Poetical fragments heart-imployment with God and it self : the concordant discord of a broken-healed heart ... / by Richard Baxter.
         Baxter, Richard, 1615-1691.
      
       
         
           1681
        
      
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             Poetical fragments heart-imployment with God and it self : the concordant discord of a broken-healed heart ... / by Richard Baxter.
             Baxter, Richard, 1615-1691.
          
           [19], 135 p. : port.
           
             Printed b T. Snowden for B. Simmons ...,
             London :
             1681.
          
           
             Reproduction of original in British Library.
             Imperfect: portrait lacking on film.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           POETICAL
           FRAGMENTS
           :
           Heart-Imployment
           WITH
           GOD
           and
           IT SELF
           .
        
         
           THE
           Concordant
           Discord
           of
           a
           Broken-healed
           Heart
           .
           Sorrowing-rejoycing
           ,
           fearing-hoping
           ,
           dying-living
           Written
           Partly
           for
           himself
           ,
           and
           partly
           for
           near
           Friends
           in
           Sickness
           ,
           and
           other
           deep
           Affliction
           .
        
         
           By
           
             RICHARD
             BAXTER
          
           .
        
         
           
             Ephes
             .
             5.
             19.
             
          
           
             
               Speaking
               to
               your selves
               in
               Psalms
               and
               Hymns
               ,
               and
               Spiritual
               Songs
               ,
               singing
               and
               making
               Melody
               in
               your
               hearts
               to
               the
               Lord.
               
            
          
        
         
           
             2
             Corinth
             .
             5.
             4.
             
          
           
             
               For
               we
               that
               are
               in
               this
               Tabernacle
               do
               GROAN
               ,
               being
               burdened
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             
               Laeta
               ferè
               laetus
               cecini
               :
               Cano
               tristia
               tristis
               .
            
          
        
         
           Published
           for
           the
           use
           of
           the
           Afflicted
           .
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           by
           
             T.
             Snowden
          
           for
           
             B.
             Simmons
          
           at
           the
           a
           
             Golden
             Cocks
          
           at
           the
           West
           end
           of
           St.
           Pauls
           .
           1681.
           
        
      
       
         
         
         
           THE
           EPISTLE
           TO
           THE
           READER
           .
        
         
           
             Reader
             ,
          
        
         
           THese
           Poetical
           Fragments
           ,
           (
           except
           Three
           heretofore
           Printed
           )
           were
           so
           far
           from
           being
           intended
           for
           the
           Press
           ,
           that
           they
           were
           not
           allowed
           the
           sight
           of
           many
           Private
           Friends
           ,
           nor
           thought
           worthy
           of
           it
           :
           Only
           had
           I
           had
           time
           and
           heart
           to
           have
           finished
           
           the
           first
           (
           which
           it self
           according
           to
           the
           Matter
           and
           designed
           Method
           ,
           would
           have
           made
           a
           Volume
           far
           bigger
           than
           all
           this
           ,
           being
           intended
           as
           a
           thankful
           ,
           Historical
           Commemoration
           of
           all
           the
           notable
           passages
           of
           my
           Life
           ,
           )
           I
           should
           have
           published
           it
           as
           the
           most
           self-pleasing
           part
           of
           my
           Writings
           .
           But
           as
           they
           were
           mostly
           written
           in
           various
           Passions
           ,
           so
           Passion
           hath
           now
           thrust
           them
           out
           into
           the
           World.
           God
           having
           taken
           away
           the
           Dear
           Companion
           of
           the
           last
           Nineteen
           Years
           of
           my
           Life
           ,
           as
           her
           sorrows
           and
           sufferings
           long
           ago
           gave
           Being
           to
           some
           of
           these
           Poems
           (
           for
           reasons
           which
           the
           World
           is
           not
           concerned
           to
           know
           )
           so
           my
           grief
           for
           her
           Removal
           ,
           and
           the
           Revived
           Sense
           of
           former
           things
           ,
           have
           prevailed
           with
           me
           to
           be
           passionate
           in
           the
           open
           sight
           of
           all
           .
        
         
           I
           confess
           that
           Passion
           is
           oft
           such
           a
           hinderance
           of
           Judgment
           ,
           that
           a
           man
           should
           be
           very
           suspicious
           of
           himself
           till
           it
           be
           laid
           :
           But
           I
           am
           assured
           
           that
           God
           made
           it
           not
           in
           vain
           ;
           and
           that
           Reason
           is
           a
           sleepy
           half-useless
           thing
           ,
           till
           some
           Passion
           excite
           it
           ;
           and
           Learning
           to
           a
           man
           asleep
           is
           no
           better
           for
           that
           time
           than
           Ignorance
           .
           And
           God
           usually
           beginneth
           the
           awakening
           of
           Reason
           ,
           and
           the
           conversion
           of
           Sinners
           ,
           by
           the
           awakening
           of
           their
           useful
           Passions
           ,
           their
           Fear
           ,
           their
           Grief
           ,
           Repentance
           ,
           Desire
           ,
           &c.
           
           I
           confess
           ,
           when
           God
           awakeneth
           in
           me
           those
           Passions
           which
           I
           account
           rational
           and
           holy
           ,
           I
           am
           so
           far
           from
           condemning
           them
           ,
           that
           I
           think
           I
           was
           half
           a
           Fool
           before
           ,
           and
           have
           small
           comfort
           in
           sleepy
           Reason
           .
           Lay
           by
           all
           the
           passionate
           part
           of
           Love
           and
           Joy
           ,
           and
           it
           will
           be
           hard
           to
           have
           any
           pleasant
           thoughts
           of
           Heaven
           .
        
         
           In
           short
           ,
           I
           am
           an
           Adversary
           to
           their
           Philosophy
           ,
           that
           vilifie
           Sense
           ,
           because
           it
           is
           in
           Brutes
           ,
           and
           am
           past
           doubt
           that
           the
           noble
           spirits
           of
           Sensitives
           are
           debased
           ignorantly
           ,
           by
           
           pretending
           Wits
           ,
           that
           know
           not
           what
           they
           say
           or
           glory
           in
           .
           And
           humane
           Souls
           are
           not
           less
           sensitive
           for
           being
           rational
           ,
           but
           are
           eminently
           sensitive
           :
           Yea
           ,
           Reason
           hath
           in
           it
           more
           of
           eminent
           internal
           Sensation
           ,
           than
           those
           men
           think
           that
           debase
           Sense
           .
           The
           Scripture
           ,
           that
           saith
           of
           God
           ,
           That
           he
           is
           Life
           and
           Light
           ,
           saith
           also
           ,
           That
           he
           is
           Love
           ,
           and
           Love
           is
           Complacence
           ,
           and
           Complacence
           is
           Joy
           ;
           and
           to
           say
           
             God
             is
             Infinite
             ,
             Essential
             Love
          
           and
           Joy
           ,
           is
           a
           better
           notion
           ,
           than
           with
           Cartesians
           and
           Cocceians
           .
           to
           say
           that
           God
           and
           Angels
           ,
           and
           Spirits
           ,
           are
           but
           a
           Thought
           ,
           or
           an
           Idea
           .
           What
           is
           Heaven
           to
           us
           if
           there
           be
           no
           Love
           and
           Joy
           ?
        
         
           I
           will
           do
           my
           wise
           Friends
           ,
           whose
           Counsel
           I
           have
           much
           followed
           ,
           that
           Right
           as
           to
           acquit
           them
           from
           all
           the
           guilt
           of
           the
           Publication
           of
           these
           Fragments
           .
           Some
           of
           them
           say
           ,
           that
           
             such
             Work
             is
             below
             me
          
           ;
           and
           those
           that
           I
           think
           speak
           wiselier
           say
           ,
           
             I
             
             am
             below
             such
             Work.
          
           These
           I
           unfeignedly
           believe
           .
           I
           have
           long
           thought
           ,
           that
           a
           Painter
           ,
           a
           Musician
           and
           a
           Poet
           ,
           are
           contemptible
           ,
           if
           they
           be
           not
           Excellent
           :
           And
           that
           I
           am
           not
           Excellent
           ,
           I
           am
           satisfied
           :
           But
           I
           am
           more
           patient
           of
           contempt
           than
           many
           are
           .
           Common
           Painters
           serve
           for
           poor
           men's
           work
           :
           And
           a
           Fidler
           may
           serve
           at
           a
           Country-Wedding
           :
           Such
           cannot
           aspire
           to
           the
           Attainments
           of
           the
           higher
           sort
           :
           And
           the
           Vulgar
           are
           the
           greater
           number
           .
           Dr.
           Stillingfleet
           saith
           ,
           
             I
             seldom
             follow
             my
             Friend's
             Advice
             :
          
           In
           this
           I
           justifie
           him
           :
           Though
           in
           other
           things
           my
           Advisers
           contradict
           him
           .
        
         
           I
           know
           that
           natural
           temper
           maketh
           Poetry
           savour
           to
           several
           Wise
           and
           Learned
           men
           ,
           as
           differently
           as
           Meats
           do
           to
           various
           Appetites
           .
           I
           know
           such
           Learned
           discreet
           men
           ,
           that
           know
           not
           what
           a
           Tune
           is
           ,
           nor
           can
           difference
           one
           from
           another
           .
           
           I
           wonder
           at
           them
           ,
           and
           oft
           doubt
           whether
           it
           be
           an
           Accident
           or
           an
           Integral
           of
           Humanity
           which
           they
           want
           .
           Annatus
           the
           Jesuit
           in
           his
           Answer
           to
           Dr.
           
             Twisse
             De
             Scientia
             Media
          
           commends
           his
           Poetry
           (
           for
           a
           Poem
           added
           in
           the
           end
           )
           in
           scorn
           ,
           as
           if
           it
           were
           a
           disgrace
           to
           a
           School
           Divine
           .
           I
           take
           one
           sign
           of
           an
           Acumen
           of
           Wit
           to
           make
           it
           likely
           that
           the
           man
           hath
           the
           same
           Wit
           for
           other
           work
           .
        
         
           For
           my self
           ,
           I
           confess
           that
           Harmony
           and
           Melody
           are
           the
           pleasure
           and
           elevation
           of
           my
           Soul
           ,
           and
           have
           made
           a
           Psalm
           of
           Praise
           in
           the
           holy
           Assembly
           the
           chief
           delightful
           Exercise
           of
           my
           Religion
           and
           my
           Life
           ;
           and
           hath
           helped
           to
           bear
           down
           all
           the
           Objections
           which
           I
           have
           heard
           against
           Church-Musick
           ,
           and
           against
           the
           149
           ,
           150
           Psalms
           .
           It
           was
           not
           the
           least
           comfort
           that
           I
           had
           in
           the
           converse
           of
           my
           late
           Dear
           Wife
           ,
           that
           our
           first
           in
           the
           morning
           ,
           and
           last
           in
           Bed
           
           at
           night
           was
           a
           Psalm
           of
           Praise
           (
           till
           the
           hearing
           of
           others
           interrupted
           it
           .
           )
           ●et
           those
           that
           savour
           not
           Melody
           ,
           leave
           others
           to
           their
           different
           Appetites
           ,
           and
           be
           content
           to
           be
           so
           far
           strangers
           to
           their
           delights
           .
        
         
           These
           Times
           have
           produced
           many
           Excellent
           Poets
           :
           Among
           whom
           for
           strength
           of
           Wit
           ,
           Dr.
           
             Abraham
             Cooley
          
           justly
           bears
           the
           Bell.
           I
           much
           value
           Mr.
           Woodford's
           Paraphrase
           on
           the
           Psalms
           ,
           though
           his
           Genius
           (
           or
           somewhat
           else
           )
           expound
           some
           Psalms
           ,
           so
           as
           the
           next
           Age
           will
           confute
           .
           A
           Woman's
           Poems
           ,
           the
           Lady
           Philip's
           are
           far
           above
           contetmp
           .
           But
           that
           is
           bestto
           me
           which
           is
           most
           holy
           .
        
         
           I
           have
           known
           good
           men
           that
           were
           skilled
           in
           Musick
           ,
           and
           much
           delighted
           in
           it
           ,
           and
           yet
           had
           a
           conceit
           that
           it
           was
           unlawful
           in
           a
           Psalm
           ,
           or
           holy
           Exercise
           :
           I
           so
           much
           differed
           from
           them
           ,
           that
           I
           scarce
           cared
           for
           it
           any
           where
           else
           ;
           and
           if
           it
           might
           not
           be
           
           
           
           
           
           holily
           used
           ,
           it
           should
           never
           have
           been
           used
           for
           me
           .
        
         
           Honest
           
             George
             Withers
          
           ,
           though
           a
           Rustick
           Poet
           ,
           hath
           been
           very
           acceptable
           as
           to
           some
           for
           his
           Prophecies
           ,
           so
           to
           others
           for
           his
           plain
           Country-honesty
           :
           The
           Vulgar
           were
           the
           more
           pleased
           with
           him
           for
           being
           so
           little
           Courtly
           as
           to
           say
           ,
        
         
           
             
               "
               If
               I
               should
               have
               been
               hung
               ,
               I
               knew
               not
               how
            
             
               "
               To
               teach
               my
               Body
               how
               to
               cringe
               and
               how
               ,
            
          
           
             
               "
               And
               to
               embrace
               a
               fellows
               ,
               hinder
               quarters
               ,
            
             
               "
               As
               if
               I
               meant
               to
               steal
               away
               his
               Garters
               .
            
          
           
             
               "
               When
               any
               bow'd
               to
               me
               with
               Congees
               trim
               ,
            
             
               "
               All
               I
               could
               do
               ,
               was
               stand
               and
               laugh
               at
               him
               .
            
          
           
             
               "
               Bless
               me
               thought
               I
               ,
               what
               will
               this
               coxcomb
               do
               ?
            
             
               "
               When
               I
               perceiv'd
               one
               reaching
               at
               my
               shooe
               .
            
          
        
         
           Quarles
           yet
           out
           went
           him
           ,
           mixing
           competent
           Wit
           with
           Piety
           (
           especially
           in
           his
           Poem
           against
           
             Rest
             on
             Earth
             .
          
           )
        
         
           Silvester
           on
           
             Du
             Bartas
          
           seems
           to
           
           me
           to
           out
           go
           them
           both
           .
        
         
           Sir
           
             Fulk
             Grevil
          
           ,
           Lord
           Brook
           (
           a
           man
           of
           great
           note
           in
           his
           Age
           )
           hath
           a
           Poem
           lately
           Printed
           for
           Subjects
           Liberty
           ,
           which
           I
           greatly
           wonder
           this
           Age
           would
           bear
           .
           There
           are
           no
           Books
           that
           have
           been
           Printed
           these
           twenty
           Years
           ,
           that
           I
           more
           wonder
           at
           (
           that
           ever
           they
           were
           endured
           )
           than
           
             Richard
             Hookers
          
           eight
           Books
           of
           Ecclesiastick
           Policy
           ,
           dedicated
           by
           Bishop
           Gauden
           to
           our
           present
           King
           ,
           and
           vindicated
           by
           him
           ;
           and
           these
           Poems
           of
           Sir
           
             Fulk
             Grevill
          
           Lord
           
             Brook.
             Davie's
             Nosce
             Teipsum
          
           is
           an
           Excellent
           Poem
           in
           opening
           the
           nature
           ,
           Faculties
           ,
           and
           certain
           Immortality
           of
           Man's
           Soul.
           But
           I
           must
           confess
           ,
           after
           all
           that
           next
           the
           Scripture
           Poems
           ,
           there
           are
           none
           so
           savoury
           to
           me
           ,
           as
           Mr.
           Herbert's
           ,
           and
           Mr.
           
             George
             Sandys's
          
           .
           I
           know
           that
           Cooly
           and
           others
           far
           excel
           Herbert
           in
           Wit
           and
           accurate
           composure
           .
           But
           (
           as
           Sencca
           takes
           with
           me
           above
           all
           his
           Contemporaries
           ,
           because
           
           he
           speaketh
           Things
           by
           
             words
             ,
             feeling
          
           and
           seriously
           ,
           like
           a
           man
           that
           is
           pa●●
           jest
           ,
           so
           )
           Herbert
           speaks
           
             to
             God
          
           like
           on
           that
           
             really
             believeth
             a
             God
          
           ,
           and
           whose
           business
           in
           the
           world
           is
           most
           
             with
             God
             Heart-work
          
           and
           Heaven-work
           make
           up
           his
           Books
           .
           And
           
             Du
             Bartas
          
           is
           seriously
           Divine
           .
           And
           Sandy's
        
         
           
             Omne
             tulit
             punctum
             ,
             dum
             miscuit
             utile
             dulci.
             
          
        
         
           His
           Scripture
           Poems
           are
           an
           elegant
           and
           excellent
           Paraphrase
           :
           But
           especially
           his
           Job
           ,
           whom
           he
           hath
           restored
           to
           the
           original
           glory
           .
           O
           that
           he
           had
           turned
           the
           Psalms
           into
           Metre
           fitted
           to
           the
           usual
           Tunes
           !
           It
           did
           me
           good
           when
           Mrs.
           Wyat
           invited
           me
           to
           see
           Boxley
           Abby
           in
           Kent
           ;
           to
           see
           upon
           the
           old
           Stone
           Wall
           in
           the
           Garden
           a
           Summer-house
           with
           this
           inscription
           in
           great
           golden
           Letters
           ,
           that
           
             In
             that
             place
             Mr.
          
           G.
           Sandys
           
             after
             his
             Travels
             over
             the
             World
             ,
             retired
             himself
             for
             his
             Poetry
             and
             Contemplations
             .
          
           And
           none
           are
           fitter
           to
           retire
           to
           God
           then
           such
           as
           a
           retired
           with
           seeing
           all
           the
           vanities
           on
           Earth
           .
        
         
         
           Sure
           there
           is
           somewhat
           of
           Heaven
           ●●
           Holy
           Poetry
           .
           It
           charmeth
           Souls
           into
           ●oving
           Harmony
           and
           Concord
           :
           We
           ●●we
           two
           Brothers
           in
           this
           City
           ,
           of
           ●hom
           one
           hath
           written
           a
           Book
           called
           
             ●
             friendly
             debate
          
           ,
           to
           make
           those
           seem
           ●ious
           or
           contemptible
           who
           were
           a●●inst
           his
           way
           :
           It
           had
           too
           much
           suc●●ss
           ,
           and
           so
           far
           destroyed
           Love
           and
           ●oncord
           ,
           as
           will
           not
           easily
           be
           recove●●d
           in
           this
           age
           .
           His
           Brother
           (
           Mr.
           Pa●ike
           of
           the
           Charter-house
           )
           hath
           with
           ●●ous
           skill
           and
           seriousness
           turned
           into
           ●new
           Metre
           many
           of
           
             David's
             Psalms
          
           ;
           ●●d
           the
           advantage
           for
           holy
           affections
           ●●d
           harmony
           ,
           hath
           so
           far
           reconciled
           ●●e
           Non-Conformists
           ,
           that
           divers
           of
           ●●em
           use
           his
           Psalms
           in
           their
           Congre●●tions
           ,
           though
           they
           have
           the
           old
           ●●es
           ,
           Rouses
           ,
           Bishop
           Kings
           ,
           Mr.
           Whites
           ,
           ●●e
           
             New
             Englands
             ,
             Davisons
          
           ,
           the
           Scots●●
           ●●
           agreed
           on
           by
           two
           Nations
           )
           in
           ●●mpetition
           with
           it
           .
           But
           I
           digress
           too
           ●●r
           .
        
         
           All
           that
           I
           have
           to
           say
           for
           these
           Fragments
           
           
           
           
           
           is
           ,
           1.
           
           That
           being
           fitted
           to
           Women
           ,
           and
           vulgar
           wits
           ,
           which
           are
           the
           far
           greatest
           number
           ,
           they
           may
           be
           useful
           to
           such
           ,
           though
           contemptible
           to
           those
           of
           higher
           elevation
           &
           expectation
           .
           2
           And
           being
           suited
           to
           afflicted
           ,
           sick
           ,
           dying
           ,
           troubled
           ,
           sad
           and
           doubting
           persons
           ,
           the
           number
           of
           such
           is
           so
           great
           in
           these
           calamitous
           times
           ,
           as
           may
           render
           them
           useful
           to
           more
           than
           I
           desire
           .
           3.
           
           And
           if
           my
           present
           grief
           may
           but
           excuse
           the
           Publication
           ,
           he
           that
           needeth
           them
           not
           may
           let
           them
           alone
           .
        
         
           Some
           of
           them
           need
           an
           Exposition
           ,
           which
           I
           must
           not
           give
           the
           world
           .
           I
           have
           added
           two
           or
           three
           Printed
           heretofore
           ,
           that
           they
           may
           be
           altogether
           .
           
             The
             Lord
             by
             his
             merciful
             providence
             and
             his
             Grace
             ,
             tune
             up
             our
             dull
             and
             drooping
             Souls
             to
             such
             joyful
             praises
             ,
             as
             may
             prepare
             us
             for
             his
             everlasting
             praise
             in
             Heaven
             .
          
        
         
           Amen
           .
        
         
           
             London
             ,
             At
             the
             Door
             of
             Eternity
             .
             
               Aug.
               7.
               1681.
               
            
          
           
             Rich.
             Baxter
          
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
           LOVE
           Breathing
           THANKS
           and
           PRAISE
           .
        
         
           
             The
             First
             Part.
             
          
           
             
               ETernal
               God
               ,
               this
               Worm
               lifts
               up
               the
               head
               ,
            
             
               And
               looks
               to
               Thee
               ,
               by
               Thee
               encouraged
               .
            
             
               Cheer'd
               by
               thy
               Bounty
               ,
               it
               would
               speak
               thy
               praise
               ,
            
             
               Whose
               wondrous
               Love
               hath
               measur'd
               all
               my
               daies
               :
            
             
               If
               thou
               vouchsafe
               to
               make
               a
               Worm
               rejoyce
               ,
            
             
               Give
               him
               a
               thankful
               praising
               heart
               and
               voice
               .
            
             
               Thy
               shining
               Glory
               blessed
               Angels
               see
               :
            
             
               Angels
               must
               sing
               thy
               Highest
               praise
               ,
               not
               we
               :
            
             
               But
               if
               thy
               warming
               beams
               cause
               Worms
               to
               speak
               ,
            
             
               Their
               baser
               part
               will
               not
               the
               Consort
               break
               .
            
             
             
               When
               Time
               was
               yet
               no
               measure
               ;
               when
               the
               Sun
            
             
               It
               s
               rapid
               motion
               had
               not
               yet
               begun
               ;
            
             
               When
               Heav'n
               ,
               &
               Earth
               ,
               &
               Sea
               ,
               were
               yet
               unfram'd
               ,
            
             
               Angels
               and
               Men
               ,
               and
               all
               things
               else
               unnam'd
               ;
            
             
               When
               there
               did
               nothing
               else
               exist
               but
               Thee
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               wast
               the
               same
               ,
               and
               still
               the
               same
               wilt
               be
               :
            
             
               When
               there
               was
               none
               to
               know
               or
               praise
               thy
               Name
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               wast
               in
               perfect
               Blessedness
               the
               same
               .
            
             
               The
               Father
               ,
               Word
               and
               Spirit
               ,
               One
               in
               Three
               ,
            
             
               Trinity
               doth
               with
               Unity
               agree
               .
            
             
               Th'
               Eternal
               Life
               ,
               that
               quickens
               all
               that
               lives
               ;
            
             
               The
               soul
               of
               souls
               ;
               the
               Light
               which
               all
               Light
               gives
            
             
               Immense
               and
               boundless
               ,
               present
               every
               where
               :
            
             
               Beyond
               all
               place
               and
               creatures
               ,
               thou
               art
               there
               ,
            
             
               Uncomprehended
               ,
               comprehending
               all
               :
            
             
               Foreknowing
               whatsoever
               shall
               befall
               .
            
             
               Uncaus'd
               ,
               thou
               causest
               all
               that
               hath
               a
               Being
               :
            
             
               Unknown
               ,
               thou
               know'st
               ;
               unseen
               ,
               thou
               art
               all-seeing
               .
            
             
               Though
               necessary
               ,
               yet
               without
               constraint
               ;
            
             
               Unmov'd
               ,
               yet
               moving
               all
               ,
               dost
               never
               faint
               .
            
             
               All
               things
               depend
               on
               Thee
               ;
               and
               Thou
               on
               none
               ;
            
             
               And
               changing
               all
               things
               ,
               art
               unchang'd
               alone
               .
            
             
               One
               in
               th'
               innumerable
               multitude
               ;
            
             
               Perfectly
               ordering
               things
               which
               seem
               most
               rude
               .
            
             
               
                 Infinite
                 Power
              
               ,
               one
               accent
               of
               whose
               breath
               ,
            
             
               Can
               sentence
               Heav'n
               and
               Earth
               to
               life
               or
               death
               .
            
             
               Yea
               ,
               by
               one
               act
               of
               efficacious
               Will
            
             
               Canst
               make
               and
               unmake
               worlds
               ;
               give
               life
               ,
               and
               kill
               .
            
             
               
                 Reason
                 transcending
              
               all
               created
               Reason
               ;
            
             
               Not
               only
               knowing
               all
               things
               in
               their
               season
               ,
            
             
             
               But
               with
               a
               Knowledge
               perfect
               ,
               infinite
               ,
            
             
               
                 Knowing
                 Thy self
              
               in
               Thine
               Eternal
               Light.
            
             
               A
               knowledge
               which
               doth
               utterly
               excel
               ,
            
             
               The
               Knowledge
               of
               the
               Earth
               ,
               the
               Heav'ns
               &
               Hell
               ;
            
             
               To
               know
               ten
               thousand
               worlds
               ,
               were
               but
               to
               know
            
             
               The
               finite
               streams
               which
               from
               thy
               Will
               do
               flow
               :
            
             
               Existents
               ,
               Futures
               ,
               all
               Contingencies
            
             
               Conceal'd
               from
               man
               ,
               are
               naked
               to
               thine
               eyes
               :
            
             
               Of
               every
               thing
               thou
               know'st
               the
               Form
               and
               Cause
               ;
            
             
               As
               giving
               all
               their
               Nature
               and
               their
               Laws
               .
            
             
               Nature's
               whole
               frame
               is
               but
               one
               piece
               to
               thee
               .
            
             
               The
               Place
               and
               Use
               of
               all
               things
               thou
               dost
               see
               .
            
             
               The
               Globes
               of
               Heav'n
               and
               Earth
               are
               in
               thy
               span
               ;
            
             
               Thou
               seest
               not
               things
               by
               parcels
               ,
               like
               poor
               Man.
            
             
               Our
               narrow
               minds
               see
               here
               and
               there
               a
               letter
               ,
            
             
               Not
               rightly
               plac'd
               ,
               and
               therefore
               read
               no
               better
               :
            
             
               We
               make
               the
               Events
               of
               this
               day
               our
               sorrow
               ,
            
             
               Because
               we
               know
               not
               what
               will
               be
               to
               morrow
               .
            
             
               Things
               present
               ,
               past
               and
               future
               ;
               old
               and
               new
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               see'st
               entirely
               with
               one
               single
               view
               .
            
             
               Thou
               seest
               all
               at
               home
               that
               's
               understood
               :
            
             
               
                 Loving
                 thy self
              
               ,
               thou
               lovest
               all
               that
               's
               Good.
            
             
               
                 Goodness
                 it self
              
               ,
               and
               
                 perfect
                 Excellence
              
               ,
            
             
               Transcending
               humane
               
                 Reason
                 ,
                 Will
              
               and
               Sense
               :
            
             
               Good
               in
               thy self
               ,
               and
               to
               thy self
               alone
               ,
            
             
               Before
               thou
               wast
               to
               any
               creature
               known
               .
            
             
               Blest
               in
               thy
               own
               Eternal
               pleasing
               sight
               ;
            
             
               Thy
               own
               Eternal
               Love
               ,
               Thy
               own
               Delight
               .
            
             
             
               Those
               that
               can
               find
               in
               Thee
               no
               greater
               Good
               ,
            
             
               Than
               that
               thou
               giv'st
               them
               life
               ,
               and
               health
               ,
               &
               food
               ,
            
             
               And
               bountifully
               from
               thy
               ample
               Treasure
            
             
               Blessest
               thy
               creatures
               with
               desired
               pleasure
               ,
            
             
               Set
               up
               themselves
               ,
               and
               do
               the
               worst
               they
               can
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               themselves
               the
               Gods
               ,
               and
               Thee
               the
               Man.
            
             
               They
               that
               can
               love
               thee
               but
               for
               loving
               them
               ,
            
             
               Make
               thee
               the
               casket
               ,
               and
               themselves
               the
               gem
               .
            
             
               To
               
                 love
                 thy self
              
               is
               infinitely
               better
               ,
            
             
               Than
               if
               Love
               made
               a
               world
               of
               worlds
               its
               debter
               .
            
             
               Thy
               
                 own
                 Perfections
              
               by
               Attraction
               move
               ,
            
             
               As
               the
               
                 chief
                 formal
                 Object
              
               of
               Man's
               Love.
            
             
               Though
               our
               
                 own
                 Good
              
               we
               may
               ,
               and
               must
               intend
               ;
            
             
               Thy
               
                 simple
                 Goodness
              
               is
               Man's
               
                 chiefest
                 End.
              
            
             
               They
               that
               deny
               this
               ,
               never
               knew
               Love's
               force
               ,
            
             
               Which
               to
               
                 meer
                 Excellence
              
               hath
               its
               recourse
               :
            
             
               Or
               never
               well
               considered
               
                 Love's
                 End
              
               ,
            
             
               Which
               unto
               Good
               ,
               for
               Goodness
               sake
               doth
               tend
               .
            
             
               To
               be
               
                 Man's
                 End
              
               ,
               is
               but
               to
               be
               
                 most
                 Lov'd
              
               :
            
             
               And
               Good
               's
               the
               Loadstone
               by
               which
               Love
               is
               mov'd
               .
            
             
               What
               though
               to
               Thee
               the
               creature
               nothing
               add
               ?
            
             
               That
               proves
               Thee
               perfect
               ;
               neither
               weak
               nor
               bad
               ;
            
             
               And
               therefore
               fit
               to
               be
               the
               Final
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               Which
               all
               hearts
               by
               attractive
               Goodness
               draws
               :
            
             
               Love
               is
               the
               Final
               and
               Enjoying
               act
               ;
            
             
               Closing
               with
               Thee
               by
               thy
               Magnetick
               tract
               :
            
             
               Not
               as
               it
               mourneth
               for
               the
               Good
               we
               want
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               as
               it
               after
               distant
               Good
               doth
               pant
               ;
            
             
               〈…〉
               as
               it
               reacheth
               its
               desires
               :
            
             
               And
               more
               as
               it
               with
               
                 Pleasure
                 Thee
                 admires
              
               .
            
             
             
               
                 This
                 Love
              
               ,
               besides
               its
               Object
               ,
               hath
               
                 no
                 End
              
               :
            
             
               It
               doth
               not
               to
               some
               Higher
               Virtue
               tend
               :
            
             
               But
               from
               a
               seed
               ,
               grows
               up
               to
               higher
               stature
               ,
            
             
               Of
               
                 Divine
                 Complacence
              
               ,
               which
               is
               its
               nature
               .
            
             
               All
               other
               Grace
               is
               but
               the
               means
               to
               it
               :
            
             
               They
               draw
               the
               bow
               ;
               but
               Love
               the
               mark
               doth
               hit
               .
            
             
               But
               sinners
               lost
               in
               SELF
               rise
               not
               above
            
             
               The
               lower
               Region
               of
               their
               own
               SELF-LOVE
               .
            
             
               Experience
               assures
               me
               that
               I
               can
            
             
               Love
               a
               most
               learned
               ,
               wise
               and
               holy
               man
            
             
               Unseen
               ,
               my
               very
               heart
               is
               to
               him
               knit
               ,
            
             
               Without
               respect
               to
               any
               benefit
               .
            
             
               Reason
               convinceth
               me
               ,
               that
               I
               should
               erre
               ,
            
             
               If
               the
               known
               BEST
               ,
               my
               Love
               should
               not
               prefer
               :
            
             
               Should
               I
               not
               rather
               chuse
               my self
               alone
            
             
               To
               be
               annihilated
               ,
               or
               undone
               ,
            
             
               Than
               the
               whole
               world
               should
               bear
               the
               same
               distress
               ,
            
             
               Or
               Towns
               ,
               or
               Countries
               ;
               seeing
               I
               am
               less
               ?
            
             
               Or
               the
               Creator
               should
               take
               down
               the
               Sun
               ?
            
             
               Destroy
               the
               Earth
               ?
               or
               Rivers
               cease
               to
               run
               ?
            
             
               Reason
               taught
               Heathens
               that
               their
               Country's
               good
               ,
            
             
               Was
               worth
               the
               shedding
               of
               their
               vital
               blood
               :
            
             
               A
               faithful
               Subject
               thinks
               his
               Life
               a
               thing
            
             
               Meet
               to
               be
               cast
               away
               to
               save
               his
               King.
            
             
               True
               Souldiers
               would
               chuse
               death
               ,
               if
               so
               they
               may
            
             
               But
               save
               their
               Captains
               lives
               ,
               or
               win
               the
               day
               .
            
             
               Many
               have
               chose
               to
               dye
               through
               love
               of
               friends
               ;
            
             
               Preferring
               them
               above
               all
               selfish
               Ends.
            
             
               It
               is
               not
               Reason
               ,
               but
               blind
               selfish
               Passion
               ,
            
             
               If
               One
               refuse
               to
               dye
               to
               save
               a
               Nation
               .
            
             
             
               A
               silly
               useless
               Wretch
               should
               not
               refuse
            
             
               His
               Death
               ,
               before
               a
               useful
               mans
               ,
               to
               chuse
               .
            
             
               My
               Neighbour
               as
               my self
               I
               must
               respect
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 for
                 my
                 Brethren
              
               must
               my
               
                 Life
                 reject
              
               .
               (
               1
               Joh.
               3.
               16.
               )
            
             
               O
               doleful
               proof
               of
               Man's
               unhappy
               fall
               !
            
             
               That
               loves
               not
               GOD
               above
               Himself
               and
               All
               !
            
             
               And
               if
               I
               
                 love
                 him
                 most
              
               ,
               He
               is
               
                 my
                 End
              
               :
            
             
               
                 Man's
                 Love
              
               above
               the
               Lover
               must
               ascend
               .
            
          
           
             
               But
               O
               how
               wisely
               hast
               thou
               made
               the
               twist
               !
            
             
               To
               
                 Love
                 Thee
              
               and
               My Self
               do
               well
               consist
               .
            
             
               Love
               is
               the
               closure
               of
               Connaturals
               ;
            
             
               The
               Soul's
               return
               to
               its
               Originals
               :
            
             
               As
               every
               Brook
               is
               towards
               the
               Ocean
               bent
               ;
            
             
               And
               all
               things
               to
               their
               proper
               Element
               :
            
             
               And
               as
               the
               inclination
               of
               the
               Sight
               ,
            
             
               How
               small
               soever
               ,
               is
               unto
               the
               Light
               :
            
             
               As
               the
               toucht
               Needle
               pointeth
               towards
               the
               Pole
               :
            
             
               Thus
               unto
               Thee
               inclines
               the
               Holy
               Soul
               ;
            
             
               It
               trembleth
               and
               is
               restless
               till
               it
               come
            
             
               Unto
               thy
               Bosom
               ,
               where
               it
               is
               at
               home
               .
            
             
               Yet
               no
               such
               Union
               dare
               the
               Soul
               desire
               ,
            
             
               As
               Parts
               have
               with
               the
               Whole
               ,
               and
               sparks
               to
               fire
               ;
            
             
               But
               as
               dependant
               ,
               low
               ,
               subordinate
               ,
            
             
               Such
               as
               thy
               Will
               of
               nothing
               did
               create
               :
            
             
               As
               tendeth
               to
               the
               Sun
               ,
               the
               smallest
               Eye
            
             
               Of
               silly
               vermine
               ,
               or
               the
               poorest
               Flie.
            
             
               My
               
                 own
                 Salvation
              
               when
               I
               make
               my
               End
               ;
            
             
               
                 Full
                 Mutual
                 Love
              
               is
               all
               that
               I
               intend
               .
            
             
             
               And
               in
               this
               closure
               though
               
                 I
                 happy
              
               be
               ,
            
             
               It
               's
               by
               Intending
               and
               Admiring
               Thee
               .
            
             
               O
               happy
               Grace
               !
               which
               feeds
               above
               the
               Skies
               !
            
             
               And
               causest
               Man
               above
               Himself
               to
               rise
               !
            
             
               And
               saves
               what
               it
               denys
               !
               when
               worldlings
               lose
            
             
               What
               they
               despis'd
               ,
               and
               what
               they
               lov'd
               and
               chose
               !
            
             
               The
               more
               I
               do
               my self
               in
               Love
               neglect
               ,
            
             
               And
               only
               to
               
                 thy
                 Goodness
              
               have
               respect
               ,
            
             
               When
               most
               my self
               I
               from
               my self
               abstract
               ,
            
             
               This
               is
               the
               sweetest
               ,
               and
               self-pleasing
               act
               !
            
             
               Even
               when
               I
               seem
               to
               leave
               my self
               behind
               ,
            
             
               Coming
               to
               Thee
               ,
               with
               
                 Thee
                 my self
              
               I
               find
               .
            
             
               When
               I
               am
               least
               the
               Object
               of
               my
               Love
               ,
            
             
               And
               unto
               Thee
               do
               most
               entirely
               move
               ,
            
             
               My
               Soul
               ,
               the
               willing
               Agent
               ,
               drawn
               by
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               Will
               
                 Rest
                 in
                 Love
              
               ,
               and
               Vision
               of
               thy
               Face
               .
            
          
           
             
               But
               ,
               in
               this
               wilderness
               and
               vale
               of
               Tears
               ,
            
             
               How
               is
               Love
               dampt
               by
               ignorance
               and
               fears
               !
            
             
               For
               no
               Man's
               Love
               his
               knowledge
               can
               exceed
               :
            
             
               And
               guilty
               Terrours
               disaffection
               breed
               .
            
             
               Mortals
               can
               know
               thee
               but
               as
               in
               a
               glass
               .
            
             
               True
               formal
               Knowledge
               doth
               man's
               mind
               surpass
               .
            
             
               No
               Thoughts
               or
               Names
               are
               adequate
               to
               Thee
               :
            
             
               They
               are
               but
               Metaphors
               from
               what
               we
               see
               ;
            
             
               Which
               first
               thy
               Works
               and
               Image
               signifie
               ;
            
             
               And
               thence
               to
               Thee
               mens
               rising
               Minds
               apply
               .
            
             
               As
               far
               as
               Faith
               comes
               short
               of
               perfect
               Sight
               ,
            
             
               And
               this
               dark
               Prison
               of
               the
               Glorious
               Light
               ;
            
             
             
               So
               far
               this
               distant
               mediate
               Love
               's
               below
            
             
               The
               heavenly
               Love
               which
               mortals
               cannot
               know
               .
            
             
               What
               will
               it
               be
               to
               love
               Thee
               face
               to
               face
               ,
            
             
               When
               thou
               appear'st
               so
               lovely
               in
               this
               Glass
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Thy
               Goodness
               is
               not
               to
               that
               world
               confin'd
               :
            
             
               To
               worthless
               ,
               sinful
               mortals
               thou
               art
               kind
               :
            
             
               Thy
               mercies
               to
               the
               smallest
               are
               not
               small
               :
            
             
               To
               some
               more
               wonderful
               ,
               but
               great
               to
               all
               .
            
             
               Thy
               matchless
               Power
               doth
               it self
               express
               ,
            
             
               Upon
               the
               smallest
               Worm
               ,
               or
               pile
               of
               Grass
               .
            
             
               The
               Methods
               of
               thy
               Wisdom
               are
               profound
               :
            
             
               All
               must
               admire
               the
               depths
               which
               none
               can
               sound
               .
            
          
           
             
               When
               Man
               from
               Holy
               Love
               ,
               turn'd
               to
               a
               Lye
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               Image
               lost
               ,
               became
               thine
               Enemy
               ;
            
             
               O
               what
               a
               Seal
               did
               Love
               and
               Wisdom
               find
            
             
               To
               reimprint
               thine
               Image
               on
               Man's
               Mind
               ?
            
             
               Thou
               sentst
               the
               Signet
               from
               thine
               own
               right
               hand
               ,
            
             
               Made
               man
               for
               them
               that
               had
               themselves
               unman'd
               .
            
             
               Th'
               Eternal
               Son
               ,
               who
               in
               thy
               bosom
               dwelt
               ;
            
             
               Essential
               burning
               Love
               ,
               mens
               hearts
               to
               melt
               :
            
             
               Thy
               lively
               Image
               ;
               he
               that
               knew
               thy
               mind
               :
            
             
               Fit
               to
               illuminate
               and
               heal
               the
               blind
               .
            
             
               With
               Love's
               great
               Office
               ,
               thou
               didst
               him
               adorn
               :
            
             
               Redeemer
               of
               the
               helpless
               and
               forlorn
               :
            
             
               On
               Love's
               chief
               work
               and
               message
               he
               was
               sent
               :
            
             
               Our
               Flesh
               he
               took
               ;
               our
               pain
               he
               underwent
               :
            
             
               Thy
               pardoning
               ,
               saving
               Love
               to
               Man
               did
               preach
               :
            
             
               The
               Reconciler
               stood
               up
               in
               the
               breach
               :
            
             
             
               The
               uncreated
               Image
               of
               thy
               Love
               ,
            
             
               By
               his
               Assumption
               ,
               and
               the
               
                 Holy
                 Dove
              
               ,
            
             
               On
               his
               Own
               Flesh
               thy
               Image
               first
               imprest
               ;
            
             
               And
               by
               that
               stamp
               renews
               it
               on
               the
               rest
               .
            
