
Are Edens pleasures greater, or so much?
Most precious fruits, may I presume to touch?
Your lovely beauties do with smiles express
Your gentle natures will afford no less.
The pitiful Father.
DEluded child, of judement thus deprived,
And duty void, where art thou now arrived?
Just on the banks of flowing Nile cast,
Where thou shalt woeful bondage find at last.
Those grapes thou dot'st on yield but dregs of wine,
Whereon thou drinking makest thyself a swine:
Those golden Apples but the Serpents bait,
Which proffer pleasure, but perform deceit.
Those blazing beauties, which thou thinkest such stars,
Are but mere flames to brand thy soul with scars:
Those flowers of pleasure, which do so persuade,
Intice to ruin, and most quickly fade.
Those freedoms which thou dost presume on there
Are under
Pharaoh,
or the King of Sear,
Whose fairest speech, and sweetest smiles, are all
But nets to draw thee to perpetual thrall.
The Authors Epigram.
FOreseeing Father, who dost thus discern
Thy children's follies, and dost thus fore-warn,
How justly art thou in thy justice freed
If mercy will not move us to take heed?
Can, can a Father seeing in this kind
Have children which are altogether blind?
No, no, we from thee do derive such light
As can by no means be extinguished quite.
What then, oh what then so obscures those rays,
We grope in darkness thus at high-noon days?
Surely, oh surely it comes thus to pass
Our eyes, those casements, are enchanted glass.
Through which we are deluded in our sight,
Or else our understanding is not right:
Both sure abused, our judgment is defeated
By sense, our sense by false appearance cheated.
The prodigal Son.
FAint heart, what fail'st? canst thou dejected be?
Revive thy spirits, pleasures here are free;
Seest thou not how they flourish in this I will,
As if they would entice thee with a smile?
When sweet contentment no desire restrains
Shalt thou be bashful? give desire the rains:
Thou sit'st as Queen within my tender breast,
What fate shall then thy awful force resist?
Call home thy thoughts then which are gone astray,
Rouze thy affections, here is richest prey.
And let it in this Paradise be seen
By thy attendance that thou art a Queen.
A Queen? then thou mayest questionless command,
No subject may a Sovereigne power withstand,
Then like a Princesse keep thy foes in awe,
And take thy pleasure, make thy will thy law.
The pitiful Father.
SAd Father! thus enforced to bewray
A sons rebellion, running thus astray:
Can you suppose I without grief can see,
Or tell these sorrows? no it cannot be.
He now may think he being now remote,
He now unseen may set his shell on float,
Let loose affection, and unlimit will;
But I with sorrow do behold him still.
I see the bondage of his better part,
By giving power unto his wanton heart:
I see the thraldomes of his heart beside
By making of his stubborn will its guide.
I see how vain the worthless pleasures be
For which he gives away his heart from me,
I see how those his pleasures do deprave him
In those endowments I his Father gave him.
The Authors Epigram.
MOst gentle Father, tender hearted God,
What mother like thee could forbear the rod?
Thou dost in bowels of compassion yern,
When we run from thee, and will not return.
Shall we then, desperate we, without remorse,
Run headlong still in a rebellious course?
Can any child those pearly drops despise
Who sees the tears stand in his fathers eyes?
Oh senseless creatures, silly children right
Who, having go out of our fathers sight,
Do think ourselves then most secure, when we,
Poor infants, then in greatest danger be.
In greatest danger, it must needs be so,
When we lie open to the greatest foe.
The heavy sequels are full sad, bewraying
The woeful dangers of a willful straying.
The prodigal Son.
YOu flowing pleasures, which like streams distill
From purest fountains, let me drink my fill:
I taste your sweetness and it gives delight,
Oh let me fully take my appetite.
Your taste reviveth more then Phaebus beams;
How happy is he bathes him in these streams?
These streams, which so refresheth with a taste:
Here let me swim, or let me wade at least.
Sweet currents! viewing of whose flowing tide.
Sits glorious Flora in her blooming pride,
About whose beds of roses fresh and green.
Sits beauties Nimphs attiring with their Queen.
Is here not heaven? or Paradise below,
The garden where the fruits of pleasure grow?
And these the Angels, or the Saints most dear
Which I should honor, if not worship here?
The pitiful Father.
PRodigious sure! had ever father child
Became so vain, unnatural, defiled?
My Son hath now no thought at all of me,
He quite forgets how tender Parents be?
But can a childes forgetfulness be such?
And Parents never-resting care so much?
My heart is heavy, and my hands I wring.
His heart is merry, he doth laugh and sing.
Nay yet more desperate, he doth now endeavor
To leave me quite, to cast me off forever;
And will have new affinity, new Father,
New gods, indeed, or cursed Idols rather.
Oh most perverse I shall I with favor yet
Remember him who doth me thus forget?
Can sparks from such a quenched coal revive?
Abused patience thus forever strive?
The Authors Epigram.
MOst constant Father, who art still most stable,
Though we thy children be most variable:
Wert thou, like us, to wrestles change inclind.
There were no hope that we should pardon find.
But howsoever we, unto our shame,
Are still transported, thou art still the same:
But can we careless children be declind
Thus from a Father thus forever kind?
Thus kind indeed, when we offend he grieves,
When we do want, he presently releeves,
Nay when we urge him to revoke his will,
He then takes pity and is patient still.
Most gracious Father, but most graceless we,
Shall such a Father without honor be?
Shall we forever thus bis patience urge?
Most tender Fathers may be forced to scourge,
The Prodigal Son.
MY ravished thoughts here take your fill in pleasure
For here is fullness, here is ample measure,
Here nothing wants, here nothing is restrained,
No coins found, nor kindness shown disdained.
Here beauty burnish'd in virmilion glowes,
Whose beams dart lightning from most youthful brows:
Oh let me take the comfort of this fire,
These flames consume not, but do feed desire.
Most precious jewels, what rare prize is here?
Such pearls as these cannot be bought too deer;
Shall I be sparing of a little dross
To purchase jewels oh it were too gross.
Cheer then my thoughts, and usher in content,
What gives more courage then a free consent?
The prey is certain, be but you on wing,
Such pleasant pastime fits our cheerful spring.
The pitiful Father.
DEluded child whose heart is gone a stray,
Needs must his senses then be led away:
For this must by necessity appear
The fountain foul, the stream cannot be clear.
Are all my gentle admonitions vain?
My tears too fruitless, will no means restrain,
But yet unmoved, but rebellious still?
Rebellion is like witchcraft, or more ill.
What shall I do, who have thus kindly don,
Shall I be forced to reject a Son,
And with more sorrow quite forsake infine,
A Son so near and naturally mine?
Oh what a burden doth a Father bear?
To what a strait am I enforced with care?
To lose a member is a grief, but sure
To lose a Son what Father can endure?
The Authors Epigram.
MOst tender Father, pitifullest nurse:
Most stubborn we whom pity make the worse:
Thou sooth'st and singst us, proffer'st us the breast:
We turn, we spurn, and frowardly resist.
Thou seek'st with patience to reclaim us still:
We seek the more to have our froward will:
Thou shak'st thy rod, but shak'st to give a stroke:
We shake not but thy shaking hand provoke.
Thy heart is moved at our desperate course:
Our hearts unmoved, are without remorse:
Thou sighing sayest must I reject a Son?
We laugh, and sing, and further from thee run.
Kind Father canst thou thus keep natures laws?
And can no law no bridle hold our jaws?
Wert thou not certain in thy love begun,
Vncertaine we were certainly undone.
The prodigal Son.
OH Sweet! what rare felicity is here?
Where naught offends, where all things fit appear?
Where natures shop, full furnished with supply,
Stands always open to the passers by.
My thoughts what think you of these streams so clear?
My senses can you not suck honey here?
Affections can you here not feed desire,
And with contentment to the heart retire?
Here are the beds where sweetest roses grow:
Here are the bancks where purest streams do flow:
Here are the only instruments of mirth:
Here are the only jewels upon earth.
My straggling thoughts then here set up your stay,
My striving senses seek no richer prey:
Affections here your fancies may be quieted:
My tender heart then rest thou here delighted.
The pitiful Father.
DIsquieted, yea discouraged Father; what
All duty, yea humanity forgot?
Are all those near relations now exiled,
Between the tender parent and the child?
Transformed children may become thus strange,
But Parents love is not so apt to change;
Although my Son can with his Father part,
Yet this word Son comes near my tender heart.
Oh careless child, a very child indeed,
But children will be childish without heed:
But Parents are by laws of justice tide,
If fair means fail to use the rod, and chide.
Then let me leave no means unsought to gain,
A child thus lost, though fair means be in vain,
And chiding fruitless, yet his stubborn heart
Will yield, it may be, when he feels it smart.
The Authors Epigram.
HArd hearts of ours, where nothing will indent,
At least no fair means, but are like the flint
Whose fire will by no gentle blowing burn,
But struck with force will into sparkles turn.
Is there such marble in our bosoms heel'd
As must be hamer'd, or it will not yield?
Or in the same such Adamant indeed,
As cannot be dissolved till we bleed?
Oh thou most skillful Alchemist of all.
Who canst extract pure honey out of gall:
Oh make thy knowledge here be understood,
Dissolve this stone, thou hast the only blood.
But were the hardness of our hearts so great
They would not soften; yet thou canst creat;
Then either do thy art of working show
In melting these, or making of them new.
The prodigal Son.
FAir Phaebus, rights dark shut in shop adorning
By setting ope the windows of the morning,
What glorious objects dressed against I rise
Prepar'st thou to salute my waking eyes?
Resplendent beauties which do shine so bright.
Got from beneath the Canopy of night:
Vouchsafe a blessing from your lips, which may
Fore-tell success for the succeeding day.
You almost Angels, may I not adore you?
Let no displeasure draw a veil before you:
Your piercing beauties, like Cupids pow'rfull dart,
Shot through mine eyes, not wound, but warm my heart.
But what begin you to withdraw your rays.
As though black fate envy'd my happy days?
Accurst be the occasion that shall shrow'd
Such Suns by day, such beauties in a cloud.
The pitiful Father.
OH what an endless travel is our care
When children borne, are yet again to bear?
When we welform'd have brought them forth, they then
Transforme to monsters, when they should be men?
From which prodigious nature to reduce,
Or change those forms made natural by use,
We find more hard and tedious then the smart
Of first producing, and more near the heart.
So soon as forth the potters hand, they fall,
Oh feeble clay which cannot stand at all:
And being down have no desire to rise.
But sleep, like swine, in most polluted sties.
But can a child of mine thus blinded keep?
Or shall I let him thus forever sleep?
No, let me rather with the rod reprove
Correction, sometimes, doth make way for love.
The Authors Epigram.
OH foolish children, why are we thus idle?
Why give we thus our vain desires the bridle?
Our fancies fond with shadows thus fulfill.
To lose the substance of our Fathers will.
Can we account a Fathers kindness slight
Who doth thus tender-fatherly invite?
Or shall we prize his patrimony poor
Who to bestow hath infinite in store?
No, no we cannot but confess tis known
Our Fathers love doth far exceed our own:
His portions laid up for each child a part,
Ten thousand times exceed each child's desert.
What then can move us to neglect so much
A Father tender, having riches such?
Who labors thus unto us to convey
A state which never, never shall decay?
The prodigal Son.
OH what a cloud is this which doth appear?
Which darkens thus my day which was so clear?
Can such a sun-shine be obscured so soon,
Shall night incroch upon my day at noon?
Late smiling fate beginnest thou now to frown,
As if thou didst intend to throw me down?
Dost thou, who seemed so sure, begin to reel,
Wilt thou in thy displeasure, turn thy wheel?
Oh you my pleasures and contentments sweet,
Which did with such most kind embraces greet,
Will you now fold, your late unfolded arms,
Becoming churlish, who bewitched with charms?
But you fair faces, natures choycesti art,
Whose tender beauties show a gentle heart,
Can you prove cruel? do you too seem nice?
Will you reject now, who did late entice?
The pitiful Father.
HArke, hark, methinks I hear my straved Son
Begins to lose the pleasure he had won,
Those painted outsides of delight begin
To let him see they are deceit within.
Deceit indeed which is but made to shine.
With the mere dross and refuse of good coy
••
.
Which worthless gilding being worn away,
It shows how painted shadows do betray.
My blinded child doth now begin to view
Those pleasures false, he once accounted true;
And, to his shame and sorrow, may conclude
They did but at the best of all delude.
But let them, mock, and more deride him yet,
Him thus befooling, they may teach more wit:
He on them hath so deeply set his love,
It will not without violence remove.
The Authors Epigram.
OH blinded reason, and corrupted stain
Of once pure nature, now exceeding, vain:
Can we rest captive in this base subjection?
Thus live in thralldom to untamed affection?
We read of strangers and mere bondmen too
Who conquered passion could that wonder do:
And shall we children, and by birth made free,
In bondage thus to brutish passion be?
But shall we then take pleasure in this thrall?
And count it sweetest liberty off all?
And will not without violence be freed?
Oh this is sordid slavery indeed.
And yet these are the heavy cha
•••
s we bear,
We, gone astray, are taken in this snare;
Within which mill, we, by deceit made blind,
Do, like most gross contented Assesgrind.
The prodigal Son.
BUt you the objects of my youthful joy;
Who thus would try me by your being coy,
You have my heart; then do not thus persist,
But smile agine, you need not be in jest.
The fountain of my love doth overflow
Which jeasted at will quickly jealous grow;
Then be not coy, but smile, and cool that smart
Before it works combustion in my heart.
But what still frown you? and yet answer no?
Can you thus leave me, will you gull me so?
