THE Pilgrim's Viaticum: OR, THE DESTITUTE, but not FORLORN. BEING A DIVINE POEM, Digested from MEDITATIONS UPON THE Holy Scripture.  
By ELIZ. TIPPER.  Oh how love I thy Law! It is my Meditation all the Day, Psal. 119. Ver. 97. 
LONDON: Printed by J. Wilkins, near Fleetstreet; and Sold by the Booksellers of London and Westminster, 1698.   

TO THE Right Honourable and Renownedly Virtuous, THE Lady COVENTRY.  
MADAM,  
THE Corruptions of this Age are so strangely increased and complied with, that few complain of them as Temptations; but, with a Modish Curiosity, rather affect them as things fashionable; so that to rebuke Vice boldly, requires more Courage than our Sex usually pretend to; and not to fall in with it, looks like a piece of Singularity.  
But, thanks be to GOD, that Piety and Virtue have still a good Name in the World; and there are some Illustrious Persons, who, by their great Examples, give them Countenance, and a just Patronage. Hence it is I address Your Ladyship for Sanctuary, knowing, that amidst the Storms and Persecutions of a degenerate Age, my humble Endeavours can meet with no securer Harbour, than under Your Ladyship's Protection.  
I have, in this Essay, presented Your Ladyship with some Consolatory Thoughts, under the uneasy Circumstances of my own Life: This can affect Your Ladyship no otherwise than as You are surrounded with the Contraries; or in that You have nobly conquered those Sorrows, which weaker Minds are forced to labour under all their Days.  
May Heaven continue its Blessings to the Age, by preserving Your Ladyship as the great Luminary of Devotion, and Charity, and the Patroness of all those who, in their Order, practise the same Virtues in Sincerity: Which is the Prayers of,  
MADAM, Your Ladyship's most Humble Obedient, and most Devoted Servant, Elizabeth Tipper.   

In Laudem Dominae ELIZABETHAE TIPPERAE, Divinae Poetioes Studiosae, nec non horum Miscellaneorum Authoris Percellebris.  

LUX tua fulgescat latum diffusa per Orbem,  
O Decus, & Sexûs Gloria Magna tui.  
Dulces scribe modos: Sacris incumbe libellis,  
Dum sis Angelicis Mista Puella Choris.  
Summa petas Nisae: Nobis eris altera Sapph:  
Cantabunt numeros secula sera tuos.  
Dulcia Tipperae resonabunt laudibus Antra  
Parnassi, & Cirrhae concava saxa sacrae.  
Carmina Tipperae doctus laudavit Apollo:  
Musae versiculis obstupuêre tuis.  
Carmina mirata est Tipperae docta Minerva  
Mollia Divinae, Pieridumque Chori.  
Laurea Tipperae porrexit serta Thalia,  
Atque ait," Haec vestris indue Signa Comis.  
" O Tibi quàm dulcis, quàm lucidus ingenii fons!  
" Quantum Divino manat ab Ore melos!  
" Ornamenta gerit Sexus Pius altera: Tipper  
" Ornata est hederis tempora docta sacris.   
Jos. Perkins, A.B.   

Thus Englished:  

THy brighter Lustre doth itself disperse;  
And, like the Sun, inform the Universe:  
Thou, Glory of Thy Sex! Writ, Gharm, and Gain,  
The Angel-Consort by thy Sacred Strain:  
Climb Nisa, MAID, Thou shalt our Sapph be,  
Thy Pious Odes sung by Posterity;  
The pleasing Cells of all inspired Verse,  
Parnassus, Cyrrha, shall Thy Name rehearse:  
By learned Apollo Thou art loved and praised,  
And, at Thy Skill, the Muses stand amazed:  
Minerva and the Pieridian Choir,  
Thy soft and sublime Poetry admire;  
Thalia holds the Lawrel-Garland forth,  
And cries, This Trophy well becomes Thy Worth;  
How sweet's Thy slowing Wit! How pure Thy Hymns!  
With grateful Music store the Seraphims.  
By others of Thy Sex be Topknots worn,  
The Immortal Ivy shall Thy Head adorn.   
John Torbuck, Rector of Lurgershall, Wilts.   