             
               Love
               was
               his
               Nature
               ,
               Doctrine
               ,
               Life
               and
               Breath
               :
            
             
               Love
               flamed
               in
               his
               Sufferings
               and
               Death
               :
            
             
               Thus
               
                 Love
                 thine
                 Image
                 ,
                 Love
              
               on
               Man
               doth
               print
               :
            
             
               This
               Coin
               ,
               thy
               Son
               ,
               thy
               Word
               and
               Spirit
               mint
               .
            
             
               He
               that
               will
               have
               it
               True
               ,
               must
               have
               it
               here
               ;
            
             
               Though
               Love
               prepare
               its
               way
               by
               Grief
               and
               Fear
               :
            
             
               Yea
               oft
               by
               these
               expresseth
               its
               Desire
               ;
            
             
               They
               are
               sincere
               when
               kindled
               by
               its
               fire
               .
            
             
               These
               are
               LOVE's
               Methods
               ,
               passing
               tongue
               &
               pen
               :
            
             
               Wonders
               and
               Joys
               ,
               to
               Angels
               ,
               and
               to
               Men.
               
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Second
             Part.
             
          
           
             
               LOVE
               ,
               which
               can
               make
               its
               Object
               ,
               did
               produce
            
             
               This
               Worm
               ,
               in
               season
               ,
               for
               his
               proper
               use
               :
            
             
               In
               the
               Earth's
               Garden
               ,
               the
               most
               happy
               Land
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Christians
               dwel
               ,
               &
               Christian
               Kings
               command
               :
            
             
               Where
               plenteous
               streams
               of
               living
               waters
               flow
               ;
            
             
               Where
               the
               first-fruits
               of
               Paradise
               do
               grow
               :
            
             
               Whence
               Proud
               ,
               Dark
               ,
               Bloody
               Popery
               was
               driven
               :
            
             
               To
               whom
               the
               opened
               Book
               of
               God
               was
               given
               .
            
             
               Where
               sacred
               guides
               ,
               and
               books
               ,
               and
               helps
               abound
               ;
            
             
               And
               all
               that
               will
               may
               hear
               
                 the
                 joyful
                 sound
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               My
               Parents
               here
               thy
               skilful
               hand
               did
               plant
               ,
            
             
               Free
               from
               the
               snares
               of
               Riches
               and
               of
               Want.
            
             
               Their
               tender
               care
               was
               us'd
               for
               me
               alone
               ,
            
             
               Because
               thy
               providence
               gave
               them
               but
               One
               :
            
             
               Their
               early
               Precepts
               so
               possest
               my
               heart
               ,
            
             
               That
               taking
               root
               ,
               they
               did
               not
               thence
               depart
               .
            
             
               Thy
               Wisdom
               so
               contriv'd
               my
               Education
               ,
            
             
               As
               might
               expose
               me
               to
               the
               least
               temptation
               .
            
             
               Much
               of
               that
               guilt
               thy
               Mercy
               did
               prevent
               ,
            
             
               In
               which
               my
               spring-time
               I
               should
               else
               have
               spent
               .
            
             
             
               Yet
               Sin
               sprung
               up
               ,
               and
               early
               did
               appear
               ;
            
             
               ●n
               love
               of
               play
               ,
               and
               lyes
               produc'd
               by
               fear
               :
            
             
               An
               appetite
               pleas'd
               with
               forbidden
               fruit
               ,
            
             
               A
               proud
               delight
               in
               literate
               repute
               ;
            
             
               Excess
               of
               pleasure
               in
               vain
               Tales
               ,
               Romances
               ;
            
             
               Time
               spent
               in
               feigned
               Histories
               and
               Fancies
               :
            
             
               In
               idle
               talk
               ,
               conform
               to
               company
               ;
            
             
               Childhood
               and
               Youth
               had
               too
               much
               vanity
               .
            
             
               Conscience
               was
               oft
               resisted
               when
               it
               checkt
               ,
            
             
               And
               holy
               duty
               I
               did
               much
               neglect
               .
            
          
           
             
               Yet
               patience
               bore
               ;
               thy
               Spirit
               still
               did
               strive
               :
            
             
               Restless
               Convictions
               still
               were
               kept
               alive
               .
            
             
               Thou
               wouldst
               not
               give
               me
               over
               ,
               till
               thy
               Grace
            
             
               Reviv'd
               thy
               Image
               which
               sin
               did
               deface
               .
            
             
               Thou
               strangely
               putst
               such
               Books
               into
               my
               hand
               ,
            
             
               As
               caused
               me
               my
               case
               to
               understand
               :
            
             
               As
               toucht
               my
               conscience
               ,
               wakened
               my
               heart
               ,
            
             
               And
               laid
               it
               under
               careful
               fears
               and
               sinart
               .
            
             
               And
               made
               me
               question
               with
               a
               deeper
               sense
               ,
            
             
               Whither
               my
               soul
               must
               go
               when
               it
               goes
               hence
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               did
               thy
               Light
               detect
               the
               vanity
            
             
               Of
               all
               the
               Joys
               and
               Hopes
               below
               the
               Sky
               .
            
             
               The
               fruitless
               bussle
               which
               the
               Worldling
               makes
               ;
            
             
               The
               madness
               of
               the
               course
               the
               Sinner
               takes
               ;
            
             
               The
               wicked
               world
               I
               thought
               a
               Bedlam
               was
               :
            
             
               And
               sensless
               Sinners
               hearts
               were
               stone
               or
               brass
               :
            
             
               I
               wondred
               men
               could
               live
               so
               carelesly
               ,
            
             
               Ready
               to
               pass
               into
               Eternity
               !
            
             
             
               And
               O
               how
               easily
               could
               I
               confute
            
             
               All
               that
               against
               a
               holy
               life
               dispute
               ?
            
          
           
             
               I
               wondred
               at
               my self
               that
               staid
               so
               long
               ,
            
             
               So
               little
               toucht
               with
               Arguments
               so
               strong
               !
            
             
               Laughing
               and
               playing
               ,
               as
               if
               all
               were
               well
               ,
            
             
               For
               ought
               I
               knew
               ,
               near
               to
               the
               brink
               of
               Hell.
            
             
               I
               marvell'd
               at
               my
               former
               senslesness
               !
            
             
               My
               sin
               and
               misery
               I
               did
               confess
               .
            
             
               And
               now
               what
               horrid
               darkness
               on
               my
               mind
               ,
            
             
               Never
               before
               lamented
               did
               I
               find
               ?
            
             
               Sin
               was
               like
               sickness
               in
               my
               flesh
               and
               bone
               ,
            
             
               Which
               only
               by
               the
               Book
               before
               was
               known
               .
            
          
           
             
               Christ's
               Office
               now
               I
               better
               understood
               ,
            
             
               The
               need
               my
               Soul
               had
               of
               his
               cleansing
               Blood
               :
            
             
               How
               insufficient
               of
               my self
               I
               was
               ,
            
             
               To
               bring
               my
               own
               deliverance
               to
               pass
               :
            
             
               Now
               I
               began
               to
               feel
               as
               well
               as
               see
               ,
            
             
               How
               near
               the
               
                 Word
                 of
                 Grace
              
               concerned
               me
               :
            
             
               That
               all
               means
               else
               in
               Heaven
               and
               Earth
               were
               vain
               ;
            
             
               My
               Peace
               with
               God
               ,
               and
               pardon
               to
               obtain
               !
            
             
               To
               whom
               else
               should
               my
               sinful
               Soul
               have
               gone
               ?
            
             
               But
               for
               my
               Saviour
               ,
               I
               had
               been
               undone
               .
            
             
               
                 Oh
                 my
                 dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Thus
                 thou
                 prepar'st
                 us
                 for
                 the
                 Life
                 above
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               The
               heav'nly
               Powers
               which
               made
               my
               heart
               to
               quake
               ,
            
             
               My
               Prison
               bonds
               and
               doors
               did
               open
               shake
               :
            
             
             
               Sin
               now
               was
               folly
               ,
               villany
               and
               shame
               :
            
             
               God
               ,
               Heav'n
               ,
               Christ
               ,
               Holiness
               ,
               seem
               not
               the
               same
               :
            
             
               How
               thou
               wouldst
               use
               me
               ,
               yet
               I
               did
               not
               know
               ,
            
             
               Whether
               my
               sin
               thou
               wouldst
               forgive
               ,
               or
               no
               :
            
             
               But
               well
               I
               saw
               there
               was
               no
               turning
               back
               :
            
             
               Nature
               is
               loth
               to
               go
               to
               Hell
               awake
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Gospel
               told
               me
               ,
               I
               might
               mercy
               find
               :
            
             
               Nothing
               but
               Hell
               and
               Darkness
               was
               behind
               :
            
             
               At
               last
               thy
               Grace
               brought
               me
               to
               this
               conclusion
               ,
            
             
               To
               HOPE
               and
               SEEK
               I
               fixt
               my
               resolution
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 dear
                 God!
                 How
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Thy
                 Griefs
                 prepare
                 us
                 for
                 the
                 Joys
                 above
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Yet
               these
               my
               wounds
               and
               smart
               were
               not
               so
               great
               ,
            
             
               As
               many's
               who
               sate
               long
               in
               scorners
               seat
               :
            
             
               Nor
               did
               the
               change
               so
               suddenly
               begin
               ,
            
             
               As
               to
               make
               known
               when
               special
               Grace
               came
               in
               :
            
             
               In
               my
               young
               years
               thou
               hadst
               convinc'd
               my
               Soul
               :
            
             
               Conscience
               did
               childish
               vanity
               controul
               :
            
             
               I
               lik'd
               thy
               waies
               as
               best
               :
               I
               honour'd
               those
               ,
            
             
               That
               Folly
               shun'd
               ,
               and
               Holy
               Wisdom
               chose
               :
            
             
               Thou
               hadst
               prevented
               Oaths
               and
               horrid
               crimes
               ;
            
             
               And
               the
               enormous
               vices
               of
               the
               times
               :
            
             
               Preserving
               me
               from
               youthful
               lusts
               and
               rage
               :
            
             
               The
               thoughts
               of
               Thee
               increasing
               with
               my
               Age.
            
             
               This
               greatest
               Change
               began
               when
               I
               was
               green
               ,
            
             
               Having
               not
               much
               above
               three
               lustres
               seen
               :
            
             
               Therefore
               I
               doubted
               whether
               it
               were
               true
               ,
            
             
               Because
               its
               entrance
               I
               no
               better
               knew
               :
            
             
             
               Long
               was
               I
               sadly
               questioning
               thy
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               Because
               thy
               Spirits
               steps
               I
               could
               not
               trace
               .
            
             
               The
               difference
               is
               so
               great
               'twixt
               Heav'n
               and
               Hell
            
             
               That
               those
               must
               differ
               much
               who
               there
               must
               dwell
            
             
               I
               fear'd
               the
               change
               which
               rais'd
               my
               soul
               no
               higher
            
             
               Would
               not
               suffice
               to
               save
               me
               from
               Hell
               fire
               .
            
             
               But
               above
               all
               ,
               I
               thought
               so
               Hard
               a
               heart
               ,
            
             
               Could
               not
               among
               the
               living
               have
               a
               part
               .
            
             
               I
               thought
               thy
               Son
               would
               never
               heal
               my
               sore
               ,
            
             
               Unless
               my
               tears
               and
               sorrow
               had
               been
               more
               .
            
             
               I
               wonder'd
               at
               my
               great
               stupidity
               !
            
             
               That
               could
               not
               weep
               when
               I
               deserv'd
               to
               dye
               .
            
             
               I
               wonder'd
               ,
               things
               so
               great
               as
               Heav'n
               and
               Hell
               ,
            
             
               Did
               on
               my
               heart
               with
               no
               more
               feeling
               dwell
               !
            
             
               That
               words
               which
               such
               amazing
               things
               import
               ,
            
             
               Did
               not
               sink
               deeper
               ,
               and
               my
               soul
               transport
               !
            
             
               That
               things
               of
               Everlasting
               consequence
               ,
            
             
               Did
               not
               affect
               me
               with
               a
               deeper
               sense
               .
            
             
               And
               that
               a
               soul
               so
               near
               its
               final
               doom
               ,
            
             
               Could
               give
               these
               worldly
               trifles
               any
               room
               .
            
             
               That
               on
               these
               shadows
               I
               could
               cast
               an
               eye
               ,
            
             
               While
               Death
               &
               Judgment
               ,
               Heav'n
               &
               Hell
               stood
               by
               .
            
             
               I
               wonder'd
               when
               my
               odious
               sin
               was
               nam'd
               ,
            
             
               I
               was
               no
               more
               confounded
               and
               asham'd
               !
            
             
               Many
               a
               time
               I
               beg'd
               a
               tender
               heart
               ,
            
             
               And
               never
               pray'd
               so
               much
               for
               joy
               ,
               as
               smart
               .
            
             
               I
               could
               have
               kiss'd
               the
               place
               where
               I
               did
               kneel
               ,
            
             
               If
               what
               my
               tongue
               had
               spoke
               ,
               my
               heart
               could
               feel
               .
            
             
               These
               were
               my
               cryes
               when
               I
               to
               Thee
               did
               speak
               ,
            
             
               
                 O
                 that
                 this
                 heart
                 of
                 stone
                 might
                 melt
                 or
                 break
                 !
              
            
             
             
               These
               were
               my
               groans
               ;
               this
               was
               my
               daily
               breath
               ;
            
             
               
                 ●
                 save
                 me
                 from
                 Hard-heartedness
                 and
                 Death
                 !
              
            
             
               This
               was
               the
               title
               which
               I
               us'd
               to
               take
               ,
            
             
               
                 Sensless
                 Hard-hearted
                 wretch
                 ,
                 that
                 cannot
                 wake
                 .
                 ]
              
            
             
               But
               as
               thy
               Wisdom
               gives
               in
               fittest
               measure
               ;
            
             
               Not
               all
               at
               once
               :
               It
               's
               meet
               we
               wait
               thy
               leisure
               .
            
             
               ●
               thought
               that
               things
               unseen
               should
               pierce
               and
               melt
               ,
            
             
               With
               as
               great
               Passion
               as
               things
               seen
               and
               felt
               .
            
             
               But
               now
               I
               find
               it
               is
               their
               proper
               part
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               
                 most
                 valu'd
              
               ,
               to
               be
               
                 next
                 the
                 Heart
              
               ;
            
             
               To
               be
               the
               
                 highest
                 Interest
              
               of
               the
               soul
               ;
            
             
               There
               to
               command
               ,
               and
               all
               
                 things
                 else
                 controul
              
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               must
               the
               little
               spark
               of
               fire
               be
               blown
               ,
            
             
               Or
               else
               it
               will
               not
               flame
               ,
               nor
               scarce
               be
               known
               ;
            
             
               New-lighted
               Candles
               ,
               darkened
               by
               the
               snuff
               ,
            
             
               Are
               ready
               to
               go
               out
               with
               every
               puff
               :
            
             
               So
               it
               was
               long
               before
               the
               heav'nly
               spark
            
             
               Conquered
               my
               snuff
               ,
               and
               shined
               in
               the
               dark
               :
            
             
               My
               feeble
               new-born
               soul
               began
               with
               crying
               :
            
             
               My
               Infant-life
               did
               seem
               to
               be
               still
               dying
               :
            
             
               Betwixt
               supporting
               Hope
               ,
               and
               sinking
               Fears
               ,
            
             
               My
               doubting
               soul
               did
               languish
               many
               years
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Thy
                 troubling
                 Motions
                 tend
                 to
                 Rest
                 above
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               GRACE
               like
               NATURE
               entereth
               in
               a
               seed
               ;
            
             
               Which
               with
               man's
               labour
               ,
               heav'nly
               dews
               must
               feed
               :
            
             
               Whose
               Virtue
               and
               
                 first
                 Motions
              
               no
               eye
               sees
               ;
            
             
               But
               after
               comes
               to
               ripeness
               by
               degrees
               :
            
             
             
               Our
               Father
               's
               tender
               Love
               doth
               much
               appear
               ,
            
             
               When
               he
               with
               useless
               crying
               Babes
               can
               bear
               :
            
             
               When
               we
               the
               Houshold's
               grief
               and
               trouble
               are
               ;
            
             
               He
               shews
               the
               more
               his
               patient
               nursing
               care
               .
            
             
               At
               first
               I
               wisht
               that
               
                 I
                 could
                 pray
                 and
                 weep
              
               :
            
             
               Thus
               when
               I
               could
               not
               go
               ,
               I
               learn'd
               to
               creep
               :
            
             
               Then
               thou
               beganst
               to
               loose
               my
               Infant
               tongue
               ;
            
             
               And
               taught'st
               me
               
                 Abba
                 ,
                 Father
              
               ,
               when
               but
               young
            
             
               First
               by
               the
               Book
               ,
               and
               some
               unworded
               groans
               ;
            
             
               After
               by
               heart-indited
               words
               and
               moans
               .
            
             
               Thy
               dyet
               first
               was
               Milk
               ,
               then
               stronger
               food
               :
            
             
               But
               alwaies
               that
               which
               wholsom
               was
               and
               good
               .
            
             
               Though
               Preachers
               were
               too
               often
               dry
               and
               dull
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               holy
               Word
               was
               quick
               and
               powerful
               :
            
             
               The
               many
               precious
               Books
               of
               holy
               men
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               Spirit
               used
               on
               me
               as
               his
               Pen
               :
            
             
               
                 Perkins
                 ,
                 Sibbs
                 ,
                 Bolton
                 ,
                 Whateley
                 ,
              
               holy
               Dod
               ,
            
             
               
                 Hildersham
                 ,
                 Preston
              
               ,
               other
               men
               of
               God
               ,
            
             
               How
               pertinently
               spake
               they
               to
               my
               case
               ?
            
             
               They
               open'd
               Heav'n
               and
               Hell
               before
               my
               face
               :
            
             
               They
               did
               unfold
               the
               Gospel-Mysteries
               ,
            
             
               And
               set
               Christ
               crucified
               before
               my
               eyes
               :
            
             
               They
               shamed
               sin
               ;
               they
               shewed
               me
               the
               snare
               ;
            
             
               Opened
               the
               danger
               ;
               charg'd
               me
               to
               beware
               .
            
             
               In
               every
               duty
               they
               did
               me
               direct
               ;
            
             
               Told
               me
               the
               sin
               ,
               and
               danger
               of
               neglect
               :
            
             
               They
               search'd
               my
               heart
               ;
               help'd
               me
               to
               try
               my
               state
            
             
               My
               earthly
               Mind
               they
               help'd
               to
               elevate
               :
            
             
               What
               strong
               &
               quickening
               motives
               did
               they
               bring
            
             
               To
               raise
               my
               heart
               ,
               and
               winde
               the
               slackned
               spring
            
             
             
               These
               happy
               Counsellors
               wero
               still
               at
               hand
               ;
            
             
               The
               Maps
               ,
               and
               Landskips
               of
               the
               Holy
               Land.
            
             
               This
               food
               was
               not
               lockt
               from
               me
               ;
               but
               I
               could
            
             
               Go
               read
               a
               holy
               Sermon
               when
               I
               would
               .
            
             
               How
               cheaply
               kept
               I
               many
               Rare
               Divines
               ?
            
             
               And
               for
               a
               little
               purchas'd
               Golden
               Mines
               ?
            
             
               My
               griefs
               they
               eas'd
               ;
               my
               many
               doubts
               resolv'd
               ;
            
             
               With
               great
               delight
               I
               daily
               then
               revolv'd
               :
            
             
               O
               
                 my
                 dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Are
                 these
                 thy
                 Candles
                 ?
                 What
                 's
                 the
                 Sun
                 above
                 ?
              
            
          
           
             
               At
               last
               my
               Fears
               became
               my
               greatest
               Faar
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               that
               my
               whole
               Religion
               should
               lie
               there
               :
            
             
               No
               man
               hath
               more
               of
               Holiness
               than
               Love
               :
            
             
               Which
               doth
               free
               souls
               by
               complacency
               move
            
             
               Common
               Grace
               goes
               as
               far
               as
               
                 Fear
                 alone
              
               :
            
             
               This
               eateth
               not
               the
               meat
               ,
               but
               gnaws
               the
               bone
               .
            
             
               A
               slavish
               fear
               desireth
               leave
               to
               sin
               :
            
             
               It
               doth
               but
               tie
               the
               hands
               ,
               and
               wash
               the
               skin
               .
            
             
               Hypocrites
               act
               a
               forc't
               affected
               part
               :
            
             
               Where
               Love
               is
               absent
               ,
               God
               hath
               not
               the
               heart
               .
            
             
               He
               'l
               not
               accept
               what
               's
               done
               against
               mens
               will
               ,
            
             
               That
               if
               they
               durst
               ,
               had
               rather
               have
               done
               ill
               .
            
          
           
             
               Oh
               my
               dear
               God!
               shall
               not
               my
               Heart
               be
               thine
               ?
            
             
               Then
               I
               shall
               wish
               it
               never
               had
               been
               mine
               .
            
             
               Objects
               of
               Sense
               do
               soonest
               move
               the
               Passion
               :
            
             
               But
               sure
               Thou
               hast
               my
               highest
               Estimation
               ;
            
             
               My
               
                 Will
                 's
                 Resolved
                 Choice
              
               is
               to
               be
               Thine
               :
            
             
               My
               Soul
               and
               Body
               I
               to
               Thee
               resign
               :
            
             
             
               To
               Thee
               the
               motions
               of
               my
               Soul
               do
               bend
               :
            
             
               Thou
               art
               the
               Scope
               to
               which
               my
               Life
               doth
               tend
               .
            
             
               The
               Motions
               of
               the
               higher
               Faculties
               ,
            
             
               The
               Ruling
               Powers
               are
               chiefest
               in
               thine
               eyes
               :
            
             
               Thou
               tak'st
               the
               Love
               and
               Homage
               which
               they
               pay
               ;
            
             
               Though
               Rebel
               Passion
               doth
               not
               them
               obey
               ,
            
             
               What
               makes
               me
               laugh
               most
               ,
               makes
               me
               not
               most
               glad
            
             
               What
               made
               me
               weep
               most
               ,
               made
               me
               not
               most
               sad
               :
            
             
               My
               Love
               to
               one
               choice
               friend
               hath
               oft
               more
               passion
               ,
            
             
               Than
               my
               much
               greater
               Love
               to
               Church
               &
               Nation
               .
            
             
               O
               had
               I
               all
               my
               Powers
               at
               command
               !
            
             
               As
               readily
               as
               tongue
               ,
               or
               foot
               ,
               or
               hand
               !
            
             
               My
               eyes
               should
               empty
               first
               the
               serous
               store
               ,
            
             
               Because
               I
               love
               so
               good
               a
               God
               no
               more
               :
            
             
               And
               next
               some
               of
               the
               florid
               Blood
               should
               spend
               ,
            
             
               Because
               the
               God
               of
               Love
               I
               did
               offend
               .
            
             
               The
               rest
               should
               serve
               for
               Oil
               unto
               Love's
               Fire
               ,
            
             
               Wasting
               in
               restless
               vehement
               Desire
               :
            
             
               At
               every
               mention
               of
               thy
               Blessed
               Name
               ,
            
             
               My
               ravisht
               Soul
               should
               mount
               up
               in
               Love's
               flame
               :
            
             
               Each
               Sermon
               should
               Elias
               Chariot
               be
               ,
            
             
               To
               carry
               up
               my
               longing
               heart
               to
               Thee
               .
            
             
               The
               Saints
               Assemblies
               I
               would
               make
               more
               bright
               ,
            
             
               Where
               many
               Heav'n-aspiring
               flames
               unite
               .
            
             
               And
               when
               my
               Lord's
               Love-sufferings
               I
               read
               ,
            
             
               My
               pierced
               and
               Love-wounded
               heart
               should
               bleed
               .
            
             
               Love
               should
               enforce
               each
               word
               when
               I
               do
               pray
               ;
            
             
               
                 A
                 Flaming
                 Heart
              
               I
               'd
               on
               thy
               Altar
               lay
               :
            
             
               When
               halving
               Hypocrites
               give
               Thee
               a
               part
               ,
            
             
               Love
               should
               present
               my
               Whole
               ,
               though
               Broken
               heart
               .
            
             
             
               When
               in
               thy
               Word
               I
               read
               Love's
               Mysteries
               ;
            
             
               There
               I
               would
               sweetly
               feed
               my
               greedy
               eyes
               .
            
             
               Each
               Sacrament
               should
               be
               an
               Eucharist
               :
            
             
               There
               Heart
               with
               Heart
               ,
               &
               Love
               with
               Love
               should
               twist
               .
            
             
               My
               friends
               and
               I
               would
               in
               our
               daily
               walk
            
             
               Of
               Love's
               Delights
               and
               Entertainments
               talk
               :
            
             
               My
               working
               Love
               should
               others
               Love
               excite
               :
            
             
               In
               Love
               I
               'd
               be
               a
               Burning
               Shining
               Light.
            
             
               Love
               through
               the
               Lanthorn
               of
               my
               flesh
               should
               shine
               :
            
             
               Who
               heard
               me
               speak
               ,
               should
               hear
               that
               I
               am
               Thine
               :
            
             
               Remembring
               that
               in
               Love
               I
               must
               be
               made
            
             
               Equal
               to
               Angels
               ;
               I
               would
               learn
               their
               Trade
               :
            
             
               Yea
               I
               would
               reach
               up
               to
               a
               higher
               shelf
               ;
            
             
               And
               as
               my
               Copy
               ,
               look
               to
               Christ
               himself
               :
            
          
           
             
               Love's
               work
               I
               'd
               do
               with
               all
               my
               diligence
               ,
               
            
             
               Though
               men
               should
               think
               I
               were
               beside
               my
               sense
               .
               
            
          
           
             
               My
               daily
               Love
               should
               rise
               before
               the
               Sun
               ,
            
             
               And
               it
               in
               speed
               and
               constancy
               out
               run
               :
            
             
               Love
               as
               my
               Life
               should
               fill
               up
               all
               my
               daies
               ;
            
             
               Desire
               should
               be
               my
               Pulse
               ;
               my
               Breath
               thy
               Praise
               .
            
             
               And
               I
               would
               winde
               up
               all
               the
               strings
               as
               high
               ,
            
             
               As
               Blessed
               Paul
               was
               in
               his
               Extasie
               .
            
             
               Heav'nly
               Love
               should
               all
               my
               words
               indite
               ,
            
             
               And
               be
               the
               soul
               and
               sense
               of
               all
               I
               write
               :
            
             
               My
               heart
               of
               Love's
               Delights
               should
               sweetly
               think
               ,
            
             
               I
               'd
               write
               with
               flaming
               fire
               instead
               of
               Ink
               :
            
             
             
               And
               yet
               thy
               holy
               Day
               should
               be
               my
               Best
               ,
            
             
               In
               it
               my
               thirsty
               Soul
               should
               tast
               of
               Rest
               ;
            
             
               My
               daily
               food
               should
               increase
               to
               a
               Feast
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 O
                 could
                 I
                 mount
                 thus
                 to
                 the
                 Flames
                 above
                 ?
              
            
          
           
             
               These
               are
               Love's
               pantings
               after
               thee
               ,
               my
               God!
            
             
               Though
               ,
               with
               my
               Soul
               ,
               imprison'd
               in
               a
               clod
               !
            
             
               ☞
               My
               Soul
               and
               Love
               shall
               shortly
               be
               set
               free
               ;
            
             
               And
               then
               my
               Soul
               ,
               my
               Love
               shall
               feast
               on
               Thee
               .
            
             
               If
               thou
               wouldst
               grant
               the
               very
               thing
               I
               crave
               ,
            
             
               And
               give
               me
               leave
               to
               chuse
               what
               I
               would
               have
               ;
            
             
               Should
               it
               be
               lusts
               ,
               or
               Sports
               ,
               or
               Fleshly
               pleasure
               ?
            
             
               Sould
               it
               be
               Lordly
               Rule
               ,
               or
               Earthly
               Treasure
               ?
            
             
               No
               ;
               I
               could
               gladly
               leave
               this
               Dirt
               to
               Swine
               ,
            
             
               And
               let
               the
               World
               be
               theirs
               ,
               if
               Thou
               be
               mine
               !
            
             
               I
               would
               not
               thirst
               to
               tast
               of
               their
               Delight
               .
            
             
               If
               lively
               Faith
               might
               see
               the
               blessed
               Sight
               !
            
             
               I
               would
               not
               be
               ambitious
               of
               a
               Throne
               !
            
             
               I
               could
               have
               full
               content
               in
               God
               alone
               .
            
             
               For
               mens
               Esteem
               and
               Praise
               I
               would
               not
               care
               :
            
             
               All
               other
               Wit
               and
               Knowledge
               I
               could
               spare
               :
            
             
               To
               Know
               and
               
                 Love
                 my
                 God
              
               should
               be
               my
               choice
               :
            
             
               Give
               me
               but
               This
               ,
               and
               how
               shall
               I
               rejoyce
               ?
            
             
               Under
               my
               hand
               ,
               Lord
               ,
               This
               is
               it
               I
               choose
               :
            
             
               O
               give
               me
               this
               ,
               whatever
               else
               I
               lose
               !
            
             
               Is
               there
               no
               spark
               of
               Love
               in
               this
               Desire
               ?
            
             
               When
               a
               poor
               Soul
               doth
               unto
               Thee
               aspire
               ?
            
             
               To
               Know
               and
               Love
               thee
               is
               my
               thirst
               and
               strife
               :
            
             
               Nothing
               more
               makes
               me
               weary
               of
               my
               life
               ,
            
             
             
               Than
               that
               I
               feel
               no
               more
               the
               heav'nly
               Fire
               ,
            
             
               But
               look
               and
               reach
               ,
               and
               yet
               can
               reach
               no
               higher
               .
            
             
               Here
               lyes
               my
               pain
               !
               This
               is
               my
               daily
               sore
               :
            
             
               ●
               hate
               my
               Heart
               for
               loving
               God
               no
               more
               .
            
             
               Do
               I
               not
               Love
               Thee
               ,
               when
               
                 I
                 Love
                 to
                 Love
                 Thee
              
               ?
            
             
               And
               when
               I
               
                 set
                 up
                 nothing
                 else
                 above
                 Thee
                 ?
              
            
             
               Next
               GOD
               himself
               ,
               who
               is
               my
               END
               &
               REST
               ,
            
             
               Love
               which
               stands
               next
               Thee
               ,
               I
               esteem
               my
               Best
               ,
            
             
               And
               
                 Loving
                 God
              
               shall
               be
               my
               Endless
               Feast
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 These
                 are
                 thy
                 Earnests
                 of
                 the
                 Life
                 above
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Fear
               is
               to
               Love
               ,
               as
               was
               the
               Law
               to
               Grace
               :
            
             
               And
               as
               
                 John
                 Baptist
              
               goes
               before
               Christ's
               face
               ,
            
             
               Preaching
               Repentance
               :
               it
               prepares
               his
               way
               :
            
             
               It
               is
               the
               first
               appearing
               of
               the
               Day
               :
            
             
               The
               dawning
               Light
               which
               comes
               before
               the
               Sun
               :
            
             
               As
               he
               that
               to
               Christ's
               Scpulchre
               first
               run
               ,
            
             
               Excites
               the
               LOV'D
               Disciple
               to
               do
               better
               ;
            
             
               The
               certain
               news
               of
               Life
               comes
               by
               the
               later
               .
            
             
               Fear
               is
               Love's
               Harbinger
               :
               It
               is
               the
               womb
               ,
            
             
               Where
               Love
               doth
               breed
               till
               time
               of
               ripeness
               come
               !
            
             
               No
               wonder
               if
               it
               be
               not
               seen
               till
               then
               :
            
             
               The
               Seed
               and
               Embrio
               are
               hid
               from
               men
               .
            
             
               Though
               Thou
               com'st
               in
               by
               Love
               ,
               Fear
               draws
               the
               latch
               :
            
             
               Fear
               makes
               the
               motion
               ,
               tho
               Love
               makes
               the
               match
               :
            
             
               Fear
               is
               the
               soil
               that
               cherisheth
               the
               feed
               ;
            
             
               The
               Nursery
               in
               which
               Heav'ns
               Plants
               do
               breed
               .
            
             
               God
               first
               in
               Nature
               finds
               Self-Love
               ,
               and
               there
            
             
               He
               takes
               advantage
               to
               implant
               his
               Fear
               .
            
             
             
               With
               some
               the
               time
               is
               long
               before
               the
               Earth
            
             
               Disclose
               her
               young
               one
               by
               a
               springy
               Birth
               :
            
             
               When
               Heav'n
               doth
               make
               our
               Winter
               sharp
               &
               long
               ,
            
             
               The
               seed
               of
               Love
               lies
               hid
               ,
               or
               seems
               but
               young
               :
            
             
               But
               when
               God
               makes
               it
               Spring-time
               ,
               his
               approach
            
             
               Takes
               from
               the
               barren
               Soul
               its
               great
               reproach
               ;
            
             
               When
               Heav'ns
               reviving
               Smiles
               and
               Raies
               appear
               ,
            
             
               Then
               Love
               begins
               to
               spring
               up
               above
               Fear
               :
            
             
               And
               if
               sin
               hinder
               not
               by
               cursed
               shade
               ,
            
             
               It
               quickly
               shoots
               up
               to
               a
               youthful
               blade
               :
            
             
               And
               when
               Heav'ns
               warmer
               beams
               &
               dews
               succeed
               ,
            
             
               That
               's
               ripened
               fruit
               which
               even
               now
               was
               but
               seed
               :
            
             
               Yet
               doth
               not
               flowring
               ,
               fruitful
               Love
               forget
            
             
               Her
               Nursing
               Fear
               ;
               there
               still
               her
               Root
               is
               set
               :
            
             
               In
               Humble
               Self-denyal
               under-trod
               ,
            
             
               While
               Flower
               and
               Fruit
               are
               growing
               up
               to
               God
            
             
               
                 After
                 Love's
                 Birth-Day
              
               ,
               holy
               Fear
               and
               Care
            
             
               The
               
                 outward
                 Part
              
               of
               the
               New-creature
               are
               .
            
             
               As
               mortal
               man
               consists
               of
               Flesh
               and
               Soul
               ,
            
             
               So
               Fear
               and
               Love
               ,
               on
               Earth
               ,
               do
               make
               one
               Whole
               .
            
             
               Love
               ,
               as
               the
               Soul
               ,
               unseen
               ,
               yet
               bears
               the
               sway
               :
            
             
               Fear
               ,
               as
               the
               Flesh
               ,
               more
               felt
               ,
               must
               it
               obey
               .
            
             
               By
               
                 Fear
                 ,
                 Love
              
               doth
               the
               daring
               Flesh
               restrain
               ,
            
             
               And
               keepeth
               men
               awake
               by
               threatned
               pain
               .
            
             
               This
               frame
               is
               mortal
               :
               Not
               that
               Love
               can
               dye
               ;
            
             
               But
               leaving
               Fears
               ,
               will
               dwell
               alone
               on
               high
               :
            
             
               Yet
               will
               retain
               a
               
                 Reverent
                 Fear
              
               of
               God
               ;
            
             
               But
               not
               the
               terrour
               of
               his
               Wrath
               or
               Rod.
            
             
               O
               
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 How
                 wise
                 thy
                 Methods
                 to
                 the
                 Life
                 above
                 ?
              
            
             
             
               Thou
               first
               appear'dst
               in
               Lightning
               ,
               as
               to
               Paul
               :
            
             
               My
               heat
               abated
               ,
               at
               thy
               feet
               I
               fall
               .
            
             
               The
               voice
               with
               which
               thy
               Call
               thou
               didst
               begin
               ,
            
             
               Was
               to
               convince
               me
               ,
               and
               reprove
               my
               sin
               :
            
             
               I
               first
               enquired
               of
               thee
               ,
               who
               thou
               art
               ?
            
             
               And
               then
               ,
               what
               duty
               thou
               hadst
               made
               my
               part
               ?
            
             
               Thus
               Fear
               and
               Care
               began
               ;
               but
               the
               sweet
               Name
            
             
               Of
               Jesus
               did
               reviving
               Hope
               proclaim
               .
            
             
               And
               though
               long
               time
               it
               scarcely
               did
               appear
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               sure
               some
               hidden
               spark
               of
               Love
               was
               there
               .
            
             
               I
               lov'd
               thy
               
                 Holy
                 Word
                 ;
                 Good
                 Books
              
               were
               sweet
               ,
            
             
               Those
               that
               did
               with
               my
               own
               condition
               meet
               :
            
             
               Heart-searching
               Ministers
               were
               my
               delight
               ,
               ☞
            
             
               Those
               that
               did
               most
               my
               drowsie
               Soul
               excite
               .
            
             
               I
               dearly
               loved
               all
               in
               whom
               I
               saw
            
             
               A
               Love
               to
               Thee
               ,
               and
               Care
               to
               keep
               thy
               Law
               :
            
             
               The
               speech
               and
               sight
               of
               Holy
               men
               was
               sweet
               ;
            
             
               I
               honour'd
               them
               ,
               and
               could
               have
               kist
               their
               feet
               .
            
             
               I
               felt
               their
               living
               words
               go
               to
               the
               quick
               ,
            
             
               When
               common
               idle
               prating
               made
               me
               sick
               .
            
             
               I
               dearly
               lov'd
               my
               serious
               bosom
               friend
               ,
            
             
               Who
               did
               in
               Love
               my
               failings
               reprehend
               ;
            
             
               That
               could
               my
               doubting
               troubled
               mind
               condole
               ,
            
             
               And
               help
               to
               keep
               awake
               my
               sleepy
               Soul
               :
            
             
               Who
               could
               unfold
               the
               Mysteries
               of
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               And
               speak
               particularly
               to
               my
               case
               ;
            
             
               Sweetly
               disclosing
               his
               experience
               ;
            
             
               Extolling
               Mercy
               from
               his
               own
               deep
               sense
               ;
            
             
               One
               that
               had
               been
               instructed
               by
               the
               Rod
               ,
            
             
               And
               boiled
               over
               in
               the
               Praise
               of
               God
               :
            
             
             
               Who
               early
               (
               and
               oft
               in
               the
               night
               )
               would
               rise
               ,
            
             
               To
               offer
               Thee
               a
               Thankful
               Sacrifice
               :
            
             
               Who
               warm'd
               me
               with
               his
               Zeal
               when
               I
               was
               cold
               ;
            
             
               And
               my
               remissness
               lovingly
               controul'd
               ;
            
             
               Who
               stirr'd
               me
               up
               ,
               and
               taught
               me
               how
               to
               pray
               ;
            
             
               And
               friendly
               watcht
               and
               warn'd
               me
               every
               day
               .
            
             
               And
               yet
               his
               Piety
               did
               not
               exceed
            
             
               His
               Charity
               ,
               to
               those
               that
               were
               in
               need
               .
            
             
               For
               such
               a
               friend
               I
               had
               ;
               though
               after
               all
               ,
            
             
               Himself
               became
               my
               warning
               by
               his
               fall
               ;
            
             
               As
               more
               than
               One
               or
               Two
               have
               done
               since
               then
               ;
            
             
               Shewing
               ,
               when
               Grace
               withdraws
               ,
               we
               are
               but
               Men.
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 These
                 are
                 the
                 seeds
                 :
                 what
                 are
                 the
                 fruits
                 above
                 ?
              
            
          
           
             
               Yet
               did
               I
               scarce
               discern
               that
               it
               was
               Thee
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               in
               the
               Glass
               my
               
                 pleased
                 Mind
              
               did
               see
               :
            
             
               But
               though
               thine
               Image
               more
               incur
               my
               sense
               ,
            
             
               I
               love
               it
               for
               the
               pourtrayd
               excellence
               :
            
             
               It
               's
               not
               because
               the
               Workmanship
               is
               fine
               ,
            
             
               But
               Good
               and
               Holy
               ;
               and
               because
               it
               's
               Thine
               .
            
             
               I
               
                 better
                 know
              
               the
               Map
               that
               's
               in
               my
               hand
               :
            
             
               But
               yet
               ,
               by
               it
               ,
               I
               
                 better
                 Love
              
               the
               Land.
            
             
               Sure
               when
               I
               lov'd
               thy
               Books
               ,
               and
               every
               letter
               ;
            
             
               I
               lov'd
               the
               Sense
               ,
               and
               End
               ,
               and
               Author
               better
               .
            
             
               He
               loveth
               Wisdom
               sure
               ,
               who
               loves
               the
               Wise
               :
            
             
               It
               's
               like
               he
               loves
               the
               Light
               ,
               who
               loves
               his
               Eyes
               .
            
             
               If
               one
               in
               Prison
               had
               his
               life
               begun
               ,
            
             
               Where
               he
               had
               never
               seen
               the
               shining
               Sun
               ;
            
             
             
               Yet
               if
               he
               dearly
               love
               the
               Candle-light
               ,
            
             
               He
               'd
               urely
               love
               the
               Sun
               ,
               which
               is
               more
               bright
               .
            
             
               Or
               if
               the
               Sun
               had
               alwaies
               clouded
               been
               ,
            
             
               And
               men
               its
               scattered
               Light
               alone
               had
               seen
               ;
            
             
               ●'s
               true
               ,
               our
               Thoughts
               and
               Love
               of
               that
               we
               see
               ,
            
             
               Would
               more
               exact
               and
               satisfying
               be
               :
            
             
               But
               to
               the
               
                 unseen
                 Cause
              
               ,
               as
               it
               is
               Better
               ,
            
             
               Our
               
                 Love
                 of
                 Estimation
              
               would
               be
               Greater
               .
            