Have I preferred you above heaven, oh vain,
And will you now require me with disdain?
You that have plucked the blossoms of my youth,
Will you with falsehood now requite my truth?
You that have sucked my fountain of supply,
Can you now scorn me, having sucked it dry?
The pitiful Father.
So, so, my Son doth now begin to prove
Those courses vain I told him of in love:
He thought my counsel then might slighted be,
But now he finds, what I did then fore-see.
Rash headed youth, presuming on their skill,
Will take their course, against their parents will;
As if they thought their wisdoms were the best;
Who, silly souls, with folly are possessed.
My Son upon my Fatherly advice
Did turn his back, as too severe, or nice:
But now he doth, to his confusion, find
That Fathers see, when foolish Sons are blind.
But as he left me, and would have his will,
So let me let him strugle with it still;
No means doth more reclaim a child resisting
Then to be whipped with cords of his own twisting.
The Authors Epigram.
OH thou our God, and Father too, most just,
Who gavest us all our being out of dust,
And having framed us by thy matchles skill,
Dost like a Father nurse, and feed us still.
How full of wonder find we all thy deeds?
And yet thy kindness most of all exceeds,
How couldest thou else so full of pity be
To children so undutiful as we?
Thou canst give quail if we stand need of meat,
And thereby too canst teach us how to eat,
And, when we have the baits of pleasure took
Canst thereby curb us, when we feel the hook,
Oh thou who canst bring day thus out of night,
And make our shadows vanish, with the light:
Make thou, who thus discover'st all deceit,
The hook appear, before we take the bait.
The prodigal Son.
OH most unhappy miserable wretch,
Whom most false joys most deeply did bewitch,
False joys, indeed, I may most truly say,
Which did but smile upon me to betray.
Those my companions who, when I had store,
I made most, now mock me being poor:
My late full cheeks, which were delighted in,
Proud beauty scorns, by sickness now made thin.
Most desperate wretch, to whom shall I betake me?
When those I thought my dearest friends forsake me?
And cursed pleasures I may call them so,
Which thus, infine, take pleasure in my woe.
I now want food, who food abused of late,
Which want, with sickness, doth my strength abate:
Distressed creature, thus enforced infine
To want the husks which are bestowed on swine;
The pitiful Father.
THere, there my rod, begins my child to bleed?
It is not matter, make it smart indeed.
And yet, I trust, thy strokes may be the less
Because he is already in distress
Nor can I thus return him his desert,
And rest myself unfeeling of the smart,
For (howsover I might be in mood)
I would not give one stroke but for his good.
But he hath been unruly, make him
•
ame,
And make him, likewise, to confess the same:
Yet be not rough, though he hath badly done,
He is, though a rebellious, yet a Son.
But oh, he hath forgot his Father quite;
But oh, that was but childish oversight:
Yet touch him till he think on me again,
That yerk, I know will not be given in vain.
The Authors Epigram.
MEere Prodigalls! we must that title grant,
Who in our plenty never think of want,
But wind up from the Cistern of our store
Till, silly Asses we can wind no more.
But when we find by making of this speed,
Our buckets do come empty up at need,
We then can see, but not till then, alas,
What too rash drawing brings too soon to pass.
Then, then, when it is almost then too late,
We can accuse our courses, curse our fate,
And curse those pleasures, causes of our care,
Which once we thought the only joys that were.
But oh, how watchful is our Fathers eye
To make a virtue of necessity?
Who, when we fools have thus ourselves undon,
Doth, like a Father, there by call a Son.
The prodigal Son.
ALL wanton youth take warning by my woes,
And see in me the sum of vain repose,
Which, like a bud frost bitten ere it blooms,
Appears, but unto no perfection comes.
All earthly pleasures are but like a bubble,
Straight turn to nothing, which were raised with trouble:
The fairest faces soonest change their die;
The sweetest charmers are most apt to lie.
Thus, moved with sorrows, I may tell the same,
And make the world take notice of my shame:
But, till I had experience of this woe,
No means could make me think it would be so.
But now I think upon my Father here,
Whose fore-sight now I find exceeding clear,
He often told me, and with many a tear,
What would befall, but then I would not hear.
The pitiful Father.
HArk, hark again, what voice is this I hear,
Is this which makes such music in my ear?
Which thus tunes Father, hath my Son that strain,
Is he restored unto that life again?
He which, indeed, was dead and bury'd deep
In grave-like gross security asleep:
Hath that lost child the name of Father found?
Can he that heaven awaking trumpet sound?
And can I stop my ear then to his voice,
Where at the heavens inhabitants rejoice?
Reject an infant calling upon me
That am his Father, no it cannot be?
Nor can he be more ready to declare
His wants in calling then I am to hear:
Though I, indeed, might justly make him steep
His eyes in tears, who would not see me weep.
The Authors Epigram.
MOst careful Father, but most careless we
Who are most blind in what thou dost fore-see:
Thou knowest our folly: we will trust our skill:
Thou wouldst direct us: we will have our will:
Thou see'st our danger: we are therein blind:
Thou dost bemoan us: we are not so kind:
Thou still givest warning: still we give no care:
Thou dost allure us: but we will not hear.
Thou show'st the rod: we at such shadows scoff:
Thou shak'st the same: we shake the danger off:
Thus urged thou strik'st: we strive to have our will:
Thou strik'st again: we strugle with thee still.
At length, thou wound'st: we then begin to fall:
Thou wound'st more deep: we then dear Father call:
Thou hear'st our cry: we yield to thy command:
Thou burn'st the rod: we feel thy stroking hand.
The prodigal Son.
POore silly Pilgrim, by deceit betrayed,
Thus from my Country, and my Father stray'd,
Where I in plenty might have been secure,
I here undone must slavery endure.
Oh heavy yoke intolerable weight;
Are these the chains so gilded by deceit?
Which seemed to proffer liberties so sweet,
But now become such fetters to my feet?
Poor captive thus in miserable need,
Whiles poorest servants of my Fathers feed:
Oh now how happy should I think my state
Were I but servant, where a Son of late?
But I forever justly am exiled:
But justice ties no Father from his child,
But I have plaid the rebel, proved no Son:
But rebels yielding have some favor won.
The pitiful Father.
MY Son, my Son, repentant sighs are loud,
I hear thy voice, though from beneath a cloud;
No distance, place, nor darkness can deny
My speedy hearing when my children ery.
It is true my Son, tis true I do confess,
I might insult now thou art in distress;
But thus to hear thee thus far homward brought
Doth banish all displeasure from my thought.
Return, return then, linger not the time,
Thy recantation shall acquit thy crime:
I do receive such losses as my gain,
I take no pleasure to prolong thy pain.
Thou only beggest to have a bondmans place;
I do not do my children that disgrace:
Then fear not, Fathers joy in such returns;
Distrust disheartens where affection burns.
The Authors Epigram.
MOst gentle Father, pitiful indeed,
Thy heart is wounded when our hearts do bleed:
And yet most wounded then when thou dost see
Our hearts so hard they will not wounded be.
We from thee run, thou callst us back again,
We are undone, yet thou dost not disdain;
Thou givest that motion to return, we lack,
And yet with praise dost crown our coming back.
Oh thou that dost thus Fatherly respect,
And workest both the will, and the effect:
Make us more able to return, at least,
Make us more willing when thou dost assist.
Thou art the potter, we are but the clay;
Thou art the Shepherd, we the sheep astray:
Though we be vain, yet lose not thou thy cost,
Though we be stray'd, yet do not see us lost.
The prodigal Son.
FAther, dear Father I would utter fain,
But fear doth that word Father dear restrain.
Father, I fain would have my grievance shown,
But oh I am ashamed to make it known.
But it is fit I should confess the same:
But thou canst take no pleasure in my shame:
Thy greatness doth in robes of glory shine,
Then canst thou look upon such rags as mine?
But why should I these troubled Seas propound,
I sailing in whose surges must be drownd?
Why fear I thus the fetters which enthrall me,
When thus my Father doth from prison call me?
Thy call dear Father, cannot but suffice
To shake off all my shackls, bolts and tyes:
Then at thy call, which thus doth call for speed,
I come to meet thee, trusting to be freed.
The pitiful Father.
WElcome my Son, thrice welcome, i'st not meet
Thou shouldst be welcomed with embraces sweet?
Thou, who wert lost, and now art found remain,
Thou, who wert dead, and art alive again?
Long have I longed for this thy safe return,
Whereat my bowels of compassion yern,
Why shak'st thou then, why blushest being poor?
Thy fear is past, thou shalt have rags no more?
Revive my Son, be cheerful then my child,
And cease thy sorrows, I am reconciled,
Oh let those tears be taken from thine eyes,
They stir the Fountain where compassion lies.
Come taste my dainties, I have choicest fare,
And sweetest music to delight thy ear;
This is my pleasure, I will have it done,
In spite of envy, for thou art my Son.
The Authors Epigram.
THou Father of all fatherly respects,
Whose pity this, all parents thus directs:
What duty then, for this thy kindness shown,
Is due to thee from children of thine own?
Most happy children, happy we, indeed,
Whose Fathers kindness doth thus far exceed;
Who, when our follies, in our faces flying,
Returns us weeping, scekes to still our crying.
Oh then how silly, senseless I may say,
Are we; if we from such a Father stray?
Can all the worth, can in the world appear,
Make us set light a Fathers love so dear?
But then shall trifles, shall mere painted toys,
Shadows, of pleasures, and but dreams of joys.
Or ought detain us, that shall labor for it,
From such a Father? let us Sons abhor it.
Let us not, seeking, lose ourselves to gain
Such husks abroad, and may at home have grain.
An Epitome.
FAther, I have offended, but alas,
Shame stops my voice here, will not let it pass.
Son, cease thy sorrow, let my joys appease thee,
It is not thy tears, but thy return that please me.
Father, but canst thou thus be pleased with me,
Who have thus sinned both against heaven, and thee?
Son, this thy sin is vanished, as lamented;
I take delight to pardon sin repented.
Father, but such offenders are too base
To reign as Sons, grant me a servants place.
Son, know my Servants are as sons to me.
So highly honor'd all my Saints shall be.
Father then let me be forever bound
To serve, where service is such freedom found.
Son, welcome Son, no bondman thou shalt be,
But shalt inherit with my Sons made tree,
Free then, indeed, when the testator lives
To make that freedom certain which he gives.
BREATHINGS After DIVINE AYRE.
The third Book.
The foolish man hath said in his heart tush there is no God.
Psal. 14. 1.
Desires of aid.
MOst gracious God, and yet a God most meek;
Above the heavens, yet stoup'st to earth below;
Beyond our reatch, yet givest us leave to seek;
past our conceit, yet wouldst have us to know,
To seek and know thee as thou dost appear,
But further knowledge is not granted here.
As then we ought not to presume to pry
Into those secrets must be yet concealed
So thou hast given us license, yea a tie,
To seek and know thee as thou art revealed;
Oh let me read thee in thy copies then
But stay my thoughts where thou hast stayed thy pen.
Thy largest book is in thy works indented:
Thy lesser copy in our souls engraven:
Thy sacred volumes are the Scriptures printed:
Thy secret lines are sent by grace from heaven:
Which secret lines Lord center in my breast,
Those are the keys to open all the rest.
I do confess that I am much unfit
To pry into thy Mysteries Divine;
Besides the stars will not of sparks admit
To zoare into those circles where they shine;
Though thou the Sun from whence those stars have light
Disdain'st not sparks, but makest them burn more bright.
Oh then thou Sun, yea light it self, indeed,
Who dost not quench, muchles disdainst the same,
The smoking flax, nor break'st the bruised reed,
Turn thou my spark into so pure a flame
As may both warm my chilled soul within,
And burst out to the light of other men.
Thou dost confound things mighty by the weak,
Out of the mouths of babes ordainest praise,
Mak'st the unlearned, yea the dumb to speak,
Rejectest none but who rejects thy ways,
That hate to be reformed; Lord help me here,
And in my weakness let thy strength appear.
Breathings after Divine Air.
EArth stand amazed, stand amazed and move,
And be you heavens astonished above;
A man, and yet no maker? hells abisse,
Yea tremble earth and heaven, and hell at this.
Superior powers who framed this matchless frame
This man, and formed your Image in the same,
What fretting time, or what infernal powers
Have rac'd, or thus defaced that work of yours?
You made him holy, he defiles his race,
You gave him honor, he hath lost that grace,
You lent him knowledge, he abused that light,
Yours by creation, he denies you quite.
Unhappie chance, unhappy change, alas,
What brought this most unhappy change to pass?
Who turned this perfect good to perfect evil,
But he that turned from Angel to a devil?
That hateful, hurtful enemy indeed,
Who whiles man slept, cast tares amongst the seed,
Or rather only in that piece of clay,
Cast tares, and stole the precious seed away.
Presumptuous thief and enemy to man,
Whose hideous theft in heaven above began,
He there aspir'd to steal from the most high,
And there most justly robbed himself thereby.
For this his fact thrown down from heaven to hell,
He lost himself, and maker as he fell.
And ever since, his restless self hath tost
To steal from man what he by stealing lost.
But silly man shall such a hateful foe
Rob thee of God, prevail upon thee so?
Shall hells black vapors so thy soul benight
To put out of thee all celestial light?
But senseless man, or rather savage beast,
Canst thou thus at the God-head make a jest?
The fiends in hell more fealty declare,
For they confess there is a God, and fear.
Oh horid, hellish blasphemy, or worse,
The damned in hell deny not God, though curse.
And such as here against him dare dispute
Shall find hereafter hell will them confute.
But silly man, or monster of that name,
In mind a monster, though a man in frame,
Resolve this question, if thy wisdom can,
Is there no God? how came there then a man?
