〈◊〉 Hymns, 〈◊〉 of Mr. Herbert's Temple, And Turned into the into the Common Metre. TO BE SUNG IN THE TUNES Ordinarily used in Churches. London, Printed by S. Bridge, for Thomas Parkhurst, at the Bible and Three-Crowns, at the Lower End of Churchside, near Mercer's Chapel, 1697. THE PREFACE. MR. Herbert 's Poems have met with so general and deserved Acceptance, that they have undergone Eleven Impressions near Twenty Years ago: He hath obtained by way of Eminency, the Name of Our Divine Poet, and his Verses have been frequently quoted in Sermons and other Discourses; yet, I fear, few of them have been Sung since his Death, the Times not being at the Command of ordinary Readers. This attempt therefore, (such as it is) is to bring so many of them as I well could, which I judged suited to the Capacity and Devotion of Private Christians, into the Common Metre to be Sung in their Closets or Families: The like I have done as to some of the New Testament Hymns in Dr. Woodford's Paraphrase: To all which I have added one Ode in the same Measures in which I had it, because I think it was never Printed, and I thought it Pity, it should be lost in a Private Hand. I hope I shall not be counted a Plagiary, seeing I claim nothing here as my own, but what they allow me, viz. a Liberty to Sing and use their Hymns, which I was no more able to do in their Metre and Tunes, than I was able to compose them as they did. Nor will this hinder their use of the Lyric Measures in Herbert and others, who are enabled to do it by their skill in Music, which they ought to look upon as a Talon to be accounted for. How much more fit is Herbert's Temple to be set to the Lute, than Cowley's Mistress! It is hard that no one can be taught Music, but in such wanton Songs as fill the Hearts of many Learners with Lust and Vanity all their Days. Why should it be thought a greater Profaning of Spiritual Songs to use them in a Musick-Scool, than it is of the New Testament, to teach Children to spell; yet what Christian would not rather have his Child taught to read in a Bible than in a Playbook? Especially, when they who learn Music are generally more apt to receive Impressions from the Matter of the Song, than Children are from the Books in which they first learn to Spell. My attempt hath been easy, only to alter the measures of some Hymns, keeping strictly to the Sense of the Author; But how noble an undertaking were it, if any one could and would rescue the high flights, and lofty strains found in the most Celebrated Poets, from their sacrilegious Applications to Carnal Love, and restore them to the Divine Love! When the Devil drew off the Nations from the True God, He caused the same Institutions with which God was honoured, to be used in the Idol Service, Temple, Priests, Sacrifices, etc. and amongst the rest Psalmody: And it is strange, that when we have so long been emerged out of Heathenism, that such a Remnant of it should be amongst us, wherein the most devotional Part of Religion doth consist. Almost all Phrases and Expressions of Worship due only to God, are continued in these artificial Composures in the Heathenish use of them, even from the Inspirations that they invoke in their beginning, to the Raptures, Flames, Adorations, etc. That they pretend to in the Progress: Nor are these mere empty Names with them, but their Hearts are more fervently carried out in the musical use of them, than they would be if their Knees were bowed to Baal and Astaroth: Few Holy Souls are more affected with the Praises of a Redeemer, than they are of the wanton Object that they profess to adore. Oh for some to write Parodies, by which Name I find one Poem in Herbert called, which begins, Souls Joy, where art thou ●one, and was, I doubt not, a light Lovesong turned into a Spiritual Hymn. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Est quum alterius Poetae Versus in aliud Argumentum transferuntur. I do not find it hath been made a Matter of scruple to turn the Temples built for Idols into Churches: And as to this Case, it is to be considered, that the Music and Poetry was an excellent Gift of God, which ought to have been used for Him; and that their high strains of Love, joy, etc. Suit none but the adorable Saviour; and all their most warm and affecting Expressions are stolen from the Church's Adoration of Christ; and who can doubt but the Church may take her own, wherever she finds it, whether in an Idolatrous Mass-Book or Profane Lovesong? It was a noble Resolution of him that said, I'll Consecrate my Magdalene to Thee— The Eyes, Mouth, Hair, which had been abused to Lust and Vanity were used to Wash, Kiss, Wipe the Feet of a Saviour: May Men and Angels Praise him for ever and ever! Amen. Books Printed for Tho. Parkhurst. SPiritual Songs, or, Songs of Praise to Almighty God upon several Occasions. Together with the Song of Songs which is Solomon's, first turned, than paraphrased in English Verse: To which may be added, Penitential Cries, the Fourth Edition, Corrected with an Addition of a Sacred Poem on Dives and Lazarus. Sacramental Hymns, Collected (chiefly) out of such Passages of the New Testament, as contain the most suitable Matter of Divine Praises in the Celebration of the Lord's Supper, to which is added, one Hymn relating to Baptism, and another to the Ministry: By jos. Boyse. A Collection of Divine Hymns upon several Occasions; suited to our common Tunes, for the Use of Devout Christians, in singing forth the Praises of God. Six Centuries of Select Hymns and Spiritual Songs, Collected out of the Bible, together with a Catechism, the Canticles, and a Catalogue of Virtuous Women. By William Barton, M. A. Fourth Edition. Corrected and Enlarged. Family Hymns, gathered (mostly) out of the best Translation of David's Psalms. The Psalms of David Translated into English Metre. By David King Bishop of— The Psalms of David (commonly called the Scots Psalms) in Metre. Newly translated and diligently compared with the Original Text, and former Translations: More plain, smooth and agreeable to the Text, than any heretofore. Recommended by six and twenty Divines. Select Hymns, Out of Mr. Herbert's Temple, etc. The Thanksgiving. To the Tune of Psalm 100 O King of Griefs! (a Title true Though strange, and to Thee only due) How can I grieve enough for Thee, Who in all grief preventest me? Shall I weep Blood? Thou'st wept such store, That all thy Body was one Gore. Shall I be scourged, flouted, sold? 