             
               And
               even
               a
               Knowledge
               general
               and
               dark
               ,
            
             
               Would
               be
               the
               Chooser
               of
               our
               End
               and
               Mark.
            
             
               That
               Love
               's
               most
               sensible
               ,
               which
               Sense
               doth
               breed
               ;
            
             
               But
               that
               Commands
               ,
               which
               Faith
               and
               Reason
               feed
               :
            
             
               The
               Country
               than
               the
               Map
               ,
               I
               must
               confess
               ,
               ☞
            
             
               ●s
               much
               
                 less
                 known
              
               ;
               but
               is
               not
               
                 known
                 as
                 less
              
               .
            
             
               A
               Creat
               and
               
                 Certain
                 Object
              
               should
               do
               more
               ,
            
             
               Though
               
                 darkly
                 known
              
               ,
               than
               trifles
               at
               my
               door
               :
            
             
               An
               
                 Unseen
                 Kingdom
              
               would
               with
               men
               prevail
               ,
            
             
               To
               leave
               their
               Native
               place
               ,
               and
               hoise
               up
               sail
               ,
            
             
               And
               venture
               over
               stormy
               boisterous
               Seas
               :
            
             
               which
               shews
               that
               
                 great
                 things
              
               ,
               tho
               unseen
               ,
               most
               please
               .
            
             
               No
               wonder
               if
               the
               Knowledge
               be
               most
               clear
               ,
            
             
               Or
               little
               things
               which
               to
               the
               sense
               are
               near
               ;
            
             
               These
               narrow
               parcels
               we
               can
               comprehend
               ,
            
             
               When
               
                 unseen
                 Greatness
              
               ,
               doth
               the
               mind
               transcend
               :
            
             
               But
               yet
               This
               moves
               the
               Wheels
               ,
               and
               is
               the
               Spring
               ,
            
             
               Before
               the
               nearest
               sight
               of
               some
               small
               thing
               .
            
             
               That
               is
               
                 most
                 Loved
              
               ,
               which
               I
               make
               my
               End
               ;
            
             
               To
               which
               my
               great
               designs
               and
               actions
               tend
               ;
            
             
               For
               which
               I
               can
               all
               other
               Treasure
               spend
               ,
            
             
               Although
               I
               do
               it
               darkly
               apprehend
               .
            
             
             
               O
               my
               Dear
               God!
               how
               precious
               is
               thy
               Love
               ?
            
             
               Unveiled
               fully
               to
               thy
               Saints
               above
               ?
            
          
           
             
               As
               fire
               first
               kindleth
               on
               the
               nearest
               Wood
               ,
            
             
               My
               sense
               thus
               fixed
               on
               the
               nearest
               good
               :
            
             
               And
               where
               sense
               fixed
               ,
               there
               with
               greatest
               sense
            
             
               The
               mind
               did
               exercise
               its
               Complacence
               .
            
             
               It
               seem'd
               more
               cold
               to
               that
               which
               distant
               was
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               still
               looks
               further
               as
               I
               forward
               pass
               :
            
             
               And
               towards
               my
               End
               ,
               the
               nearer
               Heav'n
               I
               go
               ,
            
             
               My
               Love
               abstracteth
               more
               from
               things
               below
               .
            
             
               Love
               seemeth
               to
               get
               ground
               ,
               and
               Fear
               decaies
               ;
            
             
               Doubting
               &
               Grief
               give
               place
               to
               Thanks
               &
               Prais●
            
             
               And
               tho
               Fear
               wrought
               with
               greatest
               sense
               before
               ,
            
             
               And
               was
               in
               bulk
               and
               violence
               much
               more
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               the
               least
               spark
               of
               Love
               which
               is
               sincere
               ,
            
             
               Will
               save
               the
               Soul
               ,
               tho
               mixt
               with
               greater
               Fear
               :
            
             
               Who
               loves
               God
               somewhat
               ,
               &
               the
               world
               above
               him
            
             
               Loving
               not
               
                 God
                 as
                 God
              
               ,
               he
               doth
               
                 not
                 love
                 him
              
               :
            
             
               Love
               must
               be
               so
               far
               tryed
               by
               the
               measure
               ,
            
             
               That
               God
               be
               Lov'd
               above
               all
               earthly
               Treasure
               :
            
             
               But
               that
               suppos'd
               the
               least
               degree
               of
               Love
               ,
            
             
               With
               greater
               Doubts
               and
               Fears
               will
               saving
               prove
            
             
               Great
               Bodies
               with
               small
               souls
               are
               animate
               :
            
             
               Great
               Heads
               with
               little
               Eyes
               ,
               are
               oculate
               .
            
             
               Small
               Candles
               lighten
               Rooms
               that
               are
               more
               large
            
             
               A
               Steward
               may
               have
               spacious
               Lands
               in
               charge
               .
            
             
               The
               Kingdom
               may
               be
               bigger
               than
               the
               King
               :
            
             
               The
               Diamond
               may
               be
               smaller
               than
               the
               Ring
               :
            
             
             
               The
               House
               may
               bigger
               than
               the
               dweller
               be
               :
            
             
               
                 Great
                 Fear
              
               and
               
                 little
                 Love
              
               ,
               consistent
               be
               .
            
             
               But
               still
               true
               Love
               to
               God
               and
               Man
               are
               known
               ,
            
             
               More
               by
               the
               Fruits
               ,
               than
               by
               the
               Sense
               alone
               .
            
             
               ●
               must
               be
               such
               a
               Love
               ,
               as
               when
               there
               's
               need
               ,
            
             
               Will
               venture
               ,
               suffer
               ,
               visit
               ,
               cloath
               and
               feed
               .
            
             
               
                 ●
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Which
                 gently
                 leads
                 us
                 to
                 the
                 Joyes
                 above
                 ?
              
            
          
           
             
               Love
               still
               went
               on
               ,
               and
               lined
               out
               my
               way
               ,
            
             
               Hedging
               me
               in
               ,
               lest
               I
               should
               go
               astray
               :
            
             
               Yet
               after
               this
               how
               oft
               did
               I
               transgress
               ?
            
             
               By
               light
               discourse
               ,
               and
               wanton
               play
               fulness
               ;
            
             
               ●ating
               to
               fulness
               :
               Yea
               ,
               even
               Cards
               and
               Dice
               ,
            
             
               Began
               my
               mind
               with
               pleasure
               to
               entice
               .
            
             
               But
               Providence
               did
               quickly
               interpose
               ,
            
             
               And
               by
               a
               wonder
               take
               me
               off
               from
               those
               .
            
             
               Sin
               most
               ensnar'd
               by
               pleading
               lawfulness
               ;
            
             
               Though
               Conscience
               often
               did
               the
               sin
               confess
               :
            
             
               That
               wounded
               deepest
               which
               by
               seeming
               small
               ,
            
             
               Drew
               me
               to
               venture
               ,
               and
               resist
               thy
               Call
               ;
            
             
               And
               knowingly
               the
               same
               oft
               to
               commit
               ,
            
             
               Thinking
               all
               Christians
               had
               as
               great
               as
               it
               .
            
             
               Let
               all
               that
               would
               not
               be
               undone
               by
               sin
               ,
            
             
               Fly
               the
               occasions
               where
               it
               doth
               begin
               .
            
             
               At
               first
               it
               's
               safe
               and
               pleasant
               to
               resist
               .
            
             
               But
               O
               how
               doleful
               is
               it
               to
               persist
               ?
            
             
               Sin
               doth
               not
               open
               its
               design
               at
               first
               :
            
             
               Its
               first
               appearance
               sheweth
               not
               the
               worst
               :
            
             
             
               Flattering
               the
               sense
               ,
               it
               seems
               to
               be
               a
               friend
               ;
            
             
               But
               it
               proves
               pain
               and
               poison
               in
               the
               end
               .
            
             
               Pray
               from
               Temptation
               that
               you
               may
               be
               free
               ,
            
             
               If
               from
               the
               evil
               you
               would
               saved
               be
               .
            
             
               Repentance
               must
               convince
               you
               that
               it's
               gall
               ,
            
             
               Which
               first
               appeared
               innocent
               or
               small
               .
            
             
               O
               how
               it
               fills
               the
               Soul
               with
               guilty
               fears
               !
            
             
               Our
               filial
               Evidences
               blasts
               and
               tears
               ?
            
             
               Disturbs
               our
               Peace
               ,
               and
               feeds
               the
               gnawing
               Worm
            
             
               Turns
               our
               Tranquility
               into
               a
               storm
               ?
            
             
               It
               puts
               a
               piercing
               sting
               into
               the
               Cross
               ,
            
             
               And
               makes
               Death
               dreadful
               as
               the
               greatest
               loss
               .
            
             
               Yet
               all
               my
               folly
               Mercy
               did
               forgive
               ,
            
             
               And
               did
               my
               guilty
               wounded
               soul
               relieve
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Heal
                 me
                 ,
                 and
                 fit
                 me
                 for
                 the
                 Joyes
                 above
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Thy
               Love
               in
               order
               to
               it
               s
               well
               known
               Ends
               ,
            
             
               Shew'd
               me
               great
               mercy
               in
               meet
               Guides
               &
               Friends
               :
            
             
               Antient
               and
               grave
               Divines
               ,
               solid
               and
               staid
               ,
            
             
               Who
               from
               Experience
               both
               preach'd
               and
               pray'd
               :
            
             
               Learned
               ,
               yet
               counting
               Christianity
            
             
               The
               chiefest
               Learning
               and
               Philosophy
               .
            
             
               These
               as
               the
               Fathers
               of
               my
               untaught
               Youth
               ,
            
             
               Were
               willing
               to
               communicate
               the
               Truth
               .
            
             
               Their
               help
               and
               fruitful
               converse
               was
               my
               stay
               ,
            
             
               And
               great
               encouragement
               in
               all
               my
               way
               ;
            
             
               More
               pleasant
               to
               me
               than
               my
               youthful
               games
               :
            
             
               My
               love
               doth
               grudgingly
               suppress
               their
               names
               .
            
             
             
               The
               company
               thou
               gav'st
               me
               was
               not
               vain
               ,
            
             
               ●ot
               proud
               or
               factious
               ,
               sensual
               or
               prophane
               :
            
             
               ●●t
               serious
               ,
               sober
               ,
               and
               obedient
               ,
            
             
               Those
               time
               was
               in
               their
               peaceful
               labours
               spent
               :
            
             
               ●umble
               and
               meek
               ,
               who
               made
               it
               their
               discourse
               ,
            
             
               ●o
               stir
               up
               Faith
               ,
               and
               penitent
               remorse
               .
            
             
               ●inding
               the
               Lowest
               ,
               and
               the
               Highest
               things
               ;
            
             
               ●ot
               medling
               busily
               with
               States
               and
               Kings
               .
            
             
               Making
               thy
               holy
               Word
               their
               chief
               delight
               ,
            
             
               ●nd
               meditating
               in
               it
               day
               and
               night
               :
            
             
               ●ending
               thy
               day
               in
               works
               of
               holiness
               ;
            
             
               ●ating
               prophaneness
               ,
               lewdness
               and
               excess
               :
            
             
               Content
               with
               little
               ,
               yet
               aspiring
               high
               ;
            
             
               ●paring
               no
               pains
               for
               immortality
               :
            
             
               Low
               in
               the
               world
               ;
               but
               for
               salvation
               wise
               ;
            
             
               Though
               scorn'd
               by
               faithless
               fools
               as
               too
               precise
               .
            
             
               O
               
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Such
                 thou
                 wilt
                 take
                 to
                 dwell
                 with
                 Thee
                 above
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Thy
               Mercy
               did
               my
               younger
               Studies
               guide
               :
            
             
               Sweet
               leisure
               and
               meet
               Books
               thou
               didst
               provide
               ;
            
             
               And
               that
               I
               might
               thy
               Love
               the
               better
               see
               ,
            
             
               My
               Tutor
               thou
               thy self
               wast
               pleas'd
               to
               be
               :
            
             
               As
               Honey-combs
               are
               made
               by
               patient
               Bees
               ,
            
             
               Who
               fetch
               the
               matter
               home
               by
               slow
               degrees
               ,
            
             
               In
               many
               daies
               ,
               and
               from
               a
               thousand
               Flowers
               ,
            
             
               Not
               perfecting
               their
               work
               in
               a
               few
               hours
               :
            
             
               So
               taughtst
               thou
               me
               to
               wait
               the
               Learning
               time
               ,
            
             
               Not
               reaching
               first
               at
               matters
               too
               sublime
               ;
            
             
             
               Few
               to
               maturity
               of
               Knowledge
               grow
               ,
            
             
               Who
               think
               they
               know
               ,
               before
               indeed
               they
               know
               .
            
             
               Thou
               didst
               improve
               the
               thirsty
               love
               of
               Truth
               ,
            
             
               Which
               thou
               hadst
               given
               me
               even
               in
               my
               youth
               .
            
             
               My
               Labours
               thou
               mad'st
               easie
               by
               delight
               :
            
             
               Each
               daies
               success
               ,
               did
               to
               the
               next
               invite
               .
            
             
               But
               O
               the
               happy
               Method
               of
               thy
               Grace
               !
            
             
               Which
               gave
               my
               own
               Salvation
               the
               first
               place
               !
            
             
               And
               first
               resolv'd
               me
               of
               the
               utmost
               end
               ,
            
             
               Which
               all
               my
               after
               Studies
               must
               intend
               :
            
             
               Shewing
               me
               first
               ,
               Why
               ,
               and
               
                 For
                 What
              
               I
               must
            
             
               Lay
               out
               my
               Studies
               ,
               that
               they
               be
               not
               lost
               :
            
             
               Unhappy
               men
               !
               who
               follow
               base
               designs
               ,
            
             
               And
               are
               not
               Christians
               ,
               when
               they
               are
               Divines
               !
            
             
               O
               that
               an
               
                 Impious
                 Divine
              
               were
               rare
               !
            
             
               Although
               the
               terms
               a
               contradiction
               are
               .
            
             
               Alas
               in
               what
               a
               blind
               or
               trembling
               State
               ,
            
             
               Should
               I
               all
               day
               have
               at
               my
               Studies
               sate
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               how
               little
               joy
               ,
               or
               hope
               of
               gains
               ,
            
             
               If
               I
               had
               study'd
               still
               in
               Satan's
               chains
               ?
            
             
               O
               foolish
               Studies
               !
               to
               consider
               how
            
             
               The
               Earth
               is
               fixed
               ,
               and
               the
               Plants
               do
               grow
               ?
            
             
               What
               is
               each
               creatures
               specifying
               cause
               ?
            
             
               And
               what
               are
               all
               their
               Orders
               and
               their
               Laws
               ?
            
             
               When
               thy
               own
               saving
               Change
               is
               to
               begin
               !
            
             
               And
               thou
               hast
               yet
               no
               pardon
               of
               thy
               sin
               ?
            
             
               When
               all
               the
               while
               thou
               art
               a
               Son
               of
               Wrath
               ,
            
             
               Who
               to
               Eternal
               Life
               no
               title
               hath
               ?
            
             
               When
               in
               thy
               flow'ring
               Studies
               thou
               may'st
               dye
               ,
            
             
               And
               be
               undone
               to
               all
               Eternity
               ?
            
             
             
               Who
               would
               be
               playing
               at
               a
               childish
               game
               ,
            
             
               While
               his
               own
               House
               is
               in
               a
               burning
               flame
               ?
            
             
               What
               if
               I
               knew
               whether
               the
               Earth
               or
               Sun
            
             
               So
               swift
               and
               unperceiv'd
               a
               course
               doth
               run
               ?
            
             
               Or
               knew
               the
               course
               and
               order
               of
               the
               sphears
               ?
            
             
               Or
               were
               best
               skill'd
               in
               numbering
               past
               years
               ?
            
             
               Knew
               all
               the
               Houses
               of
               the
               starry
               Sky
               ?
            
             
               And
               things
               that
               are
               for
               common
               wits
               too
               high
               ?
            
             
               What
               if
               I
               knew
               all
               these
               never
               so
               well
               ?
            
             
               And
               knew
               not
               how
               to
               scape
               the
               flames
               of
               Hell
               ?
            
             
               What
               gain
               or
               pleasure
               would
               my
               knowledge
               be
               ?
            
             
               If
               I
               the
               face
               of
               God
               must
               never
               see
               ?
            
             
               Or
               what
               if
               I
               could
               fool
               away
               my
               time
               ,
            
             
               In
               smooth
               and
               well
               composed
               idle
               Rhyme
               ?
            
             
               Or
               dreaming
               Lovers
               Fancies
               could
               rehearse
               ,
            
             
               In
               the
               most
               lofty
               and
               adorned
               verse
               ?
            
             
               While
               my
               unholy
               Soul
               ,
               in
               fleshly
               thrall
               ,
            
             
               Should
               be
               lamenting
               its
               own
               Funeral
               ?
            
          
           
             
               But
               when
               my
               Soul
               had
               fixt
               on
               God
               her
               End
               ,
            
             
               Then
               all
               my
               Studies
               unto
               him
               did
               tend
               .
            
             
               They
               all
               were
               ordered
               in
               due
               place
               and
               season
               ,
            
             
               Guided
               by
               Faith
               ,
               allowed
               by
               sound
               Reason
               :
            
             
               Thou
               taughtst
               me
               first
               the
               
                 Only
                 Needful
                 Thing
              
               ;
            
             
               And
               all
               my
               Studies
               harp'd
               still
               on
               that
               string
               :
            
             
               Judging
               the
               greatest
               Knowledge
               to
               be
               vain
               ,
            
             
               Which
               tendeth
               not
               to
               the
               Immortal
               gain
               .
            
             
               There
               is
               a
               Knowledge
               which
               increaseth
               sorrow
               ,
            
             
               And
               such
               whose
               fruit
               will
               die
               before
               to
               morrow
               :
            
             
             
               Yea
               ,
               there
               's
               a
               knowledge
               which
               occasions
               sin
               :
            
             
               Desire
               of
               Knowing
               did
               Man's
               woe
               begin
               :
            
             
               All
               means
               are
               to
               be
               judg'd
               of
               by
               their
               End
               :
            
             
               That
               's
               good
               which
               doth
               good
               ,
               or
               doth
               good
               portend
            
             
               Its
               End
               and
               Objects
               which
               ennoble
               acts
               :
            
             
               Those
               that
               
                 do
                 glorious
                 things
              
               are
               
                 glorious
                 facts
              
               .
            
             
               Who
               calls
               a
               self-condemning
               sinner
               ,
               Wise
               ,
            
             
               That
               on
               a
               syllable
               can
               criticize
               ;
            
             
               That
               can
               in
               mode
               and
               figure
               talk
               in
               vain
               ;
            
             
               Or
               learnedly
               his
               pride
               and
               sin
               maintain
               ?
            
             
               That
               's
               best
               at
               the
               resolving
               of
               a
               Riddle
               ,
            
             
               Or
               playing
               on
               a
               Bag-pipe
               ,
               or
               a
               Fiddle
               :
            
             
               But
               hath
               not
               learned
               how
               to
               Live
               and
               Die
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               where
               his
               Soul
               must
               dwell
               eternally
               ?
            
             
               God
               and
               all
               wise
               men
               judge
               him
               but
               a
               fool
               ,
            
             
               Who
               is
               not
               wise
               enough
               to
               save
               his
               Soul.
            
             
               When
               Heav'n's
               made
               sure
               ,
               all
               Knowledge
               then
               is
               good
            
             
               For
               Faith
               and
               Love
               can
               turn
               it
               into
               food
               :
            
             
               It
               's
               pleasant
               then
               to
               study
               any
               Book
               ,
            
             
               When
               we
               see
               GOD
               the
               sense
               ,
               where
               ere
               we
               look
               :
            
             
               When
               as
               the
               way
               to
               Heav'n
               we
               know
               each
               place
               :
            
             
               And
               see
               God's
               beauty
               in
               each
               creature's
               face
               :
            
             
               And
               when
               we
               stick
               not
               in
               the
               form
               and
               letter
               ,
            
             
               But
               all
               our
               Knowledge
               tends
               to
               make
               us
               better
               .
            
             
               When
               still
               the
               more
               we
               Know
               ,
               the
               more
               we
               Love
               ,
            
             
               And
               draw
               more
               with
               us
               to
               the
               Joys
               above
               .
            
             
               
                 Fine
                 Fancies
              
               are
               not
               like
               
                 clear
                 minds
              
               ;
               nor
               those
            
             
               Like
               Love
               ,
               by
               which
               the
               Soul
               with
               God
               doth
               close
               .
            
             
               
                 Wisdom
                 it self
              
               will
               make
               the
               Mind
               most
               wise
               .
            
             
               He
               that
               ascends
               to
               God
               ,
               doth
               Highest
               rise
               .
            
             
             
               Sure
               Pisgah
               was
               Parnassus
               ,
               or
               the
               Mount
               ,
            
             
               Where
               three
               Apostles
               did
               three
               Glories
               count
               :
            
             
               Christ's
               living
               streams
               are
               the
               true
               Helicon
               :
            
             
               None
               make
               true
               Poets
               but
               Heav'ns
               springs
               alone
               .
            
             
               What
               poor
               ,
               low
               ,
               toyish
               work
               make
               frothy
               wits
               ?
            
             
               Like
               Bacchus
               Scholars
               in
               their
               Pot-wise
               fits
               .
            
             
               Like
               Childrens
               Poppets
               drest
               with
               Lace
               and
               Pin
               ;
            
             
               Like
               handsom
               Pictures
               ;
               something
               wants
               within
               :
            
             
               A
               painted
               Feast
               ,
               carv'd
               with
               a
               painted
               Knife
               :
            
             
               A
               
                 Living
                 Soul
              
               can
               feel
               it
               wanteth
               Life
               .
            
             
               Without
               a
               
                 Holy
                 Subject
                 ,
                 End
              
               and
               Spirit
               ,
            
             
               True
               Wisdom's
               sacred
               Titles
               none
               can
               merit
               .
            
             
               O
               
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 These
                 are
                 the
                 drops
                 ;
                 what
                 are
                 the
                 streams
                 above
                 ?
              
            
          
           
             
               Immortal
               thanks
               my
               Soul
               doth
               owe
               my
               God
               ,
            
             
               For
               his
               well-order'd
               needful
               healing
               Rod
               :
            
             
               The
               Book
               and
               Rod
               do
               well
               befit
               thy
               School
               ;
            
             
               Correction
               is
               the
               portion
               of
               the
               Fool
               :
            
             
               The
               
                 Rod
                 it self
              
               will
               make
               the
               Sluggard
               rise
               :
            
             
               The
               Rod
               and
               Book
               make
               
                 foolish
                 Children
              
               wise
               .
            
             
               I
               felt
               or
               fear'd
               no
               evil
               at
               the
               first
               ,
            
             
               But
               my
               Soul's
               misery
               ,
               which
               is
               the
               worst
               :
            
             
               Whilst
               for
               a
               Soul-remedy
               I
               did
               look
               ,
            
             
               Thy
               angry
               storm
               my
               Body
               overtook
               :
            
             
               Languishing
               weakness
               shortens
               strength
               &
               breath
               ;
            
             
               Consumes
               my
               flesh
               ,
               and
               threatens
               speedy
               death
               :
            
             
               And
               what
               I
               felt
               reviv'd
               the
               fears
               of
               more
               :
            
             
               For
               now
               my
               Judgment
               seemed
               at
               the
               door
               :
            
             
             
               I
               knew
               not
               but
               it
               might
               be
               a
               foretast
            
             
               Of
               greater
               woe
               which
               I
               might
               feel
               at
               last
               :
            
             
               My
               new
               awaken'd
               Soul
               amazed
               was
               ,
            
             
               To
               think
               that
               unto
               Judgment
               it
               must
               pass
               ,
            
             
               And
               see
               the
               unseen
               World
               ;
               and
               stand
               before
            
             
               The
               dreadful
               God
               ,
               whom
               Heav'n
               &
               Earth
               adore
               !
            
             
               I
               was
               unready
               to
               behold
               thy
               face
               ,
            
             
               Having
               no
               more
               assurance
               of
               thy
               Grace
               !
            
             
               Having
               but
               lately
               too
               familiar
               been
               ,
            
             
               With
               my
               seducing
               flesh
               and
               hateful
               sin
               :
            
             
               My
               Thoughts
               of
               Thee
               were
               terrible
               and
               strange
               !
            
             
               And
               of
               so
               great
               and
               an
               untimely
               change
               !
            
             
               The
               threatned
               Ruine
               I
               did
               thus
               condole
               ;
            
             
               O
               must
               my
               scarce-born
               ,
               unprepared
               Soul
            
             
               Before
               my
               dreadful
               Judge
               so
               soon
               appear
               !
            
             
               And
               the
               decisive
               final
               Sentence
               hear
               !
            
             
               And
               all
               my
               Reckonings
               so
               soon
               bring
               in
               !
            
             
               And
               give
               account
               to
               God
               for
               every
               sin
               !
            
             
               Before
               I
               do
               my
               Soul's
               condition
               know
               ,
            
             
               Or
               any
               scaled
               Pardon
               have
               to
               shew
               .
            
             
               What
               if
               I
               prove
               an
               unconverted
               Wretch
               ?
            
             
               And
               Justice
               should
               my
               Soul
               to
               torments
               fetch
               ?
            
             
               How
               know
               I
               but
               the
               endless
               flames
               of
               Hell
               ,
            
             
               May
               be
               the
               place
               where
               next
               my
               Soul
               shall
               dwell
               ?
            
             
               Mercy
               would
               save
               me
               ;
               but
               I
               did
               reject
               it
               :
            
             
               Christ's
               Blood
               would
               cleanse
               it
               ;
               but
               I
               did
               neglect
               it
               .
            
             
               And
               though
               I
               am
               not
               hopeless
               ,
               who
               can
               bear
            
             
               To
               die
               uncertain
               under
               so
               great
               fear
               I
               :
            
             
               O
               that
               my
               Tunes
               had
               all
               been
               better
               spent
               !
            
             
               And
               that
               my
               ca●●y
               Thoughts
               had
               all
               been
               bent
            
             
             
               In
               preparation
               for
               the
               Life
               to
               come
               :
            
             
               That
               now
               I
               might
               have
               gone
               as
               to
               my
               home
               !
            
             
               And
               taken
               up
               my
               dwelling
               with
               the
               blest
               !
            
             
               And
               past
               to
               everlasting
               Joy
               and
               Rest
               !
            
             
               O
               that
               the
               pleasures
               of
               my
               sports
               and
               toyes
               ,
            
             
               Had
               all
               been
               turn'd
               to
               man-like
               holy
               Joyes
               !
            
             
               And
               those
               Delights
               which
               Vanities
               engrost
               ,
            
             
               And
               spent
               on
               fleshly
               Lusts
               ,
               were
               worse
               than
               lost
               ,
            
             
               Had
               all
               been
               sweet
               Rejoycings
               in
               the
               Lord
               !
            
             
               And
               in
               his
               holy
               Service
               and
               his
               Word
               !
            
             
               O
               that
               I
               could
               my
               wasted
               Time
               call
               back
               ,
            
             
               Which
               now
               my
               Soul
               for
               greater
               works
               doth
               lack
               ;
            
             
               What
               would
               I
               give
               now
               for
               those
               precious
               daies
               ,
            
             
               Which
               once
               run
               out
               in
               pleasures
               and
               delaies
               ?
            
             
               O
               had
               I
               liv'd
               a
               strict
               and
               holy
               Life
               ,
            
             
               Though
               under
               hatred
               and
               malicious
               strife
               !
            
             
               Though
               Men's
               and
               Devil's
               fury
               I
               had
               born
               ,
            
             
               And
               been
               the
               world's
               reproach
               ,
               contempt
               &
               scorn
               !
            
             
               Then
               welcome
               Death
               would
               but
               have
               quencht
               my
               thirst
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               bid
               the
               envious
               world
               now
               do
               their
               worst
               .
            
             
               Their
               malice
               would
               but
               to
               my
               Joyes
               accrew
               ,
            
             
               And
               well-spent
               Time
               be
               sweet
               to
               my
               review
               .
            
             
               O
               happy
               men
               whose
               portion
               is
               above
               !
            
             
               Whose
               hearts
               to
               God
               and
               to
               his
               Service
               clove
               !
            
             
               Who
               made
               him
               and
               his
               Word
               their
               chief
               delight
               ,
            
             
               And
               walkt
               in
               uprightness
               ,
               as
               in
               his
               sight
               !
            
             
               Approv'd
               their
               Hearts
               and
               Waies
               to
               him
               alone
               !
            
             
               As
               ready
               to
               appear
               before
               his
               Throne
               !
            
             
             
               Now
               I
               had
               rather
               far
               be
               one
               of
               them
               ,
            
             
               Than
               one
               of
               worldly
               Wealth
               ,
               or
               Princely
               Stem
            
             
               O
               now
               my
               undrest
               Soul
               is
               passing
               forth
               ,
            
             
               I
               see
               both
               what
               the
               World
               and
               Christ
               are
               worth
               .
            
          
           
             
               Thus
               did
               the
               face
               of
               Death
               my
               Soul
               awake
               ;
            
             
               The
               bonds
               of
               dead
               stupidity
               it
               brake
               !
            
             
               Strict
               ,
               holy
               Truth
               I
               easily
               confest
               :
            
             
               I
               saw
               that
               Godliness
               is
               not
               a
               jest
               .
            
             
               My
               late
               besotted
               mind
               is
               now
               past
               doubt
               ,
            
             
               That
               Folly's
               careless
               ,
               Wisdom
               is
               devout
               :
            
             
               I
               saw
               more
               clearly
               than
               I
               did
               before
               ,
            
             
               What
               lies
               on
               an
               ungodly
               Sinners
               score
               ?
            
             
               For
               what
               man's
               pow'rs
               were
               made
               ,
               what
               is
               their
               use
               ▪
            
             
               To
               what
               all
               means
               and
               mercies
               do
               conduce
               ?
            
             
               What
               is
               man's
               business
               while
               he
               's
               here
               below
               ?
            
             
               How
               much
               his
               creatures
               to
               their
               Maker
               owe
               ?
            
             
               Whether
               the
               Saint
               or
               Brute
               be
               in
               the
               right
               ?
            
             
               Whether
               it
               's
               best
               to
               live
               by
               Faith
               or
               Sight
               ?
            
             
               What
               is
               true
               Wit
               ?
               what
               Learning
               's
               most
               sublime
               ?
            
             
               How
               I
               and
               all
               should
               value
               precious
               Time
               ?
            
             
               I
               saw
               it
               's
               not
               a
               thing
               indifferent
               ,
            
             
               Whether
               my
               Soul
               to
               Heav'n
               or
               Hell
               be
               sent
               .
            
          
           
             
               Death
               also
               further
               taught
               me
               how
               to
               pray
               ,
            
             
               And
               made
               me
               cry
               unto
               thee
               every
               day
               ;
            
             
               It
               set
               me
               on
               the
               trying
               of
               my
               state
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               I
               should
               prove
               deceiv'd
               when
               't
               was
               too
               late
               .
            
             
               Often
               and
               carefully
               I
               searcht
               my
               heart
               ,
            
             
               Whether
               in
               Christ
               by
               Faith
               I
               had
               a
               part
               ?
            
             
             
               It
               shew'd
               me
               so
               much
               work
               to
               do
               at
               home
               ,
            
             
               That
               alien
               needless
               matters
               found
               small
               room
               .
            
             
               It
               curb'd
               my
               Pride
               ,
               and
               buryed
               my
               Ambition
               ;
            
             
               Made
               me
               ,
               not
               only
               bear
               a
               low
               condition
               ,
            
             
               But
               chuse
               it
               ;
               and
               all
               things
               to
               estimate
               ,
            
             
               As
               God
               ,
               my
               Soul
               ,
               and
               Heav'n
               should
               set
               the
               rate
               .
            
             
               For
               now
               ,
               as
               clearly
               as
               I
               saw
               the
               Sun
               ,
            
             
               I
               saw
               in
               lines
               which
               they
               may
               read
               that
               run
               ,
            
             
               That
               Endless
               things
               are
               All
               ,
               when
               we
               compare
               ,
            
             
               And
               transitory
               trifles
               Nothing
               are
               :
            
             
               That
               Worldlings
               in
               their
               sleep
               do
               talk
               and
               go
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               their
               lives
               are
               but
               a
               
                 dreaming
                 shew
              
               :
            
             
               Only
               the
               
                 true
                 Believer
              
               lives
               awake
               ,
            
             
               And
               doth
               not
               spend
               his
               daies
               in
               meer
               mistake
               :
            
             
               That
               all
               who
               are
               not
               Saints
               ,
               are
               worse
               than
               Brutes
               .
            
             
               These
               ,
               O
               my
               Father
               !
               were
               thy
               Rod's
               first-fruits
               .
            
             
               O
               
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Thus
                 we
                 rebound
                 up
                 to
                 the
                 Joyes
                 above
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Long
               thus
               before
               my
               God
               I
               lay
               prostrate
               ,
            
             
               Begging
               for
               healing
               mercy
               at
               his
               gate
               !
            
             
               And
               for
               some
               longer
               time
               ,
               to
               know
               his
               Truth
               ,
            
             
               And
               not
               unripe
               to
               wither
               in
               my
               Youth
               !
            
             
               I
               begg'd
               that
               hasty
               Death
               he
               would
               delay
               ,
            
             
               And
               would
               not
               snatch
               me
               unprepar'd
               away
               .
            
             
               I
               promised
               his
               mercies
               to
               rehearse
               ,
            
             
               If
               he
               the
               dreadful
               Sentence
               would
               reverse
               .
            
             
               Could
               I
               have
               hop'd
               for
               Hezekiah's
               years
               ,
            
             
               I
               should
               no
               more
               than
               he
               ,
               have
               spared
               tears
               .
            
             
             
               Yet
               hath
               thy
               Mercy
               granted
               me
               since
               then
               ,
            
             
               More
               than
               thrice
               five
               ,
               yea
               more
               than
               four
               times
               ten
            
             
               My
               moan
               thou
               pity'dst
               ,
               and
               my
               cryes
               didst
               hear
            
             
               Delaying
               Death
               ;
               not
               taking
               off
               my
               fear
               :
            
             
               The
               threatning
               malady
               thou
               didst
               abate
               ;
            
             
               And
               into
               many
               others
               didst
               translate
               ;
            
             
               Which
               gave
               me
               hope
               of
               some
               preparing
               space
               ;
            
             
               But
               none
               that
               Earth
               would
               prove
               a
               Resting
               place
               .
            
             
               Appointing
               me
               to
               serve
               in
               gentle
               Chains
               ,
            
             
               In
               wholsom
               sickness
               ,
               and
               in
               healing
               pains
               !
            
             
               So
               great
               as
               might
               my
               head-strong
               thoughts
               restrain
            
             
               From
               running
               after
               things
               terrene
               and
               vain
               :
            
             
               Yet
               were
               they
               not
               so
               great
               as
               to
               make
               less
               ,
            
             
               My
               Service
               ,
               or
               my
               sober
               chearfulness
               :
            
             
               O
               what
               a
               happy
               mixture
               didst
               thou
               make
               !
            
             
               How
               meet
               a
               course
               did
               thy
               wise
               Mercy
               take
               ?
            
             
               This
               was
               the
               pregnant
               blessing
               ,
               kept
               for
               store
               ,
            
             
               Which
               multiply'd
               into
               a
               thousand
               more
               !
            
             
               Which
               hath
               run
               parallel
               with
               all
               my
               daies
               ;
            
             
               For
               which
               I
               owe
               thee
               everlasting
               praise
               :
            
             
               Too
               great
               for
               Volumes
               ;
               too
               high
               for
               a
               Verse
               :
            
             
               And
               therefore
               endless
               Life
               must
               them
               rehearse
               .
            
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               
                 A
                 Life
                 still
                 near
                 to
                 Death
                 ,
              
               did
               me
               possess
            
             
               With
               a
               deep
               sense
               of
               Time's
               great
               preciousness
               .
            
             
               To
               lose
               an
               hour
               I
               thought
               a
               greater
               loss
               ,
            
             
               Than
               much
               of
               sordid
               worldlings
               golden
               dross
               .
            
             
               I
               thought
               them
               mad
               that
               cast
               their
               time
               away
               ,
            
             
               Being
               uncertain
               of
               another
               day
               .
            
             
             
               That
               idly
               prate
               ,
               and
               play
               ,
               and
               feast
               ,
               and
               drink
               ,
            
             
               So
               near
               Eternity's
               most
               dreadful
               brink
               !
            
             
               With
               filthy
               ,
               guilty
               Souls
               ,
               unjustifi'd
               ;
            
             
               Undone
               for
               evermore
               if
               thus
               they
               dy'd
               .
            
             
               O!
               thought
               I
               ,
               where
               is
               these
               men's
               brains
               and
               sense
               ,
            
             
               Who
               care
               no
               more
               whither
               they
               go
               from
               hence
               ?
            
             
               Pastime
               I
               thought
               worse
               than
               a
               Bediam
               word
               :
            
             
               The
               Name
               and
               Thing
               my
               very
               Soul
               abhorr'd
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               This
               methodiz'd
               my
               Studies
               to
               my
               gain
               ;
            
             
               Sham'd
               the
               contending
               ,
               jingling
               ,
               formal
               vein
               :
            
             
               The
               greatest
               matters
               it
               did
               first
               impose
               :
            
             
               Necessity
               my
               Book
               and
               Lesson
               chose
               :
            
             
               I
               study'd
               first
               to
               save
               my self
               and
               others
               ;
            
             
               What
               edifi'd
               my
               own
               Soul
               and
               my
               Brothers
               :
            
             
               Thence
               to
               the
               Branches
               I
               in
               order
               clime
               ;
            
             
               First
               
                 Few
                 and
                 Great
              
               ,
               next
               
                 Many
                 ,
                 Small
                 ,
                 Sublime
              
               .
            
             
               I
               nere
               preferr'd
               to
               Talk
               ,
               before
               ,
               
                 to
                 Eat
              
               ,
            
             
               Words
               ,
               before
               Things
               ,
               the
               Dish
               before
               the
               Meat
               :
            
             
               And
               yet
               I
               love
               and
               value
               all
               the
               rest
               :
            
             
               My
               curious
               mind
               would
               fain
               have
               known
               the
               least
               :
            
             
               But
               knowing
               Life's
               too
               short
               to
               reach
               to
               all
               ,
            
             
               I
               left
               till
               last
               the
               needless
               things
               and
               small
               .
            
          
           
             
               3.
               
            
             
               The
               frequent
               sight
               of
               Death's
               most
               awful
               face
               ,
            
             
               Rebuk'd
               my
               sloth
               ,
               and
               bid
               me
               mend
               my
               pace
               !
            
             
               Thou
               knew'st
               my
               dulness
               needed
               such
               a
               spur
               ;
            
             
               So
               prone
               was
               I
               to
               trifle
               and
               demur
               .
            
             
               Who
               dare
               his
               Soul
               for
               gain
               or
               pleasure
               sell
               ,
            
             
               That
               lives
               as
               in
               the
               sight
               of
               Heav'n
               and
               Hell
               ?
            
             
             
               4.
               
               This
               call'd
               me
               out
               to
               work
               while
               it
               was
               day
               ;
            
             
               And
               warn
               poor
               Souls
               to
               Turn
               without
               delay
               :
            
             
               Resolving
               speedily
               thy
               Word
               to
               Preach
               ;
            
             
               With
               Ambrose
               ,
               I
               at
               once
               did
               Learn
               and
               Teach
               .
            
             
               Still
               thinking
               I
               had
               little
               time
               to
               live
               ,
            
             
               My
               fervent
               heart
               to
               win
               mens
               Souls
               did
               strive
               .
            
             
               I
               Preach'd
               ,
               as
               never
               sure
               to
               Preach
               again
               ,
            
             
               And
               as
               a
               dying
               man
               to
               dying
               men
               !
            
             
               O
               how
               should
               Preachers
               Men's
               Repenting
               crave
               ,
            
             
               Who
               see
               how
               near
               the
               Church
               is
               to
               the
               Grave
               ?
            
             
               And
               see
               that
               while
               we
               Preach
               and
               Hear
               ,
               we
               Die
               ,
            
             
               Rapt
               by
               swift
               Time
               to
               vast
               Eternity
               !
            
             
               What
               Statues
               ,
               or
               what
               Hypocrites
               are
               they
               ,
            
             
               Who
               between
               sleep
               and
               wake
               do
               Preach
               &
               Pray
               ?
            
             
               As
               if
               they
               feared
               wakening
               the
               Dead
               !
            
             
               Or
               were
               but
               lighting
               sinners
               to
               their
               Bed
               !
            
             
               Who
               speak
               of
               Heav'n
               and
               Hell
               as
               on
               a
               Stage
               !
            
             
               And
               make
               the
               Pulpit
               but
               a
               Parrot's
               Cage
               ?
            
             
               Who
               teach
               as
               men
               that
               care
               not
               much
               who
               learns
               ;
            
             
               And
               Preach
               in
               jest
               to
               men
               that
               sin
               in
               earns
               .
            
             
               Surely
               God's
               Messenger
               ,
               if
               any
               man
               ,
            
             
               Should
               speak
               with
               all
               the
               seriousness
               he
               can
               ;
            
             
               Who
               treateth
               in
               the
               Name
               of
               the
               Most
               High
               ,
            
             
               About
               the
               Matters
               of
               Eternity
               !
            