But here I know thou wilt to nature fly,
All things, thou sayest, by nature live and die,
And natures force doth all conclusions draw,
Nature shall therefore be thy only law.
I grant in all things that created be
We may a power which is called nature see;
Which to such creatures is a law indeed,
Whose skill no other Dialect can read.
But thou who hast an understanding part,
And hast besides much benefit by art,
Sparks rak'd up in thy ashes of such light
As death, nor devil can extinguish quite,
Canst thou be grosser then the beast that dies,
Blind as the beast is, yet hast better eyes?
Admit no maker but ingendring power,
As earth brings forth the herb, the herb the flower?
But canst thou into natures secrets pry,
And canst not view a Deity there by?
Earth may bring forth, but not create, fond head,
Can that give life which in it self is dead?
But here thou wilt, out of thy wisdom say,
There is, indeed, both dead and living clay,
The dead brings forth the creature dull and base,
The living doth produce a living race.
The senseless earth we may with safety grant
Brings forth the senseless grass, the herb, the plant,
That living mortar which is man by name
By generation doth produce the same:
Produce, I say, as instruments whereby
Creating power continues a supply;
God first, indeed, man's God-head to convince,
Made man of dust, but man so manking since.
Man then was made, made not himself to live,
How can he then have any life to give?
Or if he hath we must subject it still
Unto the force of the Creators will.
But be it so, what can be granted thence?
That senseless earth, or earth indu'd with sense
Can out of their created substance frame
An other substance, or indeed the same.
This is but only to preserve, tis plain,
That which before was made, not make again:
Nor can the creature bring forth, as is said,
Without the help of a creating ai'd.
Thou madest not then thyself, nor yet thy Son,
Who did that work then which thou see'st is done?
Thou canst no just apology invent,
Confess there is a God then, and repent.
Thy soul, besides, though now enclosed in earth,
Yet pure in substance, and of noble birth,
Cannot but at some time or other dart
Some heavenly rays into thy earthly heart,
Which doth convince thy knowledge of thy error,
And strikes into thy conscience such a terror
As makes thee feel the power of the most high,
Which in thy heart thou darest thus to deny.
Were this too little at it is perchance,
To work upon thy willful ignorance:
Yet God hath further witnesses no doubt,
Thousands, he hath not left himself without:
His word, and works incessantly declare him
In such a voice that all the world may hear him,
His word reveals his truth, his works his glory.
All creatures being do confirm the story.
But here again thy wretched heart replies,
Those works of wonder which no mortal eyes
Can see into their center, something pose
Thy desp'rate thoughts, thou stand'st amazed at those.
But for God's word, though writ with his own pen,
Or from his mouth by heavens inspired men,
That suites not with thee, sincks not in thy brain,
Tush words, sayest thou, they are but wind or vain.
Thou canst those rules, which we call Scripture, read
With no such trust to think them true indeed;
But man's invention so to keep in awe
Men which by nature stand in need of Law.
But dust and ashes darest thou make a tush
Which makes both Angels, and the heavens to blush?
Racing besides those truths which are engraven
Upon thy soul by truth it self from heaven.
Prints of eternity upon thy soul
Are stamped by heaven: canst thou then slight that roll
Which to thee reads eternity in print?
Is heavenly
•
ire so hidden in thy flint?
Thy flint, indeed; but when this powerful word,
Which is more sharp then a two edged sword,
Strikes home upon thy flinty soul no doubt,
It doth force sparks of heavenly fire there out.
But lest these sparks should burst out into flame,
Thou seek'st by all means to put out the same,
Though making thus these heavenly sparks retire,
Thou keepst thyself unto eternal fire.
Again this word, besides the ghostly power
That rests within that never raced tower:
The potent truth which hath so well been tried,
With sweet consent and harmony supplied,
That harbours in this heavenly word is such
As may convince thy marble heart as much.
The truth indeed, that we may truly call,
One jot whereof did never fail, nor shall▪
And did thy sight not dazzle at this Sun
Thou there mightest clearly read the same and run.
But oh! thou wretched Atheist that dost find
The seeing Organ of thy soul too blind
To view the truths in sacred Scripture pend,
Or willful that thou wilt not apprehend:
O rest not under that Egyptian cloud,
Cast not away the means of light alow'd,
But read the Scripture, to avoid that curse,
Disuse of reading makes thee read the worse.
Hadst thou a heart could truly understand,
Or eyes set ope by faith to read that hand,
Thou shouldst discern such wonders in that glass
As nothing but a God can bring to pass.
The truth of this most perfectly appears
By the consent of past four thousand years:
Each Promise, tipe, and Prophesy fulfilled
Do here of certain testimonies yield.
The seed to break the Serpents head was sown
Three thousand years before the blade was grown,
All human hopes might then have been casshierd
And yet at length a glorious crop appeared.
God once drowned all the mountains here below,
But then above, in mercy, set his bow
To be a sign, which hath been still made good
That heavens no more should pour down such a flood.
Thus heavens, by Scripture, often times fore-show
What by experience men in time find true,
That men in Scripture so may learn to read
Their Makers glory by his pen, and dread.
Again (besides the truth that Scriptures carry
That in themselves they from themselves not varry,
Whereby they are with that perfection crowned
Which in no human Author can be found)
The lofty style that sacred Scriptures bare
Their height of birth and majesty declare
So powerful, so impartial and sincere
As partial man could never yet come near.
Men deeply learned, and of highest wit,
Unless instructed by this holy writ,
Write at the fairest but with natures quill
Dip'd in some fountain on Pernassus hill.
Their wisdoms to no higher pitch can hover
Then principals of nature do discover,
Imploys that agent which we Reason call
About no objects but mere natural.
But sacred writ that hath a further reatch,
That is transcending flies a higher pitch,
That came from heaven, is spiritual, and here
Made by the spirit to us men appear:
That conquers reason subdues natures Laws
As far unable to dispute the cause,
That is eternal, therefore sent to try
That part in man which hath no power to die.
The Scripture only on the soul reflects
All earthly objects it, as base, rejects,
The soul a spirit, therefore only fit
To read those copies by the spirit writ.
This Writ from heaven then summons up thy soul
To heaven that Court which issu'd forth this scroule;
Glew not thy soul then too near earthly things,
Hang no such plumets on its sublime wings.
Again the Scriptures only have the art
To search into the secrets of the heart,
They only can discover sin, and prove
Upon the conscience they came from above.
They only a beginning do relate;
No human Treatise of so ancient date;
They only have preserved been, and shall,
Though ever, doubtless, envy'd most of all.
And in them, in the sacred Writ I mean,
As in a glass is only to be seen
That perfect image of supernal might
Which can be viewed by no other light.
There is I grant it, in each human frame
An eye by nature fixed in the same,
Which doth by nature beyond nature see
A power there supernatural must be.
Which power no doubt hath deified been
From the beginning by the race of men,
Though most for want of power to understand,
Ascrib'd that power unto some other hand:
As some to creatures like themselves but clay;
Some to the Sun, as former of the day;
Some to the Moon, some to the Stars, yea know
Some to the prince of hell below.
Yet all to something; thus the infidel
Beleeves there is a power that doth excel,
But ignorant of what it is, doth fain
Or forge a God out of his idle brain.
Thus natures pen, by reasons power, no doubt,
Doth point at God, but cannot point him out,
Doth show a God; but what he is, or where,
That Scriptures only fully can declare.
Shall then a heathen a mere Infidel,
Who never heard of either heaven or hell,
Or dreams of soul, alone by natures view
Discern there is a God and homage due;
(Which is apparent all the world abroad,
All nations worship something as a God)
And shalt thou Atheist, darest thou all alone
Be worst of all men and acknowledge none?
Thou hast, besides the wisest heathens sight,
Much greater aide, far clearer beams of light,
God's holy and eternal word by name,
Eternal in the nature of the same,
Where thou mayest its eternal author find,
It only gives that sight unto the blind,
And this thou hast not, so to make thee pos'd,
As precious ointment in a box enclosed,
Not only in the hidden letter teaching,
But opened by the pow'rfull hand of preaching.
Canst thou not row then in this calmed ocean?
Sit'st thou in darkness in this heavenly Goshen?
Dar'st thou deny that Deity which here
Doth in such perfect characters appear?
Oh do not thou degenerate so far
To be more sordid then the devils are,
The devils do much forced duty show
To holy Scriptures and do know them true.
Shall devils then unto the Scriptures bow,
Confess and fear them, and yet wilt not thou?
Deluded Atheist be reformed herein,
Seek no such shadows so to hide thy sin,
Because the Scriptures render thee unjust
Thou dost condemn them so to save thy lust.
Let not thy senses thus thy soul enthrall,
For lose the Scriptures and thou dost lose all,
Both soul, and body, heaven, and God, yea soe
Dost likewise purchase everlasting woe.
It is then no marvel that thou art so blind,
Or rather desp'rate in thy carnal mind
That in thy fancy thou cast apprehend
No soul, no heaven, nor power that doth transcend.
How canst thou view these when thou dost in spleen
Reject the glass where these are to be seen?
The Scriptures are God's tapers set up here,
Extinguish those, no God will then appear.
God, in times past, aid oft appear, I know,
In visions, and in shadows here below,
But when the substance, his eternal Son
Once shined here, all those lesser lights had done.
Bright Sun, indeed, well might the stars give way
And hid themselves in such a heavenly day,
A heavenly day when heaven it self we find
Burst through the clouds, came down to earth and shined
And yet we find this day at last did fade,
This glorious Sun at length began to wade,
And, from these nether Regions to retire,
Ascended to the circles that are higher.
Well might the world then here beneath lament,
And put on sackcloth weeds of discontent
Bewailing deeply that earth darking day
Which from the earth took such a light away.
This heavenly Sun now in the heavens again
Whose glory heavens cannot alone contain:
Did leave some rays below, and now and then
Doth dart down more amongst the sons of men,
But all that light now of that heavenly taper
Is set up in a lantern here of paper,
In holy Scripture all that light doth shine,
That is the lantern which gives light divine.
Then thou that first in such a sable night
That of this nature thou canst see no light;
'It is doubtless cause thou dost not duly look
Into that lanthorn, use that heavenly book.
Wouldst thou have wisdom, have thy sight made clear?
Thy heart made gentle, and thy soul appear,
See hell beneath, and heaven that is most high,
Discern thy maker, and eternity?
Then use the Scripture, thy dim feeble sight
Is apprehensive of no greater light;
God knows such secrets do man's sight surpass,
And therefore wisely shows them through a glass.
A glass indeed, the Scripture is most fair,
And more transparent then the purest air,
Through which the perfect Images are viewed
Of objects in the highest altitude.
Presumptuous earth, because thou canst not see
By carnal reason how these things can be,
Thou dost conclude they cannot be in fine,
As if there were no greater power then thine.
Thou art a piece but of the Potters clay,
What can the piece unto the Potter say?
Canst thou suppose the brickle vessel made
As skillful as its maker in his trade?
But were this granted, which were too too gross,
Yet thou art vainer, at a greater loss,
All other creatures but the devils be
The same they were created, but not we;
Thou art far weaker, worser, and hast lost
Much of thy Makers workmanship and cost,
Thy reason is corrupt, thy senses soil'd,
Thy nature taynted, and thy soul defiled.
Indeed in the perfection of estate
Wherein perfection did thee first create,
Thy sight was such thou stood'st not then in need
Of glasses, or of spectacles to read:
Thy apprehension was not then so weak
But thou hadst power to hear thy Maker speak.
In his own language, and couldst understand
Without the help of any second hand.
But long in
Adam
thou hast lost that art;
Like Lucifer in acting of his part;
He would have been, although in heaven, yet higher:
Thou wouldst, although in Paradise, aspire:
He saw God's face, yet that would not suffice:
Thou knew'st his voice, yet thou wouldst be more wise:
He clyming, lost the hight he had before:
And thou thy knowledge by desiring more.
Canst thou suppose then that impaired light
Yet in thy understanding part so bright
As to discern those objects as they are
Which did exceed thy better sight so far?
Vain man, as thou thy heavenly relish hast
So vainly lost by a forbidden taste;
Even so thy sight; when by a finite eye
Thou fondly wouldst things infinite descry.
To stand and gaze upon the Sun, although
The Sun gives light, yet dims our light we know:
And yet the beams which from the Sun do fly
They dim not, but give sight unto the eye.
So if thou look'st, God as he is to see,
The more thou look'st the blinder thou shalt be,
His countenance doth such a luster give
No mortal eye may see the same, and live.
Yet from his face, as from a Sun doth shine
Such radient beams and rays of light divine
As gives us light, and so much as our vain
And silly Lamps can of a Sun contain.
Then let those rays which in the Scripures shine
Suffice thy soul that clearest sight of thine
Thou by his beams mayst view the Sun secure,
Thy sight cannot the Sun it self endure.
Thinkst thou by power then of imperfect nature
To take a perfect view of thy Creator?
Mere fool, indeed, thou mightest by reason find
This cannot be, were not thy reason blind.
But couldst thou reason never so refine,
Did brighter beams not with thy reason shine:
Thou couldst not see what once thou mightest have done;
Much less what was before the world begun.
Yet such like thoughts in this thy silly vain
And purblind state do now molest thy brain,
Thou but a drop which from the fountains fell,
Wouldst to a fountain in thy bubble swell:
Thou clim'st beyond the clouds, and thinkest it fit
To be like God, out of thy mother wit,
Yea beyond God, and hast this thought accurst
If God made all, then who made God at first?
This being hyperbolical to sense,
Thou trampl'st on inferior consequence,
As Christ, and heaven, the soul and resurrection,
Because beyond thy sensible collection.