'Tis but to tell the Tale is told. Shall I then skip the doleful Story, And side with thy Triumphant Glory? Shall wounds be Health? Thy Thorns my Flower? Thy Rod my Posy? Cross my Bower? How shall I imitate Thee, and Copy thy Fair, though Bloody Hand? Can I pretend to reach thy Love, Or try who should Victorious prove? If thou giv'st Wealth, I will restore, All back unto Thee by the Poor. If Thou giv'st Honour, Men shall see The Honour doth belong to Thee If Bosom-Friends should rend thy Name, I will rend thence their Love and Fame. The World and I'll fall out, the Year Shall not perceive that I am here. My Music shall find Thee, each string Shall have its Attribute to sing, That all may well accord in Thee, And prove one God, one Harmony. The Agony. To the Tune of Psalm 119. 1. Philosopher's have measured Hills, Fathomed Seas, traced Springs, Walked with their Iacob's-staff to Heaven, But there are two vast things, The which to measure, sound or trace, It doth them most behoove, Yet few or none can find their depth, These two are Sin and Love. 2. Who would know Sin, let him repair, To Olivet, and see One wrung with Pains, that Skin and Hair And Garments bloody be. For Sin and Wrath the Wine-press was, Which squeezed Him, forcing Pain: Through Soul and Body, Head and Heart, Hands, Feet, and every Vein. 3. Who knows not Love, let him but taste The Juice a Soldier's Pike Did set abroach, then let him tell Who e'er did taste the like. Love is that Liquor passing-sweet, A Drink that is Divine, 'Tis what my God did feel as Blood, But what I taste as Wine. The Passion. To the Tune of Psalm 100 SInce Blood is fittest, Lord, to write Thy Sorrows in, and bloody flight, My Heart hath store; write there, wherein One Box doth lie both Ink and Sin: That when Sin spies so many Foes, Thy Whips, thy Nails, thy Wounds, thy Woes, All come to lo●g● there, Sin may say, No room for me, and fly away. Sin being g 〈…〉 oh fill the place, And keep Possession with thy Grace; Lest Sin take Courage and return, And all the Writings blot or burn. Easter. To the Tune of Psalm 100 THe Lord is risen, sing his Praise, Rise thou, my Heart, without delays: Awake my Lute, and do thy Part, Or struggle for't with all thy Art. The Cross hath taught this Wood His Name To sound, who once did bear the same: Stretched Sinews teach these Strings, what Key Is best to celebrate this Day. Both Heart and Lute shall twist a Song, In Holy Consort good and long: And let thy Spirit bear a Part, To mend our faults by his sweet Art. I got me Flowers to strew the way, I got me Boughs of many a Tree; But thou wast up by break of Day, And brought'st thy Sweets along with Thee. The Sun arising in the East, Though He give Light, and th' East perfume; If they should offer to contest With thy arising, they presume. Can there be any Day but this, Though many Suns to shine endeavour? We count three Hundred, but we miss: There is but One and that One ever. Prayer. PRayer the Church's Banquet is, Prayer the Angel's Age, Prayer the Soul in Paraphrase, The Heart in Pilgrimage. God's breath in Man returning thither From whence it had its Birth; Prayer the Christian Plummet is That soundeth Heaven and Earth. Prayer reversed Thunder is, And Christ's side-peircing Spear, Prayers a kind of heavenly Tune Which all things hear and fear. Engine against the Almighty One, It is the Sinners Tower, The World that was a Six-days Work Transposing in an Hour. Softness and Peace, and Spiritual Joy, Prayer is Love and Bliss, It is as 'twere the Milky-way, The Bird of Paradise. Prayer exalted Manna is, And gladness of the best, Heaven in Ordinary 'tis, Prayer is Man well dressed. The Church-Bell's heard beyond the Stars, It is the Souls Heartblood, A kind of Land of Spices 'tis, And something understood. Holy Communion. NOt in a rich or fine Array, Nor in a wedge of Gold, Dost thou thyself to me convey Who once for me waste Sold. But in a way of Nourishment, Thou creepest into my Breast, Setting my Soul upon the wing To fly unto her rest. Give me my Captive Soul, or take My Body also thither, Another lift like this, will make Them both to be together. Before that Sin turned Flesh to Stone, And all our Lump to Leaven; A fervent Sigh might well have blown Our innocent Earth to Heaven. For sure when Adam did not know To Sin, or Sin to smother; He might to Heaven from Paradise go, As from one room t'another. Thou hast restored us to this ease By this thy Heavenly Blood, Which I can go to when I please, And leave th' Earth to their Food. Antiphon. To the Tune of Psalm 148. Vers. THe heavens are not too high, His Praise may thither fly: The Earth is not too low, His Praises there may grow. Chor. Let all the World Rejoice and Sing And still repeat, My God and King. Vers. The Church with Psalms must shout, No Door can keep them out: But above all, the Heart Must bear the longest part▪ Chor. Let all the World Rejoice and Sing, And still repeat, My God and King. The Temper. HOw should I Praise thee, and my Rhymes, Engrave thy Love in Steel, If what my Soul doth feel sometimes, My Soul might ever feel. Though there were forty heavens or more I peer above them all; Sometimes I hardly reach a