             
               Who
               must
               prevail
               with
               sinners
               Now
               or
               Never
               ,
            
             
               As
               those
               that
               must
               be
               saved
               Now
               ,
               if
               Ever
               :
            
             
               When
               sinners
               endless
               Joy
               or
               Misery
               ,
            
             
               On
               the
               success
               of
               his
               endeavours
               lie
               !
            
             
               Though
               God
               be
               free
               ,
               he
               works
               by
               Instruments
               ,
            
             
               And
               wisely
               fitteth
               them
               to
               his
               intents
               .
            
             
             
               A
               proud
               unhumbled
               Preacher
               is
               unmeet
            
             
               To
               lay
               proud
               sinners
               humbled
               at
               Christ's
               feet
               :
            
             
               So
               are
               the
               Blind
               to
               tell
               men
               what
               God
               saith
               ,
            
             
               And
               faithless
               men
               to
               propagate
               the
               Faith.
            
             
               The
               Dead
               are
               unfit
               means
               to
               raise
               the
               Dead
               ;
            
             
               And
               Enemies
               to
               give
               the
               Children
               Bread
               :
            
             
               And
               utter
               strangers
               to
               the
               Life
               to
               come
               ,
            
             
               Are
               not
               the
               best
               Conductors
               to
               our
               home
               :
            
             
               They
               that
               yet
               never
               learn'd
               to
               Live
               and
               Die
               ,
            
             
               Will
               scarcely
               teach
               it
               others
               feelingly
               :
            
             
               Or
               if
               they
               should
               Preach
               others
               to
               Salvation
               ,
            
             
               Unhappy
               men
               that
               Preach
               their
               own
               Damnation
               .
            
          
           
             
               How
               oft
               did
               I
               come
               down
               with
               shame
               and
               grief
               !
            
             
               Not
               that
               I
               was
               so
               homely
               ,
               or
               so
               brief
               ;
            
             
               But
               that
               my
               own
               Soul
               was
               no
               more
               awake
               ,
            
             
               And
               felt
               no
               more
               the
               things
               of
               which
               I
               spake
               !
            
             
               That
               God
               was
               nam'd
               with
               no
               more
               Reverence
               ;
            
             
               Nor
               sinners
               pitty'd
               with
               a
               deeper
               sense
               :
            
             
               That
               closer
               warnings
               did
               not
               pierce
               men's
               Ears
               ,
            
             
               Set
               home
               by
               greater
               fervency
               and
               tears
               :
            
             
               And
               that
               my
               speeches
               were
               so
               cold
               and
               sleight
               ,
            
             
               About
               things
               of
               unutterable
               weight
               ;
            
             
               And
               that
               I
               spake
               with
               no
               more
               seriousness
               ,
            
             
               When
               Heav'n
               or
               Hell
               attended
               the
               success
               :
            
             
               As
               one
               that
               sees
               by
               Faith
               the
               Joyes
               and
               Woes
               ,
            
             
               To
               which
               the
               godly
               and
               the
               wicked
               goes
               .
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 How
                 should
                 we
                 prize
                 and
                 seek
                 the
                 Joyes
                 above
                 ?
              
            
             
             
               Thy
               Methods
               crost
               my
               waies
               :
               my
               young
               desire
            
             
               To
               Academick
               Glory
               did
               aspire
               :
            
             
               Fain
               I
               'd
               have
               sate
               in
               such
               a
               Nurses
               Lap
               ,
            
             
               Where
               I
               might
               long
               have
               had
               a
               sluggard's
               nap
            
             
               Or
               have
               been
               dandled
               on
               her
               Reverend
               Knees
               ;
            
             
               And
               known
               by
               honour'd
               Titles
               and
               Degrees
               ;
            
             
               And
               there
               have
               spent
               the
               flower
               of
               my
               daies
               ,
            
             
               In
               soaring
               in
               the
               Air
               of
               humane
               praise
               :
            
             
               Yea
               and
               I
               thought
               it
               needful
               to
               thy
               Ends
               ,
            
             
               To
               make
               the
               prejudiced
               world
               my
               friends
               ;
            
             
               That
               so
               
                 my
                 praise
              
               might
               go
               before
               
                 thy
                 grace
              
               ,
            
             
               Preparing
               men
               the
               Message
               to
               embrace
               ;
            
             
               Also
               my
               work
               and
               Office
               to
               adorn
               ,
            
             
               And
               to
               avoid
               prophane
               contempt
               and
               scorn
               .
            
             
               But
               these
               were
               not
               thy
               thoughts
               ;
               thou
               didst
               foresee
            
             
               That
               such
               a
               course
               would
               not
               be
               best
               for
               me
               :
            
             
               Thou
               mad'st
               me
               know
               that
               mens
               contempt
               &
               scorn
            
             
               Is
               such
               a
               Cross
               as
               must
               be
               daily
               born
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Mercy
               would
               not
               have
               me
               splendid
               dross
               ;
            
             
               A
               Minister
               of
               Pomp
               ;
               but
               of
               the
               Cross
               :
            
             
               That
               Cross
               which
               Hypocrites
               may
               Preach
               &
               Hear
               ,
            
             
               But
               all
               that
               follow
               Christ
               must
               also
               bear
               .
            
             
               No
               Honour
               must
               I
               have
               to
               bring
               to
               thee
               ,
            
             
               But
               what
               thou
               first
               communicat'st
               to
               me
            
             
               In
               founding
               of
               thy
               Church
               ,
               thou
               didst
               declare
            
             
               How
               well
               all
               worldly
               Honours
               thou
               couldst
               spare
               !
            
             
               Both
               in
               the
               Chief
               most
               blessed
               Corner
               Stone
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               the
               most
               of
               those
               that
               built
               thereon
               :
            
             
               And
               what
               great
               swelling
               Names
               have
               done
               since
               then
               ,
            
             
               Church-Rents
               and
               Ruines
               write
               without
               a
               Pen
               :
            
             
             
               High
               Titles
               as
               the
               first
               inchanting
               Cup
               ,
            
             
               Cast
               down
               the
               Church
               by
               lifting
               of
               it
               up
               .
            
             
               Titles
               reflect
               on
               Minds
               .
               These
               must
               be
               low
               :
            
             
               By
               humble
               Love
               all
               must
               thy
               Servants
               know
               :
            
             
               Yet
               I
               deny
               not
               but
               a
               perfect
               mind
               ,
            
             
               May
               more
               advantage
               here
               than
               danger
               find
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Soil
               is
               oft
               manured
               by
               such
               dung
               .
            
             
               I
               'le
               Honour
               give
               to
               whom
               it
               doth
               belong
               :
            
             
               It
               may
               be
               safe
               to
               others
               ;
               but
               to
               me
            
             
               'T
               was
               best
               from
               such
               Temptations
               to
               be
               free
               :
            
             
               Let
               my
               preferment
               lye
               in
               
                 serving
                 all
              
               :
            
             
               While
               I
               sit
               low
               ,
               I
               have
               not
               far
               to
               fall
               .
            
             
               Keep
               me
               from
               the
               Temptations
               of
               the
               Devil
               !
            
             
               For
               so
               thou
               dost
               
                 deliver
                 us
                 from
                 Evil.
              
            
             
               My
               youthful
               Pride
               and
               Folly
               now
               I
               see
               ,
            
             
               That
               grudg'd
               for
               want
               of
               Titles
               and
               Degree
               .
            
             
               That
               blush'd
               with
               shame
               when
               this
               defect
               was
               known
               ,
            
             
               And
               an
               inglorious
               Name
               could
               hardly
               own
               ,
            
             
               Attempting
               to
               have
               hid
               it
               twice
               or
               thrice
               ,
            
             
               With
               vile
               equivocations
               next
               to
               lies
               .
            
             
               And
               to
               thy
               Methods
               was
               unreconcil'd
               ,
            
             
               Because
               I
               was
               not
               Rabbi
               ,
               Doctor
               ,
               styl'd
               .
            
             
               Forgive
               this
               Pride
               ;
               and
               break
               the
               Serpent's
               brain
               ;
            
             
               Pluck
               up
               the
               poisonous
               Root
               ,
               till
               none
               remain
               .
            
             
               Give
               me
               the
               Wisdom
               ;
               I
               'le
               not
               beg
               the
               Fame
               :
            
             
               Grant
               me
               the
               thing
               ;
               let
               others
               take
               the
               name
               .
            
             
               Give
               me
               the
               Learning
               ,
               and
               it
               is
               no
               harm
               ,
            
             
               If
               thou
               shalt
               place
               me
               in
               the
               lowest
               Form.
            
             
               Honours
               are
               shadows
               ,
               which
               from
               seekers
               fly
               ;
            
             
               But
               follow
               after
               those
               who
               them
               deny
               .
            
             
             
               I
               brought
               none
               with
               me
               to
               thy
               work
               ;
               but
               there
            
             
               I
               found
               more
               than
               I
               easily
               could
               bear
               :
            
             
               Although
               thou
               wouldst
               not
               give
               me
               what
               I
               would
               ,
               
            
             
               Thou
               gavest
               me
               the
               promis'd
               hundred-fold
               .
               
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 thy
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Thy
                 wayes
                 ,
                 not
                 ours
                 ,
                 lead
                 to
                 the
                 Joyes
                 above
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Third
             Part.
             
          
           
             
               THE
               wondrous
               Mercy
               of
               my
               bounteous
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               which
               sent
               me
               forth
               to
               Preach
               his
               sacred
               Word
               .
            
             
               Prepar'd
               my
               way
               ,
               and
               call'd
               me
               to
               the
               place
               ,
            
             
               Where
               I
               must
               first
               proclaim
               his
               Saving
               Grace
               :
            
             
               All
               things
               thou
               suitedst
               fitly
               to
               my
               need
               ,
            
             
               Giving
               me
               freedom
               ,
               season
               ,
               ground
               and
               seed
               :
            
             
               Poor
               thirsty
               Souls
               ,
               attend
               with
               greedy
               Ear
               ,
            
             
               Crowding
               in
               multitudes
               thy
               Word
               to
               hear
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Mercy
               opening
               so
               wide
               a
               door
               ,
            
             
               Gave
               some
               first-fruits
               betimes
               ,
               and
               hopes
               of
               more
               .
            
          
           
             
               The
               various
               places
               where
               my
               Lot
               did
               fall
               ,
            
             
               Were
               all
               appointed
               to
               me
               by
               thy
               Call.
            
             
               I
               never
               was
               to
               any
               of
               them
               brought
               ,
            
             
               By
               the
               Direction
               of
               my
               own
               forethought
               :
            
             
               Much
               less
               was
               ever
               any
               by
               me
               sought
               ;
            
             
               And
               least
               of
               all
               ,
               by
               price
               or
               bargain
               bought
               .
            
             
               I
               nere
               found
               cause
               of
               one
               place
               to
               repent
               ;
            
             
               (
               Although
               my
               sins
               in
               all
               I
               must
               lament
               .
               )
            
             
               None
               were
               foreseen
               ;
               yet
               after
               seen
               to
               reason
               ,
            
             
               To
               be
               the
               fittest
               for
               the
               work
               and
               season
               .
            
             
             
               But
               among
               all
               ,
               none
               did
               so
               much
               abound
               ,
            
             
               With
               fruitful
               mercies
               ,
               as
               that
               barren
               ground
               ,
            
             
               Where
               I
               did
               make
               my
               best
               and
               longest
               stay
               ,
            
             
               And
               bore
               the
               heat
               and
               burden
               of
               the
               day
               ;
            
             
               Mercies
               grew
               thicker
               there
               than
               Summer
               flowers
               :
            
             
               They
               over-numbered
               my
               daies
               and
               hours
               :
            
             
               There
               was
               my
               dearest
               Flock
               ,
               and
               special
               Charge
               .
            
             
               Our
               hearts
               in
               mutual
               love
               thou
               didst
               enlarge
               :
            
             
               'T
               was
               there
               that
               mercy
               did
               my
               Labours
               bless
               ;
            
             
               With
               the
               most
               great
               and
               wonderful
               success
               .
            
          
           
             
               Yet
               there
               were
               Sons
               of
               Belial
               ,
               whose
               rage
            
             
               Reason
               with
               Truth
               and
               Love
               could
               not
               asswage
               :
            
             
               Who
               Lov'd
               and
               Hated
               ,
               just
               as
               Satan
               bid
               them
               ;
            
             
               Rul'd
               by
               the
               Reins
               of
               Lust
               by
               him
               that
               rid
               them
               :
            
             
               In
               swinish
               drunkenness
               they
               drownd
               their
               wits
               :
            
             
               Most
               furious
               in
               their
               rude
               tumultuous
               fits
               .
            
             
               As
               Boars
               or
               Stags
               ,
               at
               other
               times
               more
               tame
               ;
            
             
               When
               lustful
               heats
               their
               blood
               and
               brains
               inflame
               ;
            
             
               Fiercely
               assault
               such
               as
               stand
               in
               their
               way
               ;
            
             
               None
               's
               safe
               before
               them
               till
               their
               heats
               decay
               :
            
             
               So
               doth
               the
               love
               of
               revellings
               and
               sport
               ,
            
             
               Poor
               brutish
               fleshly
               sinners
               so
               transport
               ,
            
             
               That
               ragingly
               they
               fly
               in
               that
               man's
               face
               ,
            
             
               Who
               doth
               by
               sacred
               Truth
               their
               sin
               disgrace
               :
            
             
               And
               as
               in
               Armies
               Drums
               and
               Trumpets
               sound
               ,
            
             
               The
               frightful
               cries
               of
               wounded
               men
               to
               drownd
               ;
            
             
               And
               even
               the
               fearful
               in
               the
               furious
               crowd
               ,
            
             
               Are
               carry'd
               on
               to
               death
               through
               streams
               of
               blood
               :
            
             
             
               So
               those
               ensnared
               Youths
               ,
               who
               formerly
               ,
            
             
               Out
               of
               the
               Rout
               ,
               retain'd
               some
               modesty
               ,
            
             
               Conjoyned
               with
               the
               Rabble
               did
               as
               they
               ;
            
             
               The
               common
               fury
               and
               their
               lusts
               obey
               :
            
             
               Run
               with
               the
               Herd
               :
               Mirth
               and
               the
               Rables
               noise
               ,
            
             
               Drown
               Reasons
               Plea
               ,
               and
               God's
               reclaiming
               voice
               :
            
             
               Death
               is
               forgot
               :
               Conscience
               cannot
               be
               heard
               :
            
             
               Hell
               and
               Damnation
               now
               are
               little
               fear'd
               :
            
             
               They
               have
               their
               curse
               ,
               &
               their
               own
               sentence
               pass
               :
            
             
               Away
               with
               Jesus
               !
               give
               us
               
                 Barr
                 abas
              
               !
            
             
               Away
               with
               Preachers
               ,
               who
               disturb
               our
               game
               !
            
             
               Talk
               not
               of
               Judgment
               :
               Let
               us
               bear
               the
               blame
               !
            
             
               Whilst
               grieved
               Preachers
               can
               but
               wish
               &
               groan
               ,
            
             
               O
               that
               your
               day
               of
               mercy
               you
               had
               known
               !
            
             
               
                 O
                 my
                 Dear
                 God!
                 how
                 precious
                 is
                 they
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Which
                 looks
                 on
                 such
                 with
                 pity
                 from
                 above
                 ?
              
            
          
           
             
               Now
               England's
               horrid
               Civil
               Wars
               began
               ,
            
             
               When
               God
               a
               sinful
               Nation
               meant
               to
               fan
               .
            
             
               When
               sin
               grown
               high
               &
               bold
               ,
               out-fac'd
               the
               Light
               ;
            
             
               When
               Pride
               and
               Faction
               pleaded
               Divine
               Right
               .
            
             
               When
               most
               their
               Love
               ,
               &
               some
               their
               Patience
               lost
               ;
            
             
               When
               proud
               malicious
               men
               must
               not
               be
               crost
               :
            
             
               When
               wise
               men
               seemed
               fools
               ,
               &
               fools
               seem'd
               wise
               ;
            
             
               And
               when
               the
               worst
               were
               best
               in
               their
               own
               eyes
               ?
            
             
               When
               Piety
               with
               Lazarus
               was
               loath'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               Sin
               with
               Purple
               and
               fine
               Linnen
               cloath'd
               :
            
             
               And
               when
               the
               sacred
               Tribe
               ,
               despising
               Souls
               ,
            
             
               Through
               love
               of
               wealth
               &
               honor
               blow'd
               the
               coals
               !
            
             
             
               When
               Demas
               for
               the
               World
               deserted
               Paul
               ;
            
             
               And
               their
               own
               matters
               were
               first
               sought
               by
               all
               :
            
             
               When
               they
               that
               sought
               their
               good
               things
               in
               this
               life
            
             
               Had
               banisht
               Love
               ,
               &
               fill'd
               the
               Church
               with
               strife
            
             
               Where
               striving
               factions
               Charity
               defy'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               carnal
               Counsels
               did
               the
               Church
               divide
               !
            
             
               When
               swinish
               Gadarens
               did
               Christ
               refuse
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               prophane
               his
               servants
               did
               abuse
               .
            
             
               When
               Holiness
               the
               common
               Foe
               was
               deem'd
               ,
            
             
               And
               nothing
               more
               intollerable
               seem'd
               .
            
             
               When
               holy
               Truth
               and
               Preachers
               were
               despis'd
               ;
            
             
               And
               wicked
               means
               to
               cast
               them
               out
               devis'd
               !
            
             
               When
               sin
               presum'd
               to
               make
               a
               mock
               of
               grace
               ,
            
             
               And
               folly
               spit
               reproaches
               in
               Christ's
               face
               !
            
             
               When
               vulgar
               rage
               had
               found
               this
               common
               vent
               ;
            
             
               And
               impious
               scorn
               on
               Godliness
               was
               spent
               :
            
             
               When
               sin
               was
               not
               so
               much
               oppos'd
               as
               God
               ,
            
             
               Then
               were
               we
               ready
               for
               the
               bloody
               Rod.
            
             
               When
               those
               sins
               reign'd
               that
               must
               not
               now
               be
               nam'd
            
             
               But
               by
               Heav'ns
               Justice
               shall
               at
               last
               be
               sham'd
               .
            
             
               When
               old
               condemned
               vanities
               and
               crimes
               ,
            
             
               Became
               the
               Reverend
               Virtues
               of
               the
               Times
               ,
            
             
               Then
               God
               in
               Judgment
               sate
               to
               plead
               his
               Cause
               ,
            
             
               And
               judge
               the
               proud
               despisers
               of
               his
               Laws
               .
            
             
               Banish'd
               Love
               doth
               feaster'd
               hearts
               forsake
               :
            
             
               Blindness
               ,
               suspicions
               ,
               wrath
               possession
               take
               :
            
             
               Each
               man
               unto
               the
               fire
               his
               Fagot
               brought
               ,
            
             
               And
               each
               against
               another
               quarrels
               sought
               .
            
             
               The
               whirlwind
               in
               the
               North
               did
               first
               arise
               ,
            
             
               And
               raise
               the
               dust
               which
               troubled
               English
               Eyes
               .
            
             
             
               And
               though
               Heav'ns
               mercy
               there
               prevented
               blood
               ,
            
             
               The
               Irish
               fury
               shed
               a
               crimson
               flood
               .
            
             
               The
               French
               blood
               shew'd
               the
               temper
               of
               the
               Nation
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Faith
               and
               Faithlesness
               keep
               Moderation
               ,
            
             
               Their
               Bartholomews
               hot
               dog-daies
               thirst
               had
               cost
               ,
            
             
               *
               Thirty
               or
               forty
               thousand
               lives
               at
               most
               .
            
             
               But
               
                 Ireland's
                 Romish
              
               Zeal
               was
               hotter
               far
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               their
               preparation
               to
               a
               War
               ,
            
             
               *
               Two
               hundred
               thousand
               they
               surpriz'd
               and
               slew
               ,
            
             
               Not
               that
               their
               Will
               so
               small
               a
               measure
               knew
               .
            
             
               But
               here
               God
               checkt
               their
               Power
               ,
               &
               heard
               the
               cries
            
             
               Of
               dying
               Innocents
               ,
               which
               pierc'd
               the
               Skies
               :
            
             
               England
               affrighted
               by
               her
               neighbours
               harm
               ,
            
             
               Threatned
               to
               be
               the
               next
               ,
               takes
               the
               Allarm
               ,
            
             
               As
               Citizens
               that
               see
               a
               raging
               flame
            
             
               Threaten
               the
               Neighhours
               houses
               with
               the
               same
               ,
            
             
               Do
               leave
               their
               Trades
               ,
               and
               all
               together
               run
               ,
            
             
               Trying
               to
               quench
               the
               Fire
               where
               it
               begun
               ;
            
             
               And
               then
               pull
               down
               the
               houses
               which
               adjoyn
               ;
            
             
               Some
               seek
               to
               save
               the
               goods
               ,
               some
               to
               purloin
               ;
            
             
               The
               well-built
               Piles
               ,
               &
               curious
               Rooms
               must
               down
               ,
            
             
               To
               buy
               the
               Safety
               of
               the
               fearful
               Town
               ,
            
             
               A
               Neighbour's
               house
               is
               used
               like
               a
               Foe
               's
               ,
            
             
               Because
               the
               Fire
               ,
               the
               Hook
               ,
               no
               diff'rence
               knows
               ,
            
             
               Fear
               pulleth
               down
               the
               next
               ,
               to
               save
               the
               most
               ,
            
             
               And
               ruines
               more
               than
               needs
               ,
               lest
               all
               be
               lost
               .
            
             
             
               Smoak
               and
               confused
               crouds
               do
               blind
               men's
               eyes
               ,
            
             
               All
               are
               amaz'd
               ,
               with
               hideous
               flames
               and
               cryes
               ;
            
             
               So
               England
               ,
               too
               combustible
               before
               ,
            
             
               Seeing
               so
               great
               a
               flame
               so
               near
               her
               door
               ,
            
             
               Was
               frighted
               into
               such
               Convulsion
               Fits
               ,
            
             
               As
               first
               did
               break
               her
               Peace
               ,
               and
               next
               her
               Wits
               .
            
             
               Dangers
               breed
               fears
               ,
               and
               fears
               more
               dangers
               bring
               :
            
             
               The
               Bees
               to
               save
               their
               Honey
               use
               their
               Sting
               ;
            
             
               Rowz'd
               in
               an
               angry
               Swarm
               they
               seek
               their
               Foe
               ,
            
             
               The
               next
               they
               meet
               must
               feel
               the
               smarting
               blow
               .
            
          
           
             
               Caetera
               desunt
               ,
               praesunt
               ,
               adsunt
               .
            
             
               I
               purposed
               to
               have
               recited
               the
               most
               notable
               mercies
               of
               my
               Life
               ,
               in
               continuing
               this
               Hymn
               of
               Thanksgiving
               to
               my
               gracious
               God
               ;
               but
               the
               quality
               of
               the
               Subject
               ,
               and
               the
               Ages
               Impatience
               stopt
               me
               here
               ,
               and
               I
               could
               go
               no
               further
               ,
               and
               my
               painful
               and
               spiritless
               Age
               is
               now
               unfit
               for
               Poetry
               :
               And
               the
               matter
               is
               so
               large
               ,
               as
               would
               have
               made
               the
               Volume
               big
               .
            
          
        
      
       
         
         
           3.
           
           The
           Resolution
           .
        
         
           
             PSAL.
             119.
             96.
             
          
           
             
               Written
               when
               I
               was
               Silenced
               and
               cast
               out
               ,
            
             &c.
             
          
        
         
           
             LORD
             ,
             I
             have
             cast
             up
             the
             Account
          
           
             What
             it
             will
             cost
             to
             come
             to
             thee
             :
          
           
             I
             find
             to
             what
             it
             will
             amount
          
           
             A
             serious
             Christian
             to
             be
             .
          
           
             When
             Flesh
             was
             weighing
             ,
             thou
             put'st
             in
          
           
             Thy
             Love
             ,
             and
             the
             Eternal
             Crown
             ,
          
           
             Against
             a
             Feather
             ,
             and
             a
             Sin
             :
          
           
             And
             yet
             it
             thought
             these
             weigh'd
             thee
             down
             .
          
        
         
           
             Fool
             ,
             as
             I
             was
             ,
             I
             took
             its
             word
             ,
          
           
             And
             chose
             what
             Flesh
             did
             recommend
             :
          
           
             How
             could
             I
             more
             have
             wrong'd
             my
             Lord
             ?
          
           
             Or
             more
             his
             Love
             and
             Name
             offend
             ?
          
           
             It
             had
             been
             wiser
             to
             have
             thought
             ,
          
           
             The
             Earth
             is
             weigh'd
             down
             by
             a
             Fly
             :
          
           
             Than
             to
             prefer
             a
             thing
             of
             nought
             ,
          
           
             Before
             the
             Love
             of
             the
             
               Most
               High.
            
             
          
        
         
           
             I
             see
             now
             what
             false
             Scales
             can
             do
             ,
          
           
             In
             a
             deceitful
             partial
             hand
             :
          
           
             I
             will
             no
             more
             believe
             a
             Foe
             ;
          
           
             But
             to
             the
             holy
             Covenant
             stand
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             1.
             
          
           
             
               Will
               Friends
               turn
               Foes
            
             ?
             That
             cannot
             be
             :
          
           
             They
             were
             my
             greatest
             Foes
             before
             ,
          
           
             That
             would
             have
             kept
             my
             Soul
             from
             thee
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Malice
             now
             can
             do
             no
             more
             .
          
        
         
           
             I
             'll
             bid
             these
             cruel
             Friends
             farewel
             :
          
           
             Even
             Satan
             would
             be
             such
             a
             Friend
             ;
          
           
             He
             'd
             please
             and
             flatter
             me
             to
             Hell
             :
          
           
             And
             thither
             doth
             their
             friendship
             tend
             .
          
           
             He
             wants
             not
             Friends
             that
             hath
             thy
             Love
             ,
          
           
             And
             may
             converse
             ,
             and
             walk
             with
             thee
             :
          
           
             And
             with
             thy
             Saints
             here
             and
             above
             ;
          
           
             With
             whom
             for
             ever
             I
             must
             be
             .
          
        
         
           
             In
             the
             Communion
             of
             Saints
             ,
          
           
             Is
             Wisdom
             ,
             Safety
             and
             Delight
             :
          
           
             And
             when
             my
             heart
             declines
             and
             faints
             ,
          
           
             It
             's
             raised
             by
             their
             Heat
             and
             Light.
          
           
             Thy
             Spirit
             in
             them
             speaks
             and
             prayes
             :
          
           
             Their
             speech
             is
             holy
             ,
             clean
             and
             quick
             :
          
           
             Dead
             hearted
             fools
             talk
             but
             of
             toyes
             :
          
           
             Their
             speech
             and
             mirth
             even
             makes
             me
             sick
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             
               Must
               Lies
               and
               slanders
               me
               defame
               ?
            
          
           
             
               That
               Innocence
               may
               not
               be
               known
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Must
               proud
               men's
               malice
               blot
               my
               Name
               ,
            
          
           
             
               With
               Epithets
               that
               are
               their
               own
               ?
            
          
           
             Thou
             justifi'st
             when
             Men
             accuse
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             'lt
             answer
             all
             the
             spite
             of
             tongues
             ;
          
           
             And
             do
             them
             right
             whom
             men
             abuse
             ,
          
           
             And
             plenteously
             repair
             their
             wrongs
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             It
             's
             no
             great
             matter
             what
             Men
             deem
             ,
          
           
             Whether
             they
             count
             me
             good
             or
             bad
             !
          
           
             In
             their
             applause
             and
             best
             esteem
             ,
          
           
             There
             's
             no
             contentment
             to
             be
             had
             .
          
           
             I
             stand
             not
             to
             the
             Bar
             of
             Man
             ;
          
           
             It
             's
             thy
             displeasure
             makes
             me
             sad
             :
          
           
             My
             thoughts
             and
             actions
             thou
             wilt
             scan
             :
          
           
             If
             thou
             approve
             me
             I
             am
             glad
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             
               Must
               I
               before
               the
               Ruling
               Power
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Be
               call'd
               with
               shame
               to
               plead
               my
               Cause
               ?
            
          
           
             
               And
               judged
               as
               an
               evil
               doer
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               as
               a
               breaker
               of
               their
               Laws
               ?
            
          
           
             So
             was
             the
             Lord
             of
             Life
             accus'd
             ,
          
           
             Slander'd
             and
             scorn'd
             with
             cruel
             spight
             :
          
           
             And
             as
             a
             Malefactor
             us'd
             ,
          
           
             And
             one
             that
             claimed
             Caesar's
             right
             .
          
        
         
           
             False
             witness
             cloudeth
             Innocence
             :
          
           
             Truth
             seemeth
             conquer'd
             by
             a
             Lie.
          
           
             Patience
             for
             bears
             a
             just
             defence
             ;
          
           
             And
             Life
             it self
             is
             judg'd
             to
             die
             .
          
           
             Methinks
             I
             see
             thee
             cloath'd
             with
             scorn
             ;
          
           
             And
             spit
             upon
             ,
             and
             buffeted
             ;
          
           
             And
             crowned
             with
             the
             piercing
             Thorn
             ;
          
           
             Away
             to
             Execution
             led
             .
          
        
         
           
             It
             most
             amazeth
             me
             to
             think
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             barest
             the
             repute
             of
             Sin
             !
          
           
             The
             bitter
             Cup
             which
             thou
             didst
             drink
             ,
          
           
             Had
             nothing
             bitterer
             therein
             .
          
           
           
             The
             Sun
             did
             well
             to
             hide
             his
             face
             ,
          
           
             When
             Sin
             did
             Righteousness
             eclipse
             :
          
           
             And
             the
             most
             Just
             is
             with
             disgrace
          
           
             A
             Sinner
             judg'd
             by
             sinners
             lips
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thy
             steps
             ,
             Lord
             ,
             in
             this
             dirt
             I
             see
             ;
          
           
             And
             lost
             my
             Soul
             from
             God
             should
             stray
             ,
          
           
             I
             'll
             bear
             my
             Cross
             and
             follow
             thee
             ;
          
           
             Let
             others
             chuse
             the
             fairer
             way
             .
          
           
             My
             face
             is
             meeter
             for
             the
             Spit
             ;
          
           
             I
             am
             more
             suitable
             to
             shame
             ;
          
           
             And
             to
             the
             taunts
             of
             scornful
             wit
             :
          
           
             It
             's
             no
             great
             matter
             for
             my
             Name
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             
               Must
               I
               be
               driven
               from
               my
               Books
               ?
            
          
           
             
               From
               House
               ,
               and
               Goods
               ,
               and
               dearest
               Friends
               ?
            
          
           
             One
             of
             thy
             sweet
             and
             gracious
             looks
             ,
          
           
             For
             more
             than
             this
             will
             make
             amends
             .
          
           
             The
             World
             's
             thy
             Book
             :
             There
             I
             can
             read
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             Power
             ,
             Wisdom
             ,
             and
             thy
             Love
             :
          
           
             And
             thence
             ascend
             by
             Faith
             ,
             and
             feed
          
           
             Upon
             the
             better
             things
             above
             .
          
        
         
           
             I
             'll
             read
             thy
             works
             of
             Providence
             :
          
           
             Thy
             Spirit
             ,
             Conscience
             ,
             and
             thy
             Rod
          
           
             Can
             teach
             without
             book
             all
             the
             sense
             ,
          
           
             To
             know
             the
             World
             ,
             my Self
             ,
             and
             God.
          
           
             Few
             Books
             may
             serve
             ,
             when
             Thou
             wilt
             teach
             :
          
           
             Many
             have
             stoln
             my
             precious
             time
             :
          
           
             I
             'll
             leave
             my
             Books
             to
             hear
             thee
             Preach
             :
          
           
             Church-work
             is
             best
             when
             thou
             dost
             chime
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             As
             for
             
               my
               House
            
             ,
             it
             was
             my
             Tent
             ,
          
           
             While
             there
             I
             waited
             on
             thy
             Flock
             :
          
           
             That
             work
             is
             done
             ;
             that
             time
             is
             spent
             :
          
           
             There
             neither
             was
             my
             Home
             nor
             Stock
             .
          
           
             Would
             I
             in
             all
             my
             Journey
             have
          
           
             Still
             the
             
               same
               Inn
            
             and
             Furniture
             ?
          
           
             Or
             ease
             and
             pleasant
             dwellings
             crave
             ,
          
           
             Forgetting
             what
             thy
             Saints
             endure
             ?
          
        
         
           
             My
             Lord
             hath
             taught
             me
             how
             to
             want
          
           
             A
             place
             wherein
             to
             put
             my
             head
             :
          
           
             While
             he
             is
             mine
             ,
             I
             'll
             be
             content
             ,
          
           
             To
             beg
             or
             lack
             my
             daily
             bread
             .
          
           
             Heav'n
             is
             my
             roof
             ,
             Earth
             is
             my
             floor
             :
          
           
             Thy
             Love
             can
             keep
             me
             dry
             and
             warm
             :
          
           
             Christ
             and
             thy
             Bounty
             are
             my
             store
             :
          
           
             Thy
             Angels
             guard
             me
             from
             all
             harm
             .
          
        
         
           
             As
             for
             
               my
               Friends
            
             ,
             they
             are
             not
             lost
             :
          
           
             The
             several
             Vessels
             of
             thy
             Fleet
             ,
          
           
             Though
             parted
             now
             by
             Tempests
             tost
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             safely
             in
             the
             Haven
             meet
             .
          
           
             Still
             we
             are
             centred
             all
             in
             thee
             ;
          
           
             Members
             though
             distant
             ,
             of
             one
             Head
             :
          
           
             In
             the
             same
             Family
             we
             be
          
           
             By
             the
             same
             Faith
             and
             Spirit
             led
             .
          
        
         
           
             Before
             thy
             Throne
             we
             daily
             meet
             ,
          
           
             As
             Joynt-Petitioners
             to
             thee
             :
          
           
             In
             spirit
             we
             each
             other
             greet
             ,
          
           
             And
             shall
             again
             each
             other
             see
             .
          
           
           
             The
             Heavenly
             Hosts
             world
             without
             end
          
           
             Shall
             be
             my
             company
             above
             :
          
           
             And
             thou
             my
             Best
             and
             Surest
             Friend
             :
          
           
             Who
             shall
             divide
             me
             from
             thy
             Love
             ?
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             
               Must
               I
               forsake
               the
               Soil
               and
               Air
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Where
               first
               I
               drew
               my
               vital
               breath
               ?
            
          
           
             That
             way
             may
             be
             as
             near
             and
             fair
             :
          
           
             Thence
             I
             may
             come
             to
             thee
             by
             death
             .
          
           
             All
             Countries
             are
             my
             Father's
             Lands
             :
          
           
             Thy
             Sun
             ,
             thy
             Love
             doth
             shine
             on
             all
             :
          
           
             We
             may
             in
             all
             lift
             up
             pure
             hands
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             acceptance
             on
             thee
             call
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               Those
               banish'd
            
             are
             that
             go
             from
             thee
             ,
          
           
             Strange
             to
             thy
             Service
             ,
             Love
             and
             Grace
             :
          
           
             And
             ,
             lost
             in
             sin
             ,
             do
             never
             see
          
           
             Thy
             Kingdom
             ,
             and
             thy
             pleased
             face
             .
          
           
             May
             but
             my
             Soul
             dwell
             near
             my
             God
             ,
          
           
             And
             walk
             with
             him
             in
             Faith
             and
             Love
             ,
          
           
             No
             matter
             where
             be
             my
             abode
             ,
          
           
             Till
             to
             his
             Glory
             I
             remove
             .
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             
               What
               if
               in
               Prison
               I
               must
               dwell
               ?
            
          
           
             May
             I
             not
             there
             converse
             with
             thee
             ?
          
           
             Save
             me
             from
             sin
             ,
             thy
             wrath
             ,
             and
             Hell
             ,
          
           
             Call
             me
             thy
             Child
             ;
             and
             I
             am
             free
             .
          
           
             No
             walls
             or
             bars
             can
             keep
             thee
             out
             :
          
           
             None
             can
             confine
             a
             holy
             Soul
             :
          
           
             The
             Streets
             of
             Heav'n
             it
             walks
             about
             ;
          
           
             None
             can
             its
             Liberty
             controul
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Alas
             ,
             my
             darkened
             mind
             is
             chain'd
          
           
             To
             Earth
             and
             Flesh
             through
             unbelief
             !
          
           
             It
             looks
             and
             longs
             by
             distance
             pain'd
             :
          
           
             When
             wilt
             thou
             hear
             and
             send
             relief
             ?
          
           
             O
             loose
             these
             Chains
             of
             Sin
             and
             Flesh
             !
          
           
             Enlarge
             my
             heart
             in
             thy
             Commands
             :
          
           
             Could
             I
             but
             love
             thee
             as
             I
             wish
             ,
          
           
             How
             light
             would
             be
             all
             other
             bands
             ?
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             
               Must
               I
               feel
               Sicknesses
               and
               smart
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               spend
               my
               daies
               and
               nights
               in
               pain
               ?
            
          
           
             Yet
             if
             thy
             Love
             refresh
             my
             heart
             ,
          
           
             I
             need
             not
             overmuch
             complain
             .
          
           
             This
             Flesh
             hath
             drawn
             my
             Soul
             to
             sin
             ;
          
           
             If
             it
             must
             smart
             ,
             Thy
             Will
             be
             done
             !
          
           
             O
             fill
             me
             with
             thy
             Joyes
             within
             ,
          
           
             And
             then
             I
             'll
             let
             it
             grieve
             alone
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             to
             its
             sufferings
             I
             'll
             consent
          
           
             To
             be
             avenged
             on
             my
             Foe
             ,
          
           
             That
             pain
             may
             help
             me
             to
             repent
             ,
          
           
             And
             sin
             may
             be
             consum'd
             by
             woe
             .
          
           
             Pain
             will
             be
             short
             ;
             Joyes
             will
             be
             long
             .
          
           
             Yet
             ,
             Lord
             ,
             remember
             man
             is
             weak
             !
          
           
             Drop
             in
             thy
             Cordials
             :
             make
             me
             strong
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             heart
             and
             hope
             ,
             with
             Flesh
             should
             break
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             
               I
               know
               my
               Flesh
               must
               turn
               to
               dust
               ,
            
          
           
             
               My
               parted
               Soul
               must
               come
               to
               thee
               ,
            
          
           
             
               And
               undergo
               thy
               Judgment
               just
            
             ,
          
           
             
               And
               in
               the
               endless
               world
               must
               be
               .
            
          
           
           
             In
             this
             there
             's
             most
             of
             Fear
             and
             Joy
             ,
          
           
             Because
             there
             's
             most
             of
             Sin
             and
             Grace
             ,
          
           
             Sin
             will
             this
             mortal
             frame
             destroy
             ,
          
           
             But
             Christ
             will
             bring
             me
             to
             thy
             face
             .
          
        
         
           
             Here
             's
             Faith
             's
             great
             Tryal
             :
             Pain
             may
             force
             ;
          
           
             And
             Pride
             may
             willingness
             pretend
             ;
          
           
             A
             stupid
             Fool
             die
             like
             his
             Horse
             ,
          
           
             And
             Heathens
             make
             a
             Beast-like
             end
             .
          
           
             Frail
             sinful
             Flesh
             is
             loth
             to
             die
             :
          
           
             Sense
             to
             the
             unseen
             world
             is
             strange
             :
          
           
             The
             doubting
             Soul
             dreads
             the
             Most
             High
             ,
          
           
             And
             trembleth
             at
             so
             great
             a
             change
             .
          
        
         
           
             Yet
             Faith
             can
             see
             beyond
             the
             Skies
             ,
          
           
             Where
             now
             our
             Head
             in
             Glory
             is
             :
          
           
             And
             above
             Flesh
             and
             Sense
             can
             rise
             ,
          
           
             Unto
             the
             World
             of
             Saints
             in
             bliss
             .
          
           
             Cleansing
             the
             Soul
             from
             Flesh
             and
             Sin
             ,
          
           
             Abstracting
             it
             from
             things
             below
             ;
          
           
             It
             draws
             the
             Veil
             ,
             and
             entering
             in
             ,
          
           
             Love's
             glorious
             Mysteries
             can
             know
             .
          
        
         
           
             Put
             forth
             thy
             Beams
             and
             Hand
             of
             Grace
             :
          
           
             Open
             mine
             
               Eyes
               :
               Take
               up
            
             my
             Heart
             :
          
           
             Acquaint
             it
             with
             the
             Holy
             Place
             ,
          
           
             The
             Joyes
             and
             Glory
             where
             thou
             art
             .
          
           
             O
             let
             me
             not
             be
             strange
             at
             home
             !
          
           
             Strange
             to
             the
             Sun
             ,
             and
             Life
             of
             Souls
             :
          
           
             Choosing
             this
             low
             and
             darkened
             Room
             ;
          
           
             Familiar
             with
             Worms
             and
             Moles
             !
          
        
         
           
           
             Shall
             I
             be
             strange
             unto
             my
             Head
             ?
          
           
             The
             World
             of
             Knowledge
             ,
             Love
             and
             Joyes
             ?
          
           
             Conversing
             here
             among
             the
             Dead
             ,
          
           
             And
             taken
             up
             with
             Dreams
             and
             Toyes
             ?
          
           
             And
             strange
             to
             Angels
             ,
             who
             attend
          
           
             On
             Man
             ,
             and
             in
             his
             good
             delight
             ;
          
           
             And
             ,
             though
             unseen
             ,
             do
             us
             defend
             ;
          
           
             Ministring
             for
             us
             day
             and
             night
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Am
             I
             the
             first
             that
             go
             this
             way
             ?
          
           
             How
             many
             Saints
             are
             gone
             before
             ?
          