But thou whom night doth thus belet at noon
What sayest thou to the Sun, the Stars, the Moon,
And Heavens above? who made that glorious frame?
There is no procreation in the same.
They have, as very heathen do declare
Five thousand years remained the same they are,
Their like they in no likeness have begot,
Like other creatures they ingender not.
Whence thou by sense mayest evidently read
They from themselves did never first proceed;
Yet made they be, 'tis manifest and clear,
Those objects to thy very sense appear.
Then see the weakness of thy sense hereby;
And yet thy sense thy weakness doth descry;
Thou seest by sense the body of the Sun,
But whence proceeding, there thy sense hath done:
Thou seest by sense such bodies formed be,
But by themselves doth not with sense agree,
This to thy sense some others skill doth preach,
Thou find'st by sense that skill above thy reach▪
Canst thou by sense and carnal reason then
Thus prove a power beyond the power of men?
And cannot that same power of thee be thought
A God? observing what that power hath wrought?
Oh Satan's captive, labor to resist
That this worlds God, who thus hath cast a mist,
Break through those clouds, and view a God above,
Thou dost by sense a deity approve.
View him thou mayest in manifold respects,
Partly be sense, in part by his effects,
And then observe what holy Scripture saith,
And view him further by the eye of faith.
For these are they, and only these, whereby
That sun doth please to shine down from on high,
These are the casements set ope to our sight
Of heavens most glorious treasury of light:
We men below have no such license given,
Or power to take a perfect view of heaven,
Our light so feeble, and our hearts so brasing
We can but only pry in through the glasing.
But here perhaps, thou wilt this scruple move
Admit sayest thou, there be a heaven above,
And in the same such glories as are said,
Though never yet to mortal eye displayed.
What though there be? what canst thou gain thereby
Since they are such as thou canst not descry,
Nor yet hast hope thou ever shalt do here,
Thou must go further from them, not more near,
Death must of all men living make an end,
And men by dying rise not, but descend:
The grave at last shall be thy resting plot,
Where all things are concluded and forgot.
Why shouldst thou then disquiet thyself to gain
Such knowledge as will but disquiet thy brain?
But carnal scholar who dost thus confute
Thy very sense by sensual dispute,
And as it were in malice go'st about
To bring the very truth thou knowest in doubt.
Canst thou gross Sadduce thus seduced be▪
Be yet thus blinded, yet hast eyes to see?
Art thou in honor and become'st a beast,
O like the beast that perisheth at least?
Consider better, labor to dispel
Those fearful
•••••
s, they are the fogs of hell:
And thither thou must sink no means can save,
Beleev'st not thou the rising from the grave.
But thou shalt rise, thou canst not that defend,
Though but to judgment, and again descend:
This thou mightest prove by Scripture most apparent,
Could'st thou give credence to that heavenly warrant.
But howsoever thou dost under prize,
The powerful truth in sacred Scripture lies,
Yet God, disputing with the devil, took
His arguments out of that sacred Book.
He did by Scripture Sadducees confute:
He did by Scripture strike the devil mute:
He did by Scripture first reveal his will,
And doth by Scripture manifest it still.
And if thou only Scripture dost disdain
Doubtless there doth no hope for thee remain.
God could have used some other weapon then
To overthrow the devil, and those men,
But yet he pleased to use no other sword,
Only to make us trust unto his word.
Shall God himself thus dignify and grace it;
And shalt thou dust and ashes then deface it?
Oh trust it further, and esteem it better,
The power of God is printed in that letter.
Again besides the testimonies read
In Scripture for the rising of the dead.
God doth convince thy error in this kind
By sundry means, yea in thy very mind,
God hath imprinted in thy very breast
Within thy soul, which ever shall subsist,
An everlasting principal of right
Which can by no means be extinguished quite:
This principal is naturally strong
In aiding justice, and suppressing wrong,
From whence it comes thou canst not act a sin
Of doing wrong without a check within.
Hast thou done wrong then (as who hath not here)
Get'st thou not pardon for the same, 'tis clear
This principal, when thou shalt come to die,
Will leave thy corps, and on thy conscience fly;
Where it forever restless will abide
Till justice shall be fully satisfied:
From whence there must some other place appear
To right such wrongs as are not righted here.
Besides thou couldst not sure account it vain
To be resolved the dead shall rise again;
Hadst thou but so much happiness to see
How reason here with nature doth agree.
Search then by reason into natures book;
Run to thy mothers long made grave and look
If 't be not earth thou camest from, whence tis plain
That earth which once did live may live again.
What thinkest thou of thy rising from thy bed,
Fore-tells not that thy rising from the dead?
In bed thou dost, in earth thou shalt but sleep,
In both in darkness, though in earth most deep.
Besides when slumber doth possession take
Of senses, yet the soul is then a wake,
The soul as it can never die at all
So never sleeps, though kept by sleep in thrall.
God could have made us, when we were in making,
Have stood in need of neither sleep, nor waking,
Had he not purposed by them to explain
Our sleep in death, and life from death again.
The deepest darkensse of the longest night
At length doth vanish by the morning light:
Which shows at last the resurrection day
Shall chase the night of fatal death away:
The intercourse of autumn, and the spring,
The winter, and the summer teach this thing,
When plants, by a vicessitude, we know
Both live and die, and die, and live in show.
And as the seed which in the earth is sown,
Like man it to its deeper furrows thrown,
As dying, there produceth an increase:
So man doth but refine there, not surcease.
Much like the Phoenix, from whose ashes breed,
As men much learned give us leave to read:
Another Phoenix to supply that room,
By sun-beams dooting on her lofty tomb.
But yet, if yet thy heart be such a flint
That all this shown takes no impression init,
But still in heart thou sayest there is no God,
Though with thy tongue thou darest not for his rod,
Let me yet put one question to thee more,
Yet to illustrate what is said before:
What sayest to this then? since thou art so evil
To doubt of God, what thinkest thou of a devil?
Is there, thinkest thou, no devil, and no hell?
Thou mayest deny them out of doubt as well,
For this is certain this from sense doth flow,
No God above, no devil then below.
But this the grossest heathen do admit
They by experience and mere natures wit
Discerne a power beyond the power of men,
Which power hath by them still admired been.
But in thy conscience were not such a spark
Why shouldst thou be so fearful in the dark?
Were there no evil spirits to be seen
What do such fears then in thy fancy mean?
In times of danger eminent tis known
There's no man's heart more shaken then thine own:
Strange apparitions, gastly forms, and such
Strike trembling in thee nothing else so much.
From whence proceeds those hideous shapes, and sights,
Those hollow voices, and those walking lights,
Which do so oft in darkness us affright,
But from the Prince of darkness in the night?
If this suffice not, but art still in doubt
I know no further means to help thee out;
Unless that it were lawful in this kind,
To run to Endor to suffice thy mind
To such as have some spirits at command,
Such could most clearly let thee understand,
Resolve thy doubt, and make it to thee clear
There are such fiends, yea make the same appear.
If all this be too little to suffice,
Then sure there is some devil in thine eyes
Who keeps thee blinded that thou caust not see
Those certain truths which thus decypherd be.
But oh vain Atheist rest not in this state,
Nay rest thou canst not tis so desperate,
Then strive against it, exercise thy strength,
By use it may grow operative at length.
There yet is eye salve to bewray this mist,
If that thou dost not willfully resist,
There is a sacred fountain set apart,
One drop whereof would molifie thy heart.
Despise not then those sovereign streams below
Which down do from that sacred fountain flow,
Those healing drops which on the cross were shed,
Distil'd in Scriptures from the fountains head.
Then bring thy heart, that cistern into frame,
And let those conduits run into the same,
That still thou mayst, by turning of the cock,
Such fearful doubts, those brasing doors unlock.
Thy heart no dout, in doubts the harder grows
Because the milk which form the Scripture flows,
Which is most precious to dissolve such flint,
Is not applied unto that Adamant.
At Scriptures breasts disdain not sucking then,
There's milk for babes, and meat for strongest men:
There's meat for
Saempson,
sweet meat too, not gall:
And honey for the fainting Son of
Saul.
There doth that tree of heavenly knowledge grow
Which God hath pleased to plant with men below:
Another tree of knowledge shall be given,
More glorious too, but that shall be in heaven.
But further knowledge then is here revealed
The more thou seekst, the more tis here concealed.
And that no doubt, hath been a reason why
Thou dost those truths which are revealed deny.
There's nothing hid that shall not be made known;
But here's the height of thy ambition shown
Thou here wouldst to that height of knowledge clime
Which is reserved until another time.
Thou here in all things much imperfect art,
And therefore here thou canst but know in part:
But when thy cloud of flesh be done away
Things secret shall be manifest as day.
But wouldst thou wisely harbor a desire
To view those secrets Angels do admire,
Then first believe, for God hath made it plain
We must believe before we do obtain.
Heaven is a dowery God hath to bestow,
Faith's our assurance of the same below:
Strive then for faith; thou hast a curious eye:
Nothing but faith can give thee full supply,
Faith in this vain and empty vale I mean,
By faith possessing things are yet unseen:
That so in fine, when fruitful faith shall cease,
Thou mayst in glory reap thy faiths increase,
In heaven enjoy that height of joy, which here
Doth only to the eye of faith appear.
Yea foolish man couldst thou become so wise
As to believe a heaven above the skies,
And such a God, a gentle God therein
As for his Sons sake will remit thy sin;
Thou thither likewise shouldest be raised in fine,
For there the faithful shall in glory shine:
And those same hidden secrets which have been
Thy tortures here, should most delight thee then.
The world to come, which here thou canst not view,
Thou there shouldest find unto by comfort, true:
The God above, which here thou dost deny,
Thou there shouldest see, and His eternity:
How God should be without beginning, here
Confounds thee quite, but there it doth appear:
How spirits do subsist, and what they are
Thou knowest not here, but 'tis discovered there:
And how God's word should make a world: alas,
Such hidden things do human sense surpass:
But when that heaven shall human sense refine,
Or rather human sense shall prove divine,
God with such secrets then will thee acquaint,
If here, by faith, thou wilt be first his Saint.
But yet, if yet thou beest a sleep so fast
That all this will not rouse thee up at last,
But still thou wilt be still a heathen swine,
Yet know God will be known of thee infine:
If here thou wilt not know him by his works
(A sin abominated by the Turks)
If here thou wilt to know him by that spark
Now rak'd up in thy conscience, yet his mark;
Nor yet wilt know him by the eye of faith,
Believing what the holy Scripture saith,
But dost this cloud of witnesses repel;
Yet God will make thee know him, though in hell▪
Yea more then know, for thou shalt feel him there,
And in that den his Deity declare,
When devils shall torment thee, as their own,
Because thou here wouldst have no God-head known.
Thus I have walked in an unwonted strain,
Which some, it may be, will account as vain,
As if I hear by some what went about
To bring a truth most manifest in doubt,
Who is so gross may some perhaps, reply
To make a question of the Deity?
If there be none, why should I now begin
To make a doubt where none before hath been?
Indeed with us, where so much light doth shine
As if directly underneath the line:
With us where God so perfectly appears,
And as it were, hath dwelt so many years;
If there should harbor any here so blind,
So dead in sense, and stupifi'd in mind
As once to harbor Atheism in thought
Therein most hideous treachery were wrought.
Yet since we find that Scripture doth impart,
Which only can anatomize the heart.
That such a thought in some hath harbor'd been,
Yea all men are by nature so unclean,
(Each heart by nature is deceitful still,
And every thought continually ill)
We doubtless may, though to our shame conclude
That Atheism is in a multitude;
Especially if duly we propound
How merely natural multitudes are found.
Again, besides our nature, which hath stood,
Since
Adams
fall an enemy to good;
We have another enemy as great,
Who hinders good with a more deadly hate,
The devil that arch enemy, indeed
To God himself, to Adam, and his seed;
He seeks by his inscrutible an art
To steal no less then God out of the heart,
And to that purpose night and day doth spend,
Suggesting doubts and questions to that end.
By which with man he doth too much prevail,
Else why did
David
in that nature fail,
Who was a man most dear to God we find,
And yet the devil trap'd him in that kind,
When he did almost in his thoughts complain
As if that he had wished his hands in vain;
From whence it must by consequence arise
God, for the time, was taken from his eyes.
Then if such lofty cedars may be shaken,
How may the shrubs be in that nature taken?
Poor creatures who have neither care nor skill
To frustrate Satan's working of his will.
Such fiery darts the devil daily throws,
And at our hearts he doth direct his blows:
And I, for my part, cannot testify
That any living, scape them as they fly.
Only as aged
Jesses
youngest son
For safety did to sanctuary run,
Where he beheld the wound was hid before,
And eke got balm to heal his bleeding sore.
So when we do the tempters dart descry
We may like
David,
to the Temple fly;
To reading, hearing, meditate, and pray,
Such fumes as those will drive the fiend away.
Or as old
Jacob's
children in distress
When bit with serpents in the wilderness,
By only looking on a serpents wing
Expel'd the poison of that bite or sting.
Even so when Satan, that old serpent stings
We may have healing underneath those wings
Which
Jacob's
children in figure viewed,
To us a Christ, in their similitude.
Thus, as the devil daily doth belay
To steal our goods, to steal our God away.
God, that we should by no means let him go,
Hath left us means to circumvent that foe.
And hence proceeds that combat in our breasts,
The flesh consenting, but the soul resists:
But when the soul submits to carnal sense,
The devil then gets the preeminence.
And thou within whose bosom no such strife,
Or combat hath incumbered thy life,
The devil sure hath favor'd thee therein,
Or thou too much infatuated been.