To Mrs. Tipper, on her incomparably Ingenious and Divine Poems.  

HAil! Mirror of thy Sex, in whom we find,  
Resplendent Rays, in your Seraphic Mind,  
Whilst Great JEHOVAH does your Soul inspire,  
And Cherubs sing their Anthems to your Lyre,  
Than you salute, with Bays and Ivy crowned,  
Wreathed by Minerva's Hand, in Mistick round,  
Your Muse proclaim, tuning Immortal Sound;  
Whence Sacred Flights, do Balmy Sweets propose,  
More fragrant far, than Jass'min, or the Rose,  
And your Persuasive Sounds for to rehearse,  
Oblige High Adoration in your Verse;  
For none Oblation pay to Truth's Divine,  
But Reverence own, to those made them sublime;  
For how can Precepts strike obedient Awe,  
Unless imprinted by those made the Law:  
Hence Paul politely Rhetorician plays,  
David allures, with Hymns and Spiritual Lays,  
Consult the Godlike Rules of Levy's Tribe,  
The Heathens Envy, but Religion's Pride,  
In all the Maze of Ignorance you'll see,  
Tradition, Worship raised, to One and Three:  
As these, by God inspired, perpetuate Fame,  
By Pious Acts, and an All-glorious Name;  
So you both Darling of the Powers Above,  
And Muses too, their Mansion of true Love,  
Elected are, their White and Galless Dove;  
What other Ladies writ, is Hate or Ire,  
Or else soft Strains, heated through Passion's Fire,  
Whose Thoughts to wanton Bliss devoted are,  
Whilst Hallowed Rites are your peculiar Care,  
Whose finite Joys, scarce reach a barren Praise,  
When Yours, with Transports, Emulation raise,  
Compared to that, so vast transcendant's this  
Of Theirs and Yours, no more proportion is,  
Than fleeting Joys, of momentary stay,  
To Millions of Millions there in endless Day.  
Go on, blessed Maid, this Galaxy pursue,  
By God's above, decreed alone for you,  
Your beatific Visions, Glory sing,  
Whilst Echoes jocund Acclamations bring,  
And jo-paeans ever, ever ring;  
With rilling Cadence eternize the Nine,  
Indeliable to perishing Fate of Time,  
Till your Translation to the Heavenly Throne,  
Their Hallelujahs sound, to the All-great Three, One.   
W. P. Gent   

To Mrs. Tipper, on her Paraphrastical Poems, upon several Select Passages of Scripture.  

CEase Trumpet, cease, and gentle Stars inspire  
Our long distracted World with nobler Fire,  
Art, Science, Wit, whose Empire War invades,  
Rise with thy Laurel from the Northern Shades,  
While meaner Monarches justle in their Claim,  
Assert thy Right of Universal Fame.  
Thus far propitious Heaven, implored, does yield,  
And to Minerva's Offspring leaves the Field.  
An harder Task my Suppliant Muse does vex,  
While I command, not court, the aspiring Sex,  
Their trifling Glories vanquished to submit,  
Prostrate to this She-Oracle of Wit,  
Whose Sacred Muse in Hallalujahs move,  
To sing and praise the GOD of Peace and Love,  
The modern Wits embroider with a Grace,  
As Prostitutes do an uncomely Face:  
Immodest Themes so bold, with Art so fine,  
And, Wythes like, first rot, before they shine,  
The Laurel he usurps whose least divine,  
Striving to ease our Cares, but cannot please,  
And intermit those Pains they ne'er can ease.  
Such Balm in her Philosophy is found,  
As makes the bitter Cup of Life go round,  
Purled with the Quintessence of Moral Wit,  
Which all that read, may taste, but none can get.  
David, to see his Songs restored from the Dark,  
Rejoiced, as once he did before the Ark,  
And, from the Willows, takes his tuneful Lyre,  
Whilst in her Hand he kindles Sacred Fire,  
By which he did the cruel Saul assuage,  
To quench worse Spirits of our Modern Age.  
What Paul and Seneca in Labours wrote,  
She in her Life has to Perfection brought,  
To keep the Passions in severest Awe,  
Reject Usurping Arbitrary Law,  
And, when no Safety can from Tempest find,  
Retires within the Halcyon of her Mind:  
Thus, ne'er engaging, meets with no defeat,  
But gains a Victory by a wise Retreat.   
A. L. Esquire.   