           
             How
             many
             enter
             every
             day
          
           
             Into
             thy
             Kingdom
             by
             this
             door
             ?
          
           
             Christ
             was
             once
             dead
             ,
             and
             in
             a
             Grave
             :
          
           
             Yet
             conquer'd
             Death
             ,
             and
             rose
             again
             :
          
           
             And
             by
             this
             Method
             he
             will
             save
          
           
             His
             Servants
             that
             with
             him
             shall
             Reign
             .
          
        
         
           
             Shall
             I
             draw
             back
             and
             fear
             the
             End
          
           
             Of
             all
             my
             Sorrows
             ,
             Tears
             and
             Pain
             ?
          
           
             To
             which
             my
             Life
             and
             Labours
             tend
             ,
             !
          
           
             Without
             which
             all
             had
             been
             in
             vain
             ?
          
           
             Can
             I
             for
             ever
             be
             content
          
           
             Without
             true
             Happiness
             and
             Rest
             ?
          
           
             Is
             Earth
             become
             so
             excellent
             ,
          
           
             That
             I
             should
             take
             it
             for
             my
             best
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Or
             can
             I
             think
             of
             finding
             here
          
           
             That
             which
             my
             Soul
             so
             long
             hath
             sought
             ?
          
           
             Should
             I
             refuse
             those
             Joyes
             through
             fear
             ,
          
           
             Which
             bounteous
             Love
             so
             dearly
             bought
             ?
          
           
           
             All
             that
             doth
             tast
             of
             Heav'n
             is
             good
             :
          
           
             When
             Heavenly
             Light
             doth
             me
             inform
             ;
          
           
             When
             Heavenly
             Life
             stirs
             in
             my
             Blood
             ;
          
           
             When
             Heavenly
             Love
             my
             Heart
             doth
             warm
             .
          
        
         
           
             No
             wonder
             if
             Time's
             womb
             be
             streight
             ,
          
           
             And
             Souls
             through
             pain
             and
             strangeness
             go
          
           
             Into
             the
             glorious
             World
             of
             Light
             ,
          
           
             Which
             Death
             translateth
             them
             unto
             .
          
           
             This
             strangeness
             will
             be
             quickly
             over
             ,
          
           
             When
             once
             the
             Heaven-born
             Soul
             is
             there
             :
          
           
             One
             sight
             of
             God
             will
             it
             recover
          
           
             From
             all
             this
             backwardness
             and
             fear
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             us
             ,
             Christ's
             lowest
             parts
             ;
             his
             feet
             ,
          
           
             Union
             and
             Faith
             must
             yet
             suffice
             ,
          
           
             To
             guide
             and
             comfort
             us
             :
             It
             's
             meet
          
           
             We
             trust
             our
             Head
             who
             hath
             our
             Eyes
             .
          
           
             Christ
             seeth
             all
             that
             I
             would
             see
             :
          
           
             The
             Way
             and
             End
             to
             Him
             are
             known
             :
          
           
             He
             hath
             prepar'd
             the
             Place
             for
             me
             :
          
           
             He
             'l
             Love
             and
             Use
             me
             as
             
               his
               Own.
            
             
          
        
         
           
             How
             many
             guiltless
             creatures
             die
             ,
          
           
             To
             be
             a
             feast
             or
             food
             for
             me
             ?
          
           
             Who
             love
             their
             Lives
             as
             well
             as
             I
             ?
          
           
             And
             hath
             not
             God
             more
             right
             to
             me
             ?
          
           
             Must
             I
             be
             priviledg'd
             alone
             ?
          
           
             Or
             no
             man
             Die
             until
             he
             please
             ?
          
           
             And
             God
             deposed
             from
             his
             Throne
             ,
          
           
             And
             humane
             generation
             cease
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             Though
             all
             these
             Reasons
             I
             can
             see
             ,
          
           
             Why
             I
             should
             willingly
             submit
             ,
          
           
             And
             comfortably
             come
             to
             thee
             ;
          
           
             My
             God
             ,
             thou
             must
             accomplish
             it
             .
          
           
             The
             Love
             which
             fill'd
             up
             all
             my
             daies
             ,
          
           
             Will
             not
             forsake
             me
             to
             the
             end
             :
          
           
             This
             broken
             Body
             thou
             wilt
             raise
             :
          
           
             My
             Spirit
             I
             to
             thee
             commend
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               Decemb.
               3.
               1663.
               
            
          
        
      
       
         
           4.
           
           Divine
           Love's
           Rest
           .
           (
           Written
           on
           Herbet's
           Poems
           .
           )
        
         
           THe
           amorous
           Needle
           knows
           no
           other
           REST
           ,
        
         
           But
           at
           its
           dear
           attractive
           Loadstone's
           breast
           .
        
         
           Though
           lying
           dead
           before
           the
           Potent
           touch
           ,
        
         
           Its
           Object
           and
           Affection
           were
           not
           such
           .
        
         
           The
           Oily
           Body
           married
           to
           a
           Spark
           ,
        
         
           Which
           some
           cold
           Flint
           had
           lockt
           up
           in
           the
           dark
           ,
        
         
           By
           the
           unseen
           Hot
           Soul
           is
           made
           so
           bright
           ,
        
         
           As
           if
           in
           it
           that
           Soul
           appear'd
           to
           sight
           ;
        
         
           Which
           in
           revenge
           for
           its
           restraint
           and
           toil
           ,
        
         
           Still
           working
           up
           wards
           ,
           wasts
           the
           loving
           Oil
           ;
        
         
         
           Having
           a
           higher
           Love
           ,
           is
           not
           content
           ,
        
         
           Until
           it
           reach
           its
           proper
           Element
           .
        
         
           Thus
           Heav'n-born
           Souls
           ,
           but
           lately
           dead
           in
           sin
           ;
        
         
           By
           Faith
           and
           Love
           the
           heavenly
           Life
           begin
           :
        
         
           And
           daily
           mounting
           upwards
           ,
           take
           their
           flight
           ,
        
         
           From
           Flesh
           and
           Earth
           unto
           the
           World
           of
           Light
           :
        
         
           Where
           Darkness
           ,
           Sin
           or
           Grief
           shall
           never
           enter
           :
        
         
           Where
           all
           the
           Saints
           are
           one
           in
           God
           their
           Center
           .
        
         
           Where
           Love
           reveals
           it self
           with
           open
           face
           ,
        
         
           Ravishing
           Souls
           prepar'd
           by
           Saving
           Grace
           .
        
         
           Love
           is
           their
           Kingdom
           :
           it
           's
           a
           world
           of
           Love
           ,
        
         
           Which
           they
           were
           hatcht
           for
           by
           the
           holy
           Dove
           .
        
         
           Here
           he
           is
           kindling
           the
           coelestial
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Which
           knows
           its
           rise
           ,
           and
           doth
           to
           God
           aspire
           ;
        
         
           God
           who
           is
           all
           ,
           shall
           there
           have
           all
           my
           store
           ;
        
         
           And
           yet
           my
           Friends
           have
           not
           the
           less
           ,
           but
           more
           :
        
         
           Love
           is
           now
           panting
           ,
           groaning
           in
           my
           breast
           :
        
         
           Love
           will
           be
           then
           my
           Soul
           's
           Eternal
           Feast
           .
        
         
           Love
           now
           salutes
           us
           in
           the
           Gospel
           story
           :
        
         
           But
           then
           Eternal
           Love
           will
           be
           our
           Glory
           .
        
         
           Up
           then
           ,
           my
           Soul
           ,
           and
           swiftly
           Heavenward
           tend
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Love
           shall
           have
           no
           check
           ,
           no
           bounds
           ,
           no
           end
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           5.
           
           On
           David's
           Psalms
           .
        
         
           MY
           God!
           since
           first
           thy
           Love
           this
           heart
           did
           touch
           ;
        
         
           It
           saith
           ,
           I
           cannot
           love
           my
           God
           too
           much
           .
        
         
           It
           looketh
           up
           ,
           and
           panteth
           for
           that
           Grace
           ,
        
         
           Which
           may
           exalt
           it
           ,
           and
           unveil
           thy
           face
           .
        
         
           Darkness
           and
           Distance
           are
           its
           grievous
           Chains
           ;
        
         
           Sad
           doubts
           and
           fears
           do
           feed
           its
           griping
           pains
           .
        
         
           It
           sighs
           ,
           and
           wonders
           thou
           canst
           be
           so
           strange
           ;
        
         
           Where
           thou
           hast
           freely
           made
           so
           great
           a
           change
           .
        
         
           Long
           it
           hath
           search't
           in
           hope
           to
           find
           the
           Art
           ,
        
         
           To
           raise
           and
           warm
           a
           dull
           and
           heavy
           Heart
           :
        
         
           And
           now
           I
           find
           it
           practised
           by
           One
           ,
        
         
           That
           now
           is
           praising
           thee
           before
           thy
           Throne
           .
        
         
           Here
           are
           the
           sacred
           words
           :
           Here
           's
           David's
           Lyre
           :
        
         
           But
           where
           's
           the
           quickening
           coelestial
           fire
           ?
        
         
           I
           know
           the
           Eye
           of
           Heav'n
           is
           on
           my
           Heart
           :
        
         
           God
           looks
           my
           Soul
           should
           bear
           the
           chiefest
           part
           .
        
         
           It
           's
           winged
           Faith
           ,
           and
           flaming
           Love
           within
           ,
        
         
           That
           must
           the
           pleasant
           Melody
           begin
           :
        
         
           The
           holy
           Spirit
           must
           tune
           and
           touch
           each
           string
           ;
        
         
           Else
           smoothest
           Verse
           will
           be
           a
           harsh
           dull
           thing
           ;
        
         
           Display
           thy
           Love
           ;
           shoot
           down
           thy
           vital
           Raies
           !
        
         
           Teach
           this
           cold
           heart
           the
           works
           of
           Love
           &
           Praise
           !
        
         
           O
           then
           ,
           what
           Life
           and
           Joy
           these
           Psalms
           will
           bring
           ,
        
         
           When
           it
           's
           thy
           Spirit
           ,
           and
           my
           Soul
           that
           sing
           !
        
         
           And
           though
           low
           streins
           with
           stops
           ,
           are
           here
           my
           best
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           Perfect
           Love
           and
           Praise
           shall
           be
           my
           REST.
           
        
      
       
         
         
           6.
           
           The
           Threefold
           Nativity
           .
        
         
           
             
               Prima
               dies
               hominem
               peperit
               ,
               sanctumque
               secunda
            
             
               Natalis
               :
               pariet
               Mors
               tertia
               glorificatum
               .
            
          
        
         
           MY
           first
           Birth-day
           brought
           forth
           a
           Man
           ,
           in
           sin
           :
        
         
           But
           one
           that
           could
           not
           work
           ,
           nor
           go
           ,
           nor
           speak
           .
        
         
           My
           second
           did
           a
           Life
           of
           Grace
           begin
           ,
        
         
           But
           such
           ,
           alas
           ,
           as
           yet
           's
           diseas'd
           and
           weak
           .
        
         
           The
           third
           from
           fleshly
           bonds
           will
           me
           release
           ,
        
         
           And
           bring
           me
           to
           the
           world
           of
           glorious
           Light
           :
        
         
           Where
           all
           my
           sins
           and
           vexing
           griefs
           shall
           cease
           ;
        
         
           And
           Faith
           shall
           end
           in
           perfect
           Love
           and
           Sight
           :
        
         
           This
           
             Death
             begins
          
           ;
           but
           't
           is
           the
           Resurrection
           ,
        
         
           That
           fully
           shall
           obliterate
           sins
           story
           ;
        
         
           And
           state
           both
           Soul
           and
           Body
           in
           perfection
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Grace
           and
           Nature
           shall
           be
           crown'd
           with
           Glory
           .
        
         
           As
           Nature
           taught
           me
           first
           complaining
           cryes
           ,
        
         
           Before
           it
           did
           acquaint
           me
           with
           Delight
           :
        
         
           So
           Grace
           with
           grief
           first
           fill'd
           my
           Heart
           and
           Eyes
           ,
        
         
           Before
           it
           shewed
           me
           the
           joyful
           sight
           .
        
         
           Why
           should
           not
           Death
           then
           be
           a
           straiter
           Door
           ,
        
         
           Than
           either
           that
           of
           Nature
           or
           of
           Grace
           ?
        
         
           Which
           brings
           us
           unto
           the
           Eternal
           Store
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Joy
           and
           Glory
           in
           God's
           shining
           face
           ?
        
      
       
         
         
           7.
           
           Self-Denial
           .
        
         
           A
           Dialogue
           between
           the
           Flesh
           &
           the
           Spirit
           .
        
         
           
             Flesh
             :
          
           
             
               WHat
               !
               become
               Nothing
               !
               ne're
               perswade
               me
               to
               it
               .
            
          
           
             
               God
               made
               me
               Something
               :
               and
               I
               'le
               not
               undo
               it
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Thy
             Something
             is
             not
             thine
             ,
             but
             his
             that
             gave
             it
             .
          
           
             Resign
             it
             to
             him
             ,
             if
             thou
             mean
             to
             save
             it
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               God
               gave
               me
               Life
               :
               and
               shall
               I
               choose
               to
               die
            
          
           
             
               Before
               my
               time
               ?
               or
               pine
               in
               miserie
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             God
             is
             thy
             Life
             :
             If
             then
             thou
             fearest
             death
             ;
          
           
             Let
             him
             be
             all
             thy
             soul
             ,
             thy
             pulse
             ,
             and
             breath
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               What!
               must
               I
               hate
               my self
               ?
               when
               as
               my
               brot
               her
            
          
           
             
               Must
               love
               me
               ?
               and
               I
               may
               not
               hate
               another
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Loath
             what
             is
             loathsom
             :
             Love
             God
             in
             the
             rest
             ;
          
           
             He
             truly
             love's
             himself
             ,
             that
             love
             's
             God
             best
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Doth
               God
               our
               ease
               and
               pleasure
               to
               us
               grudge
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Or
               doth
               Religion
               make
               a
               man
               a
               drudge
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             That
             is
             thy
             Poyson
             which
             thou
             callest
             Pleasure
             :
          
           
             And
             that
             thy
             drudgery
             which
             thou
             count'st
             thy
             treasure
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Who
               can
               endure
               to
               be
               thus
               mewed
               up
               ?
            
          
           
             
               And
               under
               Laws
               for
               every
               bit
               and
               cup
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             God's
             Cage
             is
             better
             than
             the
             Wilderness
             .
          
           
             When
             Winter
             comes
             ,
             Liberty
             brings
             distress
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Pleasure
               's
               mans
               Happiness
               :
               The
               Will
               's
               not
               free
            
          
           
             
               To
               choose
               our
               misery
               :
               This
               cannot
               be
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             God
             is
             mans
             End
             :
             with
             him
             are
             highest
             joyes
             :
          
           
             Sensual
             pleasures
             are
             but
             dreams
             and
             toyes
             .
          
           
             Should
             sin
             seem
             sweet
             !
             Is
             Satan
             turn'd
             thy
             friend
             ?
          
           
             Will
             not
             thy
             sweet
             prove
             bitter
             in
             the
             end
             ?
          
           
             Hast
             thou
             found
             sweeter
             pleasures
             than
             Gods
             Love
          
           
             Is
             a
             fools
             laughter
             like
             the
             Joyes
             above
             ?
          
           
             Beauty
             surpasseth
             all
             deceitful
             paints
             :
          
           
             What
             's
             empty
             mirth
             to
             the
             delights
             of
             Saints
             ?
          
           
             God
             would
             not
             have
             thee
             have
             less
             joy
             ,
             but
             more
             :
          
           
             And
             therefore
             shew's
             thee
             the
             eternal
             store
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Who
               can
               love
               baseness
               ,
               poverty
               and
               want
               ?
            
          
           
             
               And
               under
               pining
               sickness
               be
               content
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             He
             that
             hath
             laid
             his
             treasure
             up
             above
          
           
             And
             plac't
             his
             portion
             only
             in
             Gods
             love
             :
          
           
           
             That
             waits
             for
             Glory
             when
             his
             life
             is
             done
             :
          
           
             This
             man
             will
             be
             content
             with
             God
             alone
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               What
               good
               will
               sorrow
               do
               us
               ?
               Is
               not
               mirth
            
          
           
             
               Fitter
               to
               warm
               a
               cold
               heart
               here
               on
               earth
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Troubles
               will
               come
               whether
               we
               will
               or
               no
               :
            
          
           
             
               I
               'le
               never
               banish
               pleasure
               ,
               and
               choose
               we
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Then
             choose
             not
             sin
             :
             touch
             not
             forbidden
             things
             :
          
           
             Taste
             not
             the
             sweet
             that
             endless
             sorrow
             brings
             .
          
           
             If
             thou
             love
             pleasure
             ,
             take
             in
             God
             thy
             fill
             :
          
           
             Look
             not
             for
             lasting
             joyes
             in
             doing
             ill
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Affliction
               's
               bitter
               :
               life
               will
               soon
               be
               done
               :
            
          
           
             
               Pleasure
               shall
               be
               my
               part
               ere
               all
               be
               gone
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Prosperity
             is
             barren
             :
             all
             men
             say
          
           
             The
             soil
             is
             best
             where
             there
             's
             the
             deepest
             way
             .
          
           
             Life
             is
             for
             work
             ,
             and
             not
             to
             spend
             in
             play
             .
          
           
             Now
             sow
             thy
             seed
             :
             labour
             while
             it
             is
             day
             .
          
           
             The
             Huntsman
             seeks
             his
             game
             in
             barren
             plains
             .
          
           
             Dirty
             land
             answers
             best
             the
             Plowmans
             pains
             .
          
           
             Passengers
             care
             not
             so
             the
             way
             be
             fair
             ;
          
           
             Husbandmen
             would
             have
             the
             best
             ground
             and
             air
          
           
             First
             think
             what
             's
             safe
             and
             fruitful
             :
             There
             's
             no
             pleasure
          
           
             Like
             the
             beholding
             of
             thy
             chiefest
             Treasure
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Nature
               made
               me
               a
               Man
               ,
               and
               gave
               me
               sense
               :
            
          
           
             
               Changing
               of
               Nature
               is
               a
               vain
               pretence
               :
            
          
           
           
             It
             taught
             me
             to
             love
             women
             ,
             honour
             ,
             ease
             ,
          
           
             And
             every
             thing
             that
             doth
             my
             senses
             please
             .
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Nature
             hath
             made
             thee
             Rational
             ;
             and
             Reason
          
           
             Must
             rule
             the
             sense
             ,
             in
             ends
             ,
             degrees
             and
             season
             .
          
           
             Reason's
             the
             Rider
             ;
             Sense
             is
             but
             the
             Horse
             :
          
           
             Which
             then
             is
             fittest
             to
             direct
             thy
             course
             ?
          
           
             Give
             up
             the
             reins
             ,
             and
             thou
             becom'st
             a
             beast
             ;
          
           
             Thy
             fall
             at
             death
             will
             sadly
             end
             thy
             feast
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Religion
               is
               a
               dull
               and
               heavy
               thing
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Whereas
               a
               merry
               Cup
               will
               make
               me
               sing
               .
            
          
           
             
               Love's
               entertainments
               warm
               both
               heart
               and
               brain
               :
            
          
           
             
               And
               wind
               my
               fancy
               to
               the
               highest
               strain
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Cupid
             hath
             stuck
             a
             Feather
             in
             thy
             Cap
             ;
          
           
             And
             lull'd
             thee
             dead
             asleep
             on
             Venu's
             lap
             :
          
           
             Thy
             brains
             are
             tipled
             with
             some
             wantons
             eyes
             :
          
           
             Thy
             Reason
             is
             become
             Lust's
             sacrifice
             .
          
           
             Playing
             a
             game
             at
             Folly
             ,
             thou
             hast
             lost
          
           
             Thy
             wit
             ,
             and
             soul
             ,
             and
             winnest
             to
             thy
             cost
             .
          
           
             Thy
             Soul
             now
             in
             a
             filthy
             channel
             lies
             ,
          
           
             While
             fancy
             seems
             to
             soar
             above
             the
             Skies
             .
          
           
             Beauty
             will
             soon
             be
             stinking
             loathsom
             Earth
             :
          
           
             Sickness
             and
             Death
             marr
             all
             the
             wanton
             's
             mirth
             .
          
           
             It
             is
             not
             all
             the
             pleasure
             thou
             canst
             find
             .
          
           
             Will
             countervail
             the
             sting
             that
             's
             left
             behind
             .
          
           
             Blind
             ,
             brutish
             Souls
             !
             that
             cannot
             love
             their
             God!
          
           
             And
             yet
             can
             dote
             on
             a
             defiled
             clod
             !
          
           
           
             
               Why
               should
               I
               think
               of
               what
               will
               be
               to
               morrow
               ?
            
          
           
             
               An
               ounce
               of
               mirth
               is
               worth
               a
               pound
               of
               sorrow
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             But
             where
             's
             that
             mirth
             when
             sorrows
             overtake
             thee
             ?
          
           
             Will
             it
             then
             hold
             when
             Life
             and
             God
             forsake
             thee
             ?
          
           
             Forgetting
             Death
             or
             Hell
             will
             not
             prevent
             it
             :
          
           
             Now
             lose
             thy
             day
             ,
             thou
             'lt
             then
             too
             late
             repent
             it
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Must
               I
               be
               pain'd
               and
               wronged
               ,
               and
               not
               feel
               ?
            
          
           
             
               As
               if
               my
               heart
               were
               made
               of
               flint
               or
               steel
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Dost
             thou
             delight
             to
             feel
             thy
             hurt
             and
             smart
             ?
          
           
             Would
             not
             an
             Antidote
             preserve
             thy
             heart
             ?
          
           
             Impatience
             is
             but
             self-tormenting
             folly
             :
          
           
             Patience
             is
             cordial
             ,
             easie
             ,
             sweet
             and
             holy
             .
          
           
             Is
             not
             that
             better
             which
             turns
             grief
             to
             peace
             ,
          
           
             Than
             that
             which
             doth
             thy
             misery
             encrease
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               When
               sport
               ,
               and
               wine
               ,
               and
               beauty
               do
               invite
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Who
               is
               it
               whom
               such
               baits
               will
               not
               incite
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             He
             that
             perceives
             the
             hook
             and
             sees
             the
             end
             ,
          
           
             Whither
             it
             is
             that
             fleshly
             Pleasures
             tend
             .
          
           
             He
             that
             by
             faith
             hath
             seen
             both
             Heav'n
             and
             Hell
             ,
          
           
             And
             what
             sin
             costeth
             at
             the
             last
             can
             tell
             :
          
           
             He
             that
             hath
             try'd
             and
             tasted
             better
             things
             ,
          
           
             And
             felt
             that
             love
             from
             which
             all
             pleasure
             springs
             .
          
           
             They
             that
             still
             watch
             ,
             and
             for
             Christs
             coming
             wait
             ,
          
           
             Can
             turn
             away
             from
             ,
             or
             despise
             the
             bait
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Must
               I
               be
               made
               the
               foot-ball
               of
               disdain
               ?
            
          
           
             
               And
               call'd
               a
               precise
               fool
               or
               Puritane
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Remember
             him
             that
             did
             despise
             the
             shame
             ,
          
           
             And
             for
             thy
             sake
             bore
             undeserved
             blame
             .
          
           
             Thy
             journey
             's
             of
             small
             moment
             if
             thou
             stay
          
           
             Because
             dogs
             bark
             ,
             or
             stones
             lie
             in
             the
             way
             .
          
           
             If
             life
             lay
             on
             it
             ,
             wouldst
             thou
             turn
             again
             ,
          
           
             For
             the
             winds
             blowing
             or
             a
             little
             rain
             ?
          
           
             Is
             this
             thy
             greatest
             love
             to
             thy
             dear
             Lord
             ?
          
           
             That
             canst
             not
             for
             his
             sake
             bear
             a
             foul
             word
             ?
          
           
             Wilt
             thou
             not
             bear
             for
             him
             a
             scorners
             breath
             ,
          
           
             That
             underwent
             for
             thee
             a
             cursed
             death
             ?
          
           
             Is
             not
             Heav'n
             worth
             the
             bearing
             of
             a
             flout
             ?
          
           
             Then
             blame
             not
             Justice
             when
             it
             shuts
             thee
             out
             .
          
           
             Will
             these
             deriders
             stand
             to
             what
             they
             say
             ,
          
           
             And
             own
             their
             words
             at
             the
             great
             dreadful
             day
             ?
          
           
             Then
             they
             'd
             be
             glad
             ,
             when
             wrath
             shall
             overtake
             them
             ,
          
           
             To
             eat
             their
             words
             ,
             and
             say
             they
             never
             spake
             them
             .
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               How
               ?
               Forsake
               all
               !
               Ne're
               mention
               it
               more
               to
               me
            
          
           
             
               I
               'le
               be
               of
               no
               Religion
               to
               undo
               me
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Is
             it
             not
             thine
             more
             in
             thy
             Fathers
             hand
             ,
          
           
             Then
             when
             it
             is
             laid
             out
             at
             sins
             command
             ?
          
           
             And
             is
             that
             sav'd
             that
             's
             spent
             upon
             thy
             lust
          
           
             Or
             which
             must
             be
             a
             prey
             to
             thieves
             or
             rust
             ?
          
           
             And
             wouldst
             thou
             have
             thy
             riches
             in
             thy
             way
             ,
          
           
             Where
             thou
             art
             passing
             on
             and
             canst
             not
             stay
             ?
          
           
           
             And
             is
             that
             lost
             that
             's
             sent
             to
             Heav'n
             before
             ?
          
           
             Hadst
             thou
             not
             rather
             have
             thy
             friends
             and
             store
             ,
          
           
             Where
             thou
             maist
             dwell
             for
             ever
             ,
             in
             the
             light
          
           
             Of
             that
             long
             glorious
             day
             that
             fears
             no
             night
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               But
               who
               can
               willingly
               submit
               to
               Death
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Which
               will
               bereave
               us
               of
               our
               life
               and
               breath
            
             ;
          
           
             
               That
               laies
               our
               flesh
               to
               rot
               in
               loathsom
               graves
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Where
               brains
               and
               eyes
               were
               ,
               leaves
               but
               ugly
               caves
               ?
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             So
             nature
             breaks
             and
             casts
             away
             the
             shell
             ,
          
           
             Where
             the
             now
             beauteous
             singing
             bird
             did
             dwell
             :
          
           
             The
             secundine
             that
             once
             the
             infant
             cloath'd
             ,
          
           
             After
             the
             birth
             ,
             is
             cast
             away
             and
             loath'd
             .
          
           
             Thus
             Roses
             drop
             there
             sweet
             leaves
             under-foot
             ;
          
           
             But
             the
             Spring
             shew's
             that
             life
             was
             in
             the
             root
             .
          
           
             Souls
             are
             the
             Roots
             of
             Bodies
             :
             Christ
             the
             Head
          
           
             Is
             Root
             of
             both
             ,
             and
             will
             revive
             the
             dead
             .
          
           
             Our
             Sun
             still
             shineth
             when
             with
             us
             it's
             night
             :
          
           
             When
             he
             return's
             ,
             we
             shall
             shine
             in
             his
             light
             .
          
           
             Souls
             that
             behold
             and
             praise
             God
             with
             the
             Just
             ,
          
           
             Mourn
             not
             because
             their
             bodies
             are
             but
             dust
             .
          
           
             Graves
             are
             but
             beds
             where
             flesh
             till
             morning
             sleep's
             :
          
           
             Or
             Chests
             where
             God
             a
             while
             our
             garments
             keeps
             .
          
           
             Our
             folly
             thinks
             he
             spoils
             them
             in
             the
             keeping
             ;
          
           
             Which
             causeth
             our
             excessive
             fears
             and
             weeping
             :
          
           
             But
             God
             that
             doth
             our
             rising
             day
             foresee
             :
          
           
             Pitties
             not
             rotting
             flesh
             so
             much
             as
             we
             .
          
           
             The
             birth
             of
             Nature
             was
             deform'd
             by
             sin
             :
          
           
             The
             birth
             of
             Grace
             did
             our
             repair
             begin
             .
          
           
           
             The
             birth
             of
             Glory
             at
             the
             Resurrection
          
           
             Finisheth
             all
             ,
             and
             brings
             both
             to
             perfection
             .
          
           
             Why
             should
             not
             fruit
             when
             it
             is
             mellow
             fall
             ?
          
           
             Why
             would
             we
             linger
             here
             when
             God
             doth
             call
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               The
               things
               and
               persons
               in
               this
               world
               I
               see
               ,
            
          
           
             
               But
               after
               death
               I
               know
               not
               what
               will
               be
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             Know'st
             thou
             not
             that
             which
             God
             himself
             hath
             spoken
             ?
          
           
             Thou
             hast
             his
             promise
             which
             was
             never
             broken
             .
          
           
             Reason
             proclaims
             that
             noble
             heav'n-born
             Souls
             ,
          
           
             Are
             made
             for
             higher
             things
             than
             Worms
             &
             Moles
             .
          
           
             God
             hath
             not
             made
             such
             faculties
             in
             vain
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             made
             his
             Service
             a
             deluding
             pain
             .
          
           
             But
             Faith
             resolves
             all
             doubts
             ,
             and
             hears
             the
             Lord
          
           
             Telling
             us
             plainly
             by
             his
             holy
             Word
             ,
          
           
             That
             uncloath'd
             Souls
             shall
             with
             their
             Savior
             dwell
             ,
          
           
             Triumphing
             over
             Sin
             ,
             and
             Death
             ,
             and
             Hell.
          
           
             And
             by
             the
             Power
             of
             Almighty
             Love
             ,
          
           
             Stars
             shall
             arise
             from
             graves
             to
             shine
             above
             .
          
           
             There
             we
             shall
             see
             the
             glorious
             face
             of
             God
             :
          
           
             His
             blessed
             presence
             shall
             be
             our
             abode
             :
          
           
             The
             face
             that
             banisheth
             all
             doubts
             and
             fears
             ,
          
           
             Shuts
             out
             all
             sins
             ,
             and
             dryeth
             up
             all
             tears
             .
          
           
             That
             face
             which
             darkeneth
             the
             Sun's
             bright
             rayes
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             shine
             us
             into
             everlasting
             joyes
             .
          
           
             Where
             Saints
             and
             Angels
             shall
             make
             up
             one
             Chore
             ,
          
           
             To
             praise
             the
             Great
             Jehovah
             evermore
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             Flesh
             .
          
           
             
               Reason
               not
               with
               me
               against
               sight
               and
               sense
               :
            
          
           
             
               I
               doubt
               all
               this
               is
               but
               a
               ●ain
               pretence
               .
            
          
           
             
               Words
               against
               Nature
               are
               not
               worth
               a
               rush
               :
            
          
           
             
               One
               Bird
               in
               hand
               is
               worth
               two
               in
               the
               bush
               .
            
          
           
             
               If
               God
               will
               give
               me
               Heav'n
               at
               last
               ,
               I
               'le
               take
               it
               :
            
          
           
             
               But
               for
               my
               Pleasure
               here
               I
               'le
               not
               forsake
               it
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Spirit
             .
          
           
             And
             wilt
             thou
             keep
             it
             ?
             brutish
             flesh
             how
             long
             ?
          
           
             Wilt
             thou
             not
             shortly
             sing
             another
             Song
             ?
          
           
             When
             Conscience
             is
             awakened
             ,
             keep
             thy
             mirth
             !
          
           
             When
             sickness
             &
             death
             comes
             ,
             hold
             fast
             this
             earth
             :
          
           
             Live
             if
             thou
             canst
             when
             God
             saith
             ,
             Come
             away
             :
          
           
             Try
             whether
             all
             thy
             friends
             can
             cause
             thy
             stay
             .
          
           
             Wilt
             thou
             tell
             Death
             and
             God
             ,
             thou
             wilt
             not
             die
             ?
          
           
             And
             wilt
             thou
             the
             consuming
             fire
             defie
             ?
          
           
             Art
             thou
             not
             sure
             to
             let
             go
             what
             thou
             hast
             ?
          
           
             And
             doth
             not
             Reason
             bid
             thee
             then
             forecast
             ,
          
           
             And
             value
             the
             least
             hope
             of
             endless
             Joyes
             ,
          
           
             Before
             known
             vanities
             ,
             and
             dying
             toyes
             ?
          
           
             And
             can
             the
             Lord
             that
             is
             most
             just
             and
             wise
             ,
          
           
             Found
             all
             man's
             duty
             in
             deceit
             and
             lies
             ?
          
           
             Get
             thee
             behind
             me
             Satan
             ;
             thou
             dost
             savour
             ,
          
           
             The
             things
             of
             Flesh
             ,
             and
             not
             his
             dearest
             favour
             ,
          
           
             Who
             is
             my
             Life
             ,
             and
             Light
             ,
             and
             Love
             ,
             and
             All
             ,
          
           
             And
             so
             shall
             be
             whatever
             shall
             befall
             .
          
           
             It
             is
             not
             thou
             ,
             but
             I
             that
             must
             discern
             ,
          
           
             And
             must
             Resolve
             :
             It
             's
             I
             that
             hold
             the
             stern
             :
          
           
           
             Be
             silent
             Flesh
             ;
             speak
             not
             against
             my
             God
             ;
          
           
             Or
             else
             hee
             'l
             teach
             thee
             better
             by
             the
             rod.
          
           
             I
             am
             resolved
             thou
             shalt
             live
             and
             die
             ,
          
           
             A
             servant
             ,
             or
             a
             conquered
             enemy
             .
          
        
         
           
             Lord
             charge
             not
             on
             me
             what
             this
             rebell
             sayes
             ,
          
           
             That
             alwaies
             was
             against
             me
             and
             thy
             wayes
             !
          
           
             Now
             stop
             its
             mouth
             by
             Grace
             ,
             that
             shortly
             must
          
           
             Through
             just
             but
             gainful
             death
             ,
             be
             stopt
             with
             dust
             .
          
           
             The
             thoughts
             and
             words
             of
             Flesh
             are
             none
             of
             mine
             :
          
           
             Let
             Flesh
             say
             what
             it
             will
             ,
             I
             will
             be
             thine
             .
          
           
             Whatever
             this
             rebellious
             Flesh
             shall
             prate
             ,
          
           
             Let
             me
             but
             serve
             thee
             Lord
             ,
             at
             any
             rate
             .
          
           
             Use
             me
             on
             earth
             as
             seemeth
             good
             to
             thee
             ,
          
           
             So
             I
             in
             Heav'n
             thy
             Glorious
             face
             may
             see
             .
          
           
             Take
             down
             my
             Pride
             ;
             let
             me
             dwell
             at
             thy
             feet
             :
          
           
             The
             humble
             are
             for
             earth
             and
             heav'n
             most
             meet
          
           
             Renouncing
             Flesh
             ,
             I
             Vow
             my self
             to
             thee
             ,
          
           
             With
             all
             the
             Talents
             thou
             hast
             lent
             to
             me
             .
          
           
             Let
             me
             not
             stick
             at
             honour
             ,
             wealth
             or
             blood
             :
          
           
             Let
             all
             my
             dayes
             be
             spent
             in
             doing
             good
             .
          
           
             Let
             me
             not
             trifle
             out
             more
             precious
             hours
             ;
          
           
             But
             serve
             thee
             now
             with
             all
             my
             strength
             and
             powers
             .
          
           
             If
             Flesh
             should
             tempt
             me
             to
             deny
             my
             hand
             ;
          
           
             Lord
             these
             are
             the
             Resolves
             to
             which
             I
             stand
             ,
          
           
             
               
                 Octob.
                 29.
                 1659.
                 
              
            
             
               Richard
               Baxter
               .
            
          
        
      
       
         
         
           8.
           
           The
           Prayer
           of
           the
           Sick
           ,
           in
           a
           Case
           like
           Hezekiahs
           .
        
         
           To
           the
           Tune
           of
           the
           51
           Psalm
           .
        
         
           
             The
             First
             Part.
             
          
           
             
               1.
               
            
             
               ETernal
               God
               ,
               whose
               name
               is
               Love
               ;
            
             
               Whose
               mercy
               is
               my
               hope
               and
               stay
               :
            
             
               O
               hear
               and
               help
               me
               from
               above
               ,
            
             
               That
               in
               distress
               to
               thee
               do
               pray
               .
            
             
               Ashamed
               to
               lift
               up
               my
               face
               ,
            
             
               Hence
               from
               the
               dust
               to
               thee
               I
               cry
               :
            
             
               Though
               I
               have
               sinn'd
               against
               thy
               Grace
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               unto
               it
               alone
               I
               fly
               .
            
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               I
               was
               at
               first
               in
               sin
               conceiv'd
               ,
            
             
               Then
               liv'd
               a
               vain
               and
               sinful
               life
               :
            
             
               Rebellious
               flesh
               which
               I
               receiv'd
            
             
               Is
               still
               against
               thy
               Grace
               in
               strife
               .
            
             
               Long
               it
               was
               Lord
               ,
               alas
               too
               long
               ,
            
             
               Before
               I
               knew
               my self
               or
               thee
               :
            
             
               Vanity
               rul'd
               my
               heart
               and
               tongue
               :
            
             
               And
               O
               that
               yet
               my
               Soul
               were
               free
               !
            
          
           
             
             
               3.
               
            
             
               But
               while
               I
               sinned
               thou
               wast
               kind
               ,
            
             
               And
               sent'st
               thy
               Word
               and
               Spirit
               of
               Grace
               ;
            
             
               Thy
               Light
               did
               change
               my
               darkened
               mind
               ,
            
             
               And
               shewed
               me
               my
               wretched
               case
               .
            
             
               Though
               I
               drew
               back
               ,
               thou
               didst
               prevail
               ;
            
             
               And
               I
               gave
               up
               my self
               to
               thee
               .
            
             
               Thou
               undertook'st
               for
               wind
               and
               sail
               ;
            
             
               Both
               Ship
               and
               Pilot
               thou
               would'st
               be
               .
            
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               I
               turn'd
               my
               back
               on
               worldly
               toyes
               ;
            
             
               And
               set
               my
               face
               toward
               Glory's
               Shore
               ;
            
             
               Where
               thou
               hast
               promis'd
               highest
               Joyes
               ,
            
             
               And
               Blessedness
               for
               evermore
               .
            
             
               I
               took
               my
               leave
               of
               Sin
               and
               Earth
               ;
            
             
               What
               I
               had
               lov'd
               ,
               I
               now
               did
               hate
               ;
            
             
               Ashamed
               of
               my
               former
               birth
               ,
            
             
               I
               gave
               my
               Life
               a
               newer
               date
               .
            
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               But
               since
               that
               time
               how
               am
               I
               tost
               ?
            
             
               Afraid
               of
               every
               storm
               and
               wave
               :
            
             
               Almost
               concluding
               I
               am
               lost
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               thou
               would'st
               not
               help
               and
               save
               .
            
             
               If
               I
               look
               out
               beyond
               thine
               Ark
               ,
            
             
               Nothing
               but
               raging
               Seas
               I
               see
               :
            
             
               On
               this
               side
               Heav'ns
               all
               's
               deep
               and
               dark
               :
            
             
               But
               I
               look
               further
               unto
               thee
               .
            
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Censures
               and
               scorns
               ,
               and
               frowns
               I
               hear
               :
            
             
               Storms
               which
               before
               I
               never
               found
               ;
            
             
               And
               yet
               all
               these
               I
               should
               not
               fear
               ,
            
             
               If
               all
               at
               home
               were
               safe
               and
               sound
               .
            
             
             
               But
               thy
               displeasure
               wounds
               my
               heart
               :
            
             
               I
               have
               but
               two
               parts
               Flesh
               and
               Soul
               :
            
             
               Both
               of
               thy
               wrath
               do
               bear
               their
               part
               ;
            
             
               And
               thou
               hast
               left
               me
               neither
               whole
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Second
             Part.
             
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               All
               this
               is
               just
               ,
               Lord
               ,
               I
               confess
               ;
            
             
               I
               staid
               too
               long
               ere
               I
               came
               in
               :
            
             
               And
               how
               should
               healing
               grace
               do
               less
               ,
            
             
               When
               I
               brought
               with
               me
               so
               much
               sin
               ?
            
             
               Much
               Pride
               and
               Vanity
               I
               kept
               :
            
             
               Too
               oft
               my
               heart
               was
               looking
               back
               :
            
             
               Though
               God
               stood
               by
               me
               ,
               yet
               I
               slept
               :
            
             
               Heav'n
               was
               at
               hand
               ;
               yet
               I
               grew
               slack
               .
            
          
           
             
               Spare
               Lord
               ,
               and
               pity
               thy
               poor
               dust
               !
            
             
               That
               fled
               into
               thy
               Ark
               for
               Peace
               !
            
             
               O
               cause
               my
               Soul
               on
               thee
               to
               trust
               !
            
             
               And
               do
               not
               my
               distress
               increase
               .
            
             
               O
               keep
               up
               life
               and
               peace
               within
               !
            
             
               If
               I
               must
               feel
               thy
               chastening
               Rod
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               kill
               not
               me
               ,
               but
               kill
               my
               sin
               ;
            
             
               And
               let
               me
               know
               ,
               thou
               art
               
                 My
                 God.
              
               
            
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Folly
               dwelt
               in
               my
               childish
               breast
               ;
            
             
               Sin
               rob'd
               me
               of
               my
               youthful
               daies
               :
            
             
               Let
               not
               thy
               wrath
               cut
               off
               the
               rest
               ,
            
             
               And
               stifle
               thine
               intended
               praise
               .
            
             
             
               Whilst
               I
               forgot
               thee
               ,
               thou
               didst
               bear
               :
            
             
               Thy
               kindness
               did
               invite
               me
               home
               :
            
             
               O
               rack
               me
               not
               with
               grief
               and
               fear
               !
            
