« EdellinenJatka »
TO SIR ROBERT CARR.
Lord, curse Edom's trait'rous kind,
Bear in mind,
Sack, burn, kill,
And, thou Babel, when the tide
Of thy pride,
And shall fall
Happy he, who shall thee waste,
As thou hast
What poor we
From the arms
your poor friend
WHETHER that soul, which now comes up to yon,
Fill any former rank, or make a new,
Whether it take a name namid there before,
Or be a name itself, and order more
Than was in Heav'n till now; (for may not he
Be so, if every several angel be
But by his loss grow all our orders less :
Bless'd order, that hath him! the loss of him For these three days become a mineral.
Gangren'd all orders here; all lost a limb !
What a soul was; all former comeliness
Fled in a minute, when the soul was gone, So though the least of his pains, deeds, or words,
This treasure then in gross, my soul, up-lay,
And in my life retail it every day.
Let man's soul be a sphere, and then in this (And who shall dare to ask then, wben I am
Th’intelligence, that moves, devotion is; Dy'd scarlet in the blood of that pure Lamb,
And as the other spheres, by being grown Whether that colour, which is scarlet then,
Subject to foreign motion, lose their own: Were black or white before in eyes of men ?)
And being by others hurried every day, When thou remembrest wbat sins thou didst find
Scarce in a year their natural form obey : Amongst those many friends now left behind,
Pleasure or business so our souls admit And seest such sidders, as they are, with thee
For their first mover, and are whirld by it. Got thither by repentance, let it be
Hence is 't, that I am carried t'wards the west Thy wish to wish all there, to wish them clean;
This day, when my soul's form bends to the east; Wish him a David, her a Magdalen.
There I should see a Sun by rising set,
Yet dare I almost be glad, I do not see
Who sees God's face, that is self-life, must die;
What a death were it then to see God die? My soul eats twice, Christ hither and away;
It made bis own lieutenant, Nature, shrink; She sees him man, so like God inade in this,
It made his footstool crack, and the Sun wink. That of them both a circle emblem is,
Could I behold those hands, which span the poles, Whose first and last concur; this doubtful day Of feast or fast Christ came, and went away.
And tune allspheres at once, pierc'd with those holes?
Could I behold that endless height, which is
Zenith to us and our antipodes,
Humbled below us? or that blood, which is
The seat of all our souls, if not of his, Of life, at once, not yet alive, and dead;
Made dirt of dust ? or that flesh, which was wora She sees at once the virgia mother stay Reclus'd at bome, public at Golgotha.
By God for his apparel, ragg‘d and torn ?
If on these things I durst not look, durst I Sad and rejoic'd she's seen at once, and seen
On his distressed mother cast mine eye, At almost fifty and at scarce fifteen :
Who was God's partner here, and furnish'd thus At once a son is promis'd her, and gone;
Half of that sacrifice, which ransom'd us?
Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye, At once receiver and the legacy.
They 're present yet unto my memory, All this, and all between, this day bath shown,
For that looks towards them; and thou look'st to
wards me, Th' abridgment of Christ's story, which makes one
O Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree. (As in plain maps the furthest west is east)
I turn my back to thee, but to receive
Corrections; till thy mercies bid thee leave.
O think me worth thine anger, punish me, Deals in sometimes and seldom joining these !
Burn off my rust, and my deformity; As by the self-fix'd pole we never do
Restore thine image so much by thy grace, Direct our course, but the next star thereto,
That thou may'st know me, and I'll turn my face.
Father of Heav'n, and him, by whom
It, and us for it, and all else for us That he would be a man, and leave to be
Thou mad'st and govern'st ever, come, Or as creation he hath inade, as God,
And re-create me, now grown rujnous : With the last judgment but one period;
My heart is by dejection clay,
And by self-murder red.
And let thy patriarch's desire
The sacred academ above (Those great grandfathers of thy church, which saw Of doctors, whose pains bave unclasp'd and taught More in the cloud, than we in fire,
Both books of life to us (for love
In thy other book) pray for us there,
That what they have misdone,
Or mis-said, we to that may not adhere; Let not my mind be blinder by more light, Their zeal may be our sin. Lord, let us run Nor faith, by reason added, lose her sight. Mean ways, and call them stars, but not the Sun,
And whil'st this universal choir,
When senses, which thy soldiers are, (That church in triumph, this in warfare here, We arm against thee, and they fight for sin ; Warm'd with one all-partaking fire
When want, sent but to tame, doth war, Of love, that none be lost, which cost thee dear) And work despair a breach to enter in; Prays ceaselessly, and thou hearken too,
When plenty, God's image and seal, (Since to be gracious
Makes us idolatrous, Our task is treble, to pray, bear, and do)
And love it, not him, whom it should reveal; Hear this prayer, Lord; O Lord, deliver us [thus. When we are mov'd to seem religious From trusting in those prayers, though pour'd out Only to vent wit, Lord, deliver us. From being anxious, or secure,
In churches when th' infirmity Dead clouds of sadness, or light squibs of mirth; Of him, which speaks, diminishes the word ; From thinking that great courts immure
When magistrates do misapply All or no happiness ; or that this Earth
To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword; Is only for our prison fram'd,
When plague, which is thine angel, reigns, Or that thou 'rt covetous
Or wars, thy champions sway; To them thou lov'st, or that they are maim'd, When heresy, thy second deluge, gains ; From reaching this world's sweets; who seek thee thus In th' hour of death, th' eve of last judgment-day, With all their might, Good Lord, deliver us. Deliver us from the sinister way. From needing danger to be good,
Hear us, O hear us, Lord : to thee From owing thee yesterday's tears to day,
A sinner is more music, when he prays,
Than spheres or angels' praises de
Hear us; for till thou hear us, Lord,
We know not what to say: From light affecting in religion news,
Thine ear tour sighs, tears, thoughts, gives voice From thinking us all soul, neglecting thus
and word. Our mutual duties, Lord, deliver us.