score, Sometimes to Hell I fall. O rack me not to such extent, Such distance is for Thee: The World's too little for thy Tent, A Grave too big for me. Wilt thou meet Arms with Man, or stretch Thy Dust from Heaven to Hell? Will great God measure with a Wretch? Shall He thy Stature Spell? O when thy Roof my Soul hath hid, Let me but Nestle there: Then of a Sinner thou art rid, And I of Hope and Fear. Yet take thy way, for that is best, Stretch or Contract thy Debtor: This is but tuning of my Breast To make the Music better. Pentecost. To the Tune of Psalm 100 LIsten sweet Dove unto my Song, And spread thy golden Wings on me, Hatching my tender Heart so long, Till it get Wing, and fly with Thee. Where is that Fire which once descended On thy Apostles? Thou didst then Keep open House, richly attended, Feasting all Comers, by Twelve Men. Such glorious Gifts thou didst bestow, That th' Earth did like a Heaven appear: The Stars were coming down to know How to mend Wages, and serve here. The Sun which once did shine alone, Hung down his Head and wished for Night, When He beheld twelve Suns for one, Tracing the World, and giving Light. But since those Pipes of Gold, which brought The Cordial Water to our ground, Were out and martyred, by their fault Who did themselves through their Sides wound; Thou shut'st the Door, and keep'st within, Scarce a good Joy creeps through the Chink: And if the braves of Conquering Sin Did not excite Thee, we should sink. Lord, though we change, thou art the same, The same sweet God of Love and Light; Restore this Day, for thy great Name, Unto its ancient glorious Right. Dominica Trinitatis. To the Tune of Psalm 67. THou'st framed me out of Mud, Redeemed me with thy Blood, And sanctified me with thy Grace, And all to do me good. My Sins done heretofore, Purge, for that heavy score I do confess, and hate, and I Will strive to Sin no more. My Heart, Mouth, Hands in me With Faith, Hope, Charity every, O Lord, that so I may Rise, run, and rest with Thee. Avarice. To the Tune of Psalm 67. MOney, thou source of Woe, Although thou art so fine, Thy Parantage is base and low, Found in a dirty Mine. Thou couldst so little do For th' Kingdom thou hast got, That, Man was fain to Dig thee out Of thy dark Cave and Grot. Brightened by Fire, thou'st got The Face of Man, for we Transfer our Right; thou art the Man And we but dross to Thee. Man calleth Thee his Wealth, And yet He made Thee Rich, And while with pains He digs out Thee Himself falls in the Ditch. Submission. BUt that thou art my Wisdom, Lord, And both mine Eyes are thine, My Mind would be extremely stirred For missing my design. Were it not better to bestow Some Place or Power on me? Then should thy Praises with me grow And share in my degree. But when I thus dispute and grieve, I do resume my sight; And pilfering what I once did give, Disseise thee of thy Right. How know I, if thou shouldst me raise That I should then raise thee? Perhaps great Places and thy Praise, Do not so well agree. Wherefore unto my Gift I stand; I will no more advise: Only do thou lend me an Hand, Since thou hast both mine Eyes. Mortification. 1. HOw soon doth Man decay? When clothes Took from a Chest of sweets To swaddle Infants, seem to be Their little winding Sheets. Boys step as 'twere into their Graves When they go first to Bed: Sleep binds them fast, only their Breath Shows that they are not Dead. 2. When Youth is frank and free, and while His Veins with Blood do swell, Calling for Mirth, his Music then Doth summon to his Knell. When Man grows stayed, and coveteth An House and Home to have; That Dumb enclosure maketh Love, T' a Coffin or a Grave. 3. When Age grows low or weak, it marks The Grave which He draws near, His Chair or Litter where He sits Or lies, is like his Bier. And thus Man's last Solemnity Is fixed, ere He's aware; He dresseth up his Hearse, while He Hath Breath as yet to spare▪ Misery. To the Tune of Psalm 100 LOrd, let the Angels Praise thy Name, Man is an empty foolish Thing Folly and Sin play all his Game, His House doth burn, yet He doth Sing. What strange Pollutions doth He wed, As if none knew his Works but He? No Man shall beat into his Head, Thou canst within His Curtains see. The best of Men, turn but thine Hand One Moment, stumble at a Pin: They would not have their Actions scanned, Nor Sorrow tell them, that they Sin. My God, Man cannot Praise thy Name, Thou art all perfect Purity: The Sun holds down his Head for shame Eclipsed, when we speak of Thee. As dirty Hands foul all they touch, And those things most, which are most fine: So our Clay-Hearts, even when we Sing Thy Praises, make them less Divine. Man cannot serve Thee, let Him go, And serve the Swine, where's his Delight▪ He likes not Virtue; let him have His Dirt to wallow in all Night. Indeed at first, Man was a Treasure, A Box of precious Rarities, A Ring whose Posy was, my Pleasure A Garden in a Paradise. But Sin hath fooled him, now He is A Lump of Flesh, without a Wing, To raise Him to the Glimpse of Bliss; A Vessel dashed on every Thing. Obedience. To the Tune of Psalm 67. MY God, if Writings may Convey Estates away, Why may not this poor Paper do For me as much as they. On it my Heart doth bleed As many Lines, as need To pass itself away, and I Own it my Act and Deed. If that hereafter Pleasure Cavil, and claim her Measure, I here exclude the wrangler from Any part of thy Treasure. Oh, let thy Sacred Will All thy delight fulfil; Let me not Think or Act, but as Resigned up to thy skill. Lord, what is Man to Thee But as a rotten Tree? Yet since thou seest all, thou canst As will me Guide, as see. He that will pass his Land With me, may set his hand Unto this Deed, to both our Goods, If He to it will stand. How happy were my Part, If some one will his heart Enter with me in heavens