To Mrs. Tipper, on her Divine Poems.  

AS we are told, That all they do above, 
Cowley.   
Is only that they Sing, and that they Love;  
What wondrous Charms must endless Hymns inspire,  
When the Immortal Songsters of the Choir  
Not even their whole long Eternal Chant can't tyre,  
And the Celestial Muse, whilst all around  
The Ecstasied, continued Raptures sound?  
That honoured Head, what Glories has she given,  
Thus graced, to furnish half the Work of Heaven?  
The Muses, yes, in that Seraphic Sphere,  
Are all Urania's and Apollo there,  
Beneath the Footstool of JEHOVAH's Throne,  
Knelt to a Brighter Sun than was his own.  
If Harmony, with that enlightening Beam,  
Tunes her loud Music to that Mighty Theme,  
Madam, Your MUSE, tho' with a feebler Voice,  
The same High Subject makes her Sacred Choice;  
Tuned to the Great Creator's just Applause,  
That Pen writes best, that from Luke's Pencil draws,  
And 'tis that Poetry does truly shine,  
That Copies from Originals Divine.   
E. S. Gent.   

To Mrs. Tipper, on her Miscellany of Divine Poems.  

AMongst the various Actions of Mankind,  
Rivals in Wit, as well as Love, we find;  
But you, alone, the glorious Prize must gain,  
You merit it by so Divine a Strain;  
Urania is thy Muse, the Heavenly Choir  
Thy Soul with purest Raptures does inspire,  
Chaste as thy Self, and Sacred are thy Rhimes,  
Which, not polluted by corrupting Times,  
Shall make Profaner Scribblers all submit,  
And own thee as the Type of Heavenly Wit;  
Thy Theme and Inspirations from above;  
Heaven is thy Parnassus and thy Love;  
Each rising Thought does with the blushing Morn,  
The Beauties of thy chaster Soul adorn;  
A Harmony in every Line appears,  
Much like the Heavenly Music of the Spheres:  
Phillips and Behn, whose Praise Fame still rehearse,  
In all their Works don't parallel thy Verse,  
Which unto after Ages shall remain,  
And the sweet Odour of thy Worth retain.  
Parnassus is but low, thy flighty Soul,  
Her Head above that Mountain does Extol,  
The Mystic Scite of Heaven is thy Aim,  
Celestial LOVE, not Carnal, is thy Theme,  
Tho' the most Nice of Critics do combine,  
They cannot Damn a thing that's so Divine.   
John halum.   

To Mrs. Eliz. Tipper, on her Superexcellent Miscellany of Divine Poems.  
Gratior est Virtus e corpore pulchro veniens.  

HAd Herbert, Quarles, or other Sacred Pen,  
These Meditations tuned, Encomiums than  
Were but just Tributes to the Work Divine;  
But since thy Lips the Verses more refine,  
Celestial Hymns should sound before thy Shrine.  
What shall I say in such a spacious Field,  
Where th' meanest Shrubs large Contemplations yield;  
Thy Wit's Refined, thy Theme, as Heaven, Sublime,  
Each Breathing Accent makes a Clouse Divine.  
Oft I have seen, like Parrots in a Cage,  
Men Prate by Rote, upon the public Stage,  
Tell this and that, and Precepts largely Preach,  
Tho' few, like thee, by tried Experience Teach:  
Experienced Knowledge, Mistress of True Art,  
In Sweetest Lays thou dost to us impart.  
Go on,  Maid, thy Virtues still renew,  
Whilst in thy Lines at once we clearly view,  
Minerva and the Beauteous Venus too.   Many Daughters have done virtuously, but thou excellest them all, Prov. 31.29. 
E. Steele.   