O thou, who Satan heard'st in Job's sick day,
Hear thyself now, for thou, in us, dost pray,
That we may change to evenness
This intermitting aguish piety; Neglecting to choke sin's spawn, vanity;
That snatching cramps of wickedness, From indiscreet humility,
And apoplexies of fast sin may die; Which might be scandalous,
That music of thy promises, And cast reproach on christianity;
Not threats in thunder, may From being spies, or to spies pervious ;
Awaken us to our just offices; From thirst or scorn of fame, deliver us.
What in thy book thou dost or creatures say,
That we may hear, Lord, hear us, when we pray. Deliver us through thy descent Into the Virgin, whose womb was a place
That our ear's sickness we may cure, Of middle kind, and thou being sent
And rectify those labyrinths aright;
And through thy poor birth, where first thou Our praise, nor others' dispraise so invite;
That we get not a slipperiness,
And senselessly decline,
T'admit the like of majesty divine;
That we may lock our ears, Lord, open thine. And through that bitter agony, Which still is th' agony of pious wits,
That living law, the magistrate, Disputing what distorted thee,
Which, to give us and make us physic, doth And interrupted evenness with fits;
Our vices often aggravate; And through thy free confession;
That preachers, taxing sin before her growth, Though thereby they were then
That Satan, and envenom'd men, Made blind, so that thou mightst from them have Which will, if we starve, dine, gone,
When they do most accuse us, may see then Good Lord, deliver us, and teach us when
Us to amendment hear them; thee decline; We may not, and we may blind unjust men. That we may open our ears, Lord, lock thine. Through thy submitting all, to blows
That learning, thine ambassador,
That beauty, Paradise's flow'r,
That wit, born apt high good to do,
By dwelliug lazily Dying before thy soul they could express,
On nature's nothing, be not nothing too; Deliver us from death, by dying so
That our affections kill us not, nor die; To this world, ere this world dobid us go:
Hear us, weak echoes, O thou ear, and cry.
Son of God, hear us; and since thou,
And till we come th' extemporal song to sing, By taking our blood, ow'st it us again,
(Learn’d the first hour, that we see the king, Gain to thyself and us allow;
Who hath translated those translators) may And let not both us and thyself be slain.
These, their sweet learned labours, all the way O Lamb of God, which took'st our sin, Be as our tuning; tlrat, when hence we part, Which could not stick to thee,
We may fall in with them, and sing our part.
She there do sit,
We see her not, nor them. Thus blind, yet still
We suffer it.
Unhappy he, whom youth makes not beware ETERNAL God, (for whom whoever dare
Of doing ill :
Enough we labour under age and care; Seek new expressions, do the circle square,
In number th' errours of the last place are
The greatest still.
Yet we, that should the ill, we now begin, (And thy gifts are as infinite as thou :)
As soon repent,
(seen, Fix we oar praises, therefore on this one, That as thy blessed Spirit fell upon
(Strange thiog!) perceive not; our faults are not These psalms' first author in a cloven tongue,
But past us; neither felt, but only in
But we know ourselves least; mere outward shows
Our minds so store, That work again, and shed it here upon
That our souls, no more than our eyes, disclose Two by their bloods, and by thy spirit one;
But form and colour. Only he, who knows
Himself, knows more,
TO MR. TILMAN,
Thou, whose diviner soul hath caus'd thee now
New thoughts and stirrings in thee? and, as steel Who hath tun'd God and man; the organ we: Touch'd with a load-stone, dost new motions feel? The songs are these, which Heav'n's high holy Muse Or as a ship, after much pain and care, Whisper'd to David, David to the Jews,
For iron and cloth brings home rich Indian ware, And David's successors in holy zeal,
Hast thou thus traffick'd, but with far more gain · In forms of joy and art do te-reveal
Of noble goods, and with less time and pain? To us so sweetly and sincerely too,
Thou art the same materials as before, That I must not rejoice as I would do,
Only the stamp is changed, but no more. When I behold, that these psalms are become And as new crowned kings alter the face, So well attir'd abroad, so ill at home;
But not the money's substance; $o hath grace So well in chambers, in thy church so ill,
Chang'd only God's old image by creation, As I can scarce call that reform'd, until
To Christ's new stamp, at this thy coronation ; This be reform’d. Would a whole state present Or as we paint angels with wings, because A lesser gift than some one man hath sent ? They bear God's message, and proclaim his laws; And shall our church unto our spouse and king Since thou must do the like, and so must move, More hoarse, more harsh than any other, sing? Art thou new feather'd with celestial love? For that we pray, we praise thy name for this, Dear, tell me where thy purchase lies, and show Which by this Moses and this Miriam is
What thy advantage is above, below; Already done; and as those psalms we call But if thy gainings do surmount expression, (Though some bave other authors) David's all: Why doth the foolish world scoru that profession, So though some have, some may some psalms trans- Whose joys pass speech? Why do they think anfit We thy Sydnean psalms shall celebrate; [late, That gentry should join families with it?
AFTER HE HAD TAKEN ORDERS.