But thou that feelst no want at all of aid,
Thou gavst him here a Paradise indeed,
But thou wilt give him heaven which doth exceed:
Yet do not count this altogether vain,
Ther's no such dross but may afford some grain:
The troubled soul counts no occasion slight
That may assist when it is thus in fight;
What thou thinkest bane, may be another's meat,
Then what thou like'st not, let another eat.
Though these be herbs, nay weeds out of the wood,
Yet herbs, nay weeds for many things are good,
I trust no Colloquintida is here,
No danger if thy stomach then be clear.
Lord what is man that thou art so mindful of him?
Psal. 8. verse. 4.
Desires of Aid.
MOst Gracious God, as then hast lent thy hand
To move my heart, and to direct my pen,
In some weak measure thus to understand,
And make thee understood of other men▪
God only, wise, almighty, pure, eternal:
Without whose mercy man must be infernal.
So let thy hand Lord, be outstretched still
To stir my heart, that most polluted spring,
That in that fountain I may dip my quill,
And from that depth such secret matter bring
As to myself may make myself appear,
That I may seek to make that fountain clear.
And as we all do, to our comfort, find
That thou of man hast ever mindful been;
So let my lines be moving in some kind
That we, again, may not forget thee then,
But may forever, as it is our parts,
Inthrone thee in the center of our hearts.
LOrd what is man may well be asked of thee,
None but thine eye can that exactly see?
Thou gavest him life, when thou hadst given him fashion,
Thou only therefore canst resolve that question.
Man peradventure, like a butcher may
Unmake those walls which thou hast made of clay,
Rip up man's body, open every part,
Take out his entrails, look into his heart,
Note every artrie, conduit pipe, and vein,
And p
•
y into the Chamber of the brain,
Tell all his sinews, crushes, bones, and find
How every member is to other join'd:
Let this be granted, as perhaps it may
In some imperfect superfices way:
Yet what can man in this description read
Of what man in perfection was indeed?
Alas, in this man doth indeed no more
Then as it were unlock the little door
Of some rich cabinet, which being done,
Doth find it empty, all its jewels gone:
Where being frustate of his Chief desire,
Finds nothing left but only to admire
The curious art about that little frame,
With lively forms, yet pictures on the same.
Even so man's body, that same heavens device,
Wherein are locked up all our gems of price,
When cruel death once turns his key about,
Unlocks the door, and lets those jewels out;
Mans body straight becomes a trunk bereft
Of all its matchless treasure, empty left:
And nothing to the searchers eye remains
To satisfy his curious eye or pains
But only to admire the Makers skill
So wonderful in working of that shell.
A shell indeed, we may the corps affirm
Which hath no soul, the soul a kernel term;
The shell a chest of curious art composed,
The kirnell is the treasure therein closed.
Then of what knowledge is he like to speed,
Of what man is, by taking up that leed?
Which prized ope once, by deaths steel pointed dart,
Mans soul flies out, which is his better part.
Physicians then by ripping up the dead
To view the body, when the soul is f
•
ed,
Can thereby doubtless, not directly see
At all times how the elements agree
In human bodies, nor exactly tell
How humors flow, and hurtful vapors swell,
When as the soul commanding in the same,
Sets every wheel a working in that frame.
But say by this, and other helpful means,
Whereon some learned wise Physician leans;
He could at all times perfectly relate
The ever changing temper and estate
Of human bodies, which no mortal can,
I am resolved 'tis past the reach of man:
But grant he could, yet what were all his art?
Alas, but to discover man in part,
The least part, and inferior too as far
As is a sparkle from a perfect star.
The soul, indeed, that is the only gem,
In search whereof the clearest sight is dim:
Grave
Pliny, Galen, Aristotle,
all
That men for skill did most renowned call
In former times, were failing in this kind,
Yea in this eye of knowledge almost blind,
The rays of this so dazzled them, though wise,
The more they looked, the more they lost their eyes:
Excepting
Cato,
and some other few,
Who were inspired with a more piercing view.
Nay what man living fails not in this kind?
Who knows the motions of another's mind.
Or pryes so far into another's breast
To find how his affections are at rest?
What endless windings occupy his thought,
And deep devices in his brain are wrought,
Which sinking to their center, do convert
To secret resolutions in the heart.
Nay silly men, we are ourselves so far
From self discerning what we truly are,
Within ourselves, that we can hardly tell
What is amiss in us, or what is well.
Our hearts in us are so deceitful grown
We cannot search those bottoms of our own.
Oh silly creatures, silly sure at least,
Who bear we know not what within our breast,
Nay in our bosoms shroud a serpent, which
To seem a Saint doth mightily bewitch.
'It is then no marvel though we may complain
That our affections are exceeding vain,
Our thoughts, our wits, and all with folly haunted,
When all comes from a fountain so enchanted.
Deluded be we, out of question, must,
Who have a power within us so unjust;
A power indeed, most potent too, a heart,
Which nature makes the over-ruling part:
Which force doth sure sufficient battle give,
And more then we can conquer whiles we live,
Yet whiles we live we must be ever trying,
Though cannot fully conquer without dying.
Lord, what is man then? still we must inquire,
We are to seek still, raise our judgments higher,
How comes our hearts so evil and accurst,
Since thou created'st all things good at first?
Or how come we unto ourselves so blind
That in ourselves, ourselves we cannot find?
Lost we so much, inheriting of sin,
That by that gain we lost ourselves therein?
Prodigious action racing such a tower,
Prevailing so on thy creating power,
What thou hadst formed, deformed, and formed again
A most deformed form, which doth remain.
God Al-creating, it was in thy power
To have restrain'd that enemy of our,
Who wrought upon thy workmanship so far
As to unmake, and make us what we are.
But this was for our exercise no doubt,
That thou mayest crown us when the field is fought:
Besides to make thy love appear the more
Remaking us more glorious then before.
Thou madest man sinless, subject though to slide,
But thou wilt make him sinless to abide:
Thou gavest him here a Paradise indeed,
But thou wilt give him heaven which doth exceed:
Lord what is man then, man that dares to sin,
Of whom thou hast so ever mindful been?
A world before this present world was wrought
Admired man was precious in thy thought.
Pretious, indeed, in such a boundless measure
As if that man should be thy only treasure,
And thereupon determined in thy breast
To seat him highest, and to love him best:
Such wonders in that
Moses
face foreseeing
As pleased thee well before, he had his being;
Wherein, indeed, was manifestly shown
Thou wouldst unite man's nature to thine own.
When, in thy wisdom, thou didst think it meet
To set that fore-known creature on his feet,
To give man form that little world to frame,
What preparation madest thou for the same?
What heart of man can truly on it ponder
And not be rap'd up in any holy wonder?
Before thou wouldst this wonder undertake,
Thou sell'st to working wonders for his sake,
Six days, almost, expired in preparing
Of wondrous things against this wonders roaring.
Thy powerful hand, thy Spirit was employ'd
By moving on a mighty Chaos, void
Of form or beauty: thence to draw by art
The dry and solid from the liquid part.
Both which thou having as it were given birth,
One part was waters, and the other earth;
Both which continue hanging in a sort,
Unto our judgment, without all support.
Indeed the waters do the earth surround,
Again the earth is to the seas a bound,
But how this should uphold that globe from fall
That doth exceed man's purest sense of all.
But ere these orbs were fixed not to move,
And severed from the orbs that are above;
Thou didst ordain that ornament of light
Creating day from a prodigious night.
In which thy wonder working hand was clear,
By making so thy wonders to appear,
For without light thy wonders wrought below
Had been but like the secret winds that blow.
But it did please thee to set ope a door
To let in light where darkness dwelt before,
And here beneath enjoin'd a pleasant way
Of intercourse between the night and day.
And further yet to furnish thy desire,
Thou yet madest greater lights, and set them higher,
And placed the less in absence of the Sun,
That night might not to former darkness run:
Besides for signs and tokens in our clymes,
As perfect rules distinguishing of times;
Nay further, by their fervor from above
To make the earth a fruitful mother prove,
For till the Sun unto our regions come
And warms the earth, it seems a barren womb.
When thou hadst made the firmament thus fair,
Whose rays come darting to us through the air:
Extending several curtains, as the shrouds
Between the higher and the nether clouds,
That by a secret interposing way,
One element support another may.
When thou hadst drawn the waters here below
Into one fountain, there to ebb and flow:
And when thou hadst the face of earth made plain,
And made its bars the bottom of the main,
Upon which sure and deep foundation laid,
The pillars reared whereon this frame is staid.
Thou then began'st to look into thy store,
That thou mights furnish what was void before,
Yea to make fruitful and adorn that frame
Both to enrich, and beautify the same.
Thou said'st unto the waters multiply,
Be fruitful and bring forth abundantly:
Who hearing in their language, what was said,
Without delay most cheerfully obeyed.
Thou said'st unto the earth, then barren, bear,
The earth did, as it were, thy language hear,
And brought forth thousands multitudes and more,
Of creatures which were never seen before.
And to the air thy word did but proceed,
Let there be fowls, and it was so indeed.
Lord what a large and wondrous preparation
Was this which was the spacious worlds creation?
To entertain whose greatness was it than?
Alas, but for that little creature Man.
Nay, as if this had been too little still,
To manifest to mankind thy good will,
Thou didst prepare a garden ready decked
With all the objects in it of delight
That might seem pleasing, fruit delicious growing
On trees most fruitful, streams most pleasant flowing,
Whose flowery banck, with flowers and roses set
Appear'd more glorious then the pearls in jet.
All this prepared in this heavenly sort,
Thou caldst this council in thy heavnly court,
Come let us make man in our Image dressed,
For whom we have created all the rest.
Thou tookest a piece then of thy late formed clay
And formed a man in a most perfect way;
And by a way cannot be understood
That form converted into flesh and blood.
Thou only breathedst on his breathless face,
Which gave him life, and with that life thy grace,
Which was infused into that power divine
His soul, in which thy sacred self did shine.
His body was in such perfection made
That, till the Serpent did his soul invade,
It could not suffer any kind of wrath,
But had a power against the power of death.
But for his soul that was divine indeed,
In it thou couldst thy sacred Image read
In Characters which none could understand
So well as thee, because it was thy hand.
Within that center thou couldst clearly see,
In one, the picture of thy persons three:
Three faculties within it representing
Three Persons in thy Deity consenting.
As Father, Son, and holy Ghost agree
To make but one eternal God in thee:
So understanding, memory, and will
Make but one soul, and undevided still.
The understanding of it self, as prime,
The memory by knowledge got in time,
The will, and the affections lastly breeding
From knowledge, and from memory proceeding.
All these at first in
Adams
soul were pure,
And sparks which had a nature to endure,
Adam
was in his understanding part
So holy, and so innocent in heart
That nakedness, unto his conscience clear,
Did neither shame nor nakedness appear:
His memory was unpolluted still,
Because his knowledge had begot no ill:
His thoughts, his fancies, meditations sweet,
And did not with the least disturbance meet;
His will, and his affections all were free'd
From all corruption, as they might, indeed;
Those cisterns must with water pure be filled
Whose fountains have no other streams to yield.
Lord, what a heavenly harmony was here
When all these strings were thus in tune, and clear?
Heav'nly, indeed, for thou hadst set the keys;
Rare music for an earthly paradise.
Again, besides this concord in his breast,
Which cannot be sufficiently expressed;
All things without him were at peace and stayed,
The Lion, and the Lamb together played,
Each creature did with other feed, and sleep;
And all to
Adam
innocent as sheep.
All these thou gavest him freely to command,
Yea all the world as it did blooming stand:
And bad'st him take, and eat, restraining none
Of all the dainties in the world, but one.
And that was no restraint to him no doubt,
His mind was so well satisfied without,
He had not then that motion in him hidden
To covet that most which is most forbidden.
And in this state that
Adam
might have stood,
He had a power to have restrained that good:
Only thou madest his liberty so free
That he might stand, or he might fall from thee.
But
Adam,
loe, he stood not long thus great,
Grac'd with a help too meet for his estate:
But that the devil all his force imployd
To work upon the freedom man enjoy'd.
The Serpent, Satan, Lucifer that star
Which heavens had cast out in a holy war,
Thrown forth forever to extend his pride
At most no higher then the clouds do ride.
Who being down into that chaos hurld,
Where out, at length, thou didst create the world:
And having framed that building by thy power▪
Plac'd man as chief upon its highest tower.
This author both of envy and deceit,
Admiring
Adam
in his matchless height;
His rancor did with boiling envy swell,
He raised his powers and stratagems of hell,
And join'd them all for a most deadly fight
Against poor
Adam,
innocent and quiet.
But recollecting, as it were, his course,
Of seising upon
Adam
so by force;
Perceiving
Adams
happiness did lie
Most in his soul, which death could not destroy,
This deep imposter, and most subtle fiend
Dissembled malice, and would seem a friend,
And sought by fair means so to take away
Those pearls in
Adam,
force could not betray.
He sought to
Eve
first, but to
Adam
by her,
And tempted
Adam
whiles he seemed to try her;
His bait he unto
Eves
acceptance laid,
But
Eve
consenting,
Adam
was betrayed.
For Satan's fore-cast aim'd at this event
That
Adam
would give smiling
Eve
content:
And by that means to bring them both in thrall,
Made one a means to make the other fall:
Oh! fatal means, and fearful too, alas,
For by that means he brought his will to pass.
The bait he proffered to obtain his suit
It was no less then the forbidden fruit,
Faire to the eye, and pleasing to the taste,
But strong and deadly poison to digest.