Court-Rolls, Far above our Desert. Home. To the Tune of Psalm 100 COme Lord, my Head and Heart is sick Whilst thou dost ever, ever stay: Thy long delays wound to the quick, My Spirit gaspeth Night and Day. How canst thou stay, seeing the pace The Blood did make which thou didst waste? Viewing it trickle down thy Face, I never saw thing make such haste. When Man was lost, thou look'st about To see what help in th' Earth or Sky; But there was none, no help without, The help did in thy Bosom lie. There lay thy Son; and must He leave That Hive of sweetness, to remove Thraldom from those, who at a Feast Left not one Apple for thy Love. He did, He came: O Saviour Dear, After all this canst thou be strange? So long baptised, and not appear, As if thy Love could fail or change. Yet if thou stayest, why must I stay? My God, what is this World to me? This World of Woe? Ye Clouds, away, Away; I must get up and see. With one small Sighs, the other Day I blasted all the Joys about me; And stalling, as they passed away, Now come again, said I, and flout me. Both Drought and Dearth, both Bush and Brake, Which way so ere I look, I see; We may Dream here, but when we wake, We dress ourselves and come to Thee. We talk of Harvests; there are none, But when we leave our Corn and Hay; The fruitful Year is that which brings The last and loved, though dreadful Day. This Frame, this Knot of Man untie, That my free Soul may use her wing, Now pinioned with Mortality, As an entangled hampered thing. What's left, that I should stay and groan? The most of me to Heaven is fled: My Thoughts and Joys packed up and gone, And for their old Acquaintance plead. Oh show me, in thy Temple here Thy wondrous Grace, thy special Love, Or take me up to dwell with Thee, Within thy glorious House above. Dulness. WHy langish I, as if all Earth, Thus drooping, dead and dull? O give me quickness, that with Mirth I may Thee Praise brimful. The wanton in a curious strain Can Praise His fairest Fair; And with acquaint Metaphors, again Curl o'er her curled Hair, Thou alone, Beauty are to me, Loveliness, Life and Light; Thy bloody Death and undeserved, Makes thee pure Red and White. Where are my Lines? Approaches? Views▪ Where are my Window-Songs? Lovers pretending are, their Muse Is sharpened by their wrongs. But I am lost in Flesh, and mocked By sugared Fallacies; Sure thou didst put a Mind in me, Could I find where it lies. Lord, clear thy Gift that I may look Towards Thee with constant Wit; Look, for to Love Thee, who can be, Yea Lord, what Angel fit. Man's Medley. To the Tune of Psalm 113. Hark how the chirping Birds do sing, And how the ccch'ing Woods do ring; Birds have their Joys, and Man hath his: Yet if we judge and rightly measure, Man's real Joy and solid Pleasure Hereafter more than present is. Not that He may not sometimes here, Taste of that Joy, and pleasant cheer; But as Birds drinking lift their Heads, So must He sip, and tasting think Of that new Wine, that better drink, Which He shall have, when He is Dead. 2. But as his Pleasures then are double, So are his Cares, and Grief, and Trouble, He hath two Winters to their one; Both Frosts and Thoughts do sometimes Nip As well his Conscience as his Lip; 'Tis Man that fears two Deaths alone. Yet after all, the greatest Griefs May be turned into his Reliefs, Could He but take them in their Ways: Happy is He, whose well-tuned Heart Can by a new and heavenly Art, Turn double Pains to double Praise. Gratefulness. THou that hast given so much to me, Give more, a thankful Heart: See how thy Beggar works on thee By an allowed Art. He makes thy Gifts occasion more; If He in this be crossed, All thou hast given him heretofore Is given in vain and lost. But thou didst reckon, when at first Thy Word our Hearts did crave, What it would come to at the worst Such wretched Souls to save. Perpetual knockings at thy Door, Tears sullying thy Rooms, Gift upon Gift, much would have more; And in this way it comes. This notwithstanding thou wentest on, And didst allow our Noise: Nay, thou hast made a Sigh and Groan Thy Pleasure and thy Joys. Not that thou hast not Tunes above Better than groans can make; But that these Country-Airs thy Love Is pleased to like and take. Wherefore I cry, and cry again, Thou at no rest canst be, Till I a thankful Heart obtain, Which I may use for Thee. Not thankful for a fit, as if Thy Blessings had spare Days: But such a Heart, whose Pulse may beat Continually thy Praise. Praise. O King of Glory, King of Peace I will Thee chiefly Love: And that my Love may never cease I will Thee daily move. For thou hast granted my request, Thou hast me freely heard: And thou dost Note my working Breast Thou hast me gently spared. And therefore with my utmost Art, I will thy Glory sing: The very Cream of all my Heart, I will a Present bring. And though my Sins against me cried, Thou didst me fully clear: And when in Terrors they replied, Thou didst my Prayers hear. Then seven whole Days, not one in seven I will thy Honour Praise: And in my Heart, though not in Heaven, I will thy Glory raise. When I grew Soft and Moist with Tears, Thou also didst relent: And when thy Justice called for Fears, Thou didst in Grace descent. Now small it is, in this Poor sort Thy Name for to enrol: Eternity itself's too short. Thy Praise for to extol. Longing. To the Tune of Psalm 67. WIth sick and famished Eyes, Doubling Knees, weary Bones, To Thee my Sighs and Tears ascend, To Thee my Cries and Groans. My Throat, my Soul is hoarse, Heart withered like a Ground Which ●hou didst Curse: My Thoughts make me Giddy by turning round. Bowels of Pity, Hear, Thou true Love of my Mind, Let not my Words and thy Name there, Be scattered by the Wind. Look on my Sorrows! Mark My Furnace! O what Flame! What heat doth in my Heart abide; What Grief there is! What