             
               Kill
               me
               not
               Lord
               ,
               now
               I
               am
               come
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               The
               silent
               Dust
               speaks
               not
               thy
               fame
               :
            
             
               Nor
               in
               dark
               Graves
               art
               thou
               renown'd
               :
            
             
               The
               living
               Saints
               declare
               thy
               Name
               ,
            
             
               And
               in
               thy
               Church
               thy
               Praises
               sound
               .
            
             
               Yet
               let
               me
               with
               thy
               houshold
               dwell
               ;
            
             
               Though
               I
               be
               numbred
               with
               thy
               Poor
               :
            
             
               And
               with
               thy
               Saints
               thy
               Wonders
               tell
               ,
            
             
               Although
               I
               sit
               behind
               thy
               door
               .
            
          
           
             
               11.
               
            
             
               Set
               not
               thy
               strength
               against
               frail
               man
               :
            
             
               O
               turn
               not
               yet
               this
               flesh
               to
               Clay
               !
            
             
               My
               life
               ,
               thou
               know'st
               ,
               is
               but
               a
               span
               ,
            
             
               If
               I
               should
               see
               the
               longest
               day
               .
            
             
               Break
               me
               not
               all
               to
               pieces
               Lord
               ;
            
             
               Or
               else
               ,
               let
               each
               piece
               have
               a
               tongue
               ,
            
             
               To
               cry
               ,
               till
               thou
               relief
               afford
               ;
            
             
               But
               not
               to
               say
               ,
               Thou
               dost
               me
               wrong
               .
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               Pity
               this
               poor
               unworthy
               Soul
               ,
            
             
               That
               here
               devotes
               it self
               to
               thee
               :
            
             
               Resolve
               my
               doubts
               ;
               my
               fears
               controul
               ;
            
             
               And
               let
               me
               thy
               Salvation
               see
               .
            
             
               O
               let
               that
               Love
               which
               gave
               me
               groans
               ,
            
             
               And
               taught
               my
               needy
               Soul
               to
               pray
               ,
            
             
               Remove
               my
               fears
               ,
               and
               hear
               the
               moans
            
             
               Which
               sorrow
               breaths
               forth
               night
               and
               day
               .
            
          
        
         
           
           
             The
             Third
             Part.
             
          
           
             
               13.
               
            
             
               Why
               art
               thou
               ,
               fainting
               Soul
               ,
               cast
               down
               ?
            
             
               And
               thus
               disquieted
               with
               fears
               ?
            
             
               Art
               thou
               not
               passing
               to
               thy
               Crown
               ,
            
             
               Through
               storms
               of
               pain
               ,
               and
               floods
               of
               tears
               ?
            
             
               Fear
               not
               ,
               O
               thou
               of
               little
               Faith
               !
            
             
               Art
               thou
               not
               in
               thy
               Saviour's
               hand
               ?
            
             
               Remember
               what
               his
               promise
               saith
               :
            
             
               Life
               and
               Death
               are
               at
               his
               command
               .
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               To
               him
               I
               did
               my self
               entrust
               ,
            
             
               When
               first
               I
               did
               for
               Heav'n
               imbark
               :
            
             
               And
               he
               hath
               proved
               kind
               and
               just
               :
            
             
               Still
               I
               am
               with
               him
               in
               his
               Ark.
            
             
               Could'st
               thou
               expect
               to
               see
               no
               Seas
               ?
            
             
               Nor
               feel
               no
               tossing
               wind
               or
               wave
               ?
            
             
               It
               is
               enough
               that
               from
               all
               these
            
             
               Thy
               faithful
               Pilot
               will
               thee
               save
               .
            
          
           
             
               15.
               
            
             
               Lord
               let
               me
               not
               my
               Covenant
               break
               :
            
             
               Once
               I
               did
               all
               to
               thee
               resign
               :
            
             
               Only
               the
               words
               of
               comfort
               speak
               ,
            
             
               And
               tell
               my
               Soul
               that
               
                 I
                 am
                 thine
              
               .
            
             
               It
               's
               no
               Death
               when
               Souls
               hence
               depart
               ,
            
             
               If
               thou
               depart
               not
               from
               the
               Soul
               :
            
             
               Fill
               with
               thy
               Love
               my
               fainting
               heart
               ,
            
             
               And
               I
               'll
               not
               fading
               flesh
               condole
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               16.
               
            
             
               Health
               is
               but
               Sickness
               with
               thy
               frowns
               :
            
             
               Life
               with
               thy
               wrath
               is
               worse
               than
               Death
               :
            
             
               My
               comforts
               thy
               displeasure
               drowns
               ,
            
             
               And
               into
               groans
               tunes
               all
               my
               breath
               .
            
             
               Where
               is
               that
               Faith
               ,
               and
               Hope
               ,
               and
               Love
               ,
            
             
               By
               which
               thou
               markest
               all
               thy
               Saints
               ?
            
             
               Thy
               Joyes
               would
               all
               my
               griefs
               remove
               ,
            
             
               And
               raise
               this
               heart
               that
               daily
               faints
               .
            
          
           
             
               17.
               
            
             
               Am
               I
               the
               Jonas
               ?
               dost
               thou
               mean
            
             
               To
               cast
               me
               out
               into
               the
               deep
               ?
            
             
               It
               shall
               not
               drown
               ,
               but
               make
               me
               clean
               :
            
             
               Until
               thou
               raise
               me
               ,
               there
               I
               'll
               sleep
               .
            
             
               O
               Death
               !
               where
               is
               thy
               poisonous
               sting
               ?
            
             
               O
               Grave
               !
               where
               is
               thy
               Victory
               ?
            
             
               Thy
               dust
               shall
               shortly
               rise
               ,
               and
               sing
            
             
               God's
               Praise
               above
               the
               Starry
               Sky
               .
            
          
           
             
               18.
               
            
             
               My
               God
               ,
               my
               Love
               ,
               my
               Hope
               ,
               my
               Life
               !
            
             
               Shall
               I
               be
               loth
               to
               see
               thy
               face
               ?
            
             
               As
               if
               this
               world
               of
               sin
               and
               strife
               ,
            
             
               Were
               for
               my
               Soul
               a
               better
               place
               ?
            
             
               O
               give
               my
               Soul
               some
               sweet
               foretast
            
             
               Of
               that
               which
               I
               shall
               shortly
               see
               !
            
             
               Let
               Faith
               and
               Love
               cry
               to
               the
               last
               ,
            
             
               
                 Come
                 Lord
                 ,
                 I
                 trust
                 my self
                 with
                 thee
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           
             John
             11.
             14.
             or
             16.
             
          
           
             
               
                 O
                 let
                 not
                 unbelieving
              
               Thomas
               words
            
             
               
                 Be
                 now
                 my
                 answer
                 :
                 But
                 my
                 dearest
                 Lord's
                 .
              
            
          
        
         
           Amen
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           9.
           
           The
           Covenant
           and
           Confidence
           of
           Faith.
           
        
         
           To
           the
           common
           Tunes
           .
        
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             My
             whole
             ,
             though
             broken
             heart
             ,
             O
             Lord
             !
          
           
             From
             henceforth
             shall
             be
             thine
             :
          
           
             And
             here
             I
             do
             my
             Vow
             record
             :
          
           
             This
             hand
             ,
             these
             words
             are
             mine
             .
          
           
             All
             that
             I
             have
             ,
             without
             reserve
             ,
          
           
             I
             offer
             here
             to
             thee
             :
          
           
             Thy
             Will
             and
             Honour
             all
             shall
             serve
             ,
          
           
             That
             thou
             bestow'dst
             on
             me
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             All
             that
             exceptions
             save
             I
             lose
             :
          
           
             All
             that
             I
             lose
             I
             save
             :
          
           
             The
             treasure
             of
             thy
             Love
             I
             choose
             ;
          
           
             And
             Thou
             art
             All
             I
             crave
             .
          
           
             My
             God
             ,
             thou
             hast
             my
             heart
             and
             hand
             :
          
           
             I
             all
             to
             thee
             resign
             .
          
           
             I
             'll
             ever
             to
             this
             Covenant
             stand
             ,
          
           
             Though
             flesh
             hereat
             repine
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             I
             know
             that
             thou
             wast
             willing
             first
             ;
          
           
             And
             then
             mad'st
             me
             consent
             :
          
           
             Having
             thus
             lov'd
             meat
             the
             worst
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             wilt
             not
             now
             repent
             .
          
           
           
             Now
             I
             have
             quit
             all
             Self-pretence
             ,
          
           
             Take
             charge
             of
             what
             's
             thine
             own
             !
          
           
             My
             Life
             ,
             my
             Health
             ,
             and
             my
             Defence
             ,
          
           
             Now
             lie
             on
             thee
             alone
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             Now
             it
             belongs
             not
             to
             my
             care
             ,
          
           
             Whether
             I
             die
             or
             live
             :
          
           
             To
             love
             and
             serve
             thee
             is
             my
             share
             :
          
           
             And
             this
             thy
             grace
             must
             give
             .
          
           
             If
             life
             be
             long
             ,
             I
             will
             be
             glad
             ,
          
           
             That
             I
             may
             long
             obey
             :
          
           
             If
             short
             ;
             yet
             why
             should
             I
             be
             sad
             .
          
           
             That
             shall
             have
             the
             same
             pay
             .
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             If
             Death
             shall
             bruise
             this
             springing
             seed
             ,
          
           
             Before
             it
             come
             to
             fruit
             ;
          
           
             The
             Will
             with
             thee
             goes
             for
             the
             Deed
             ;
          
           
             Thy
             life
             was
             in
             the
             root
             .
          
           
             Long
             life
             is
             a
             long
             grief
             and
             toil
             ,
          
           
             And
             multiplieth
             faults
             :
          
           
             In
             long
             wars
             he
             may
             have
             the
             foil
             ,
          
           
             That
             scapes
             in
             short
             assaults
             .
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             Would
             I
             long
             bear
             my
             heavy
             load
             ?
          
           
             And
             keep
             my
             sorrows
             long
             ?
          
           
             Would
             I
             long
             sin
             against
             my
             God
             ?
          
           
             And
             his
             dear
             mercy
             wrong
             ?
          
           
             How
             much
             is
             sinful
             Flesh
             my
             Foe
             ,
          
           
             That
             doth
             my
             soul
             pervert
             ,
          
           
             To
             linger
             here
             in
             sin
             and
             woe
             ,
          
           
             And
             steals
             from
             God
             my
             heart
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             7.
             
          
           
             Christ
             leads
             me
             through
             no
             darker
             rooms
             ,
          
           
             Than
             he
             went
             through
             before
             :
          
           
             He
             that
             into
             God's
             Kingdom
             comes
             ,
          
           
             Must
             enter
             by
             this
             Door
             .
          
           
             Come
             Lord
             ,
             when
             Grace
             hath
             made
             me
             meet
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             blessed
             Face
             to
             see
             :
          
           
             For
             if
             thy
             work
             on
             Earth
             be
             sweet
             ,
          
           
             What
             will
             thy
             Glory
             be
             ?
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             Then
             I
             shall
             end
             my
             sad
             complaints
             ,
          
           
             And
             weary
             sinful
             daies
             ;
          
           
             And
             joyn
             with
             the
             triumphant
             Saints
             ,
          
           
             That
             sing
             Jehovah's
             Praise
             .
          
           
             My
             Knowledge
             of
             that
             Life
             is
             small
             ;
          
           
             The
             Eye
             of
             Faith
             is
             dim
             :
          
           
             But
             it
             's
             enough
             that
             Christ
             knows
             all
             ;
          
           
             And
             I
             shall
             be
             with
             him
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               This
               Covenant
               my
               Dear
               Wife
               in
               her
               former
               Sickness
               subscribed
               with
               a
               cheerful
               will.
               
            
          
           
             Joh.
             12.
             26.
             
          
        
      
       
         
         
           10.
           
           A
           Psalm
           of
           Praise
           .
        
         
           To
           the
           Tune
           of
           the
           148
           Psalm
           .
        
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             YE
             holy
             Angels
             bright
             ,
          
           
             Which
             stand
             before
             God's
             Throne
             ,
          
           
             And
             dwell
             in
             glorious
             Light
             ,
          
           
             Praise
             ye
             the
             Lord
             each
             one
             .
          
           
             You
             there
             so
             nigh
          
           
             Are
             much
             more
             meet
          
           
             Than
             we
             the
             feet
             ,
          
           
             For
             things
             so
             high
             .
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             You
             blessed
             Souls
             at
             Rest
             ,
          
           
             That
             see
             your
             Saviour's
             face
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Glory
             ,
             even
             the
             least
          
           
             Is
             far
             above
             our
             Grace
             ;
          
           
             God's
             Praises
             sound
             ,
          
           
             As
             in
             his
             sight
             ,
          
           
             With
             sweet
             delight
             ,
          
           
             You
             do
             abound
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             All
             Nations
             of
             the
             Earth
             ,
          
           
             Extol
             the
             World's
             Great
             King
             :
          
           
             With
             Melody
             and
             Mirth
             .
          
           
             His
             glorious
             Praises
             sing
             .
          
           
           
             For
             he
             still
             reigns
             ;
          
           
             And
             will
             bring
             low
             ,
          
           
             The
             proudest
             Foe
             ,
          
           
             That
             him
             disdains
             .
          
        
         
           
             4.
             
          
           
             Sing
             forth
             Jehovah's
             Praise
             ,
          
           
             Ye
             Saints
             that
             on
             him
             call
             :
          
           
             Magnifie
             him
             alwaies
             ,
          
           
             His
             holy
             Churches
             all
             :
          
           
             In
             him
             rejoyce
             ;
          
           
             And
             there
             proclaim
          
           
             His
             Holy
             Name
             ,
          
           
             With
             sounding
             voice
             .
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             My
             Soul
             ,
             bear
             thou
             thy
             part
             :
          
           
             Triumph
             in
             God
             above
             :
          
           
             With
             a
             well-tuned
             heart
             ,
          
           
             Sing
             thou
             the
             Songs
             of
             Love.
          
           
             Thou
             art
             his
             own
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             precious
             Blood
          
           
             Shed
             for
             thy
             good
             ,
          
           
             His
             Love
             made
             known
             .
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             He
             did
             in
             Loves
             begin
             ,
          
           
             Renewing
             thee
             by
             Grace
             ;
          
           
             Forgiving
             all
             thy
             sin
             ,
          
           
             Shew'd
             thee
             his
             pleased
             face
             ,
          
           
             He
             did
             thee
             heal
             ,
          
           
             By
             his
             Son's
             Merit
             ,
          
           
             And
             by
             his
             Spirit
             ,
          
           
             For
             Glory
             Seal
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             7.
             
          
           
             In
             saddest
             thoughts
             and
             grief
             ,
          
           
             In
             sickness
             ,
             fears
             and
             pain
             ,
          
           
             I
             cry'd
             for
             his
             relief
             ,
          
           
             And
             it
             was
             not
             in
             vain
             .
          
           
             He
             heard
             with
             speed
             ;
          
           
             And
             still
             I
             found
          
           
             Mercy
             abound
             ,
          
           
             In
             time
             of
             need
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             Let
             not
             his
             Praises
             grow
             ,
          
           
             On
             prosperous
             heights
             alone
             :
          
           
             But
             in
             the
             Vales
             below
             ,
          
           
             Let
             his
             great
             Love
             be
             known
             .
          
           
             Let
             no
             distress
             ,
          
           
             Curb
             and
             controul
             ,
          
           
             My
             winged
             Soul
             ,
          
           
             And
             praise
             suppress
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             Let
             not
             the
             fear
             or
             smart
             ,
          
           
             Of
             his
             chastizing
             Rod
             ,
          
           
             Take
             off
             my
             fervent
             heart
             ,
          
           
             From
             praising
             my
             Dear
             God.
          
           
             What
             ere
             I
             feel
             ,
          
           
             Still
             let
             me
             bring
          
           
             This
             Offering
             ,
          
           
             And
             to
             him
             kneel
             .
          
        
         
           
             10.
             
          
           
             Though
             I
             lose
             friends
             and
             wealth
             ,
          
           
             And
             bear
             reproach
             and
             shame
             ;
          
           
             Though
             I
             lose
             ease
             and
             health
             ,
          
           
             Still
             let
             me
             praise
             God's
             Name
             .
          
           
           
             That
             fear
             and
             pain
             ,
          
           
             Which
             would
             destroy
          
           
             My
             Thanks
             and
             Joy
             ,
          
           
             Do
             thou
             restrain
             .
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             Though
             humane
             help
             depart
             ,
          
           
             And
             flesh
             draw
             near
             to
             dust
             ;
          
           
             Let
             Faith
             keep
             up
             my
             heart
             ,
          
           
             To
             love
             God
             true
             and
             just
             :
          
           
             And
             all
             my
             daies
             ,
          
           
             Let
             no
             disease
          
           
             Cause
             me
             to
             cease
          
           
             His
             joyful
             Praise
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             Though
             sin
             would
             make
             me
             doubt
             ,
          
           
             And
             fill
             my
             Soul
             with
             fears
             :
          
           
             Though
             God
             seem
             to
             shut
             out
             ,
          
           
             My
             daily
             cries
             and
             tears
             :
          
           
             By
             no
             such
             frost
          
           
             Of
             sad
             delayes
             ,
          
           
             Let
             thy
             sweet
             Praise
          
           
             Be
             nipt
             and
             lost
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             Away
             distrustful
             care
             !
          
           
             I
             have
             thy
             Promise
             Lord.
          
           
             To
             banish
             all
             Despair
             ,
          
           
             I
             have
             thy
             Oath
             and
             Word
             .
          
           
             And
             therefore
             I
          
           
             Shall
             see
             thy
             face
             ,
          
           
             And
             there
             thy
             grace
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             magnifie
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             14.
             
          
           
             Though
             Sin
             and
             Death
             conspire
             ,
          
           
             To
             rob
             thee
             of
             thy
             Praise
             .
          
           
             Still
             towards
             thee
             I
             'll
             aspire
             ,
          
           
             And
             thou
             dull
             hearts
             canst
             raise
             .
          
           
             Open
             thy
             Door
             ;
          
           
             And
             when
             grim
             Death
          
           
             Shall
             stop
             this
             Breath
             ,
          
           
             I
             'll
             praise
             thee
             more
             .
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             With
             thy
             Triumphant
             Flock
             ;
          
           
             Then
             I
             shall
             numbered
             be
             ,
          
           
             Built
             on
             th'
             Eternal
             Rock
             ,
          
           
             His
             Glory
             we
             shall
             see
             .
          
           
             The
             Heav'ns
             so
             high
             ,
          
           
             With
             Praise
             shall
             ring
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             shall
             sing
          
           
             In
             Harmony
             .
          
        
         
           
             16.
             
          
           
             The
             Sun
             is
             but
             a
             Spark
             ,
          
           
             From
             the
             Eternal
             Light
             :
          
           
             It
             s
             brightest
             beams
             are
             dark
             ,
          
           
             To
             that
             most
             glorious
             sight
             :
          
           
             There
             the
             whole
             Chore
             ,
          
           
             With
             one
             accord
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             praise
             the
             Lord
          
           
             For
             evermore
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           11.
           
           The
           Complaint
           .
        
         
           
             WHat
             mean
             impatient
             men
             to
             call
             it
             Pain
             ?
          
           
             That
             do
             the
             creatures
             wrath
             alone
             sustain
             ?
          
           
             But
             ,
             alas
             !
             how
             much
             greater
             is
             my
             woe
             ,
          
           
             That
             must
             God's
             sharp
             displeasure
             undergo
             ?
          
           
             If
             a
             Worm's
             fury
             seemeth
             hard
             to
             bear
             ,
          
           
             Who
             dare
             before
             an
             angry
             God
             appear
             ?
          
           
             I
             thought
             my
             God
             had
             blotted
             out
             my
             sin
             ;
          
           
             And
             it
             no
             more
             remembred
             should
             have
             bin
             !
          
           
             And
             wilt
             thou
             now
             call
             up
             what
             's
             past
             and
             gone
             ?
          
           
             And
             charge
             upon
             me
             all
             that
             I
             have
             done
             ?
          
           
             Why
             then
             ,
             where
             is
             my
             Saviour
             '
             where
             's
             his
             blood
             ?
          
           
             Shall
             not
             thy
             Promises
             be
             all
             made
             good
             ?
          
           
             Where
             are
             thy
             tender
             bowels
             ?
             where
             's
             that
             grace
             ?
          
           
             That
             shew'd
             me
             once
             thy
             reconciled
             face
             ?
          
           
             Dost
             thou
             repent
             ?
             or
             can
             God
             changed
             be
             ?
          
           
             O
             no!
             it
             's
             I
             that
             falsly
             turn'd
             from
             thee
             .
          
        
         
           
             Yet
             be
             not
             angry
             with
             me
             ,
             O
             my
             God!
          
           
             If
             thy
             Child
             cry
             ,
             and
             plead
             against
             the
             Rod
             ;
          
           
             Not
             daring
             to
             accuse
             thy
             narrow
             path
             ;
          
           
             But
             humbly
             bold
             to
             deprecate
             thy
             wrath
             .
          
           
           
             Is
             it
             thy
             pleasure
             to
             behold
             my
             grief
             ?
          
           
             When
             thou
             canst
             with
             a
             word
             send
             full
             relief
             ?
          
           
             Dost
             thou
             delight
             to
             see
             me
             drencht
             in
             tears
             ?
          
           
             And
             overwhelm'd
             with
             doubts
             and
             horrid
             fears
             ?
          
           
             Wilt
             thou
             stand
             by
             and
             see
             my
             Soul
             thus
             sink
             ?
          
           
             While
             wasting
             flesh
             doth
             stand
             at
             the
             pits
             brink
             ?
          
           
             Shall
             grief
             and
             sickness
             leave
             but
             skin
             and
             bones
             ?
          
           
             And
             shall
             I
             know
             no
             breath
             but
             sighs
             and
             groans
             ?
          
           
             Have
             I
             no
             passions
             left
             but
             griefs
             and
             fears
             ?
          
           
             Are
             groans
             the
             only
             musick
             for
             thine
             ears
             ?
          
           
             And
             have
             I
             sense
             only
             to
             feel
             my
             woe
             ?
          
           
             And
             reason
             only
             misery
             to
             know
             ?
          
           
             And
             wilt
             thou
             suffer
             sinful
             unbelief
             ,
          
           
             To
             banish
             Joy
             ,
             and
             keep
             out
             all
             Relief
             ?
          
           
             How
             can
             that
             gracious
             Lord
             my
             woe
             desire
             ?
          
           
             That
             did
             so
             much
             to
             save
             me
             from
             the
             fire
             ?
          
           
             How
             can
             that
             Saviour
             be
             against
             my
             good
             ,
          
           
             That
             dy'd
             in
             love
             ,
             and
             washt
             me
             by
             his
             blood
             ?
          
           
             Can
             the
             same
             voice
             now
             pass
             so
             sad
             a
             doom
             ,
          
           
             That
             from
             my
             sin
             so
             lately
             call'd
             me
             home
             ?
          
           
             Wilt
             thou
             now
             frown
             me
             down
             to
             fears
             &
             death
             ?
          
           
             That
             lately
             gav'st
             me
             a
             new
             life
             and
             breath
             ?
          
           
             Or
             can
             that
             hand
             that
             snatcht
             me
             from
             the
             flame
             ,
          
           
             Tear
             me
             ,
             and
             cast
             me
             back
             into
             the
             same
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Pity
             ,
             my
             God
             ,
             this
             sinking
             trembling
             Soul
             ,
          
           
             And
             let
             the
             hand
             that
             wounds
             me
             ,
             make
             me
             whole
             :
          
           
             Friends
             would
             ,
             but
             cannot
             ;
             all
             their
             help
             is
             vain
             .
          
           
             But
             thou
             canst
             quickly
             give
             me
             joy
             for
             pain
             .
          
           
             What
             can
             friends
             do
             ,
             but
             make
             my
             grief
             their
             own
             ?
          
           
             And
             will
             not
             give
             me
             leave
             to
             die
             alone
             .
          
           
           
             They
             can
             but
             add
             their
             fruitless
             tears
             and
             moans
             ,
          
           
             To
             joyn
             in
             a
             sad
             consort
             with
             my
             groans
             .
          
           
             Their
             pity
             doth
             but
             make
             my
             wounds
             more
             deep
             :
          
           
             While
             in
             compassion
             they
             stand
             by
             and
             weep
             .
          
           
             Through
             me
             ,
             thou
             woundest
             them
             :
             my
             pains
             are
             theirs
             :
          
           
             And
             every
             tender
             friend
             a
             portion
             bears
             .
          
           
             They
             can
             but
             pray
             for
             that
             which
             thou
             must
             give
             :
          
           
             They
             strive
             in
             vain
             if
             thou
             wilt
             not
             relieve
             .
          
           
             O
             spare
             me
             Lord
             !
             and
             press
             me
             not
             too
             low
             :
          
           
             Lest
             I
             should
             pievish
             and
             impatient
             grow
             !
          
           
             Lest
             I
             should
             have
             unworthy
             thoughts
             of
             thee
             ,
          
           
             Forgetting
             what
             thy
             Love
             hath
             done
             for
             me
             .
          
           
             Lest
             blind
             distrust
             get
             ground
             against
             my
             faith
             ,
          
           
             And
             I
             grow
             mindless
             what
             thy
             Promise
             saith
             .
          
           
             Lest
             griefs
             consume
             the
             soul
             which
             thou
             hast
             made
             ,
          
           
             And
             lest
             thy
             Praises
             with
             my
             Comforts
             fade
             .
          
           
             Lest
             I
             thine
             antient
             Loves
             no
             more
             rehearse
             ,
          
           
             But
             all
             my
             Thanks
             as
             a
             mistake
             reverse
             .
          
           
             And
             lest
             unruly
             grief
             should
             make
             me
             break
          
           
             Thy
             holy
             Laws
             ,
             and
             things
             unseemly
             speak
             .
          
           
             And
             lest
             the
             Tempter
             should
             advantage
             take
             ,
          
           
             The
             heav'n-built
             structure
             of
             my
             Hopes
             to
             shake
             .
          
           
             Lest
             I
             be
             drawn
             with
             Job
             to
             curse
             the
             day
             ,
          
           
             In
             which
             my
             Soul
             was
             marryed
             to
             Clay
             !
          
           
             Lest
             this
             rash
             tongue
             thy
             precious
             Loves
             deny
             ,
          
           
             And
             in
             distress
             ,
             should
             call
             thee
             Enemy
             .
          
           
             Break
             not
             the
             heart
             on
             which
             thou
             wrot'st
             thy
             Name
             ,
          
           
             Lest
             those
             blest
             Letters
             perish
             with
             the
             frame
             .
          
           
             Thy
             Word
             commands
             us
             alwaies
             to
             rejoice
             :
          
           
             Fain
             I
             would
             do
             it
             ,
             but
             thou
             stop'st
             my
             voice
             .
          
           
           
             Can
             I
             rejoyce
             ,
             when
             as
             thine
             angry
             Dart
             ,
          
           
             Is
             piercing
             night
             and
             day
             my
             wounded
             heart
             ?
          
           
             Can
             I
             rejoyce
             and
             bleed
             ?
             Rejoyce
             and
             die
             ?
          
           
             Can
             I
             rejoyce
             ,
             when
             thou
             dost
             Joy
             deny
             ?
          
           
             Can
             I
             mix
             night
             and
             day
             ?
             or
             death
             and
             life
             ?
          
           
             Or
             heat
             and
             cold
             ?
             or
             quietness
             and
             strife
             ?
          
           
             Or
             twist
             the
             highest
             joy
             with
             deepest
             sorrow
             ?
          
           
             Dwelling
             near
             Hell
             to
             day
             ,
             &
             Heaven
             to
             morrow
             ?
          
           
             Will
             joyes
             agree
             with
             heavy
             sighs
             and
             groans
             ?
          
           
             And
             sweetest
             comforts
             dwell
             with
             broken
             bones
             ?
          
           
             When
             I
             would
             rise
             and
             sing
             thy
             Love's
             renown
             ,
          
           
             Then
             comes
             another
             wave
             and
             strikes
             me
             down
             .
          
           
             Brimstone
             and
             flames
             methinks
             upon
             me
             rain
             ,
          
           
             As
             if
             I
             were
             adjudg'd
             to
             Sodom's
             pain
             .
          
           
             O
             my
             Dear
             God!
             why
             dost
             thou
             me
             forsake
             ?
          
           
             And
             all
             my
             bones
             and
             heart
             in
             pieces
             shake
             ?
          
           
             I
             took
             thee
             for
             my
             only
             Life
             and
             Joy
             :
          
           
             O
             do
             not
             now
             this
             trembling
             Soul
             destroy
             !
          
        
         
           
             The
             Answer
             .
          
           
             
               WEak
               Child
               !
               why
               dost
               thou
               make
               all
               this
               ado
               ?
            
             
               Dost
               thou
               remember
               whom
               thou
               speakest
               to
               ?
            
             
               Dost
               thou
               consider
               what
               thy
               passion
               saith
               ?
            
             
               Is
               this
               the
               language
               of
               a
               stable
               Faith
               ?
            
             
               Is
               this
               thy
               Patience
               ,
               and
               thy
               Self-denyal
               ?
            
             
               Wilt
               thou
               thus
               shrink
               &
               shake
               in
               time
               of
               tryal
               ?
            
             
               May
               I
               not
               with
               my
               own
               do
               what
               I
               list
               ?
            
             
               And
               use
               my
               creature
               as
               to
               me
               seems
               best
               ?
            
             
             
               Am
               I
               not
               wise
               enough
               to
               use
               the
               Rod
               ?
            
             
               Wilt
               thou
               prefer
               thy self
               before
               thy
               God
               ?
            
             
               Who
               's
               fittest
               to
               be
               Ruler
               ?
               thou
               or
               I
               ?
            
             
               Whose
               Wisdom's
               best
               ?
               and
               whose
               Fidelity
               ?
            
             
               When
               prov'd
               I
               false
               unto
               thee
               ?
               or
               unkind
               ?
            
             
               When
               didst
               thou
               seek
               aright
               ,
               and
               didst
               not
               find
               ?
            
             
               Look
               homeward
               ,
               Man
               ;
               there
               dwells
               thine
               Enemy
               ▪
            
             
               It
               is
               thy
               Self
               and
               Sin
               :
               It
               is
               not
               l.
            
             
               The
               thing
               thou
               should'st
               complain
               of
               ,
               is
               within
               :
            
             
               Turn
               all
               thy
               charge
               against
               thy
               Self
               and
               Sin.
            
             
               Sin
               is
               so
               bad
               ,
               that
               it
               can
               do
               no
               better
               .
            
             
               God
               cannot
               fail
               thee
               ,
               and
               remain
               thy
               debter
               .
            
             
               Such
               intimations
               should
               not
               pass
               thy
               tongue
               ,
            
             
               As
               if
               the
               Righteous
               God
               could
               do
               thee
               wrong
               .
            
             
               Were
               Conscience
               but
               as
               tender
               as
               thy
               flesh
               ,
            
             
               And
               Sin
               as
               grievous
               to
               thee
               as
               the
               lash
               ;
            
             
               Hadst
               thou
               but
               lived
               as
               beseems
               a
               Saint
               ,
            
             
               I
               might
               have
               spar'd
               my
               Rod
               ,
               and
               thou
               thy
               Plaint
               .
            
             
               Canst
               thou
               suspect
               I
               am
               against
               thy
               good
               ,
            
             
               When
               I
               have
               prov'd
               my
               Love
               by
               streams
               of
               blood
               ?
            
             
               Have
               I
               not
               lov'd
               thee
               from
               Eternity
               ?
            
             
               And
               caus'd
               my
               only
               Son
               for
               thee
               to
               die
               ?
            
             
               Have
               I
               not
               call'd
               thee
               from
               a
               life
               of
               sin
               ,
            
             
               When
               thousands
               round
               about
               thee
               live
               therein
               ?
            
             
               Remember
               how
               I
               us'd
               thee
               at
               the
               first
               ,
            
             
               When
               in
               thy
               blood
               I
               found
               thee
               at
               the
               worst
               :
            
             
               Who
               gave
               thee
               notice
               of
               thy
               sinful
               state
               ,
            
             
               Wakening
               thy
               Soul
               before
               it
               was
               too
               late
               ?
            
             
               Who
               did
               convince
               thee
               of
               the
               worldlings
               folly
               ?
            
             
               And
               shew
               thee
               that
               it
               's
               better
               to
               be
               holy
               ?
            
             
             
               Who
               sav'd
               thee
               from
               the
               world's
               deceits
               and
               lies
               ?
            
             
               And
               wean'd
               thee
               from
               thy
               former
               vanities
               ?
            
             
               Who
               taught
               thee
               to
               bewail
               thy
               heavy
               load
               ?
            
             
               And
               made
               thee
               long
               to
               know
               and
               love
               thy
               God
               ?
            
             
               If
               thou
               art
               willing
               that
               I
               should
               be
               thine
               ,
            
             
               It
               is
               because
               at
               first
               I
               call'd
               thee
               Mine
               .
            
             
               I
               offered
               Christ
               :
               I
               made
               thee
               to
               consent
               :
            
             
               And
               in
               the
               terms
               of
               grace
               to
               rest
               content
               .
            
             
               When
               thou
               wast
               ignorant
               ,
               who
               did
               thee
               teach
               ?
            
             
               And
               made
               thee
               long
               a
               higher
               state
               to
               reach
               ?
            
             
               Who
               made
               thee
               love
               and
               chuse
               the
               scorned
               way
               ?
            
             
               And
               cleave
               to
               Christ
               ,
               whatever
               flesh
               could
               say
               ?
            
             
               Who
               made
               thee
               pray
               ?
               and
               who
               thy
               prayer
               heard
               ?
            
             
               And
               sav'd
               thee
               from
               the
               Plagues
               thy
               Conscience
               fear'd
               ?
            
             
               Who
               made
               thy
               sinful
               heart
               long
               to
               be
               better
               ?
            
             
               Art
               thou
               not
               for
               all
               this
               to
               me
               a
               debter
               ?
            
             
               That
               thou
               dost
               miss
               me
               ,
               and
               my
               pleased
               face
               ,
            
             
               That
               thou
               dost
               mourn
               &
               groan
               ,
               is
               from
               my
               grace
               :
            
             
               Freely
               I
               did
               forgive
               thee
               what
               was
               past
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               thy
               deadly
               sins
               behind
               me
               cast
               .
            
             
               And
               yet
               must
               I
               be
               taken
               for
               thy
               Foe
               ?
            
             
               And
               all
               these
               accusations
               undergo
               ?
            
             
               After
               all
               this
               ,
               canst
               thou
               my
               love
               suspect
               ?
            
             
               And
               all
               my
               comforts
               peevishly
               reject
               ?
            
             
               Dar'st
               thou
               deny
               my
               Love
               and
               Grace
               ,
               as
               none
               ,
            
             
               Because
               that
               all
               the
               work
               is
               not
               yet
               done
               ?
            
             
               Who
               wrought
               that
               grace
               ?
               whose
               should
               the
               honour
               be
               ?
            
             
               While
               thou
               condemn'st
               thy self
               ,
               thou
               wrongest
               me
               .
            
             
               Watch
               and
               reform
               ,
               and
               cheerfully
               .
               obey
               :
            
             
               For
               what
               thou
               wantest
               ,
               wait
               ,
               and
               strive
               ,
               and
               pray
               .
            
             
             
               Thy
               Love
               and
               cheerful
               duty
               I
               require
               :
            
             
               It
               's
               not
               thy
               self-tormenting
               I
               desire
               .
            
             
               Humbly
               look
               back
               :
               remember
               what
               thou
               wast
               :
            
             
               Be
               not
               unthankful
               for
               the
               grace
               thou
               hast
               .
            
             
               Deny
               it
               not
               ,
               but
               wait
               at
               mercy's
               door
               :
            
             
               Thankfulness
               is
               the
               way
               to
               get
               thee
               more
               .
            
             
               If
               thou
               art
               weak
               ,
               look
               upto
               Christ
               thy
               strength
               :
            
             
               He
               'l
               perfect
               what
               he
               hath
               begun
               at
               length
               :
            
             
               Is
               not
               his
               grace
               sufficient
               for
               thee
               still
               ?
            
             
               He
               'l
               give
               the
               rest
               ,
               that
               freely
               gave
               the
               Will
               :
            
             
               If
               thou
               stand
               still
               ,
               or
               loyter
               in
               thy
               Race
               ;
            
             
               And
               if
               my
               Spur
               do
               bid
               thee
               ,
               mend
               thy
               pace
               ;
            
             
               Let
               not
               the
               smart
               make
               thee
               lie
               down
               and
               whine
               ,
            
             
               And
               at
               the
               needful
               quickening
               Rod
               repine
               :
            
             
               But
               ,
               Up
               ;
               Repent
               ;
               cheerfully
               do
               thy
               best
               :
            
             
               The
               day
               's
               at
               hand
               ,
               when
               thou
               shalt
               have
               the
               Rest
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             The
             Submission
             .
          
           
             
               FAther
               ,
               forgive
               my
               passion
               and
               rash
               words
               :
            
             
               Yet
               I
               'le
               be
               thine
               :
               I
               'le
               own
               no
               other
               Lords
               .
            
             
               Seeing
               thou
               wilt
               accept
               so
               frail
               a
               Worm
               ,
            
             
               That
               can
               without
               thee
               no
               good
               thing
               perform
               ;
            
             
               Still
               I
               'le
               be
               thine
               ,
               and
               stand
               to
               what
               I
               said
               ,
            
             
               When
               I
               my
               Covenant
               and
               Resignment
               made
               .
            
             
               I
               'le
               rather
               groan
               within
               ,
               and
               suffer
               more
               ,
            
             
               Than
               laugh
               with
               them
               that
               stand
               without
               thy
               door
               .
            
             
               O
               let
               thy
               Will
               attract
               and
               perfect
               mine
               !
            
             
               Hereafter
               not
               My
               Will
               be
               done
               ,
               but
               Thine
               .
            
             
             
               And
               let
               the
               roughest
               way
               seem
               fair
               and
               eaven
               ,
            
             
               That
               hath
               thy
               presence
               ,
               and
               doth
               lead
               to
               Heaven
               .
            
             
               And
               as
               thou
               bidst
               me
               ,
               
                 Evermore
                 Rejoyce
              
               ,
            
             
               Give
               me
               a
               joyful
               heart
               ,
               and
               praising
               voice
               .
            
             
               Suffer
               not
               sin
               to
               soil
               thy
               grace
               and
               me
               ;
            
             
               But
               make
               me
               such
               as
               thou
               wouldst
               have
               me
               be
               .
            
             
               Let
               streams
               of
               Love
               flow
               from
               thy
               open
               breast
               :
            
             
               And
               let
               me
               wait
               ,
               and
               long
               to
               feel
               the
               REST.
               
            
          
        
      
       
         
           12.
           
           The
           Return
           .
        
         
           To
           the
           Tune
           of
           
             Pas
             .
             Mes
             .
             Galliard
          
           :
        
         
           OR
           ,
        
         
           
             The
             common
             Psalm
             Tunes
          
           .
        
         
           
             1.
             
          
           
             WHO
             was
             it
             that
             I
             left
             behind
             ,
          
           
             When
             I
             went
             last
             from
             home
             ?
          
           
             That
             now
             I
             all
             disorder'd
             find
             ,
          
           
             When
             to
             my self
             I
             come
             ?
          
        
         
           
             2.
             
          
           
             I
             thought
             I
             had
             the
             door
             fast
             lockt
             ,
          
           
             When
             I
             went
             last
             away
             :
          
           
             And
             long
             might
             strangers
             there
             have
             knockt
             ,
          
           
             If
             none
             had
             found
             my
             Key
             .
          
        
         
           
             3.
             
          
           
             When
             I
             was
             here
             the
             fire
             did
             burn
             ,
          
           
             That
             now
             is
             almost
             out
             :
          
           
             Half
             dead
             with
             cold
             I
             sit
             and
             mourn
             ,
          
           
             Perplext
             with
             many
             a
             doubt
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             4.
             
          
           
             I
             left
             it
             light
             ,
             but
             now
             all
             's
             dark
             ,
          
           
             And
             I
             am
             fain
             to
             grope
             :
          
           
             Were
             it
             not
             for
             one
             little
             spark
             ,
          
           
             I
             should
             be
             out
             of
             hope
             .
          
        
         
           
             5.
             
          
           
             The
             Rooms
             I
             carefully
             did
             sweep
             ;
          
           
             But
             now
             I
             find
             all
             foul
             :
          
           
             Serpents
             do
             crawl
             ,
             and
             Vermine
             creep
             ,
          
           
             In
             my
             polluted
             Soul.
             
          
        
         
           
             6.
             
          
           
             My
             Gospel-Book
             I
             open
             left
             ,
          
           
             Where
             I
             the
             Promise
             saw
             :
          
           
             But
             now
             I
             doubt
             it
             's
             lost
             by
             theft
             ,
          
           
             I
             find
             none
             but
             the
             Law.
             
          
        
         
           
             7.
             
          
           
             And
             when
             my
             Soul
             I
             had
             undrest
             ,
          
           
             And
             thought
             some
             ease
             to
             find
             :
          
           
             I
             found
             distress
             instead
             of
             rest
             ,
          
           
             Through
             anguish
             of
             my
             mind
             .
          
        
         
           
             8.
             
