To thy dear Side's incifion. My Sinner-Heart fo poor and weak Is often ready for to break;

My foul feels great oppreffion, 'Cause my Body

I've not for thee fpent already,
As I should do,

And with all my heart fain would do.
9. I know how very poor I am,
That I could hide my face for shame
And deep humiliation :
But where can I find fooner Rest,
Than in that ever open Breast?
And that's my inclination.
When I have my

Seat once in it, I'll maintain it

Smart ?

His Wounds healing

Are all Doubts and fears expelling. .The Wounds yield fweet delight

to me,

fhall them own eternally,

And of them make Confeffion.
Him, the great Author of my frame,
love to call the Martyr'd Lamb;
This is my choice Expreffion.
For joy weep I

O'er thy bloody wounded Body,
And thy Paffion;

Thine's the Smart, mine the Salvation!

. Thy Blood was shed for me,
know,

For my Redemption did it flow,
O fweetest confolation!
And nothing in the World befide
Can make my poor heart fatisfy'd,
But this Blood's exudation.
yes, this is
Comfortable, it be able
For fupplying

I

Life, tho' my poor Flesh is dying. My heart's beloved Lamb! I touch Thy open Heart, while I approach

Daily, hourly and momently.

10. And for this burns and flames my Heart,

'Tis fick for Love, and feels a smart Which cannot be exprefied.

I fain would thank thee worthily;
But who art Thou, and what am I?
My Will for Deed be placed.
I pant, and want

Thy Wounds healing to be feeling
With my fingers;

O for this my Spirit lingers. 11. When we a Kifs in Spirit pay'd Unto the wounded Foot, we had

More than angelic Pleasure;
But oh! quite near his Heart to fit,
To fee that Breaft afunder fplit,
Gives heart's joy beyond measure.
O yes, this is

Recreating, captivating
All our powers;

Then flow Tears in gentle fhowers. 12. No Anchoret, I dare engage, Had ever for his Hermitage

So fix'd an inclination: Should I thro' Earth and Heaven range,

I never would my House exchange For the beft habitation.

Side, where a thoufand beauties are;
Here are my Meals both first and laft,
1 eat and drink a full repaft,
So far that my Existence
Subfifts by that pure Maint'nance.

* I feel unutterable things.

3. What does a Crofs's air dove do
When from the Body it will go?
At first it grows a little ill;
By Sickness like a bitter pill
Is bloomy health procur'd,
A while to be endur'd.
She thinks at length, howe'er I'll go !
Into the Lamb's dear Side I'll flow,
That's my place sweetest.
Mean-time my Body you'll convey
Where all our Bodies Mafs you lay;
Of my dear Lamb I fhall be fure
To get again this Body poor,
Fetch'd up with expedition
To fhare the Soul's condition.

So quiv'ring with Love's ague fweet, Like th' infpir'd Infant;

So drawing breath in Corpfe's Air, So fpouting forth Wounds Odour clear,

So from Grave's Vapours in a dew, So panting the Son's Sign to view, Which Salem's ftreets will brighten, When Suns can no more lighten; *Luke i. 41, 44.

2. Mean while fo Lamb-like happily,

So dove like, childlike, equally,
So blushing yet with Sinner-fhame,
In a poor pardon'd finner's frame,
Soft playing to that hum
Efflavit animum ;

Thro' Crofs's Joy to weep fo prone,
So quite in Bofom-fcholar's tone,
Like John the Fav'rite;

So fashion'd to the flain Lamb's
Heart,

Like the Child Jefus in each Part;
So like dear Mary Magdalene,
Child, Virgin, Spoufe, and all in

one:

The Lamb his Bride is keeping, Till into Him she's leaping.

44.0.

Werbirg bein's kindes feel.

And thy little Play-thing,
(Which thee can gratify)
Thy Child be new creating,
Spouse before all days!
God, whom Light arrays!
Bring it quite to pass.

3. O Lord! thy Torments fore
Have a perfuafive Pow'r,
All elfe to relinquish.
For thy Death any more
Out of our mind to vanish,
Sinners, fuch as we,
Find, it ne'er can be ;
So we're form'd by thee.
4. A little Bee am I,
Who on thy Side's fhrine lie,
And without ceffation
Thy fragrant Wounds enjoy
With thy Crofs congregation.
I can't have a thought,
That one wanteth ought,
When he Thee hath got.
5. With a moft inward kiss,
With flood of Tears, which is
Genuinely bursting,
I blefs thy Agonies;
The fame fet me a thirsting:
And this I long for,
That thou Joy have o'er
Me, Lamb! evermore.

6. Thou know'ft, were I to die,
No Saviour, Lord! could I
Think of or invent once,
But him who graciously
From Judgment's cap'tal Sentence,
Which ftri&t vengeance prefs'd,
Me henceforth releas'd,
Chrift, my Surety bleft.

7. I on the Wound believe,

He did in Side receive;

It does to th' Creator,

Of Marriage-bond thoughts give; And the all-fkilful Potter

From the Mafs does hew A fmall Duft here too, And forms it anew.

* Gen. ii. 7.

8. He notes me down as his,
His love fo high doth rife,
No words e'er have faid it;
And who no Church-heart is,
As Man, can't give it Credit.
When in there I go,

O! it makes me low,
And makes me weep too.

9. Thou Prieft thro' thy Blood chole!
Thou Watchman o'er that Houfe,
Which no hands have raised,
Where Love's Abyss, which knows
No end, for Ground is placed!
Might one kifs thy Feet,
And fince 'tis so meet,
More Souls to thee get.

10. But, Lord! my poverty
is: I'll then be

So

great

Chiefly this purfuing,
The foul's dear Reft in thee
To reach, myself there fcrewing:
Then, fince enough none
For my Spouse hath done,
To my Pow'r I'll run.

11. Till I at his fix'd hour,
The Eyes, Mouth, Corpfe all o'er,
Which for me was wounded,
(And op'd to th' Thief a door
To Heav'n, fo grace abounded!)

The Feet too fhall view,
And with Tears bedew,
Which I trust on now.