Shame! Lord jesus, thou didst bow The Head upon the Tree, Shall He that made the Ear, not hear? O be not Deaf to me. Behold thy Dust doth stir, It creeps, it aims at Thee: And every Crumb therein saith, Come, Wilt thou not succour me? Thou tarriest, while I fall To nothing: Thou dost Reign And rule on high, while I thy Child In bitter Grief remain. Lord Jesus, Hear my Heart That hath been broke so long: Thy Beggars grow, and every Part Of it hath got a Tongue. My Love, my sweetness Hear, As thy Feet lies my Heart, Oh heal my troubled Breast, which cries And dies: Pluck out thy Dart. The Call. To the Tune of Psalm 100 O Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life, thou'rt such a Way as gives us breath: And such a Truth, as Ends all strife; And such a Life, as killeth Death. O come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength, Even such a Light, as shows a Feast: And such a Feast, as mends in length; And such a Strength, as makes his Guest. O come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart, Even such a joy, as none can move; And such a Love, as none can Part; And such a Heart, as Joys in Love. The Search. WHether, O whether art thou fled, My gracious Lord, my Love? My Searches are my daily Bread, Yet don't successful prove. My Knees pierce th' Earth, mine Eyes the sky, And yet the higher Sphere And lower Centre, both deny To me, that thou art there. Yet can I mark, how Herbs below Are Fresh, grow Green and Gay: As if to meet Thee, they did know Whilst I Dye and Decay. Yet can I mark, how Stars above Simper, as 'twere, and shine, As having Keys unto thy Love, Whilst I grow Pale and Pine. I sent a Sigh to seek Thee out Drawn from my Breast in Pain, Winged like an Arrow, but my Scout Alas! returned in Vain. I turned another (having store) Into a deeper groan, Because the search was Dumb before; But, ah me! all was one. Where is my God? What hidden Place Conceals Thee from me still? What Covert dares Eclipse thy Face? My God, is it thy Will? O let not that of any thing Be it; let rather Brass Or Steel, or Mountains be thy Ring, And I through them will pass. Thy Will such an entrenching is, As passeth humane Thought; To it all Strength, all subtleties Are but as things of Nought. O take these Bars, these lengths away, Turn again and restore me; Be not Almighty (shall I say) Against me, Lord, but for me. When thou dost turn and wilt be near, What Edge is there so keen; What Point so piercing can appear, As once to come between? For as thy absence doth excel All other distance known; So doth thy nearness bear the Bell, Making of two but one. Grief. OH, who will give me Tears? come dwell Within my Eyes, ye Springs; Come Clouds and Rain, my Grief hath need Of all the Watery things. Each Vein suck up a River, to Supply these weary Eyes; My Eyes too dry, unless they get New Conduits, new Supplies. What can Man do, that little World, With his two little Spouts? The greater World cannot provide For all my Griefs and Doubts. Verses too fine for my rough Griefs Must here be Dumb and Mute; Their running suits my Eyes, but measure Suits best some Lover's Lute. His narrow Grief will him allow The softer-strain and Rhyme; My harsher Sorrows do exclude Both Measure, Tune and Time. Self-Condemnation. To the Tune of Psal. 113. THou who condemnest Jewish Hate, For choosing of a Murderer Before a Saviour, Lord of Glory; Look back upon thy own Estate, Call home thine Eye (that wanderer) That thine own Choice may be thy Story. He that doth Love, and Love amiss, This World before true Christian Joy, How doth He make a Jewish Choice? The World an ancient Murderer is, Thousands it hath and doth destroy, With her enchanting Looks and Voice. 2. He that hath made a sorry Wedding Between his Soul and Gold; preferred False Gain and Riches before true, Hath done what He condemns in Reading, Hath Sold for Money His Dear Lord, And is Himself a judas-iew. Thus we prevent the last great Day And judge ourselves, that Light which Passion And Sin before did Dim and Choke, When once these Snuffs are ta'en away, Shines bright even unto Condemnation, And that without Excuse or Cloak. Bitter-Sweet. To the Tune of Psalm 67. AH my Dear angry Lord! Since thou dost Love yet strike; Thou dost cast down, yet help afford, Sure I will do the like. I will complain, yet Praise Bewail and yet approve: And all my other sowre-sweet Days I will lament yet Love. The Glance. To the Tune of Psalm 100 WHen first thy sweet and gracious Eye, Vouchsafed in midst of Youth and Night To look on me, who lay before In Sin, I felt a strange delight. Since that Time many a bitter Storm I've felt, which would have quite destroyed My Soul, had the malicious Harm His sway and swing fully enjoyed. But the first Joy, sprung from thine Eye, Did still so work within my Soul, That after all it got the Day, And did the surging Griefs control. If the first Glance so powerful be, Mirth opened and sealed up again, What wonders shall we feel at last, When thou shalt look us out of Pain▪ When we shall see thy full eyed Love; And that one Heavenly glorious Light, More than a thousand Suns above Shall be disbursing joyful Light. Aaron. To the Tune of Psalm 100 HOliness written on the Head, Light and Perfections on the Breast, Harmonious Bells raising the Dead To Life: Thus are true Aaron's dressed. But, oh, profaneness in my Head, Defects and darkness in my Breast, A noise of Passions like a Knell; Ala, poor Priest, thus am I dressed. And yet I have another Head, Christ is my only Heart and Breast, He is my Music causing Life; In him alone I am well dressed. Now again, Holy in my Head, Perfect and Light in Heart and Breast, My Doctrine tuned by Christ, who lives In me; Come People, Aaron's dressed. Discipline. To the Tune of Psalm 67. O Throw away thy Rod, And throw away