The arguments he used to persuade
Were that they thereby should like God's be made,
Knowing both good, and evil; which was true,
In part, for they till then no evil knew.
But
Adam
tasting, by the devils art,
That only fruit which thou hadst set apart,
And told him if he tasted he should die,
Though Satan did that certain truth deny:
Adam
did thereby instantly become
A slave to Satan, subject to thy doom,
And conscious of his sin, and therefore said
He saw his nakedness, and was afraid.
Afraid, indeed, afraid he well might be,
Made thus a bondslave, who before was free,
And not alone to Satan, but to sin,
To his affections now defiled within,
His senses, yea his soul became defiled,
And all the streams that issu'd thence were soyld.
His understanding, which before was pure,
Became corrupted, earthly and obscure,
His memory, a nursery of store,
In which he treasured up contents before;
Became a tedious Register, wherein
His conscience did torment him for his sin.
His will, and his affections, which were just,
Became rebellious, and disordered lust:
His heart, where innocence sat as Queen,
Became a cage of spirits most unclean.
Yea every sense of his, which were before
Unto the Palace of his soul a door
To keep in virtue, and to shut out sin,
Were then set ope to let that traitor in.
Which traitor, entered, struck with sin, as dead,
The whole man from the feet unto the head;
Who to thy foe thus being brought in thrall,
Lost both thy image, and himself withal:
Nay yet lost more, for by this cursed deed
Losing himself, he lost his wretched seed,
He lost thy image, lost thy love, thy grace,
He lost himself, his happiness, and race.
Oh fearful loss, and eke oh fearful gain:
Thou wert deposed, thy enemy did reign;
Thy image lost, the devil put on his;
Heaven was exchange'd for hells most deep abyss.
Lord what a heavy, hideous change was here?
Lord how did man then in thy sight appear?
Lord with what patience couldst thou then abide
To see the devil so in triumph ride?
Or Lord what pity in thy bowels boil'd
To see poor
Adam
so forever foil'd?
To see poor
Adam
thus undone by theft,
Thus of his jewels, of thy grace bereft,
Cast out by thee, of Paradise below,
And left unto the malice of his foe?
Nay foes, indeed, and a most potent troop,
The creatures all; who were ordained to stoup
At
Adams
beck, now in rebellion rose,
The elements they all became his foes,
Which were his friends, and all at peace before,
The winds to rage, the sea began to roar,
The fire to burn, and which of all is worst,
The earth for his offense became accurst.
Oh!
Adam, Adam,
though we may refuse,
As we are sons, our father to accuse,
Yet being wounded by thy deadly blow,
We cannot but lament thy overthrow.
Hadst thou in trial nor been over come,
Though we thy seed, who should succeed thy room,
Had fallen, our fall it had been small to thine,
Thy fall as head, hath tainted all thy line.
Thou art our Head, and we thy members be,
Thou art condemned, how can we be free?
Had but a member only fault been
A member only should have died therein.
But through the one, death reigned over all,
Death, by thy death, brought all to death in thrall,
Death temporal, that no mortal shall divert,
Death too eternal is our due desert.
Lord most immense in mercy, yet so pure
Thy sight can no polluted thing endure:
How could thy mercy and thy justice meet
In viewing
Adam
thus from off his feet?
But how can we thy mysteries discuss
Whose ways are so past finding out by us?
Thou, in thy wisdom, it is so divine,
Couldst make thy mercy through thy justice shine.
When thou, whose ways cannot be understood,
Saw'st
Adam
thus polluted in his blood,
As, Lord, thy justice did his sentence give
Of death, thy mercy said unto him, live.
Sure 'twas the time of love when thou passed by,
For
Adam
only had deserved to die,
That justice did enjoin; but live again,
Thy mercy only did that music strain.
Oh! heavenly music, harmony most blest;
Thus peace, and justice, truth, and mercy kist,
Justice by death thus satisfied in striving,
Mercy again thus answered by reviving.
But
Adams
soul did first to sin consent,
His body guilty as an instrument,
Could then the death of
Adams
body serve,
When
Adams
soul did greatest death deserve?
No, no, alas, that cannot serve the turn,
Although the body should forever burn
In flames of hell it could not satisfy,
Thou hast pronounced the soul that sins shall die.
Most gracious God, and great beyond conceit,
How could poor
Adam
bear this heavy weight,
Poor, feeble, fearful, faint, and bending reed
Support a burden infinite indeed?
Here was, indeed, the depth of miseries,
Adam
must die, but death would not suffice,
His fact so foul, and infinite had been
Death temp'rall could not expiate his sin.
Justice must yet be satisfied by dying,
Death temp'rall it could not be satisfying;
Adam
must therefore suffer death eternal,
Or rather live a death which is infernal.
Lord thus we find, and make confession must
Thy ways are right, our condemnation just;
We thus behold thy streams of justice flowing
Most justly to our utter overthrowing.
But though thy justice seemed to go before,
Yet thou hadst mercy treasured up in store
To free those slaves that
Adam
brought in thrall,
That so thou mightest have mercy upon all.
Well may we say love in thy bosom burned,
And bowels in thee of compassion yern'd,
How like a dear and most indulgent father,
Or like a melting hearted mother rather,
Who when her infant hath received some harms
Then most bemoanes it in her tender arms.
Even so thy goodness did thy love bewray
In that thy mercy could not brook delay,
But in the instant, whiles the wound did bleed,
Prescrib'd a plaster for the wounded seed.
And moved with fury against
Adams
foe,
Who like a serpent had betrayed him so,
Not only for the present cursed him for it
But thence forever made his chain more short,
And told that Serpent that the woman's seed
Which he had so much shaken in that reed
That it should unto such a Cedar grow
As should infine his Kingdom overthrow.
Oh! precious promise dropped from thine own pen,
Peace upon earth, and good will unto men,
Both oil and wine to heal the wounded man
Drawn from that wounded good Samaritan.
Oh precious promise, by which
Adams
wife,
Late of his death, becomes his means of life:
Oh precious promise, and forever sweet,
By which divided heaven, and earth did meet:
But Lord what seed, what heavenly seed was this,
Whose promise only could afford such bliss?
Seed heavenly? yea seed wonderful indeed,
On which our fathers many years did feed
To life, yea unto life eternal, while
This seed, it seemed was buried in the soil.
But when this promise should become fulfilled
Lord what a harvest must this seed then yield?
But when this seed converteth into bread
It must give life sure to the very dead:
This did exceed the Manna which was given:
This was the bread that did come down from heaven,
The bread of God, yea very God indeed;
Thy self, oh Lord, was promised in this seed;
A bread ordained before the world began
To save the world, to give new life to man.
And when the fullness of the time expired
Thou didst fulfill what man had long desired,
Mad'st that appear in substance to be true
Which was before but shadow'd to the view.
But oh thou wonder-working God above,
Whose justice thus but amplifies thy love,
Who but thyself could have by searching pry'd
How mercy could have justice satisfied?
But who but thee could ever have been brought
To work a wonder as this work was wrought,
That thou, whose justice did man's sentence give,
Shouldst, in thy mercy, die, that man might live?
And yet we do unto our comfort find
Thou, in thy mercy, wert to man thus kind,
Rather then mankind should forever lie
In chains of death, the God of life would die.
But, gracious God, how can this granted be,
Thou art a spirit, form corruption free,
The fountain too of life it self; how then
Canst thou be said to die for sinful men?
Besides great God, if thou, as God, couldst die,
Which thing we must for evermore deny:
Yet man from death could thereby not be free,
For man hath sinned, and man must punished be.
Oh I soul polluting deadly sink of sin,
That mankind should be so defiled therein,
That God himself, and only God remain,
Might not forgive, nor wash away the stain,
No way but suffering would make full supplies,
Offended justice claimed a sacrifice,
Man had no offering that would serve the turn:
Thou mightest not, but thy melting heart did yern.
Yern, Lord indeed, to see hells raging fire,
But sawst no Sacrifice to thy desire:
And yet, that man forever might not burn,
Thou didst prepare a body for the turn.
Because that man no sacrifice could find,
Nor could thy Godhead suffer in that kind:
Thou didst unite, by everlasting ties,
Thy self to man to be a sacrifice:
Thy second person and thy only Son,
Begotten long before the world begun:
Who, scorning shame, through all the danger ran,
Tooke flesh upon him, and was found a man;
A perfect man, and perfect God likewise,
And so became a perfect sacrifice.
As man, for man he died, and lay as slain,
As God, he conquerd death, and rose again:
A perfect man, without defect by sin;
A perfect God he had forever been:
Hid God-head, and his manhood both entire,
Yet joined in one, one person we admire:
By thy decree, he put out nature on,
Our nature thus, exceping sin alone;
And, living guiltless for himself therein,
He dying, free'd the guilt of other men.
But being guiltless, death was not his due;
Indeed respecting of himself tis true:
But he be came man only to that end
As free, to free men that by sin offend.
But could the death of one suffice for all
Yes, such a one as we may truly call
Both God, and man, yea God, whose sacrifice
All men, nay Angels cannot equalize:
If
Adam,
but a creature, could so fall
To bring all creatures of the world in thrall,
Sure the creating God, made man might free,
All mankind fallen in a more full degree.
A second
Adam
thus is truly found
To save the world the first in sin had drownd,
That as by one man, all men guilty stood,
Even so by one man all might be made good.
First
Adam
falling, died because he fell:
The second standing, died of his good will:
A free will offering thus he freely gave,
Which by his free will had a power to save.
A free will offering, Lord, we truly say,
For of thyself thou hadst no debt to pay,
Untill it pleased thee to assign thy Son
To pay man's debt, whom sin had quite undon.
Dear God that thou shouldst bring thyself in debt,
The greatness of it too should be no let,
Should'st bind thyself by promising a seed,
When thou before wert absolutely freed,
Could not the greatness of the debt to pay
Those flames of love within thy breast alay;
When thou consider'st in thy deep fore-cast
That it would cost thy dearest blould at last?
Lord, what is man we still may ask of thee,
That for his sake thou couldest thous moved be,
That he which in thy bosom did remain,
Should be a Lamb from the beginning slain?
These secrets sure were hid from
Adams
eyes,
Had he known these he would have been more wise:
But we, poor wretched we that with him fell,
Dp know, and yet we do again rebel.
We know, and do acknowledge as we read,
All this fulfilled, which was before decree'd,
That this eternal Seed, thy Son is come,
By thee begotten in the Virgins womb,
And by a way beyond our reach, became
Both God, and Man, a Lion, and a Lamb.
We know again thy Scriptures testify
How like a Lamb he did both live and die,
How sinless, blameless, harmless, and demure
He did the malice of the world endure:
Number'd with sinners, and yet free from spot,
Smitten of sinners, yet he threatened not,
Led as a sheep, did to the slaughter come,
Yet opened not his mouth, but was as dumb.
Where, like a Lamb, most innocent and free,
To clear the guilty, must condemned be,
And to regain our freedom by his loss,
He by our sins was nail'd unto the cross:
Where wounded with those soul deep wounding spears
Instead of a distilling floods of tears:
Hea ven was set open, and its fountains ran
With streams of blood to wash polluted man.
Where like a lamb, once offered up for all,
He drank not only vinegar and gall,
But drank that bitter cup, which doth therein,
The vials of thy ven geance due for sin.
By drinking which he did asslwage thine ire;
He quenched the flames of everlasting fire:
And purchased heaven, to
•••••
ate gaping hell:
And all for mankind, out of mere good will.
Oh! work of wonder, can our hearts not shake
At this whereat the very earth did quake,
The stones did rend, graves let out men that slept,
The heavens above put out thelt lights, and wept?
We read again, when he thus like a lamb
Had finished that for which he hither came:
How like a Lion he began to wake,
Or how like
Sampson,
he the cords did break.
And did assume his sacred corps again,
As one returned with conquest from the slain:
Who like a Lion joy full of his prey,
He having took the sting of death away,
And made the grave a bed of sweet repose,
He rould away the mighty stone and rose:
And came and preached, by his new preaching birth,
Deliverance unto captive men on earth,
Yea in the earth; his rising from the grave
Of all men's rising testimony gave.
This Lion now of
Judas
Tribe, as man,
Having fulfild his Priest here; began
To take his Royal Scepter in his hand,
As King to rule, as God to Kings command.
But, Lord, his body now was glorified,
He might no longer now on earth abide,
His Kingdom was not of this wotld not here,
His seat so reign was in a higher sphere;
He must to heaven, into the throne of grace,
The earth is but his foot-stool, and too base.
And having fully all thy Law fulfilled,
Made death, the devil, hell, and sin to yield,
He did ride up triumphant in renown,
After his conquest to receive his Crown:
Where thou hast crowned him with a crown more worth
Then all the richest Diadems on earth;
With heaven it self, and earth besides, with all
Those higher circles, and this nether ball.
And with this scepter in his hand, as fit,
Hast at thy right hand him in glory set,
Where he remains exalted, and as God,
Doth rule the wicked with an iron rod.
But as he yet is God, and man, we read
As man, he yet for man doth intercede
To thee his Father, showing of the scars
Which he received in his hloody wars.
And thus he hath a Priest-hood yet on high,
Though not to suffer, yet to sanctify
All our oblations; and his saving Name
The Alter where thou wilt accept the same,
Together with his Person, where is kept
The form of man into thy bosom crept.
Whose sacred body heavens must sure contain
Till in his Body he shall come again
To judge the Nations, at the judgment day,
Which judgment hastens, though we men delay;
Where he will unbelievers overthrow;
But on the faithful he will heaven bestow,
Where they thence forward shall forever stand
With palms of pleasure blooming in their hand.