On the Holy Bible.  

NOT mortal Wit, but blest Aetherial Fire,  
Assist me, and my sacred Muse inspire;  
My Subject's greater than those Glories all,  
That glister in the splendour of Earth's Ball:  
Sceptres and Crowns fall much below my Theme,  
And Heroes warlike Deeds are but a Dream:  
No Ecstasy of Lovers soft Delight,  
But of the Oracles of God I writ.  
Shall I, with reverence, strive to show the worth?  
Alas! 'tis not for Clay to set it forth.  
All that the largest Soul on Earth can crave,  
Within this sacred Volume they may have:  
This is Perfections Clew, by whose blessed guide  
Full Streams of Joys divine for ever tide,  
Where each distrusting Soul may swim with ease,  
In all the blissful Billows that can please:  
The Learned may on choicest Knowledge feed;  
The Ignorant of greatest Wisdom speed:  
The Poorest, here see vaster Riches shine  
Than sparkle in the Spaniards golden Mine:  
Here wearied Souls a sweeter Rest does crown,  
Than Bodies on the softest Beds of Down;  
And troubled Minds find Peace in larger measure,  
Than Ages give in Halcyon Days of Pleasure:  
The Sad with more exalted Joys be filled,  
Than all the Mirth of this vain World can yield:  
Through Faith in These the Weak are Stronger made,  
Than Giants which the World with Arms invade;  
Wisdom, Strength, Riches, Joys, Rest, Peace abound,  
And all the Good of Life in Them is found.  
How vain is She that seeks for Comfort, Lord,  
In any thing, but in Thyself and Word,    

Some Experimental Passages of my LIFE, with Reflections upon Jacob 's Words, Few and Evil have the days of the years of my Life been.  

'TIs strange that he Unborn, ere he saw Light,  
Destined a Victor, and Heaven's Favourite,  
Should almost at the Period of his Age,  
Give this relation of his Pilgrimage,  
Yet 'tis not strange, since mortal Life we see  
No more from Sorrow than from Death is free.  
My Life the assertion much has verified,  
From Part to Part, by sad Experience tried,  
In all my Undertake still been crossed,  
And like a Ball from hand to hand been tossed.   

Five Years i'th' Prime of all my Youth I spent,  
Recluse as 'twere from the World, in Banishment:  
And Hermit like in all things did I dwell,  
An uncouth Cottage serving for my Cell;  
For several Days and Nights sometimes been driven  
To Silence, save the Words I spoke to Heaven.  
My constant Visits Fields and Woods received,  
Who at my oft resorting never grieved;  
But bounteously with Sunshine, Air, and Shade,  
Their frequent Visitant still happy made;  
One dear and courteous Tree, above the rest,  
Did oft invite me to become her Guest;  
Upon her root I hourly sat, and Read,  
Her towering Branches sheltering my Head;  
And when I Kneeled, the kind officious Grass,  
The verdant Covering of my Cushion was.  
The like  have Hedges to me born,  
And distant Furrows of the growing Corn:  
To this the Evening oft hath met my Fast,  
And Tears the longest day been my Repast:  
Yet these Afflictions, Lord, more Joy I own,  
Than have the Vicious, who possess a Throne:  
Nor can I at a Flood of Tears repine,  
Till I forget that Bloody Sea of Thine.  
O grant me Resignation till I see  
How 'tis Thy Pleasure to dispose of me.   

My Penance now seemed something to abate,  
And glimmering Beams of Sunshine dart from Fate:  
Two of my greatest Wants at once supplied,  
EMPLOYMENT and SOCIETY beside:  
My Happiness. this large Addition found,  
New Joys with Honourable Friendship crowned.  
No more my Brow contracted now appears,  
Nor Eyeballs fretted Red with Briny Tears:  
Save when in Penitence and Care I mourned,  
That GOD's withdrawing Beams might be returned   

This Sunshine Fortune did not long remain,  
Ere 'twas eclipsed by a dark Cloud again:  
My Comforts severed by that Unseen Hand,  
Which Prosperous and Adverse Fate both command.   