thy Wrath, Thou art my Saviour and my God, O take the gentle Path. Thou seest my Hearts desire Unto thy Will is bend: To nothing I do more aspire Than to a full Consent. There's not a Word or Look That I affect to own, But what I have or learn by Book, And that thy Book alone. And though I fail, I weep; And though I halt in Pace, Yet still I go or rather creep Unto the Throne of Grace. Then let thy Wrath remove, And Love will do the Deed: For with thy Blood, and with thy Love, These stony Hearts will bleed. Thy Love is swift of Foot, Thy Love's a Man of War, That is victorious and can shoot, And hit our Hearts from far. And who can scape this Bow? For that which wrought on Thee, That brought thee down, and made thee low, Needs must it work on me. O throw away thy Rod: And though Man frailties hath, Yet we are Creatures, thou art God, O throw away thy Wrath. The Invitation. To the Tune of Psalm 100 COme hither, all whose Heart and Taste Savours this Earth: Here mend your fare; God hath prepared and is a Feast, In whom alone all dainties are. Come hither, you, whom Love of Wine Hath made you Drink for hurt, not good: Now weep what you have drunk amiss, And cat his Flesh and drink his Blood. Come hither, all whom Fear and Pain Arraigns, and brings your Sins to sight, Taste and fear not, for God is here, Who will on Sin return the fright. Come hither, all whom Joy destroys, And makes you graze without your bounds: Here is a Joy that drowns all Joys, As doth a Flond the lower grounds. Come hither, all whom Love exalts, And lifts you up unto the sky: Here is Love breathing even in Death, Which after Death can never Die. Thus Lord, I have invited all, And still I will invite to Thee; For it doth seem but Just and Right, That where all is, there all should be. Desertion. To the Tune of Psalm 67. SOul's Joy, when thou art gone (Which yet sure cannot be, Because thou dost abide in me, And I depend on Thee.) Yet when thou dost suppress The Joy of thy abode, And in my Power not stir abroad, But leave me to my Load. Oh, what a Damp doth seize My Soul! no stormy Night Can so afflict or so affright, As thy eclipsed Light. Ah Lord! do not withdraw Thy Love, lest Sin appear; And, when thou dost but shine less clear, Say that thou art not here. And then what Life I have, When Sin doth rave and boast, That I may seek, but thou art lost; Thou, and alone thou knowst. Oh, what a deadly Cold Doth make me half believe That Sin saith true! but while I grieve, Thou comest and dost relieve. Death. To the Tune of Psalm 100 DEath thou wast once an uncouth thing, Hid'ous, and nothing else but Bones; Mouth open, but thou couldst not sing, The sad Effects of sadder Groans. For we were wont to look on Thee, As at some nine or ten Years hence, Flesh turned to Dust, and Bones to sticks, After the loss of Life and Sense. On this side of Thee we did look, We shot too short, whence we did find Dust drawing Tears but shedding none, The Shells of Fledge Souls left behind. But since our Sav'ours' Death hath put Some Blood and Vigour in thy Face, Thou art much sought for as a good, Thou art grown Fair and full of Grace. We now behold Thee gay and glad, As thou wilt be at Judgment-Day, Thy Bones with Beauty shall be clad, When Souls shall wear their new array Therefore we can go Dye as Sleep, And safely trust half that we have▪ (Making our Pillows Doan or Dust) Unto an honest, faithful Grave▪ New Testament-Hymns, Taken out of Dr. Woodford's PARAPHRASE, And Turned into the Common Metre. The Song of the Blessed Virgin. 1. MY Soul doth magnify the Lord My Spirit in Him rejoice; My Saviour's Praises to Record, My Spirit provokes my Voice. Nor Soul nor Spirit, my Will or Mind, Shall in his Praise lie still; With Voice and Lyre, I'll all my Powers Summon to show their skill. 2. The Church, his Handmaid's low Estate He kindly did regard; He from on high viewed the sad State, Which David's House pressed hard. But now all Nations shall the Church Call above others Blest, David's Seed b'ing of David's Throne Eternally possessed. 3. Great are the Works that He hath done, Who himself is great of Might; But of all Names, 'Tis Holiness That does him most Delight: All Names but that of Mercy, which In him is still the same, He does to Generations keep, With them, who fear his Name. 4. To all besides by's Arm He's known, His Strength none can repel; His Arm alone the proud pulls down, Spoils Plots laid deep as Hell. He Kingdoms sways and gives the Crowns To those i'th' Dust who lay; With good things He the hungry fills, Sends Rich empty away. 5. Isr'el thus hath He filled, thus raised; Thus raised, He doth uphold; B'ing mindful of (his Name be praised) His Covenant passed of old: According to his Promise made To Abr'ham and his Seed, Even all whom Abr'hams' Faith doth make Parties unto the Deed. The Song of Zacharias. To the Tune of Psalm 100 ISrael's great God be ever praised, Who Isr'el from the Dust hath raised; He's mindful of his ancient Care, Forgotten when we thought we were. Isr'el to visit He came down, The Prison Doors wide open thrown: Redemption for us He hath wrought, And to the Throne the Captive brought. To David's Throne, and 'tis his Son Sprung from his Loins, holds David's Throne; With Empire, which no time can bond, With Subjects in all Countries found. By Prophets which have been of old In every Age He this foretold; For every Age have Prophets been, ere since the World did first begin. This to foretell, that God our State Would save, and our wrongs vindicate, Not for our sakes, but to perform The Mercy promised and Sworn. Promised the Fathers, who first were, But which He did to Abr'ham swear By sacred Oath, to be no more Doubted, though established 'twas before. God the most High by Himself swore, That we from Heaven should have the Power His noble Service to attend, Fearless of all that may offend. (Delivered from our Enemies' Hands, Their captive Chains, and servile Bands) In Righteousness and Holy Praise, Which constant last, through all our Days. And now He comes who this hath wrought, Who hath this great Salvation brought: And now His Prophet shall prepare His Ways, which deep and wondrous are; To teach and make his Isr'el know, Whence their Salvation's source doth flow: That from Remission of their Sin The mighty source doth first begin: Through tender Mercy, He the way To Pardon does by Grace display, That Grace whereby Dayspring on high Visits with Streams, which ne'er shall die; Streams of a pure Aether'al Light, T'shine on those who in Darkness sit; Death's shadow shall with Rays increase, To guide our Feet i'th' ways of Peace. The Song of Simeon. 