Thus, Lord, in part thou givest us leave to read
Not only what man is, but what, indeed,
Thou dost, and wilt do for thy creature Man,
Nay what thou didst before the world began.
In reading which, although, unto our shame,
Our hearts remain unmelted by this flame;
Yet this thy love makes Angels to admire:
And sets besides, the devils most on fire.
But gracious God, to most ungracious we
Thus good in a most infinite degree,
Do'st thou not dinde us to thy beck herein?
Look'st thou for nothing from the sons of men?
Shall we remain as senseless logs unmov'd,
Returning nothing who are so beloved?
Yes, doubtless yes, we are most strongly bound,
The stronger too, The more thy love is found;
To yield thce something for these gracious tyes;
Yea to do something for ourselves like wise.
As thou for us hast offered up thy Son,
For us so acting all that might be done:
So we are linked by the self same chain
To offer up a sacrifice again,
Our selves, our souls and bodies whiles we live
To thee, who didst both soul and body give,
To serve, to praise, to worship, fear, and love thee,
As none made equal, much less placed above thee.
Thy love to us should make our love divine;
Thy power should make us fear no power but thine:
Thou art our God, and therefore unto thee
All divine worship must directed by:
We are exalted, it were then a shame
Should we not magnify thee for the same:
Thou hast made all things for the use of men,
Men for thyself, shall we not serve thee then?
That were too gross, all creatures in their kind
Unto thy beck are readily inclined:
No creature like us are unto thee bound,
And shall we worst of all the rest be found?
Lord let thy grace prevent this foul defect,
The creatures else, will witness our neglect.
But yet we owe thee one thing more then they,
Although in all things fail with them to pay:
And that is faith, which is a pearl more worth
Then all the pearls and jewels else on earth:
A jewel which surpasseth human art,
A gem in which the Angels have no part.
We for ourselves, and for that boundless store
Thou givest us here, do owe ourselves and more,
But for thy Son, and for the joys above
We owe besid es a faith which works by love.
Oh precious faith, a fountain long time sealed,
A hidden manna, treasure unreveal'd
Unto the world for many hundred years,
At least wise as it unto us appears,
Who do enjoy the object of our faith
Made manifest, as holy Scripture saith.
Indeed our fathers saw this day, 'tis ture,
And what they saw, they did rejoice to view;
Yet only through thy promises, whereby
They did but, as it were, far off descry,
Or yet more darkly as behind a veil,
In types, and shadows, which were things to fail.
Yet being faith, though weak, it did suffice,
Thou bearing with the weakness of their eyes;
Thou didst accept of that which made them glad
Because the light was yet but dim they had.
For till thy Son came, it I may so speak,
Faith was an infant, and his sight but weak:
And heaven but as a shop shut up to men,
It's windows were not half set open then;
Nay thou hadst very little knowledge given
For many ages of the name of Heaven;
The resurrection, and the world to come▪
These secrets were but shadowed out to some.
These thou kept'st close as under lock and key,
Reserved mysteries, clouded in on high,
Untill thy Son, that day Star did draw nigh,
From whom some day did by degrees appear;
By sending of thy Prophets to bewray,
Like cocks by crowing, a succeeding day.
Especially that Prophet who begun
To crow immediately before thy Son,
John
Baptist, who at break of day was sent
To give the world a warning to repent,
And in the mercy, let men understand
The Kingdom, yea of heaven was then at hand.
Yea heaven it self was then set open wide,
And all those types and figures verifi'd
Which were as veils before thy highest frame,
Which shadows vanished when that substance came,
That Angel of thy covenant of light,
Whose presence is a banishment of night.
Who coming in thy purest brightness down,
Our clouded orbs, with heavenly rays to crown,
He brought thy secret lanthorn in his hand,
The Gospel, through which light we understand
The very secrets in thy court above,
Yea in thy bosom, in that seat of love.
And by this lantern which is so divine
That in the same thy very face doth shine,
He plainly showed us all that boundless treasure,
That Well of life, and streams of endless pleasure,
Which heaven hath stored up, and to us made clear
That he had bought them at a rate full dear,
And doth reserve them only to bestow,
Upon conditions, upon us below.
But what conditions doth he then require
For saving mankind from eternal fire?
But what conditions doth he then enjoin
For purchasing a Kingdom so divine?
Sure had he tied us to remain in hell
A thousand years for this, it had been well
If we had then been crowned with such a pay:
But see his love, who doth but only say
You sons of men believe in me and live.
Oh sons of men what lesser can we give
The Law imposed a heavy yoke on men,
And then said do the same and live therein:
But loe I thyself, Lord, who the Law didst give,
Sayst by thy Son, now but believe and live.
Lord, what is man now better then before,
That thou hast heaped such mercies up in store?
For us poor creatures, or to speak more true,
Dost mercies to us every age renew.
At first thou gavest us all this world, tis truth,
And when this world did flourish in its youth:
Thou now hast given us with the same, thy Son,
Thy self, and all that thou in heaven hast done:
All which by faith we claim our own, whiles here,
But what we shall be doth not yet appears.
Great God, thy mercies are thyself no doubt,
Most infinitely past all finding out,
To us poor silly wretched sinful men,
Who are as bad as ever we have been.
But what is faith, Lord, which thou dost thus place
Between us, and thy Covenant of grace,
As the condition whereupon doth rest
All our assurance, Lord, of what thou hast?
Can our belief most glorify thy name?
Or wilt thou be best pleased in the same?
Sure that is it, tis of thy mere good will
Which thou extend'st unto us wretches still.
Thou by our faith canst not advantaged be,
We by believing are enrich'd, not thee:
Thou hast no need that Sacrifice be slain,
But that the blood should wash away our stain.
Indeed by faith we set to, as is due,
Our seals to witness that thy word is true,
But all the praise, or profit else redound
From our believing, on our heads rebound:
We do believe because it is thy will,
But by believing our desires fulfill:
What thou commandest ought to be fulfild,
But we obeying conquer whiles we yield.
Most gracious God, what Lord is like to thee,
Whose Laws give life, and whose commands make free?
Well my we to thy statutes have regard
In keeping which there is such great reward:
And yet in all thy just commands injoynd,
This one of all, we do most easy find,
Which is our faith, yet this, of all the rest,
Most richly crowns us, and doth please thee best.
Dear faith, how deep are thy foundations laid?
Most glorious things may well of thee be said,
Could we but in thy nature perfect prove
The highest mountains at our beck Would move:
Through thee we see our sines are washed away,
To thee the very powers of sin obey,
By thee we are made heirs of things above,
Yea have an interest in the God of love,
And mounted on the sublime wings, we fly
With boldness to the Throne of grace on high.
The fire, and faith agree in these respects,
The fire hath heat, and faith hath its effects;
Only the heat doth from the fire proceed,
Even so from faith do other graces breed.
Faith then is mother of each other grace,
Those not borne of her are but brats of base,
For till that faith doth sanctify our hearts
Our highest virtues are but moral parts.
Faith, Lord, is then thy stamp upon the coin
To make it currant, and acknowledged thine,
Upon our graces, wherein thou dost read
The very Image of thyself indeed.
Lord melt our hearts then, which are else but flint,
That this thy stamp may therein leave thy print,
And make the working luster of it bright,
For we can know it by no other light.
For as some precious roots within the ground
Can not, or can be very hardly found
But only when the springtime doth declare
Their secret lodgings by the fruit thy bear.
So faith, that plant, implanted in our souls,
Growes so concealed from our sight, like moules,
That we want knowledge to discern that root
But by the branches, and the fruits that sproot.
Faith then we must have or we must lose all,
A living faith too, or else die we shall,
Faiths life appeareth by the fruit it bears,
It fruit appeareth, being grain not tares.
O precious fruit, may that in us be found,
We have no cause then to suspect the ground:
Only it doth belong to us to weed
And cast out all that may offend the seed.
Conscience wounded with sin.
Psalm 38.
MIne iniquities are gone over mine head, as an heavy Burthen, too heavy for me,
verse. 4.
My wounds stinck and are corrupt, because of my foolishness.
verse 5.
I am troubled, I am bowed down greatly, I go mourning all the day long.
verse. 6.
For my loins are full with a loathsome disease, and there is no sound part in my flesh.
verse 7.
I am feeble and sore broken, I have roared because of the disquietness of my heart.
verse 7.
Oil, and wine poured in.
Psalm, 42.
WHy art thou so cast down, oh my soul, and why art thou so disquieted within me? hope thou in God.
Psalm, 103.
THe Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous in goodness.
verse 8.
He will not always chide, neither will he keep his anger forever.
verse 9.
Like as a Father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him.
verse 13.
For he knoweth our frame, he remembereth we are but dust.
verse 14.
Desires of Aid.
THou good Samaritan, thou God of art,
Good by thy readynesse, God by thy skill,
In pouring Oil, and wine into the heart
That sin hath wounded; oh direct my quill
That in that best experience, sense of feeling,
I may discover both to wound, and healing.
We are the wounded Travelers indeed,
But thou art wounded with compassion more;
Our wounds do make thy wounded heart to bleed;
Thy blood applyd doth he ale our bleeding sore:
Oh precious balm! oh let it be applyd,
And let my hand be, by thy help, a guide.
The Conscience wounded with sin.
OH, my mine iniquities my sin, my sin,
Too heavy for me, oh I sink therein,
It doth go over as it were my head:
Intolerable burden, no such lead:
My wounds are putrifi'd, corrupt and stinck,
My foolishness is such; my tears I drink:
Troubl'd and pressed with the weight I bear,
All the day mourning, never free from care;
My loins are filed with loathsomeness, besides
There is no soundness in my flesh abides:
My conscience roars within me, and the smart
Torments me with the anguish of my heart.
Oil, and wine poured in.
BUt why art thou thus cast down, oh my soul?
Why dost thou not those fearful doubts controull?
Why art thou thus disquieted in my breast?
Oh, trust in God, return unto thy rest
The Lord, the Lord, is merciful and kind,
Most slow to wrath, and to forgive inclined;
Although offended, doth not always chide,
His anger doth but for a space abide.
Like a most tender Father to his child,
So is he pitiful, and much more mild;
For he considers where our frailty lies,
And therefore bears with our infirmities.
The Authors Epigram.
COnscience, oh conscience how comes this to pass?
Canst thou be wounded, and yet armed in brass?
Yea in a habit far more hard then steel,
A conscience seared hath no sense to feel.
But can sin wound thus, hath it such a dart,
Yea wound thus deeply, pricking at the heart?
Oh cruel weapon, can it thus indent
Through brass, through steel, yea through this adamant?
And yet sin works not thus upon the soul
That it would conscience in the act control,
But rather rocks the conscience most asleep
When, like an asp, it makes the wound most deep.
Then, there is nothing can do conscience good
Till it be sprinkled with dissolving blood;
But then each motion that doth sin apply
Doth wound the conscience and doth terrify.
The conscience wounded with sin.
ALas, alas, the soul that sinsmust die,
So Scriptures tell me, can the Scriptures lie?
No, no, the Scriptures never can be broken
No word shall fail that is in Scripture spoken.
Oh, then what comfort can remain for me,
How scapes my soul, my sinful soul then free?
For I have sinned, and sin to death betrays,
Death is the wages that hard master pays.
Inviolable word of God herein,
Most miserable wretch that I did sin:
Most wretched slave that such a Master hath:
Most cruel wages, oh eternal death.
Oil, and wine poured in.
WHy will you die? thus doth our Father call,
When I delight not in your death at all?
Why will you die then? Oh return and live,
I pardon sin, and freely do forgive,
My mercies please me, I delight remorse;
But justice comes forth by constraint and force.
Believe and live, this God the Son hath brought us:
And by his death, from death eternal bought us:
He paid our ransom, and doth to us cry
He that believes in me shall never die:
He trode the winepress of that bitter grape,
And drank the dregs off, that we might escape.
The Authors Epigram.
THe soul that sins shall die, so Scripture saith,
And Scripture is our evidence of faith;
Again the Scripture evidence doth give
That such a soul as doth believe shall live.
Is then believing in our Savior dying?
Or is his death made our death by applying?
How can the Scriptures here be reconciled,
Can we both save the parent, and the child's?
Surely God's justice must be fully paid,
But see God's mercy how the debt is laid,
Man is engaged, man is quite undone,
God, to redeem man, lays to pawn his Son.
But man hath sinned, can God then satisfy?
Yes, God for man doth become man and die,
Whose guiltless death to guilty man applied
Is more then if that all the world had died.
The conscience wounded with sin.
BUt yet I am not satisfied, alas
My soul hath sinned, how can it come to pass
Another's soul should set my soul then free,
What can another's death be unto me?
When Scripture doth directly testify
The soul that sins, that very soul shall die?
Besides, my sins they are exceeding great,
Nay more, I fear my sins are desp'rate,
I have been such an enemy to heaven
That I suspect I cannot be forgiven,
I fain would bear up, but this beats me down,
This millstone sincks me, oh it makes me drown.
Oil, and wine poured in.
BY the first
Adam
all are bound to die;
What there was lost, the Second doth supply:
In the first
Adam
soul and body slain:
But in the Second both made live again:
For in our whole man Christ hath fully paid
What can be unto soul or body laid.
Can then the greatness of man's sinning let
When God himself hath undertook the debt?
No, be the bill engaging us most large,
Yet, having faith, we need not fear discharge:
For as in
Adam
all condemned be
Even so in
Christ
are all by faith made free.
The Authors Epigram.
OLd
Adam
falling all men fell therein▪
Because that all men were in
Adam
then:
Christ
our new
Adam,
to renew old man,
Within our natures a new birth began.