          
           
             For
             Thorns
             were
             put
             into
             my
             Bed
             ,
          
           
             Where
             I
             was
             wont
             to
             sleep
             :
          
           
             Grief
             is
             the
             pillow
             for
             my
             head
             ,
          
           
             On
             which
             I
             lie
             and
             weep
             .
          
        
         
           
             9.
             
          
           
             And
             if
             I
             slumber
             ,
             up
             I
             start
             :
          
           
             My
             dreams
             awake
             my
             fears
             :
          
           
             The
             thorns
             have
             pierced
             head
             and
             heart
             ;
          
           
             And
             drawn
             forth
             more
             than
             tears
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             10.
             
          
           
             The
             stormy
             Rain
             an
             entrance
             hath
             ,
          
           
             Through
             the
             uncovered
             top
             :
          
           
             How
             should
             I
             rest
             when
             showers
             of
             wrath
          
           
             Upon
             my
             conscience
             drop
             ?
          
        
         
           
             11.
             
          
           
             My
             goods
             I
             fear
             are
             gone
             to
             waste
             :
          
           
             The
             best
             I
             cannot
             find
             :
          
           
             The
             rest
             are
             in
             disorder
             cast
             :
          
           
             Which
             yet
             are
             left
             behind
             .
          
        
         
           
             12.
             
          
           
             I
             lock'd
             my
             Jewel
             in
             my
             Chest
             :
          
           
             I
             'le
             search
             lest
             that
             be
             gone
             :
          
           
             If
             this
             one
             Guest
             had
             quit
             my
             breast
             ,
          
           
             I
             had
             been
             quite
             undone
             .
          
        
         
           
             13.
             
          
           
             I
             know
             it's
             Sin
             that
             did
             all
             this
             :
          
           
             For
             nothing
             else
             could
             do
             it
             :
          
           
             I
             'le
             charge
             upon
             it
             all
             I
             miss
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             the
             Law
             pursue
             it
             .
          
        
         
           
             14.
             
          
           
             My
             treacherous
             flesh
             hath
             plaid
             its
             part
             ,
          
           
             And
             opened
             Sin
             the
             Door
             :
          
           
             And
             they
             have
             spoil'd
             and
             rob'd
             my
             heart
             ,
          
           
             And
             left
             it
             sad
             and
             poor
             .
          
        
         
           
             15.
             
          
           
             How
             shall
             I
             see
             my
             Landlord's
             face
             ?
          
           
             How
             shall
             I
             pay
             his
             Rent
             ?
          
           
             When
             I
             have
             thus
             abus'd
             his
             grace
             ;
          
           
             And
             have
             his
             Treasure
             spent
             ?
          
        
         
           
           
             16.
             
          
           
             Yet
             have
             I
             one
             great
             trusty
             friend
             ,
          
           
             That
             will
             procure
             my
             Peace
             ;
          
           
             And
             all
             this
             loss
             and
             ruine
             mend
             ,
          
           
             And
             purchase
             my
             release
             .
          
        
         
           
             17.
             
          
           
             When
             I
             the
             Prodigal
             had
             plaid
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             my
             Portion
             spent
             ;
          
           
             He
             told
             me
             he
             my
             Debts
             had
             paid
             ,
          
           
             And
             bade
             me
             but
             Repent
             .
          
        
         
           
             18.
             
          
           
             Yea
             this
             by
             his
             supply
             was
             done
             :
          
           
             Whose
             Covenant
             bade
             me
             do
             it
             .
          
           
             Because
             I
             had
             not
             of
             my
             own
             ,
          
           
             So
             much
             as
             would
             serve
             to
             it
             .
          
        
         
           
             19.
             
          
           
             And
             after
             this
             when
             my
             false
             heart
             ,
          
           
             Forgot
             my
             Dearest
             Lord
             ;
          
           
             He
             did
             perform
             a
             Saviour's
             part
             ,
          
           
             And
             still
             my
             Soul
             restor'd
             .
          
        
         
           
             20.
             
          
           
             I
             fear'd
             lest
             as
             but
             once
             he
             dy'd
             ,
          
           
             He
             would
             but
             once
             forgive
             :
          
           
             But
             still
             when
             in
             distress
             I
             try'd
             ,
          
           
             He
             did
             my
             Soul
             relieve
             .
          
        
         
           
             21.
             
          
           
             Still
             when
             He
             took
             me
             by
             the
             hand
             ,
          
           
             My
             Father
             on
             me
             smil'd
             :
          
           
             Oft
             have
             I
             broken
             his
             Command
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             he
             call'd
             me
             Child
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             22.
             
          
           
             I
             know
             his
             Power
             :
             And
             for
             his
             Love
             ,
          
           
             It
             spoke
             by
             pains
             and
             blood
             :
          
           
             Largely
             doth
             he
             his
             kindness
             prove
             ,
          
           
             And
             make
             his
             Promise
             good
             .
          
        
         
           
             23.
             
          
           
             Therefore
             I
             'le
             never
             more
             despair
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             take
             my self
             for
             lost
             :
          
           
             For
             he
             will
             all
             my
             loss
             repair
             ,
          
           
             Though
             at
             the
             dearest
             cost
             .
          
        
         
           
             24.
             
          
           
             Yea
             more
             ,
             I
             have
             his
             hand
             to
             shew
             ,
          
           
             That
             when
             my
             Lease
             is
             out
             ,
          
           
             A
             Kingdom
             he
             'l
             on
             me
             bestow
             ;
          
           
             He
             chides
             me
             if
             I
             doubt
             .
          
        
         
           
             25.
             
          
           
             I
             'le
             trust
             on
             him
             ,
             and
             use
             his
             Name
             ,
          
           
             Whatever
             be
             my
             need
             :
          
           
             And
             I
             shall
             scape
             the
             wrath
             and
             shame
             ,
          
           
             And
             shall
             be
             sure
             to
             speed
             .
          
        
         
           
             26.
             
          
           
             And
             for
             that
             sin
             that
             plaid
             the
             Thief
             ,
          
           
             I
             'le
             stop
             its
             poisonous
             breath
             ;
          
           
             Or
             pine
             it
             with
             consuming
             grief
             ,
          
           
             And
             famish
             it
             to
             death
             .
          
        
         
           
             27.
             
          
           
             And
             I
             'le
             take
             heed
             for
             time
             to
             come
             ,
          
           
             Of
             wandering
             abroad
             ,
          
           
             With
             my
             best
             constant
             friend
             at
             home
             ,
          
           
             I
             'le
             settle
             mine
             aboad
             .
          
        
         
           
           
             28.
             
          
           
             The
             Bellows
             I
             'le
             yet
             take
             in
             hand
             :
          
           
             Till
             this
             small
             spark
             shall
             flame
             .
          
           
             Love
             shall
             my
             heart
             and
             tongue
             command
             ,
          
           
             To
             praise
             God's
             holy
             Name
             .
          
        
         
           
             29.
             
          
           
             Once
             more
             I
             mean
             to
             sweep
             all
             clean
             ,
          
           
             And
             cast
             out
             filthy
             sin
             :
          
           
             And
             Christ
             again
             I
             'le
             entertain
             ,
          
           
             And
             wait
             on
             him
             within
             .
          
        
         
           
             30.
             
          
           
             I
             'le
             mend
             the
             Roof
             :
             I
             'le
             watch
             the
             Door
             ,
          
           
             And
             better
             keep
             the
             Key
             :
          
           
             I
             'le
             trust
             my
             treacherous
             Flesh
             no
             more
             ,
          
           
             But
             force
             it
             to
             obey
             .
          
        
         
           
             31.
             
          
           
             I
             'le
             make
             a
             Covenant
             with
             my
             eyes
             ;
          
           
             My
             tongue
             shall
             know
             its
             Law
             :
          
           
             I
             'le
             all
             the
             baits
             of
             sin
             despise
             ,
          
           
             And
             keep
             my
             heart
             in
             awe
             .
          
        
         
           
             32.
             
          
           
             My
             Bed
             shall
             be
             made
             soft
             by
             Love
             ;
          
           
             And
             there
             I
             'le
             take
             my
             rest
             :
          
           
             Or
             else
             I
             'le
             wake
             till
             I
             remove
             ,
          
           
             Where
             none
             dwell
             but
             the
             Blest
             .
          
        
         
           
             33.
             
          
           
             What
             have
             I
             said
             ?
             
               That
               I
               'le
               do
               this
            
             ?
          
           
             That
             am
             so
             false
             and
             weak
             ?
          
           
             And
             have
             so
             often
             done
             amiss
             ,
          
           
             And
             did
             my
             Covenants
             break
             ?
          
        
         
         
         
         
         
           
           
             34.
             
          
           
             I
             mean
             ,
             Lord
             ,
             All
             this
             shall
             be
             done
             ,
          
           
             If
             thou
             my
             heart
             wilt
             raise
             .
          
           
             And
             as
             the
             work
             must
             be
             thine
             own
             ;
          
           
             So
             also
             shall
             the
             Praise
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           12.
           
           The
           Lamentation
           Jan.
           18.
           1660
           
           /
           1.
           
        
         
           For
           Sin
           afflicting
           the
           Sinner
           ;
           especially
           by
           the
           grievous
           sufferings
           of
           Friends
           .
        
         
           With
           the
           Relief
           of
           the
           Self-condemning
           Soul.
           
        
         
           
             O
             
               Mercy
               ,
               Mercy
               ,
               Mercy
            
             !
             O
             my
             God!
          
           
             Must
             I
             feel
             nothing
             but
             thy
             smarting
             Rod
             ?
          
           
             Must
             I
             be
             daily
             on
             the
             rack
             of
             sears
             ?
          
           
             And
             have
             no
             drink
             to
             quench
             my
             thirst
             but
             tears
             ?
          
           
             Where
             is
             the
             Spring
             that
             feeds
             this
             bitter
             stream
             ?
          
           
             That
             stops
             not
             ,
             either
             when
             I
             wake
             or
             dream
             ?
          
           
             These
             Worms
             of
             Fear
             and
             Grief
             ,
             whose
             food
             I
             am
             ,
          
           
             Into
             the
             world
             as
             brethren
             with
             me
             came
             :
          
           
             Youthful
             diversions
             cast
             them
             once
             asleep
             ,
          
           
             But
             Light
             awaken'd
             them
             to
             bite
             more
             deep
             .
          
           
             Since
             then
             ,
             I
             liv'd
             between
             thy
             Book
             and
             Rod
             ;
          
           
             And
             in
             thy
             School
             of
             Discipline
             abode
             :
          
           
             Sometimes
             thy
             gentle
             twigs
             toucht
             but
             the
             skin
             :
          
           
             Sometimes
             thy
             sharper
             stroaks
             did
             enter
             in
             :
          
           
           
             Most
             of
             them
             fell
             but
             on
             my
             outward
             part
             :
          
           
             But
             now
             they
             pierce
             ,
             they
             wound
             ,
             they
             kill
             my
             heart
             .
          
           
             Spare
             Lord
             !
             I
             sigh
             ,
             I
             groan
             ,
             I
             weep
             ,
             I
             cry
             !
          
           
             O
             spare
             !
             before
             I
             bleed
             ,
             I
             sink
             ,
             I
             die
             !
          
           
             O
             spare
             the
             Heart
             !
             or
             wound
             none
             but
             mine
             own
             !
          
           
             And
             let
             me
             sigh
             ,
             and
             weep
             ,
             and
             mourn
             alone
             !
          
           
             It
             's
             I
             that
             sinn'd
             :
             these
             Sheep
             what
             have
             they
             done
             ?
          
           
             I
             sinn'd
             but
             with
             One
             Heart
             :
             O
             break
             but
             One
             !
          
           
             Shall
             I
             that
             have
             extoll'd
             thy
             peoples
             Joyes
             ,
          
           
             And
             told
             men
             of
             the
             sweetness
             of
             thy
             waies
             ;
          
           
             Now
             by
             my
             plaints
             and
             dolor
             make
             them
             think
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             giv'st
             us
             Gall
             and
             Vinegar
             to
             drink
             .
          
           
             Set
             me
             not
             as
             a
             spectacle
             of
             wrath
             ,
          
           
             To
             frighten
             commers
             from
             the
             holy
             path
             .
          
        
         
           
             Be
             silent
             flesh
             !
             my
             God
             is
             Wise
             and
             Just
             ;
          
           
             Hast
             thou
             not
             sinned
             ?
             stoop
             and
             kiss
             the
             dust
             .
          
           
             If
             Passion
             did
             not
             blind
             thee
             ,
             thou
             might'st
             see
             ,
          
           
             Justice
             is
             good
             ,
             even
             when
             it
             falls
             on
             thee
             .
          
           
             It
             is
             not
             causless
             ,
             if
             he
             pierce
             the
             Heart
             :
          
           
             He
             doth
             but
             chuse
             the
             foul
             ,
             the
             guilty
             part
             .
          
           
             Had
             not
             the
             door
             been
             open'd
             first
             to
             sin
             ,
          
           
             Terrour
             and
             sorrows
             could
             not
             have
             got
             in
             :
          
           
             If
             it
             have
             room
             for
             thoughts
             of
             Pride
             and
             Iust
             ;
          
           
             That
             trouble
             should
             dwell
             with
             them
             ,
             is
             but
             just
             .
          
           
             Where
             should
             the
             tent
             be
             put
             ,
             but
             in
             the
             wound
             ?
          
           
             We
             cleanse
             the
             ulcerous
             part
             ,
             and
             not
             the
             sound
             .
          
           
             Where
             should
             Jehovah's
             battering
             Cannons
             play
             ,
          
           
             But
             at
             the
             Fortress
             where
             his
             Enemy
             lay
             ?
          
           
           
             Thence
             came
             the
             viperous
             brood
             ;
             there
             was
             the
             root
          
           
             Of
             all
             the
             bitter
             ,
             poisonous
             ,
             deadly
             fruit
             .
          
           
             There
             God
             should
             have
             been
             entertain'd
             in
             Love.
          
           
             His
             Will
             as
             
               End
               &
               Spring
            
             each
             wheel
             should
             move
             .
          
           
             But
             how
             unkindly
             was
             he
             there
             abus'd
             ?
          
           
             His
             tender
             Love
             and
             healing
             Grace
             refus'd
             ?
          
           
             Oft
             have
             I
             shut
             the
             door
             when
             he
             hath
             come
             ;
          
           
             I
             play'd
             ,
             or
             slept
             ,
             or
             would
             not
             be
             at
             home
             .
          
           
             Should
             God
             be
             sleighted
             by
             a
             stubborn
             Heart
             ,
          
           
             And
             not
             rebuke
             its
             folly
             by
             its
             smart
             ?
          
           
             I
             sinn'd
             and
             laugh'd
             ;
             I
             lightly
             pass'd
             it
             over
             :
          
           
             Should
             God
             do
             so
             ,
             and
             not
             his
             wrath
             discover
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Just
             is
             the
             Lord
             :
             My
             sin
             hath
             found
             me
             out
             .
          
           
             I
             find
             his
             threatenings
             true
             beyond
             all
             doubt
             :
          
           
             
               What
               have
               I
               done
            
             !
             All
             's
             now
             to
             Conscience
             known
             :
          
           
             It
             s
             deep
             remorse
             ,
             tells
             me
             ,
             
               What
               I
               have
               done
            
             .
          
           
             
               What
               have
               I
               done
            
             !
             It
             's
             graven
             all
             in
             Stone
             :
          
           
             This
             heart
             of
             flint
             ,
             feels
             now
             ,
             
               What
               I
               have
               done
            
             .
          
           
             
               What
               have
               I
               done
            
             !
             my
             pained
             flesh
             and
             bone
             ,
          
           
             Cry
             out
             with
             anguish
             ,
             O
             
               what
               have
               I
               done
            
             !
          
           
             
               What
               have
               I
               done
            
             !
             I
             see
             ,
             I
             feel
             ,
             I
             groan
             !
          
           
             The
             sad
             effects
             proclaim
             ,
             
               What
               I
               have
               done
            
             .
          
           
             
               What
               have
               I
               done
            
             !
             My
             friends
             distress
             and
             moan
             ,
          
           
             Cry
             to
             me
             night
             and
             day
             ,
             
               This
               thou
               hast
               done
            
             .
          
        
         
           
             Melt
             sinful
             heart
             ,
             and
             spare
             not
             !
             welcome
             grief
             !
          
           
             Away
             delights
             !
             I
             'le
             none
             of
             your
             relief
             .
          
           
             Shew
             me
             the
             Wilderness
             ,
             the
             secret
             Cell
             ,
          
           
             Where
             grief
             and
             I
             may
             still
             together
             dwell
             !
          
           
           
             Where
             Hills
             and
             Woods
             may
             eccho
             all
             my
             groans
             ,
          
           
             And
             hearers
             may
             not
             interrupt
             my
             moans
             !
          
           
             Where
             mortal
             Eyes
             may
             see
             no
             more
             the
             face
             ,
          
           
             Which
             folly
             hath
             confounded
             with
             disgrace
             .
          
           
             Where
             I
             may
             Die
             alive
             ,
             and
             Live
             in
             Death
             ;
          
           
             And
             spend
             in
             Lamentation
             all
             my
             breath
             .
          
           
             Seeing
             deceitful
             heart-tormenting
             sin
          
           
             So
             cunningly
             is
             crept
             and
             woven
             in
             :
          
           
             Break
             it
             in
             pieces
             ,
             turn
             this
             Heart
             to
             dust
             ;
          
           
             Melt
             out
             the
             dross
             ;
             purge
             out
             the
             filth
             and
             rust
             .
          
        
         
           
             Spare
             not
             the
             Lance
             :
             Or
             if
             that
             will
             do
             good
             ,
          
           
             Drench
             it
             in
             tears
             :
             Stop
             not
             this
             brinish
             flood
             !
          
        
         
           Jesus
           .
        
         
           
             Peace
             troubled
             Soul
             !
             I
             'le
             wash
             it
             in
             my
             blood
             .
          
        
         
           
             Woman
             ,
             why
             weepest
             thou
             ?
             was
             the
             first
             word
             ,
          
        
         
           
             After
             his
             Rising
             ,
             spoken
             by
             our
             Lord
             ,
          
        
         
           
             To
             which
             his
             Angels
             Preface
             did
             accord
             .
          
        
         
           John
           20.
           13.
           15.
           
        
         
           
             The
             Relief
             .
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               PEace
               troubled
               Soul
               !
               It
               's
               not
               thy
               brinish
               flood
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               troubling
               Passions
               that
               must
               do
               thee
               good
               :
            
             
               Come
               !
               freely
               drank
               ,
               and
               bathe
               thee
               in
               this
               Blood.
               
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               What
               I
               ?
               so
               vile
               a
               wretch
               !
               it
               cannot
               be
               !
            
             
               Alas
               !
               I
               fear
               it
               was
               not
               shed
               for
               me
               !
            
          
           
             
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Yea
               even
               for
               thee
               :
               So
               far
               't
               was
               shed
               for
               all
               ,
            
             
               That
               they
               may
               come
               and
               welcome
               ,
               at
               my
               Call.
               
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               Alas
               Lord
               !
               I
               have
               trampled
               on
               thy
               Blood
               ,
            
             
               And
               thy
               Reproofs
               ,
               and
               Calls
               of
               Grace
               withstood
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               And
               yet
               I
               call
               thee
               :
               Take
               my
               Mercy
               yet
               :
            
             
               I
               'le
               answer
               for
               thee
               :
               I
               have
               paid
               thy
               debt
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               What
               mine
               !
               that
               have
               provoked
               thee
               so
               long
               ?
            
             
               And
               done
               thy
               Blood
               and
               Spirit
               so
               much
               wrong
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               I
               dy'd
               for
               Enemies
               :
               It
               is
               my
               Glory
               ,
            
             
               To
               wash
               foul
               hearts
               ,
               and
               blot
               out
               all
               their
               story
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               What!
               one
               so
               long
               !
               so
               terrible
               !
               so
               sad
               !
            
             
               Love
               one
               so
               hateful
               !
               pardon
               one
               so
               bad
               !
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Hast
               thou
               such
               sins
               as
               I
               cannot
               forgive
               ?
            
             
               Or
               any
               wants
               which
               I
               cannot
               relieve
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               I
               know
               thy
               Blood
               can
               wash
               away
               my
               guilt
               :
            
             
               I
               doubt
               not
               ,
               thou
               canst
               heal
               me
               ,
               if
               thou
               wilt
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               
                 How
                 hath
                 my
                 Will
                 deserved
                 thy
                 suspicion
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 When
                 I
                 have
                 made
              
               Acceptance
               
                 the
                 condition
              
               ?
            
             
               
                 Consent
                 ,
                 and
                 all
                 is
                 thine
                 :
                 My
                 Gift
                 is
                 free
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 purchase
                 is
                 not
                 to
                 be
                 made
                 by
                 thee
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               ●
               know
               what
               thou
               wilt
               do
               ,
               shall
               sure
               be
               done
               :
            
             
               ●ut
               some
               God
               hates
               :
               I
               fear
               that
               I
               am
               one
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               
                 And
                 must
                 the
              
               Love
               
                 declar'd
                 at
                 such
                 a
                 rate
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 So
                 vail'd
                 by
                 the
                 suspicion
                 of
              
               Hate
               ?
            
             
               
                 For
                 this
                 I
                 came
                 to
                 Men
                 from
                 God
                 above
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 To
                 manifest
                 his
                 great
                 abundant
                 Love
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Mark
                 what
                 my
                 Doctrine
                 ,
                 Life
                 and
                 Death
                 intend
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 This
                 is
                 their
                 principal
                 design
                 and
                 end
                 :
              
            
             
               God's
               Power
               and
               Skill
               ,
            
             
               
                 But
                 chiefly
                 his
              
               Great
               Mercy
               and
               Good
               Will.
               
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               Yet
               he
               will
               save
               none
               but
               his
               own
               Elect
               :
            
             
               Not
               those
               that
               his
               Salvation
               neglect
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               My
               Promise
               ,
               and
               thy
               Duty
               ,
               
                 thou
                 may'st
                 see
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 But
                 canst
                 not
                 search
                 the
                 depth
                 of
              
               God's
               Decree
               .
            
             
               
                 Mercy
                 intreats
                 thee
                 :
                 here
                 it
                 's
                 brought
                 unto
                 thee
                 :
              
            
             
               Take
               it
               ,
               and
               God's
               Decree
               
                 shall
                 not
                 undo
                 thee
              
               .
            
             
               
                 All
                 are
                 Elect
                 that
                 do
                 not
                 to
                 the
                 last
              
            
             
               
                 Refuse
                 me
                 ,
                 and
                 my
                 Grace
                 behind
                 them
                 cast
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               This
               I
               have
               done
               ,
               and
               fear
               I
               shall
               do
               still
               ,
            
             
               Till
               I
               the
               measure
               of
               my
               sins
               fulfil
               .
            
             
               Though
               God
               be
               Love
               it self
               ,
               I
               shall
               have
               none
               :
            
             
               I
               fear
               my
               Day
               of
               Grace
               is
               past
               and
               gone
               .
            
             
               Methinks
               I
               feel
               ,
               Grace
               doth
               my
               Soul
               forsake
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Holy
               Spirit
               thou
               dost
               from
               me
               take
               .
            
          
           
             
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Here
               thou
               art
               yet
               alive
               ;
               my
               Grace
               attends
               thee
               ;
            
             
               And
               from
               the
               jaws
               of
               Death
               and
               Hell
               defends
               thee
               .
            
             
               Satan
               would
               fain
               at
               once
               thy
               Soul
               devour
               :
            
             
               What
               dangers
               dost
               thou
               walk
               in
               every
               hour
               ?
            
             
               Yet
               thou
               art
               safe
               ,
               and
               hear'st
               the
               Preacher's
               voice
            
             
               Come
               ,
               close
               with
               Mercy
               ,
               and
               Heav'n
               will
               rejoyce
               .
            
             
               Dost
               thou
               not
               feel
               my
               Spirit
               still
               contend
               ?
            
             
               And
               tell
               thee
               what
               it
               is
               that
               thou
               must
               mend
               ?
            
             
               If
               yet
               thou
               'lt
               be
               but
               willing
               to
               be
               mine
               ;
            
             
               I
               and
               my
               Benefits
               will
               sure
               be
               thine
               .
            
             
               I
               seek
               ;
               I
               knock
               ;
               thou
               find'st
               I
               have
               not
               done
               :
            
             
               Yet
               dost
               thou
               say
               ,
               thy
               Day
               of
               Grace
               is
               gone
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               O
               but
               I
               have
               a
               Heart
               as
               hard
               as
               Steel
               !
            
             
               I
               see
               my
               misery
               ,
               but
               cannot
               feel
               !
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Fully
               to
               feel
               what
               thou
               deserv'st
               ,
               is
               Hell.
            
             
               What
               measure
               's
               best
               ,
               it
               's
               I
               that
               best
               can
               tell
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               I
               can
               scarce
               weep
               a
               tear
               for
               sin
               :
               This
               Heart
            
             
               Was
               never
               melted
               yet
               by
               all
               thine
               Art
               !
            
             
               Sure
               it
               's
               a
               sign
               my
               Day
               of
               Grace
               is
               gone
               ,
            
             
               When
               this
               unhumbled
               Heart
               remains
               a
               Stone
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               
                 Consent
                 but
                 to
                 my
                 Covenant
                 ,
                 and
                 be
                 sure
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 remnant
                 of
                 thy
                 Hardness
                 I
                 will
                 cure
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 I
                 'le
                 put
                 a
                 tender
                 heart
                 into
                 thy
                 breast
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Believe
                 in
                 me
                 ,
                 and
                 I
                 'le
                 forgive
                 the
                 rest
                 .
              
            
             
             
               
                 It
                 is
                 no
              
               Mortal
               Hardness
               ,
               
                 if
                 thou
                 chuse
              
            
             
               
                 My
                 Covenant
                 ;
                 and
                 dost
                 not
                 me
                 refuse
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Should'st
                 thou
                 but
                 fully
                 feel
                 thy
                 sin
                 ,
                 thou
                 'dst
                 die
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 None
                 could
                 sustain
                 so
                 great
                 a
                 load
                 but
                 I.
              
            
             
               
                 I
                 felt
                 it
                 for
                 thee
                 :
                 Leave
                 it
                 to
                 my
                 care
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 To
                 wound
                 or
                 heal
                 ;
                 to
                 break
                 ,
                 afflict
                 or
                 spare
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               My
               sin
               ,
               my
               wants
               my
               misery
               is
               such
               .
            
             
               That
               I
               can
               never
               feel
               and
               grieve
               too
               much
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Such
               breaking
               's
               good
               as
               breaks
               the
               heart
               of
               sin
               :
            
             
               And
               maketh
               way
               for
               Love
               to
               enter
               in
               .
            
             
               But
               not
               the
               grief
               that
               only
               breaketh
               ease
               ,
            
             
               Weakning
               the
               Soul
               ,
               and
               strengthning
               the
               Disease
               .
            
             
               Hinder
               not
               Love
               and
               Joy
               ;
               but
               grieve
               in
               measure
               :
            
             
               My
               Blood
               ,
               and
               not
               thy
               Tears
               ,
               must
               be
               thy
               Treasure
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               Indeed
               my
               purest
               streams
               are
               too
               impure
               :
            
             
               And
               cannot
               thy
               severity
               endure
               .
            
             
               The
               grief
               of
               an
               impatient
               selfish
               spirit
               ,
            
             
               Cannot
               thy
               Pardon
               or
               Acceptance
               merit
               .
            
             
               But
               if
               this
               hardened
               Heart
               do
               not
               relent
               ,
            
             
               And
               so
               great
               sin
               and
               misery
               lament
               ,
            
             
               How
               canst
               thou
               smile
               on
               such
               a
               brazen
               face
               ,
            
             
               As
               never
               felt
               the
               want
               and
               worth
               of
               grace
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Whence
               〈◊〉
               I
               this
               complaining
               language
               hear
               ,
            
             
               If
               neither
               want
               nor
               worth
               of
               grace
               appear
               ?
            
             
               I
               'le
               save
               thee
               ,
               if
               but
               so
               far
               thou
               Repent
               ,
            
             
               As
               to
               my
               Gospel-Covenant
               to
               consent
               .
            
             
             
               Wilt
               thou
               be
               healed
               ?
               Truly
               say
               ,
               I
               will
               ,
            
             
               And
               trust
               the
               cure
               on
               thy
               Physicians
               skill
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               O
               there
               's
               my
               sin
               and
               woe
               !
               though
               Grace
               be
               free
            
             
               I
               cannot
               take
               thy
               Grace
               ,
               or
               come
               to
               thee
               .
            
             
               My
               heart
               is
               hardened
               ;
               I
               cannot
               repent
               :
            
             
               My
               Will
               's
               enthrall'd
               ;
               I
               cannot
               consent
               .
            
             
               This
               will
               condemn
               me
               at
               the
               dreadful
               day
               :
            
             
               I
               may
               have
               Life
               ,
               but
               will
               not
               when
               I
               may
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Art
               thou
               not
               willing
               ?
               why
               then
               dost
               thou
               crave
               it
               ?
            
             
               Dost
               thou
               complain
               for
               grace
               ,
               &
               wouldst
               not
               have
               it
               ?
            
             
               If
               thou
               hadst
               rather
               be
               ungodly
               still
               ,
            
             
               It
               seems
               thou
               speak'st
               all
               this
               against
               thy
               will.
               
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               Would
               not
               the
               worst
               of
               men
               be
               sav'd
               from
               Hell
               ?
            
             
               And
               in
               delight
               and
               endless
               pleasure
               dwell
               ?
            
             
               But
               to
               be
               Holy
               I
               have
               no
               desire
               ,
            
             
               But
               as
               a
               means
               to
               keep
               me
               from
               Hell
               fire
               .
            
             
               When
               I
               seem
               to
               do
               good
               ,
               or
               ill
               forbear
               ,
            
             
               It
               is
               not
               out
               of
               Love
               ,
               but
               
                 slavish
                 fear
              
               .
            
             
               All
               my
               Religion
               is
               but
               from
               Self-love
               :
            
             
               I
               find
               no
               pleasure
               in
               the
               things
               above
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Natural
               Love
               of
               Self
               
                 is
                 the
                 foundation
              
            
             
               
                 Which
                 Grace
                 builds
                 on
                 ,
                 and
                 useth
                 for
                 Salvation
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 He
                 that
                 loves
                 not
                 himself
                 ,
                 loves
                 not
                 another
                 :
              
            
             
               It
               's
               as
               thy Self
               
                 that
                 thou
                 must
                 love
                 thy
                 Brother
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Thy
                 own
                 Salvation
                 is
                 the
                 lawful
                 end
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Which
                 Grace
                 and
                 Nature
                 bind
                 thee
                 to
                 intend
                 .
              
            
             
             
               
                 Why
                 was
                 I
                 made
                 man
                 ,
                 but
                 for
                 man's
                 Salvation
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 I
                 suffer'd
                 Death
                 to
                 hinder
                 thy
                 Damnation
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 These
                 are
                 the
                 ends
                 for
                 which
                 thou
                 must
                 believe
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Life
                 through
                 a
                 Saviour's
                 that
                 thou
                 must
                 receive
                 .
              
            
             
               ●t's
               Carnal
               Self
               
                 that
                 wicked
                 men
                 do
                 love
              
               :
            
             
               The
               Lawful
               Love
               of
               Self
               
                 they
                 'l
                 not
                 improve
              
               .
            
             
               
                 They
                 all
                 prefer
                 sin's
                 pleasure
                 for
                 a
                 season
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Their
                 fleshly
                 appetite
                 doth
                 rule
                 their
                 Reason
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Me
                 and
                 my
                 healing
                 Grace
                 they
                 will
                 not
                 have
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 They
                 'l
                 not
                 endure
                 that
                 Mercy
                 should
                 them
                 save
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 They
                 hate
                 the
                 Light
                 that
                 would
                 their
                 sin
                 display
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 would
                 direct
                 them
                 in
                 the
                 holy
                 way
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Though
                 they
                 fear
              
               Hell
               ,
               
                 they
                 alwaies
                 fear
                 much
                 more
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 loss
                 of
                 honour
                 ,
                 pleasure
                 ,
                 health
                 or
                 store
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 No
                 fear
                 of
                 Hell
                 will
                 take
                 their
                 Idol
                 down
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 make
                 them
                 seek
                 first
                 the
                 Eternal
                 Crown
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 Fear
                 of
                 God
                 is
                 Wisdom's
                 true
                 beginning
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 It
                 calls
                 to
                 Duty
                 ,
                 and
                 preserves
                 from
                 sinning
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 God
                 must
                 be
                 fear'd
                 ,
                 as
                 one
                 that
                 can
                 destroy
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 Soul
                 ,
                 and
                 shut
                 it
                 out
                 of
                 endless
                 Joy.
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 Fear
                 of
                 God's
                 the
                 Just
                 man's
                 Character
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 They
                 fear
                 not
                 God
                 indeed
                 that
                 wished
                 are
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 God
                 would
                 be
                 fear'd
                 as
                 a
                 consuming
                 fire
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 This
                 is
                 no
                 sin
                 but
                 what
                 he
                 doth
                 require
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Love
                 may
                 lie
                 hidden
                 as
                 a
                 covered
                 seed
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 When
                 Fear
                 in
                 troubling
                 Passion
                 doth
                 exceed
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 If
                 angry
                 Parents
                 make
                 the
                 Child
                 afraid
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 He
                 feels
                 not
                 Love
                 ,
                 till
                 Passion
                 be
                 allaid
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Excessive
                 Fear
                 may
                 hinder
                 active
                 Love
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 yet
                 the
                 〈…〉
                 not
                 〈◊〉
                 :
              
            
             
             
               
                 When
                 God's
                 rebukes
                 and
                 frowns
                 the
                 Soul
                 affright
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 It
                 may
                 dispose
                 his
                 Children
                 unto
                 flight
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Where
                 Love
                 is
                 true
                 ,
                 some
                 Hatred
                 may
                 arise
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 When
                 terrours
                 and
                 despair
                 the
                 Soul
                 surprise
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 A
                 loving
                 Child
                 will
                 not
                 his
                 Father
                 own
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 When
                 through
                 mistake
                 or
                 distance
                 he
                 's
                 unknown
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 pleasing
                 part
                 of
                 Love
                 cannot
                 appear
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Under
                 prevailing
                 Grief
                 ,
                 and
                 too
                 much
                 Fear
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Until
                 the
                 Soul
                 be
                 calm'd
                 ,
                 and
                 these
                 abate
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Love
                 is
                 opprest
                 ,
                 and
                 seemeth
                 turn'd
                 to
                 hate
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 But
                 doth
                 not
                 Love
                 appear
                 in
                 thy
                 Desire
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Would'st
                 thou
                 not
                 Love
                 God
                 more
                 ?
                 &
                 fain
                 get
                 higher
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Would
                 it
                 not
                 please
                 thee
                 more
                 if
                 thou
                 couldst
                 find
              
            
             
               
                 His
                 Image
                 clearly
                 printed
                 on
                 thy
                 mind
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 His
                 Love
                 and
                 Spirit
                 dwelling
                 in
                 thy
                 heart
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Then
                 of
                 this
                 World
                 to
                 have
                 the
                 choicest
                 part
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Wouldst
                 thou
                 not
                 have
                 a
                 heart
                 that
                 can
                 Repent
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 hate
                 sin
                 more
                 ,
                 and
                 tenderly
                 relent
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 A
                 heart
                 more
                 fit
                 to
                 Meditate
                 and
                 Pray
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 walk
                 exactly
                 ,
                 and
                 God's
                 Laws
                 obey
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 A
                 clearer
                 Light
                 ,
                 which
                 may
                 God's
                 mind
                 reveal
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 More
                 life
                 and
                 feeling
                 ?
                 greater
                 heat
                 of
                 Zeal
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 A
                 stronger
                 Faith
                 to
                 live
                 on
                 things
                 above
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Where
                 endless
                 Praise
                 shall
                 be
                 the
                 breath
                 of
                 Love
                 ?
              
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               Whether
               I
               should
               desire
               these
               I
               doubt
               ,
            
             
               If
               possibly
               I
               could
               be
               sav'd
               without
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               
                 What
                 's
                 Grace
                 for
                 ,
                 but
                 to
                 bring
                 thee
                 to
                 Salvation
                 ?
              
               
                 To
                 heal
                 thy
                 Soul
                 ,
                 and
                 keep
                 thee
                 from
                 Damnation
                 ?
              
               
               
                 Wilt
                 thou
                 its
                 Nature
                 and
                 its
                 Use
                 destroy
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 then
                 conceit
                 thou
                 dost
                 it
                 not
                 enjoy
                 ?
              
               
                 Think
                 on
                 't
                 ,
                 as
                 that
                 which
                 doth
                 Salvation
                 bring
                 ,
              
               
                 Or
                 else
                 thou
                 mak'st
                 it
                 quite
                 another
                 thing
                 .
              
               
                 Grace
                 were
                 not
                 Grace
                 if
                 it
                 did
                 not
                 intend
              
               
                 Thy
                 Happiness
                 and
                 Glory
                 as
                 its
                 End.
              
               
                 The
                 means
                 is
                 nullifi'd
                 by
                 separation
              
               
                 From
                 the
                 just
                 End
                 to
                 which
                 it
                 hath
                 relation
                 .
              
               
                 What
                 do
                 men
                 trade
                 for
                 but
                 their
                 lawful
                 wealth
                 ?
              
               
                 And
                 what
                 is
                 Food
                 and
                 Physick
                 for
                 but
                 Health
                 ?
              
               
                 Look
                 not
                 on
                 Grace
                 in
                 one
                 divided
                 notion
                 :
              
               
                 But
                 the
                 concordant
                 perfect
                 frame
                 and
                 motion
                 :
              
               
                 Take
                 not
                 one
                 single
                 part
                 ,
                 but
                 view
                 the
                 whole
                 ,
              
               
                 As
                 it
                 's
                 the
                 Health
                 and
                 Beauty
                 of
                 the
                 Soul
                 ;
              
               
                 The
                 Life
                 ,
                 the
                 Strength
                 ,
                 the
                 Glory
                 ,
                 the
                 Delight
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 that
                 which
                 makes
                 it
                 lovely
                 in
                 God's
                 sight
                 ;
              
               
                 The
                 honour
                 ,
                 safety
                 ,
                 gain
                 ,
                 and
                 true
                 content
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 that
                 which
                 must
                 the
                 pains
                 of
                 Hell
                 prevent
                 :
              
               
                 Take
                 these
                 as
                 undivided
                 ;
                 all
                 in
                 one
                 ;
              
               
                 And
                 view
                 not
                 one
                 disjoynted
                 part
                 alone
                 :
              
               
                 If
                 all
                 together
                 seem
                 a
                 choicer
                 treasure
              
               
                 Than
                 worldly
                 gain
                 ,
                 and
                 sinful
                 fading
                 pleasure
                 ,
              
               
                 And
                 turn
                 the
                 scales
                 in
                 thy
                 deliberation
                 ;
              
               
                 Then
                 doubt
                 not
                 of
                 thy
                 Title
                 to
                 Salvation
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 
                   But
                   dost
                   thou
                   not
                   desire
                   that
                   God
                   would
                   love
                   thee
                   ?
                
              
               
                 
                   And
                   make
                   thee
                   just
                   and
                   lovely
                   ,
                   and
                   approve
                   thee
                   ?
                
              
               
                 
                   Would'st
                   thou
                   not
                   see
                   his
                   face
                   in
                   Glorious
                   Light
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   And
                   there
                   sing
                
                 Allelujah
                 
                   's
                   in
                   his
                   sight
                
                 ?
              
               
               
                 
                   And
                   love
                   him
                   perfectly
                   world
                   without
                   end
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   More
                   deerly
                   than
                   thou
                   lov'st
                   thy
                   deerest
                   friend
                   ?
                
              
               
                 
                   Where
                   thou
                   shalt
                   be
                   replenished
                   with
                   joy
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   And
                   no
                   disturbance
                   shall
                   thy
                   Soul
                   annoy
                   ?
                
              
               
                 
                   Where
                   no
                   temptation
                   ,
                   sin
                   or
                   grief
                   shall
                   come
                   :
                
              
               
                 
                   Where
                   my
                   own
                   Love
                   and
                   Joy
                   shall
                   be
                   thy
                   home
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   Abiding
                   with
                   the
                   Host
                   of
                   Heav'n
                   alwaies
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   In
                   the
                   sweet
                   Musick
                   of
                
                 Jehovah
                 
                   's
                   Praise
                
                 .
              
               
                 
                   This
                   Glorious
                   Life
                   with
                   God
                   ,
                   thou
                   must
                   love
                   best
                   :
                
              
               
                 
                   Yet
                   as
                   thy
                   own
                   Felicity
                   and
                   Rest
                   :
                
              
               
                 
                   In
                   Union
                   and
                   Fruition
                   of
                   a
                   Friend
                   ,
                
              
               
                 
                   Not
                   one
                   ,
                   but
                   both
                   the
                   Lovers
                   are
                   the
                   End.
                
              
               
                 
                   And
                   hast
                   thou
                   no
                   Desire
                   or
                   Will
                   to
                   this
                   ?
                
              
               
                 
                   Would'st
                   thou
                   not
                   live
                   with
                   God
                   in
                   endless
                   bliss
                   ?
                
              
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               Some
               cold
               Desires
               of
               Heav'n
               the
               worst
               may
               have
               :
            
             
               But
               dreaming
               lazy
               Wishes
               will
               not
               save
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               
                 Judge
                 by
                 these
                 three
                 for
                 ending
                 all
                 the
                 strife
                 :
              
            
             
               Thy
               Estimation
               ,
               Choice
               ,
               and
               Bent
               of
               Life
               .
            