1. ENough, my God, I beg no more Thou canst no more bestow! My Prayers are answered, I adore The Word, which forth did go; The Word, which like Thee knows no change, I am content to Die, The Time is sittest now, Lord, since Thy Word and Life's so nigh: 2. Nigh is the Word, nor hath Death come Me and thy Christ between; As nigh is Life, thy other Word, Thus happy have I been. Two Words, fulfilled one, t'other seen, Makes me desire to die: Who would not mortal Life exchange For Immortality. 3. In Peace, my God, I die; and Thou In Peace dismissest me, Since with these Eyes, before their Change, I thy Salvation see. I need not rise to see, as they Who by Faith only saw What I within my Arms do hold, The end of all their Law. 4. Hail blessed Salvation! Hail thou Who bring'st it, Blessed Child! In whom, as Holy Men foretold, All Truths shall be fulfilled: Hail Saviour and Salvation! Prepared of God to be This lower World's Redemption, And th' Angel's scrutiny. 5. Such is thy Covenant, who before All Nations dost prepare What shall with Praise all Nations fill, As in Him all have share. He, as a Sun, to a dark World Shall rise with scattered Light; But israel Glory shall with Rays Be like his own Flames Bright. Adoration of the Twenty Four Elders. Rev. 11.17. To the Tune of Psalm 100 thou'rt worthy Honour to receive, Honoured are we, who Honour give: Thou in one now, collected hast All Time, the Future, Present, Past. We Praise Thee, Lord, for that thou'st ta'en To Thee thy Power, and dost Reign; Thy Wrath is come, and so the Time When thou wilt Sentence every Crime. And hence the Nations troubled are, The Dead must for their Judge prepare; They rise, and as their Works have been, Glory or Shame's on all brows seen. Saints, Prophets, all that fear thy Name, Both small and great, shall Praise the same; But Vengeance stops the Sinners Mirth, And Spoils the Spoilers of the Earth. The Song of Moses and the Lamb. Rev. 15.13. To the Tune of Psalm 148. HOw mighty are thy Works, And marvellous thy Praise! Lord God Almighty, Just And True are all thy Ways, Blessed King of Saints, Who would nor fear Thy Presence dread, Which Thrones revere? Who would not fear Thee, Lord? Who would not glorify That wondrous Name of thine, Which thou hast raised so high; Thy Holy Name By which thou'rt known, For Holiness Is thine alone. Take then, thou blessed King, What is thy proper due, And through all Coasts and Lands Thy proper right pursue. That every Coast And every Land, May worship Thee, And wondering stand. joy at the overthrow of Babylon. Rev. 9.1. To the Tune of Psalm 100 SIng Hallelujah to our King, Honour and Power and Glory sing: For true and righteous are his Ways; He both deserves and hath our Praise. Most true and righteous is his Doom, Who hath in Judgement overcome; The Whore stands chained and dumb withal, Without a Friend or Voice to call. For judged she is, who th' Earth did slain With a vile prostituted Train: He hath avenged the Blood she shed, She dying ever, is never Dead. Sing 〈◊〉 to our King, Worship and Laud and Praises bring: Behold how up her smoke does rise! Who dying ever, never dies. Even so, Amen; Lord, be it so! That all the Earth thy Power may know: That all one Song with us may Sing, Even Hallelujah to our King. Baptismal Covenant. (Mostly) out of the Book of Psalms. Exod. 15.2. THou art my God: I will prepare For Thee a dwelling Place: Thou art my Father's God; and I Will Praise thy wondrous Grace. Psal. 22.4. Thou art my Father's God; and they Trusting in Thee were glad For all thy saving Health, whilst I As yet no being had. Gen. 17.7. Deut. 17.9. God of my Fathers, and their Seed, For so thy Covenant is: And thou dost keep thy Covenant fare To thousands of Degrees. Exod. 21.6. When at the Door the Ear was bored, The Servant leaves it never; He is a Servant in that House He and his Seed for ever. Psalm 86.16. and 116.16. Now I am here, thy Servant, Lord, One born within thy House: Son of thy Handmaid, Son of Prayer, A Son of Tears and Vows. Psalm 22.9. and 71.6. Thou took'st me from my Mother's Womb, When my first Breath I drew, Where I was curiously wrought, All Praise to Thee is due. Psalm 22.9, 10. My Parents then devoting me, Upon Thee I was cast: And from my Mother's Belly, Thou My God in Covenant waste. And while a feeble Infant, I Hung on my Mother's Breast, Thou mad'st me hope, for there I had This ground of Hope and Rest; That being in thy Family Thy Charge I there became; Thou wast my Father, and my God: I bore on me thy Name. Psalm 71.5. Then in pursuance of thy Word Thy Covenant of Truth, Thou gav'st me Grace, and waste the Guide And Hope of my Raw Youth. Psalm 22.10. By all Engagements, and by Vows Renewed, I am thine: And thou art from that Time to this By the same Title mine. Psalm 71.9. And now when Age and Troubles come, Lord, for thy former Love, Leave me not here distressed below, Till lodged safe above. Lose not an ancient Servant, Lord, Whose Work is almost done, Who took'st me first into thy House Before my Work begun. Psalm 71.18. Leave me not, Lord, till I have taught These Babes to know thy Will: That as I've praised my Father's God, My Seed may own Thee still. An Ode. AH Me! What a Wretch should I be, Should I suffer what I see, That my Sins do require? There is none of them so small, That for Vengeance doth not call, And for bitterness and gall, Loss of Body, Soul and all, In the Pit of woe and thrall; 'Tis no less than endless Fire, That in Justice is their hire. 2. Sin, Sin, With my Life did begin, And I have lived therein, All my Days heretofore; Sins of Head, Heart, Hands and Tongue, Through my Life all along, Like a thread have they run, Binding me to be undone, So many and great they're grown, That if Justice Scan the score I must perish evermore. 