By which new birth we are new borne indeed,
We in this nature, are new
Adams
seed,
Begotten in him as the Scripture saith
In him we live, we move, and dwell by faith.
By faith, indeed, for without faith we die,
Within this field doth all our treasure lie.
Through
Adams
sin we by descent are slain:
But through new birth we live in Christ again:
Besides, in Christ we were condemned and died,
He in our whole man all our wants supplied.
Nor yet is justice in this nature crossed
If one man saves, as much as one man lost.
The conscience wounded with sin.
BUt oh, my conscience is not yet at rest,
Sin yet doth wound me, it doth yet molest:
What though it were so that all mankind be
By Christ from sin original set free,
And so our second
Adam
doth rest ore
What our first
Adam
set upon our score?
Alas, this cannot conscience free from care:
I have a load of actual sin to bear;
What though I once were dressed in clean attire?
I have returned to wallowing in the mire:
My actual sin is more then
Adams
curse,
Condemnes more strongly, and torments me worse.
Oil, and wine poured in.
MIsguided conscience be informed better,
Our father
Adam
was a greater debtor;
As he was guilty of our root of sin,
So of the branches that take life therein,
That, were his score not by another paid,
All sin might justly to his charge be laid.
Even so our second
Adam
hath made good
All whatsoever can be understood
Was lost in
Adam,
and hath charged been
Both with the root and branches of our sin:
And given for all sin a discharge, although
All sinners have not their discharge to show.
The Authors Epigram.
OH subtle Scrpent, how could he invent
One should be charged with all men's punishment,
And yet not one man thereby have redress,
Alas, not one man's punishment the less.
But loving Father who hast sent thy Son
To undo all this hateful foe hath done,
Thy wisdom doth his subtlety exceed,
Making him only guilty, mankind freed.
Freed by the freedom that thy Son hath wrought;
The Price whereby he hath our freedom bought
Is sure sufficient fully to acquit
All sin in mankind, mankind can commit.
The reason then that any man is lost
Is not the want of a redeeming cost,
But only the redeemed are too blame
Not getting their assurance of the same.
The conscience wounded with sin.
DOth Christ discharge this debt that man did owe,
Oh blessed Christ, but on condition though,
Though Christ be in this obligation tied
Yet tis but on conditions on our side,
It we perform not the condition then
The bond is void, and we are undone men.
What is it then to me though Christ be bound
If the condition be not in me found?
Oh what is this condition? I am frail,
I fear I shall in this condition fail;
My conscience tells me I am still engaged,
How shall my conscience be herein aflwag'd?
Oil, and wine poured in.
BLest Christ indeed, we may most truly say,
Thus bound for us so great a debt to pay,
Yet on our part so little doth require,
And yet that little likewise doth inspire,
Sure sweet condition, easy to fulfill
Where means doth furnish to discharge the bill.
Easie, indeed, what can more easy be
Then to believe that Christ hath set us free?
And yet as easy as it is we find
This our condition doth no harder bind;
Nay he that binds us in this golden chain
Doth give the thing too he requires again.
The Authors Epigram.
OH blessed Savior what couldst thou do more,
Who to enrich us madest thyself as poor?
And to requite thee, whence the Milions came
That did redeem us,
•
ost accept a dram.
And yet that dram too which thou dost demand
Drop'd from thy fountain, falls into our hand,
Thou hast not only easy payment set,
But fillst our purses to discharge the debt.
Oh froward mankind, shall we fools then gr
••••
To pay so little, to receive so much?
Shall we make forset, all we have betray
Because we will not a poor homage pay?
Faith is but as our fealty here done
To hold our right by in our Fathers Son,
In Christ who is our purchaser from thrall,
Our right, our Portion, Kighteousnesse and all.
The Conscience wounded with sin.
OH blessed faith, art thou with God so great,
Doth he esteem thee at so dear a rate?
But wretched I then, and of all too blame
Who have been so respectlesse of the same
That I, poor earthworm, never understood
This heavenly jemme, or how it should do good.
Alas I thought it but a fruitless grace
Which idle Christians only did embrace,
I could no beauty in this
Rachel
see.
But blear-eyd
Lea
seemed as fair to me:
And therefore it is justly me injoynd
If I, for faith now, do mere fancy find.
Oil, and wine poured in.
THe slighting faith we must a fault confess,
But if it be through ignorance the less,
God winks at times of darkness, though indeed,
We are not thereby absolutely free'd:
But when the glorious Sun-shine doth apear
What can excuse us if we see not clear?
No just excuse can here excusing be,
And yet the Sun we often clouded see.
So though our Sun hath chas'd our night away.
Yet we have clouds still to obscure our day,
Our cloud of folly makes our faith retire;
Yet find we smoke though it do argue fire.
The Authors Epigram.
THree clouds on mankind do like mists benight,
And keep some blinded in the very light,
First ignorance, then carelessness, the third
Is obstinately to reject the word,
The first is most excusable of all:
The second binding to a harder thrall:
The third exceeds all, and is sinful most,
If not the sin against the holy Ghost.
Where means is wanting saving faith to find
We must not judge there though they yet be blind▪
For God elects, and then doth faith foresee,
Else how could fools and infants saved be?
Again, some loiter while they have the day,
And yet ere night do labor, and have pay:
But such as in the vineyard, being prayed,
Will never labor, shall be never paid.
The conscience wounded with sin.
BUt wretched I, what can I do herein?
How can I labor, I am dead in sin,
Can dead men work? I hear indeed the call,
But can but hear it, cannot work at all,
No work but dead works, God doth such despise,
He doth delight a living sacrifice.
I do confess I fain would work indeed,
Fain would believe, I fain would learn that creed;
But oh my sins, my sins are in the way
My sins do still my confidence betray;
I fain would faith unto myself assume,
But sin prevents me, tells me I presume.
Oil, and wine poured in.
FAith is, tis true, the gift of God we read,
God doth both work the will, and eke the deed:
Faith in this nature is an easy task,
We can do nothing for the same but ask;
The only labor now imposed on man
Is to discern, and cherish faith began.
Is faith God's gift? then let us beat up still,
He can bestow that dowry when he will,
Nay faith already may infused be
Though scarce discerned in a small degree:
Then, though we build not Castles in the air,
Yet we, of all things, are not to despair.
The Authors Epigram.
AS faith doth point at things yet unreveal'd,
So faith it self lies in it self concealed.
And may be long time in the heart, no doubt,
Before we truly find that sewell out.
Besides our sins do much obscure that light,
And cast a mist before our feeble sight,
Yea every sin, when faith would else aspire,
Doth help to keep down, if not quench that fire.
Sin is, indeed, faiths enemy professed,
And the more sin, the more is faith suppressed;
But when that faith doth once by force command,
Sin then doth yield, faith gets the upper hand,
Faith for a time, may as it were obey,
But in the end faith always gets the day;
And as faith prospers, by degrees gets strength▪
So sin grows feeble, pines, and dies at length.
Conscience wounded with sin.
BUt must sin die, and by degrees surcease
Where faith doth live, as faith doth force increase?
Oh wretched creature I how shall I do then?
I feel, alas, no death, but life of sin,
Sin strives as much as ever heretofore,
Or rather strugles in my bosom more.
I do confess I feel my soul distrest,
And fain would feel fin in my soul suppressed:
But when I labor to restrain the same
It grows enraged, is the worse to tame,
Oh sad condition, oh my soul sincks here.
Are there no other signs of faith appear?
Oil, and wine poured in.
NO signs but such, and yet soul sink not though,
Sin must be killed but dies not at one blow:
Sin in our natures will us battle give,
Though dying, whiles we do in nature live;
But sin is, mostly, sure most wounded when
It flies on conscience, most tormenteth men.
Are then our conscience, through our sins unquiet?
Sin then, and faith sure are in us at sight;
If sin within us no resistance found,
Sin in our conscience would delight, not wound.
And thus by signs we secret faith may see
Which without signs cannot discerned be.
The Authors Epigram.
FAith is, indeed, our tree of life below,
Which tree we only by the fruit can know:
Would we know then if we have faith, or no,
The root lies hid, we to the fruit must go.
The fruits are feeling first sins wounding dart,
Next a compunction in the wounded heart;
From whence proceeds a diligence with speed
To get a balsome for these wounds that bleed.
The other fruits that fruitful faith doth bear
Are ever after to be armed with care,
With zeal, and wisdom to resist that foe
Who, at advantage, had deluded so.
From whence proceeds a hatred unto sin,
Desire of virtue, and delight therein,
All men's endeavoring that my aid supply
To make faith lively, and make sin to die.
The Conscience wounded with sin.
OH blessed faith! art thou the root indeed?
Oh would I could with blessed
Job
then read
Thee grounded in me: springs do testify,
Though through high mountains, that they have supply;
The fountain will be falling: and the root
It will be rising, forth will branches shoot.
I feel, indeed, some drops of virtue flow,
And bear some leaves too, which do make a show:
But oh my conscience cannot so be quiet,
Such signs are frequent in the hypocrite:
But sin dissembled under grace is worst,
The tree which bears but only leaves is cursed.
Oil, and wine poured in.
FAith is the fountain whence all graces flow,
Faith is the root whereon those branches grow,
And faith gives life, though it may lie as hid,
To all our actions, or they else are dead:
For Christ, in whom all fullness doth excel,
If we have faith, by faith doth in us dwell.
Whether our actions though be leaves, or fruit
None but our conscience truly can dispute,
Whether the action from the heart proceeds
None but the conscience that rare language reads:
But when the conscience hath true knowledge gained,
That then is fruit which conscience finds unfain'd.
The Authors Epigram.
MIsguided mankind, whither have we gone
To set up merit in our makers Throne?
Faith is in Christ, and Christ in faith, why then
Disdaine we faith, adore the works of men?
Sin is the old man, wretched and for lorne,
Begot in
Adam,
in our natures borne.
Christ is the new Man, by a second birth,
Through faith conceived, and by grace brought forth.
Grace flows from faith, and faith in Christ began
Both those united make but one new man,
And then most blest, and not till then we are,
When in our souls we feel this infant stir.
Would we then prove this new man to be ours,
We sure must prove it by renewing powers,
We must be new men, must have new desires,
New strength, new life, new flames of sacred fires.
The Conscience wounded with sin.
BUt is it certain as this tenet saith,
Hath each man in him, that hath saving faith.
Such a new creature as is Christ indeed?
Then which way shall we those same Scriptures read
Christ is ascended into heaven: again
The heavens must hold him, yet must him contain?
But if it be so that this new man must
Abide in all men that by faith are just,
Oh then I fear me I am barren still,
Or faith is in me yet but in the shell:
I find some motions now and then, indeed,
But prove but motions, nothing doth proceed.
Oil, and wine poured in.
WHere faith is Christ is, it must needs be so,
The spring doth always from the Fountain go
Christ is the Fountain, faith the spring distild,
We with the Fountain, by the spring are filled:
Besides the Scriptures in this case are rife.
Is Christ not in us, we have then no life.
But life, we know, admits degrees therein,
So life of faith, as sound, or sick of sin:
Diseases do the strength of nature break;
If sin distempers, faith is sick or weak:
But sure so long as motion doth remain
There yet is life, and may be health again.
The Authors Epigram.
BUt in what nature, if you ask of me
Can Christ, that new man, in us dwelling be?
Sure chiefly as he is a God to guide;
As he is man he doth in heaven abide.
Yet in our natures what he did below
Doth from his fountain, to our cisterns flow:
As he is God, his presence we possess,
As he is Man, we do by faith no less.
As Man, he did the debt of mankind pay.
As God, he purchased man a heavenly stay:
But both made ours by imputation, when
Faith, the condition, he performed in man.
Our debt is paid then, and our purchase bought,
Our Father for us nothing left unwrought:
Only on our part the condition runs,
Believe in Christ, and be imputed Sons.
Blest imputation, and condition sweet:
Blest creature where these Relatives do meet.
The conscience wounded with sin.
ALL saving faith, yet without saving power
But as it clayms Christ for a Savior.
But here I sigh, alas, my sight is blind,
Faith is a secret lies full deep to find,
Nothing but signs and its effects appear,
My sight may quickly be deceived here.
Leaves may delude, though they he fresh and green,
Fruit hath been wanting where such leaves were seen.
Indeed my heart doth proffer me this bait
That my endeavors are without deceit;
But here I tremble, I am fore afraid
My conscience should be by my heart betrayed.
Oil, and wine poured in.
THe heart of man, unsanctifi'd, tis sure
Is above all decei
•
full and impure:
But such a heart as doth in sin delight
Awakes not conscience, but would keep it quiet;
If then the conscience be afraid to sin
Faith, out of question, did that fear begin.
The hypocrite doth all he does for show:
The man sincere doth no such trumpet blow:
Doth sin in secret then the soul afright?
Doth prayer in secret give the soul delight?
Are all good duties in the doing sweet?
Then doubtless faith gives motion to those feet.
The Authors Epigram.
ALL holy duties then we must frequent,
Faith, to our knowledge hath no other vent,
Those are the fruits of fruitful faith: then where
Those fruits appear not, how can faith be there?
Necessity is there upon us laid
To us good duties, faith is else betrayed:
We must be zealous both to hear and pray:
How dare some then cast blocks in such away?
Zealous, indeed, what ever else is done
Is but like empty shadows of the sun,
Empty indeed, and when we come to try them
They prove like smoke, we find no comfort by them.
Then in good duties we must labor still,
To draw some matter from them that may fill,
Some sweetness, and some comfort in them find,
Or else we vainly do but beat the Wind,
And yet we must good duties do, although
We yet find nothing in the same but show.
Because God hath appointed them a way
Through which, like conduits, he doth grace convey.
FINIS.