             
               
                 These
                 fleshly
                 pleasures
                 stand
                 in
                 competition
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Know
                 which
                 thou
              
               Chusest
               
                 as
                 thy
                 best
                 Condition
              
               .
            
             
               
                 If
                 thou
                 the
                 Everlasting
                 sure
                 Reward
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 More
                 than
                 sins
                 fading
                 pleasures
                 dost
              
               regard
               ;
            
             
               
                 If
                 GOD
                 and
                 thy
                 Salvation
                 be
                 the
                 part
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Whose
                 Interest
                 stands
                 highest
                 in
                 thy
                 Heart
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 If
                 thus
                 his
                 Kingdom
                 thou
                 first
                 seek
                 and
                 crave
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Both
                 it
                 ,
                 and
                 all
                 things
                 needful
                 thou
                 shalt
                 have
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               I
               fear
               I
               do
               not
               these
               thy
               terms
               fulfil
               ;
            
             
               And
               have
               not
               truly
               a
               Consenting
               Will
               :
            
             
               Because
               so
               great
               averseness
               I
               still
               find
               ,
            
             
               To
               God
               and
               Holiness
               upon
               my
               mind
               ;
            
             
               Such
               deadness
               to
               Believe
               ,
               Love
               ,
               and
               Repent
               ,
            
             
               That
               there
               seems
               more
               of
               Hatred
               than
               Consent
               .
            
             
               Necessity
               and
               Reason
               use
               a
               force
            
             
               Against
               my
               Will
               and
               Nature's
               bent
               and
               sourse
               .
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               
                 No
                 man
                 can
                 conquer
                 and
                 obtain
                 Salvation
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 But
                 by
                 resisting
                 carnal
                 inclination
              
               .
            
             
               
                 Fleshly
                 desires
                 run
                 with
                 speedy
                 course
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 need
                 not
                 Faith
                 's
                 or
                 Reason's
                 help
                 and
                 force
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Earthward
                 you
                 sink
                 propensly
                 as
                 a
                 cold
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 But
                 not
                 so
                 easily
                 ascend
                 to
                 God.
              
            
             
               
                 One
                 motion
                 's
                 downward
                 ;
                 th'
                 other
                 's
                 all
                 uphill
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Against
                 the
                 byas
                 of
                 the
                 carnal
                 will.
              
            
             
               
                 Too
                 much
                 of
                 flesh
                 remaineth
                 in
                 the
                 best
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Some
                 enmity
                 to
                 good
                 sticks
                 in
                 their
                 breast
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Something
                 of
              
               Hatred
               ,
               
                 even
                 to
                 God
                 and
                 Grace
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Contends
                 with
              
               Love
               ,
               
                 and
                 troubleth
                 your
                 race
              
               .
            
             
               
                 In
                 the
                 most
                 mortifi'd
                 ,
                 the
                 flesh
                 yet
              
               liveth
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 constantly
                 against
                 the
                 Spirit
                 striveth
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 You
                 cannot
                 hear
                 ,
                 read
                 ,
                 meditate
                 ,
                 or
                 pray
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Or
                 any
                 thing
                 that
                 's
                 good
                 ,
                 think
                 ,
                 do
                 ,
                 or
                 say
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 But
                 Flesh
                 makes
                 war
                 ,
                 and
                 stifly
                 doth
                 resist
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 would
                 prevail
                 ,
                 did
                 not
                 my
                 Grace
                 assist
                 .
              
            
             
             
               
                 Conflict
                 and
                 Conquest
                 of
                 this
                 in-bred
                 Foe
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Must
                 be
                 the
                 way
                 of
                 all
                 the
                 good
                 you
                 do
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 Question
                 is
                 not
              
               ,
               Whether
               Flesh
               do
               strive
               ?
            
             
               But
               ,
               Whether
               after
               Flesh
               or
               Spirit
               you
               live
               ?
            
             
               
                 It
                 is
                 not
                 opposition
                 that
                 will
                 prove
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 thou
                 art
                 void
                 of
                 Faith
                 ,
                 or
                 Hope
                 ,
                 or
                 Love.
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 Law
                 that
                 's
                 in
                 thy
                 Members
                 will
                 still
                 find
              
            
             
               
                 Weapons
                 against
                 the
                 Law
                 that
                 's
                 in
                 thy
                 Mind
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 The
                 Flesh
                 will
                 so
                 rebel
                 ,
                 and
                 put
                 thee
                 to
                 it
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 when
                 thou
                 wouldst
                 do
                 good
                 ,
                 thou
                 canst
                 not
                 do
                 it
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 There
                 's
                 in
                 one
                 breast
                 a
                 twofold
                 Will
                 and
                 Heart
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Actingreach
                 of
                 them
                 a
                 contrary
                 part
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 There
                 is
                 a
                 Will
                 to
                 Good
                 ,
                 and
                 Will
                 to
                 evil
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 One's
                 Rul'd
                 by
                 God
                 ,
                 the
                 other
                 by
                 the
                 Devil
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 A
                 Will
                 to
                 read
                 ,
                 and
                 pray
                 ,
                 and
                 meditate
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 A
                 Will
                 that
                 doth
                 all
                 this
                 oppose
                 and
                 hate
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Do
                 not
                 now
                 stand
                 and
                 whine
                 ,
                 nor
                 yield
                 ,
                 nor
                 flie
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 But
                 use
                 thy
                 weapons
                 :
                 thou
                 must
                 fight
                 or
                 die
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Now
                 live
                 by
                 Faith
                 :
                 Be
                 glad
                 thou
                 hast
                 a
                 Christ
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 Whose
                 Spirit
                 fortifies
                 thee
                 to
                 resist
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 Making
                 the
                 greatest
                 things
                 thy
                 chiefest
                 scope
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Keeping
                 alive
                 a
                 secret
                 spark
                 of
                 Hope
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Which
                 will
                 not
                 only
                 strive
                 ,
                 but
                 overcome
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 through
                 all
                 Foes
                 will
                 safely
                 bring
                 thee
                 home
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               But
               how
               can
               I
               find
               favour
               in
               thy
               sight
               ,
            
             
               That
               have
               sinn'd
               wilfully
               even
               in
               the
               Light
               ?
            
          
           
             
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               Though
               they
               that
               wholly
               to
               the
               last
               reject
            
             
               My
               Sacrifice
               ,
               no
               other
               can
               expect
               ;
            
             
               All
               kind
               of
               sin
               is
               pardon'd
               by
               my
               Merit
               ,
            
             
               Save
               the
               grand
               blasphemy
               against
               the
               Spirit
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               Alas
               !
               this
               is
               the
               thing
               that
               I
               fear
               most
               ,
            
             
               Lest
               I
               have
               thus
               blasphem'd
               the
               Holy
               Ghost
               !
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               No
               man
               that
               fears
               ,
               or
               thinks
               he
               hath
               this
               sin
               ,
            
             
               Hath
               ever
               truly
               guilty
               of
               it
               been
               .
            
             
               For
               they
               deny
               me
               all
               to
               be
               the
               Lord
               ,
            
             
               Think
               it
               no
               sin
               to
               violate
               my
               Word
               .
            
             
               They
               set
               themselves
               against
               me
               with
               despight
               ,
            
             
               And
               justifie
               the
               sin
               which
               they
               commit
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               But
               wilt
               thou
               take
               this
               ,
               Lord
               ,
               for
               
                 true
                 Consent
              
               ,
            
             
               From
               a
               hard
               heart
               that
               can
               no
               more
               relent
               ?
            
             
               From
               one
               that
               loveth
               thee
               no
               more
               than
               I
               ?
            
             
               That
               is
               constrained
               by
               Necessity
               ?
            
             
               And
               while
               he
               thus
               subscribeth
               to
               thy
               Will
               ,
            
             
               Knowingly
               crosseth
               it
               ,
               and
               sinneth
               still
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               
                 If
                 thou
              
               Consent
               ,
               it
               's
               Good
               
                 that
                 doth
                 thee
                 move
              
               :
            
             
               
                 And
                 to
              
               Consent
               to
               Good
               ,
               
                 is
                 truly
              
               Love.
            
             
             
               Believe
               
                 if
                 thou
                 would'st
              
               Love
               :
               
                 And
                 in
                 my
                 face
              
               ,
            
             
               God's
               Love
               and
               Grace
               .
            
             
               If
               His
               abounding
               Love
               
                 thou
                 didst
                 but
                 know
              
               ,
            
             
               
                 Thy
                 heart
                 with
              
               Love
               
                 to
                 him
                 would
                 everflow
              
               .
            
             
               Love
               kindleth
               Love
               ;
               but
               Faith
               
                 must
                 hold
                 the
                 Glass
              
               !
            
             
               
                 This
                 sight
                 would
                 win
                 thy
                 heart
                 before
                 thou
                 pass
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 He
                 that
                 will
                 Love
                 God
                 ,
                 must
                 not
                 think
                 him
                 Evil
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 Nor
                 paint
                 him
                 in
                 his
                 fancy
                 like
                 the
                 Devil
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Satan
                 will
                 make
                 thee
                 fly
                 from
                 God
                 with
                 hate
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 If
                 he
                 can
                 make
                 thee
                 throughly
                 desperate
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 Think'st
                 thou
                 to
                 find
                 thy
              
               Love
               ,
               
                 before
                 by
                 Faith
              
            
             
               
                 Thou
                 'lt
                 come
                 to
                 Me
                 ?
                 and
                 hear
                 what
                 Mercy
                 saith
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Thou
                 may'st
                 as
                 wisely
                 search
                 for
                 marks
                 to
                 prove
              
            
             
               
                 Thou
                 lovest
                 God
                 ,
                 before
                 thou
                 wilt
                 him
                 love
                 .
              
            
             
               Believe
               ,
               Consent
               ,
               Give
               up
               Thy Self
               to
               Me
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 I
                 will
                 give
                 my Self
                 and
                 Spirit
                 to
                 thee
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 I
                 will
                 inable
                 thee
                 to
                 do
                 the
                 rest
              
               ;
            
             
               
                 And
                 take
                 the
                 stony
                 heart
                 out
                 of
                 thy
                 breast
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 I
                 'le
                 put
                 God's
                 Fear
                 and
                 Love
                 into
                 thy
                 heart
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 thou
                 may'st
                 never
                 more
                 from
                 him
                 depart
                 .
              
            
             
               
                 I
                 'le
                 quench
                 the
                 flames
                 of
                 thy
                 corrupt
                 desire
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 save
                 thee
                 from
                 God's
                 wrath
                 ,
                 and
                 from
                 Hell
                 fire
                 .
              
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               And
               wilt
               thou
               pardon
               all
               the
               crimson
               sin
               ,
            
             
               Of
               which
               my
               wilful
               heart
               hath
               guilty
               been
               ?
            
          
           
             
               Jesus
               .
            
             
               
                 Have
                 I
                 not
                 told
                 thee
                 I
                 will
                 pardon
                 all
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 Hast
                 thou
                 sinn'd
                 more
                 than
                 raging
                 bloody
              
               Soul
               ?
            
             
             
               
                 Or
                 than
              
               Manasseh
               
                 's
                 long
                 and
                 matchless
                 flood
              
            
             
               
                 Of
                 Witchcraft
                 ,
                 Rage
                 ,
                 Idolatry
                 and
                 Blood
                 ?
              
            
             
               
                 That
                 yet
                 was
                 pardon'd
                 when
                 he
                 did
                 return
                 ,
              
            
             
               
                 And
                 in
                 his
                 Prison-Irons
                 pray
                 and
                 mourn
                 .
              
            
             
               Trust
               Me
               ,
               Subscribe
               My
               Covenant
               and
               be
               Mine
               ,
            
             
               
                 And
                 I
                 and
              
               All
               My
               Benefits
               are
               Thine
               .
            
          
           
             
               Sinner
               .
            
             
               O
               wondrous
               Love
               !
               where
               this
               is
               kindly
               felt
               ,
            
             
               The
               heart
               must
               needs
               with
               Love
               &
               Sorrow
               melt
               !
            
             
               Wilt
               thou
               accept
               so
               vile
               a
               wretch
               as
               I
               ?
            
             
               I
               'le
               cast
               my self
               upon
               thee
               ,
               live
               or
               die
               .
            
             
               
                 My
                 Soul
                 and
                 Body
                 here
                 to
                 Thee
                 I
                 tender
                 :
              
            
             
               
                 All
                 that
                 I
                 called
                 Mine
                 ,
                 I
                 Here
                 Surrender
                 .
              
            
             
               To
               this
               Consent
               here
               I
               subscribe
               my
               Hand
               ,
            
             
               Whatever
               Changes
               come
               ,
               to
               this
               I
               stand
               :
            
             
               Not
               by
               my
               strength
               :
               I
               trust
               on
               Thee
               ,
               My
               Lord
               !
            
             
               That
               for
               performance
               ,
               thou
               wilt
               Grace
               afford
               .
            
          
           
             
               
                 January
                 26.
                 1660
                 
                 /
                 1.
                 
              
            
          
        
      
       
         
         
           13.
           
           Upon
           the
           sight
           of
           Mr.
           VINES
           His
           Posthumous
           TREATISE
           OF
           THE
           SACRAMENT
           ,
           October
           18.
           1656.
           
           Who
           Dyed
           a
           little
           before
           .
        
         
           
             WHile
             thou
             grew'st
             here
             ,
             thy
             fruit
             made
             glad
          
           
             The
             hearts
             that
             sin
             and
             death
             made
             sad
             :
          
           
             Lest
             we
             should
             surfeit
             of
             thy
             fruit
             ,
          
           
             Thy
             Life
             retired
             to
             the
             Root
             .
          
           
             Desiring
             with
             us
             first
             to
             keep
             ,
          
           
             A
             Passover
             before
             thy
             sleep
             *
             ;
          
           
           
             Weary
             of
             Earth
             ,
             thou
             took'st
             thine
             Ease
             ,
          
           
             Passing
             into
             the
             Land
             of
             Peace
             :
          
           
             The
             threatned
             Evil
             we
             fore-see
             ,
          
           
             But
             hope
             to
             hide
             our selves
             with
             Thee
             .
          
           
             Though
             thou
             art
             gone
             ,
             while
             we
             must
             fight
             ,
          
           
             We
             'l
             call
             it
             Victory
             ,
             not
             Flight
             .
          
           
             When
             God
             hath
             taken
             up
             this
             VINE
             ,
          
           
             We
             thought
             no
             more
             to
             taste
             its
             Wine
             ,
          
           
             Till
             in
             the
             Land
             of
             Salem's
             King
             ,
          
           
             We
             drink
             it
             new
             ,
             even
             from
             the
             Spring
             :
          
           
             But
             unexpectedly
             we
             find
             ,
          
           
             Some
             Clusters
             which
             are
             left
             behind
             :
          
           
             This
             Mantle
             from
             thy
             Chariot
             fell
             ;
          
           
             We
             know
             it
             by
             the
             pleasant
             smell
             :
          
           
             Who
             knows
             but
             from
             this
             little
             seed
             ,
          
           
             Some
             more
             such
             fruitful
             Vines
             may
             breed
             ?
          
           
             The
             
               Tree
               of
               Death
            
             bears
             precious
             Fruit
             ,
          
           
             Though
             in
             the
             Earth
             it
             have
             no
             Root
             .
          
        
         
           
             Dear
             Brother
             !
             thou
             art
             gone
             before
             ,
          
           
             And
             I
             a
             wretch
             wait
             at
             the
             door
             !
          
           
             Sin
             doth
             not
             only
             keep
             me
             thence
             ,
          
           
             But
             makes
             me
             loth
             to
             go
             from
             hence
             :
          
           
             When
             Christ
             hath
             heal'd
             me
             of
             this
             sin
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             me
             fit
             ;
             he
             'l
             let
             me
             in
             :
          
           
             Till
             then
             ,
             may
             I
             but
             in
             a
             Glass
             ,
          
           
             See
             what
             you
             see
             with
             open
             face
             ;
          
           
             Sure
             it
             will
             raise
             my
             heavy
             Soul
             ,
          
           
             And
             these
             distrustful
             fears
             controul
             !
          
           
           
             And
             make
             me
             willing
             to
             be
             gone
             ,
          
           
             As
             knowing
             Whither
             ,
             and
             to
             Whom
             :
          
           
             If
             Time
             be
             Nothing
             ,
             as
             some
             say
             ,
          
           
             You
             that
             were
             with
             us
             yesterday
             ,
          
           
             Are
             with
             us
             still
             ;
             or
             we
             with
             you
             ;
          
           
             Which
             is
             the
             better
             of
             the
             two
             .
          
           
             The
             Soul
             imbodied
             in
             those
             lines
             ,
          
           
             Doth
             make
             us
             say
             ,
             that
             ,
             This
             is
             VINES
             :
          
           
             And
             if
             our
             hearts
             with
             you
             could
             be
             ;
          
           
             Our
             Lord
             would
             say
             ,
             that
             there
             are
             we
             .
          
           
             But
             as
             acccording
             to
             desert
             ,
          
           
             The
             Heavens
             have
             got
             thy
             better
             part
             ;
          
           
             And
             left
             us
             but
             some
             of
             the
             Wine
             ,
          
           
             Whil'st
             they
             have
             taken
             up
             the
             Vine
             :
          
           
             So
             we
             look
             up
             ,
             and
             wait
             ,
             and
             pray
             ,
          
           
             And
             yet
             still
             feel
             ,
             we
             live
             in
             Clay
             .
          
           
             Here
             we
             are
             keeping
             sin's
             account
             ,
          
           
             While
             some
             small
             sparks
             do
             upward
             mount
             ,
          
           
             Crying
             
               [
               How
               long
               ,
               Holy
               and
               True
               !
               ]
            
          
           
             Till
             we
             are
             taken
             up
             to
             you
             .
          
           
             Thus
             also
             we
             must
             follow
             LOVE
             *
             ,
          
           
             To
             find
             our
             HEAD
             and
             LIFE
             above
             .
          
           
             He
             that
             is
             made
             by
             the
             New-Birth
             ,
          
           
             A
             BURGESS
             of
             the
             Church
             on
             Earth
             ,
          
           
           
             And
             then
             by
             Faith
             can
             rise
             so
             high
             ,
          
           
             In
             Divine
             LOVE
             to
             Live
             and
             Die
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             be
             translated
             to
             your
             soil
             ,
          
           
             Remov'd
             from
             sin
             ,
             and
             fear
             ,
             and
             toil
             ;
          
           
             And
             from
             this
             House
             of
             Worms
             and
             Moles
             ,
          
           
             Unto
             that
             Element
             of
             Souls
             .
          
           
             Where
             every
             Branch
             becomes
             a
             VINE
             ;
          
           
             And
             where
             these
             Clods
             like
             Stars
             will
             shine
             :
          
           
             God
             is
             not
             there
             known
             by
             the
             Book
             :
          
           
             You
             need
             not
             there
             the
             Pruning
             Hook
             :
          
           
             There
             you
             have
             Wine
             without
             the
             Press
             ;
          
           
             And
             God
             his
             Praise
             without
             Distress
             .
          
           
             There
             we
             shall
             find
             our
             Eyes
             and
             Sight
             ,
          
           
             When
             we
             come
             to
             our
             Head
             and
             Light.
          
           
             The
             Kernel
             is
             where
             you
             now
             dwell
             ,
          
           
             And
             we
             here
             strive
             about
             the
             Shell
             :
          
           
             You
             have
             the
             Reconciling
             Light
             ,
          
           
             Who
             are
             past
             Faith
             ,
             and
             live
             by
             Sight
             :
          
           
             No
             wonder
             then
             if
             you
             are
             One
             ,
          
           
             When
             Peace
             from
             Earth
             is
             almost
             gone
             :
          
           
             We
             croud
             about
             a
             little
             Spark
             ,
          
           
             Learnedly
             striving
             in
             the
             Dark
             ;
          
           
             Never
             so
             bold
             as
             when
             most
             Blind
             ;
          
           
             Run
             fastest
             when
             the
             Truth
             's
             behind
             .
          
           
             No
             Heresies
             with
             you
             are
             sown
             :
          
           
             There
             's
             not
             a
             Truth
             but
             all
             will
             own
             :
          
           
             A
             mixture
             we
             get
             here
             by
             rote
             ;
          
           
             And
             Errour
             keeps
             the
             major
             Vote
             .
          
           
           
             There
             Pride
             and
             Faction
             cannot
             enter
             .
          
           
             There
             's
             no
             Division
             in
             the
             Center
             .
          
           
             The
             Saints
             there
             play
             not
             Satan's
             part
             ;
          
           
             They
             use
             not
             any
             Carnal
             Art
             ,
          
           
             Their
             Righteous
             Brethren
             to
             Defame
             ;
          
           
             And
             by
             untruths
             to
             blot
             their
             Name
             .
          
           
             There
             you
             are
             Comely
             ,
             and
             not
             Black
             :
          
           
             Each
             One
             hath
             All
             ,
             yet
             None
             do
             lack
             .
          
           
             What
             sin
             or
             smart
             can
             you
             befall
             ,
          
           
             Where
             SELF
             's
             put
             off
             ,
             and
             God
             is
             All.
             
          
        
         
           
             Look
             up
             and
             see
             ,
             now
             VINES
             is
             gone
             ;
          
           
             Are
             not
             the
             Stars
             the
             more
             by
             One
             ?
          
           
             No
             :
             but
             One
             fewer
             in
             our
             sight
             ;
          
           
             For
             we
             have
             forfeited
             his
             Light.
          
           
             And
             such
             an
             One
             ,
             as
             all
             do
             miss
             ,
          
           
             Save
             those
             whose
             pleasure
             darkness
             is
             .
          
           
             And
             who
             can
             Number
             Stars
             above
             ;
          
           
             When
             Saints
             so
             fast
             to
             Heav'n
             remove
             ?
          
           
             If
             but
             three
             such
             in
             all
             our
             times
             ,
          
           
             As
             USHER
             ,
             GATAKER
             and
             VINES
             ,
          
           
             Were
             taken
             hence
             by
             fatal
             sleep
             ;
          
           
             Three
             Nations
             should
             consent
             to
             weep
             .
          
           
             And
             if
             an
             Age
             this
             loss
             repair
             ;
          
           
             The
             Church
             will
             think
             it
             very
             fair
             .
          
           
           
             They
             shine
             in
             Glory
             now
             to
             God
             ,
          
           
             Who
             shin'd
             and
             burn'd
             here
             to
             a
             Clod.
          
           
             May
             such
             a
             sinful
             Worm
             as
             I
             ,
          
           
             Aspire
             and
             ascend
             so
             high
             !
          
           
             That
             Kingdom
             's
             mine
             in
             Hope
             and
             Right
             ,
          
           
             Which
             you
             possess
             by
             Love
             and
             Sight
             .
          
           
             That
             God
             ,
             that
             Christ
             hath
             loved
             me
             ,
          
           
             Whose
             Glory
             blessed
             VINES
             doth
             see
             :
          
           
             We
             were
             both
             washed
             in
             one
             stream
             :
          
           
             And
             both
             enlightned
             by
             one
             beam
             :
          
           
             One
             Garment
             also
             did
             us
             cloath
             :
          
           
             At
             once
             One
             Pulpit
             held
             us
             both
             *
             ;
          
           
             Much
             more
             One
             Church
             :
             for
             we
             agreed
             ,
          
           
             Both
             in
             One
             Method
             ,
             and
             one
             Creed
             .
          
           
             One
             Evil
             we
             did
             both
             condole
             †
             ,
          
           
             As
             animated
             by
             One
             Soul
             :
          
           
             Methinks
             where
             thou
             art
             ,
             I
             should
             be
             ;
          
           
             Although
             the
             lowest
             in
             degree
             .
          
           
             Though
             thou
             art
             gone
             ,
             and
             I
             am
             here
             ;
          
           
             Yet
             is
             my
             Passing-hour
             near
             :
          
           
           
             Time
             is
             at
             work
             both
             Night
             and
             Day
             ,
          
           
             Even
             when
             it
             seemeth
             to
             delay
             :
          
           
             My
             Grave
             and
             Coffin
             are
             at
             hand
             :
          
           
             My
             Glass
             hath
             but
             a
             little
             Sand
             :
          
           
             Now
             I
             am
             writing
             ;
             and
             anon
          
           
             They
             'l
             also
             say
             of
             me
             ,
             He
             's
             gone
             .
          
           
             Then
             I
             shall
             see
             the
             shining
             face
             ,
          
           
             Which
             is
             the
             Glory
             of
             your
             Place
             .
          
           
             But
             lest
             in
             vain
             I
             hope
             and
             run
             ,
          
           
             Lord
             perfect
             what
             thou
             hast
             begun
             .
          
        
      
       
         
         
           14.
           
           A
           Dialogue
           between
           Death
           and
           the
           Believer
           .
        
         
           A
           Rustick
           Song
           ,
           set
           to
           a
           pleasant
           Tune
           .
        
         
           
             Death
             .
          
           
             
               COme
               with
               me
               poor
               Mortal
               ,
            
             
               Quickly
               come
               away
               :
            
             
               My
               Name
               is
               Dreadful
               Death
               .
            
             
               Through
               this
               narrow
               Portal
               .
            
             
               Come
               without
               delay
               ;
            
             
               For
               here
               I
               'le
               stop
               thy
               Breath
               .
            
             
               Presently
               my
               Dart
            
             
               Shall
               pierce
               thee
               to
               the
               Heart
               ,
            
             
               And
               away
               thy
               Life
               I
               'le
               have
               :
            
             
               It
               is
               in
               vain
               to
               fly
               ,
            
             
               Or
               any
               Friend
               to
               try
               :
            
             
               For
               there
               's
               none
               that
               can
               thee
               save
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Believer
             .
          
           
             
               2.
               
            
             
               Welcome
               friendly
               Death
               ;
            
             
               What
               canst
               thou
               do
               to
               me
               ,
            
             
               '
               That
               I
               have
               cause
               to
               fear
               ?
            
             
               Though
               thou
               shalt
               stop
               my
               breath
               ,
            
             
               Yet
               I
               in
               Life
               shall
               be
               ,
            
             
               When
               thou
               shalt
               not
               be
               there
               .
            
             
             
               And
               though
               the
               Gate
               be
               streight
               ,
            
             
               It
               leads
               unto
               that
               height
               ,
            
             
               Where
               I
               shall
               defie
               thy
               Dart
               :
            
             
               Willingly
               I
               yield
               ,
            
             
               As
               armed
               by
               that
               Shield
               ,
            
             
               That
               will
               save
               my
               nobler
               part
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Death
             .
          
           
             
               Come
               away
               frail
               Man
               ,
            
             
               And
               open
               now
               thy
               Breast
               ,
            
             
               And
               take
               thy
               mortal
               wound
               :
            
             
               Let
               Friends
               do
               what
               they
               can
               ,
            
             
               And
               Physick
               do
               its
               best
               ,
            
             
               They
               'l
               all
               too
               weak
               be
               found
               .
            
             
               Lay
               now
               aside
               thy
               mirth
               ,
            
             
               And
               turn
               unto
               thy
               Earth
               :
            
             
               I
               will
               give
               thee
               the
               fatal
               blow
               :
            
             
               It
               is
               in
               vain
               to
               wish
               ;
            
             
               Thou
               canst
               not
               save
               thy
               Flesh
               :
            
             
               For
               my
               Power
               thou
               shalt
               know
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Believer
             .
          
           
             
               4.
               
            
             
               Readily
               I
               come
               ,
            
             
               As
               being
               not
               the
               first
               ,
            
             
               That
               hath
               past
               through
               thy
               door
               :
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               but
               help
               me
               home
               ,
            
             
               When
               thou
               hast
               done
               thy
               worst
               ;
            
             
               And
               thou
               shalt
               be
               no
               more
               :
            
             
             
               By
               drawing
               out
               my
               blood
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               but
               do
               me
               good
               ;
            
             
               And
               ease
               me
               of
               my
               grief
               :
            
             
               And
               though
               thou
               look
               so
               grim
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               bring
               me
               to
               him
               ,
            
             
               That
               will
               give
               me
               full
               relief
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Death
             .
          
           
             
               5.
               
            
             
               Thy
               Flesh
               I
               'le
               turn
               to
               Clay
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               thy
               Bones
               to
               Dust
               ;
            
             
               And
               leave
               thee
               in
               the
               Grave
               .
            
             
               Make
               no
               longer
               stay
               ,
            
             
               For
               come
               away
               thou
               must
               ;
            
             
               It
               is
               in
               vain
               to
               crave
               :
            
             
               Cloathed
               from
               head
               to
               feet
               ,
            
             
               But
               with
               a
               Winding-sheet
               ,
            
             
               My
               Prisoner
               thou
               shalt
               be
               ;
            
             
               Bearing
               my
               loathsom
               Mark
               ,
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               lie
               in
               the
               dark
               ,
            
             
               And
               the
               face
               of
               no
               man
               see
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Believer
             .
          
           
             
               6.
               
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               but
               dig
               the
               ground
               ,
            
             
               Where
               God
               his
               Seed
               will
               sow
               ,
            
             
               And
               raise
               it
               at
               the
               Spring
               :
            
             
               And
               there
               I
               shall
               be
               found
               ,
            
             
               And
               Christ
               his
               own
               will
               know
               ,
            
             
               And
               unto
               Glory
               bring
               :
            
             
             
               When
               here
               I
               cease
               to
               live
               ,
            
             
               A
               better
               Life
               he
               'l
               give
               ,
            
             
               Which
               thou
               shalt
               not
               destroy
               :
            
             
               And
               though
               This
               Life
               thou
               spill
               ,
            
             
               My
               Soul
               thou
               canst
               not
               kill
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               again
               with
               fears
               anoy
               .
            
          
           
             
               7.
               
            
             
               When
               thou
               put'st
               out
               these
               Eyes
               ,
            
             
               I
               shall
               receive
               my
               sight
               :
            
             
               My
               Day
               will
               all
               be
               Noon
               :
            
             
               Above
               the
               spangled
               Skies
               ,
            
             
               Where
               never
               shall
               be
               Night
               ,
            
             
               Nor
               need
               of
               Sun
               or
               Moon
               :
            
             
               The
               Grave
               also
               shall
               keep
            
             
               My
               Dust
               in
               quiet
               Sleep
               ,
            
             
               Till
               the
               Coming
               of
               my
               Lord
               :
            
             
               That
               Flesh
               shall
               shine
               with
               God
               ,
            
             
               That
               now
               is
               but
               a
               Clod
               ;
            
             
               And
               must
               lie
               as
               a
               thing
               abhorr'd
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Death
             .
          
           
             
               8.
               
            
             
               Thy
               merry
               Daies
               are
               gone
               ;
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               no
               longer
               stay
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Life
               shall
               end
               in
               pain
               :
            
             
               Thy
               Time
               and
               work
               is
               done
               ,
            
             
               And
               all
               thy
               Sport
               and
               Play
               ;
            
             
               And
               never
               shall
               come
               again
               .
            
             
               Here
               take
               thy
               leave
               of
               Health
               ,
            
             
               And
               of
               thy
               Goods
               and
               Wealth
               ;
            
             
             
               And
               of
               every
               pleasant
               Friend
               :
            
             
               Bid
               farewel
               to
               them
               all
               ,
            
             
               For
               here
               thy
               Corps
               shall
               fall
               ;
            
             
               And
               the
               World
               to
               thee
               shall
               end
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             Believer
             .
          
           
             
               9.
               
            
             
               Boast
               not
               ,
               O
               conquered
               Foe
               :
            
             
               For
               thou
               could'st
               have
               no
               strength
               ,
            
             
               But
               what
               comes
               from
               my
               sin
               :
            
             
               My
               Lord
               will
               overthrow
            
             
               Thy
               Power
               at
               the
               length
               ;
            
             
               And
               will
               thy
               Prisoners
               win
               :
            
             
               Thou
               could'st
               not
               keep
               my
               head
               ,
            
             
               When
               he
               lay
               in
               thy
               Bed
               ;
            
             
               But
               he
               rose
               ,
               and
               now
               doth
               Reign
               :
            
             
               He
               'l
               take
               away
               thy
               sting
               ,
            
             
               And
               endless
               Life
               will
               bring
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               him
               shall
               I
               remain
               .
            
          
           
             
               10.
               
            
             
               How
               oft
               have
               I
               undrest
               me
               ,
            
             
               And
               laid
               my
               Garments
               by
               ,
            
             
               And
               dyed
               till
               the
               next
               day
               ?
            
             
               I
               do
               but
               go
               to
               rest
               me
               ,
            
             
               And
               shall
               rise
               speedily
               ;
            
             
               My
               Lord
               will
               not
               delay
               .
            
             
               When
               thou
               hast
               broke
               this
               shell
               ,
            
             
               My
               Soul
               with
               Christ
               shall
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               And
               with
               Saints
               and
               Angels
               bright
               .
            
             
               This
               World
               is
               but
               the
               Womb
               ,
            
             
               From
               which
               my
               Soul
               must
               come
               ,
            
             
               Into
               the
               Eternal
               Light.
               
            
          
           
             
             
               11.
               
            
             
               And
               what
               though
               Death
               be
               painful
               ?
            
             
               The
               pain
               is
               quickly
               past
               ;
            
             
               My
               Soul
               shall
               soon
               be
               freed
               :
            
             
               My
               Lord
               shall
               make
               it
               gainful
               :
            
             
               The
               gain
               shall
               ever
               last
               ;
            
             
               And
               Joy
               shall
               Grief
               succeed
               .
            
             
               And
               though
               the
               Place
               seem
               strange
               ,
            
             
               And
               Nature
               fear
               a
               change
               ;
            
             
               Yet
               I
               with
               Christ
               shall
               be
               .
            
             
               And
               when
               with
               him
               I
               dwell
               ,
            
             
               I
               know
               I
               shall
               be
               well
               ,
            
             
               And
               his
               glorious
               Light
               shall
               see
               .
            
          
           
             
               12.
               
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               but
               kill
               my
               sin
               ,
            
             
               And
               crown
               my
               painful
               Race
               ,
            
             
               And
               end
               my
               Grief
               and
               Fear
               :
            
             
               Thou
               shalt
               but
               let
               me
               in
            
             
               To
               see
               the
               blessed
               face
            
             
               Of
               my
               Redeemer
               dear
               .
            
             
               And
               is
               it
               any
               loss
            
             
               To
               follow
               with
               my
               Cross
               ,
            
             
               Till
               I
               attain
               the
               Crown
               ?
            
             
               It
               's
               he
               that
               truly
               dyes
               ,
            
             
               That
               Mercy
               doth
               despise
               ,
            
             
               And
               at
               last
               God
               will
               disown
               .
            
          
           
             
               13.
               
            
             
               I
               knew
               that
               from
               my
               Birth
            
             
               I
               was
               a
               mortal
               man
               :
            
             
               My
               frailty
               ,
               is
               confest
               .
            
             
               I
               knew
               my
               Flesh
               was
               Earth
               ;
            
             
               My
               Life
               was
               but
               a
               span
               .
            
             
               And
               here
               is
               not
               my
               Rest
               .
            
             
             
               If
               thou
               canst
               say
               no
               more
               ,
            
             
               All
               this
               I
               knew
               before
               ,
            
             
               And
               yet
               thy
               threats
               defie
               .
            
             
               Have
               I
               long
               sought
               in
               pain
               ,
            
             
               And
               would
               I
               not
               obtain
               ,
            
             
               Joyful
               Eternity
               ?
            
          
           
             
               14.
               
            
             
               O
               feeble
               thing
               !
            
             
               How
               canst
               thou
               conquer
               Christ
               ,
            
             
               And
               make
               his
               Promise
               void
               ?
            
             
               First
               overcome
               my
               King
               ,
            
             
               And
               his
               Command
               resist
               ,
            
             
               By
               whom
               thou
               art
               employ'd
               :
            
             
               First
               win
               the
               World
               above
               ,
            
             
               And
               conquer
               endless
               Love
               ;
            
             
               And
               then
               I
               'le
               be
               thy
               slave
               :
            
             
               Kill
               an
               immortal
               Soul
               ,
            
             
               And
               we
               will
               all
               condole
               ,
            
             
               And
               fear
               a
               darksome
               grave
               .
            
          
           
             
               15.
               
            
             
               It
               's
               Christ
               that
               doth
               thee
               send
               ,
            
             
               To
               bring
               about
               his
               end
               ;
            
             
               And
               him
               thou
               must
               obey
               .
            
             
               He
               is
               my
               dearest
               Friend
               ,
            
             
               And
               doth
               no
               harm
               intend
               ,
            
             
               In
               calling
               me
               away
               .
            
             
               And
               why
               should
               he
               fear
               ill
               ,
            
             
               Whom
               Love
               it self
               doth
               kill
               ?
            
             
               And
               numbreth
               with
               the
               Blest
               ?
            
             
             
               Why
               should
               not
               Death
               fulfil
               ,
            
             
               His
               good
               All-ruling
               WILL
               ,
            
             
               My
               SPRING
               ,
               my
               GUIDE
               ,
               my
               REST.
               
            
          
        
      
       
         
           Hoc
           migraturus
           scripsi
           sub
           imagine
           Carmen
           .
        
         
           FArewel
           vain
           World
           :
           As
           thou
           hast
           been
           to
           me
        
         
           Dust
           and
           a
           shadow
           ,
           such
           I
           leave
           to
           thee
           .
        
         
           The
           unseen
           Life
           and
           Substance
           I
           commit
        
         
           To
           him
           that
           's
           
             Substance
             ,
             Life
             ,
             Light
             ,
             Love
             to
             it
             .
          
        
         
           Some
           Leaves
           and
           Fruit
           are
           dropt
           for
           soil
           &
           seed
           ;
        
         
           Heaven's
           Heirs
           to
           generate
           ;
           to
           heal
           and
           feed
           :
        
         
           Them
           also
           thou
           wilt
           flatter
           and
           molest
           ,
        
         
           But
           shalt
           not
           keep
           from
           Everlasting
           Rest
           .
        
      
       
         
           Vel
           ,
        
         
           
             Munde
             dolose
             vale
             :
             mihi
             vera
             palestra
             fuisti
             :
          
        
         
           
             Perficitur
             Cursus
             ;
             certa
             corona
             manet
             .
          
        
         
           
             Vita
             fugax
             cessat
             :
             Praestant
             aeterna
             caducis
             :
          
        
         
           
             Mens
             superos
             visit
             :
             Pulvere
             pulvis
             erit
             .
          
        
         
           
             Excipe
             Christe
             tuum
             :
             Tibi
             vixi
             :
             Errata
             remitte
          
           ;
        
         
           
             Spe
             tibi
             commissum
             perfice
             Christe
             tuum
             .
          
        
         
           
             Tu
             mortis
             mors
             es
             :
             Vitae
             tu
             vita
             perennis
             .
          
        
         
           
             Gloria
             nostra
             Tua
             est
             Gloria
             ,
             Lumen
             ,
             Amor.
          
        
         
           
             Non
             loca
             ,
             non
             coetus
             ,
             non
             hinc
             sperata
             videntur
             .
          
        
         
           Optimus
           ,
           Omnividens
           ,
           Maximus
           
             illa
             videt
          
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           THE
           English
           Verses
           written
           on
           a
           fair
           Marble
           over
           the
           Grave
           where
           my
           Wife
           and
           her
           Mother
           are
           buried
           ,
           in
           the
           upper
           end
           of
           Christ's-Church
           Chancel
           (
           broken
           and
           lost
           by
           the
           fall
           of
           the
           Church
           when
           burnt
           )
           were
           these
           .
        
         
           
             Thus
             must
             thy
             Flesh
             to
             silent
             Dust
             descend
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thy
             mirth
             and
             worldly
             pleasure
             thus
             will
             end
             :
          
        
         
           
             Then
             happy
             holy
             Souls
             :
             but
             woe
             to
             those
             ,
          
        
         
           
             Who
             Heav'n
             forgot
             ,
             and
             earthly
             pleasures
             chose
             .
          
        
         
           
             Hear
             now
             this
             Preaching
             Grave
             :
             without
             delay
             ,
          
        
         
           
             Believe
             ,
             Repent
             ,
             and
             work
             while
             it
             is
             day
             .
          
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A26987-e1460
           
             Mar.
             3.
             20.
             21.
             
          
           
             2.
             
             Cor.
             5.
             13.
             
          
           
             Matth.
             20.
             v.
             21.
             
          
           
             Matth.
             19.
             v.
             29.
             
          
           
             *
             Thuanus
             ,
             Davila
             .
          
           
             *
             
               The
               Earl
               of
            
             Orery's
             
               Answer
               to
               a
               Petition
            
             .
          
        
         
           Notes for div A26987-e45600
           
             *
             He
             dyed
             suddenly
             on
             the
             Lord's
             Day
             at
             night
             ,
             after
             he
             had
             Preacht
             and
             Administred
             the
             Sacrament
             .
          
           
             *
             Mr.
             
               Anthony
               Burgesse
            
             was
             Minister
             at
             Lawrence
             Church
             :
             Mr.
             Love
             succeeded
             him
             ,
             and
             was
             beheaded
             by
             the
             Remnant
             of
             the
             Long
             Parliament
             ,
             which
             cut
             off
             the
             King
             ,
             for
             sending
             Money
             to
             some
             about
             the
             present
             King
             Mr.
             Vines
             succeeded
             him
             .
          
           
             *
             Those
             that
             saw
             me
             stand
             in
             his
             Pulpit
             at
             Lawrence
             Church
             between
             his
             Leggs
             ,
             when
             I
             Preacht
             for
             him
             ,
             because
             he
             could
             get
             no
             other
             Room
             in
             the
             Church
             ,
             understand
             this
             .
          
           
             †
             See
             his
             Letter
             in
             the
             end
             of
             my
             Confession
             .