3. Poor I Whether now shall I fly, To be set Liberty, From this depth of Misery? 'Tis not Sea, 'tis not Shore, 'Tis not all the Indian Ore 'Tis not Rome with all her Store That hath Salve to Cure my Sore; Only One can me restore, To that Altar I will siy, There I'll Live, there I'll Die. 4. Save, Save, Mercy, Lord, do I crave, Other refuge none I have, But thy Mercy to implore: Look upon me through the Side That the Spear made so wide: Look on me through Him that dy●d, And for Sin was crucified; Grant his wounds my Sins may hide, And his Blood may cross my score, And I ask but one thing more. 5. Grace, Grace, In my Heart do thou place, That I may run the Race, Which thy Laws do require: Give me Lord I humbly sue Grace to know, Grace to do, Grace that may me so renew, And confirm and perfect too, That when Death shall claim its due, Grace in Glory may expire, This is All my Desire. FINIS. A Catalogue of Books Printed for Tho. Parkhurst at the Bible and Three Crowns in Cheapside. ANnotations upon the Holy Bible, wherein the sacred Text is inserted, and various Readins annexed, together with Parallel Scriptures, the more difficult Terms in each Verse are explained, seeming Contradictions reconciled, Questions and Doubts Resolved, and the whole Text opened; in two Vol. Fol. By the late Reverend and Learned Divine Mr. Mat. Pool. The Christian in complete Armour; or, a Treatise of the Saints War against the Devil, where a discovery is made of that Grand Enemy of God and his People, in his Policy, Power, Seat of his Empire, wickedness and chief Design against the Saints. A Magazine opened, from whence the Christian is furnished with Spiritual Arms for the Battle, helped on with his Armour, taught the use of his Weapon, together with the happy Issue of the whole War. By W. Gurnal M. A. of Emanuel College, sixth Edition, Vol. One Hundred Select Sermons on several Texts of Scripture. By Tho. Horton, D. D. Fol. Sermons and Discourses on several Divine Subjects by the late Reverend and Learned Mr. David Clarkson, B. D. and Fellow of Clare-Hall Cambridge, Fol. A Body of Practical Divinity consisting of above one hundred seventy six Sermons on the lesser Catechism, composed by the Reverend Assembly of Divines at Westminster; with a Supplement of some Sermons on several Texts of Scripture. By Tho. Watson formerly Minister of St. Stephens Walbrook, London, Fol. A Paraphrase on the New Testament, with Notes Doctrinal and Practical, by plainness and brevity, fitted to the Use of Religious Families, in their daily Reading of the Scriptures; and of the Younger and Poorer sort of Ministers, who want fuller helps: With an Advertisement of Difficulties in the Revelation, second Edition Corrected. By the late Reverend Mr. Rich. Baxter. Discourses upon the Rich Man and Lazarus. By Timothy Cruso. Octavo. Redemption of Time, the Wisdom and Duty of Christians in Evil Days. By john Wade Minister at Hammersmith. The Confirming Work of Religion, and its great Things made plain by their Primary Evidences and Demonstrations; whereby the meanest in the Church may soon be made able to render a rational Account of their Faith. By Rob. Fleming, Author of the Fulfilling of the Scriptures. Now Published by Daniel Burgess, the second Edition. A New Creature, or a short Discourse opening the Nature, Properties and Necessity of the great Work of the New Creation upon the Souls of Men, on Gal. 6.15. A Family Altar erected to the Honour of the Eternal God, or a solemn Essay to promote the Worship of God in Private Houses, on Gen. 32.2, 3. Together with the best Entail or Dying Parents loving Hopes for their surviving Children grounded upon the Covenant of Grace, with Believers and their Seed. These two by O. H●ywood. The Gospel Mystery of Sanctification, opened in sundry practical Directions, suited especially to the Case of those who labour under the Gild and Power of Indwelling Sin. To which is added, a Sermon of Justification. By Mr. Walter Marshal late Preacher of the Gospel. The Golden Snuffers, or Christian Reprovers and Reformers, Characterised, Cautioned and Encouraged. A Sermon Preached to the Societies for Reformation of Manners in London, Feb. 15th. 1696. By Daniel Burgess. A sure Guide to Heaven: Or an Earnest Invitation to Sinners to turn to God, in Order to their Eternal Salvation. Showing the thoughtful Sinner what he must do to be Saved. By joseph Allein Minister of the Gospel. A Brief Concordance to the Holy Bible, of the most usual and useful Places, which one may have occasion to seek for. By Sam. Clark, M. A. Jehovah our Righteousness, or the Justification of Believers, by the Righteousness of Christ only 〈◊〉 asserted and applied in several Sermons. By Sam●●● Tomlyn A. M. Minister of the Gospel. A Discourse concerning Old Age, tending to the Instruction, Caution and Comfort of Age● Persons. By Richard Steel, M. A. The Rod, or the Sword▪ the Present Dilemma o● the Nations of ●ngland, Scotland and Ireland, Con●●sidered, Argued, and Improved; in a Discourse from Ezekiel, Chap. 21. Ver. 13.