Then, by the Counsel of a real Friend,  
I am advised my Precious Time, to spend  
No more in a poor Village, but repair  
To a City, try the Smiles of Fortune there.  
What this may signify, 'tis GOD best knows;  
My Fortune ever Ebbs, but never Flows.  
The Wicked, Careless, Foolish; all I see,  
Her Kindness have, which is denied to me:  
'Tis so, Great GOD, and to it I submit,  
And all things else Thy Wisdom shall think sit.  
This only thing I beg, while I have Breath,  
Grant me an HONEST LIFE and HAPPY-DEATH.    

MEDITATION I.  Rejoicing in Hope, Patiented in Tribulation, continuing instant in Prayer. Rom. 12. ver. 12. 

HOW do I Read and Marvel; Read again,  
And wonder at St. Paul's Inspired Pen,  
That in One Verse could such a Sermon write,  
And so much Duty in few Words recite.  
O that my Practice his Three Precepts wrought,  
As Undivided as the Mind and Thought.  
What Tribulation is there could suppress  
The Living Flames of hoped for Happiness,  
Which rises with an unresisted Sway,  
Breaks out in Light, and forces Night to Day;  
Tramples the Clouds of Darkness, new assumes  
The Towering Seat, and Sadness quite consumes:  
Or, if the gnawing Grief of Discontent,  
Seemed, for a while, to keep in Banishment,  
This Bliss of universal great Support,  
PATIENCE Invincible would guard the Fort;  
No struggling Sorrow ere could make a Breach,  
The Feuds of Grief might to my Spirits reach;  
But as a Rock Unmoved should I remain,  
See the Waves come, dash, and fall back again  
In scattered Pieces to their furious Main.  
Lastly, the Complication, Spring, and Crown  
Of these high Blessings, and the rest, come down  
By (the unequalled) Benefit of PRAYER,  
Which Sues, Prevails, and Binds our Maker's Care;  
This locked the Heavens Three Years from giving Rain;  
And This brought Showers, unlocking them again.  
This quenched the Fire; when, by their Aiding GOD,  
Three Men, through Flames, the burning Pavement trod  
This did a Life from Hungry Lions save,  
And made their Mouths a Guard, designed a Grave,  
So calmed their Fury, hushed their Rage so still,  
They did not look like things designed to kill.  
Blessed DUTY! of Divinest Insluence,  
I love, adore, and choose thy Excellence:  
By Thee the Series of my Minutes can  
Find Solid Joys in this my Weary Span.  
Had I all Pleasure's Earth could give beside,  
They'd want a Charm, were thy Delights denied:  
For, Glittering Riches, or the Sound of Fame,  
Accomplished Parts, and an Illustrious Name,  
Are all but Outward Things, far from Content,  
Without the Hours in dear DEVOTION spent.  
Give me but This, the True, and Perfect Way,  
Let Them disperse to whom, and where They may.   

Can Flesh with Purity Enlivened be,  
Made, like the Spirit, Vigorous and Free;  
In these Sublime Delights I should not care,  
But for the Practice and Effects of PRAYER.  
O for a Strength of PRAYER to mount my Soul,  
In Raptures far above the Starry Pole:  
So Winged my soaring Flight should never tyre,  
Till I sat down to Rest in the Eternal Choir.    

MEDITATION II.  Who went about Doing Good, Acts 10.38. 

WHen the great Lord of Life on earth was placed,  
(Whom wicked men with Cavelty disgraced  
And with Rebellious Fury shed his Blood)  
His Conversation was in Doing Good.  
Raise up, dear Lord, my Sin depressed State,  
This Pattern of Thy Life to Imitate:  
As for the Miracles Thy Power expressed,  
In Healing those by Devils long possessed;  
Making the Blind to See, the Dumb to Talk,  
The Lepers, Clean; the Lame, with Vigour, Walk.  
I beg not to Do These; these Works I own  
To Thee peculiar, and Thy Saints alone.  
Nor dare my humble Thoughts a Wish aspire,  
For these High Gifts to be at my Desire;  
But I Initiated was to be  
A True and Lively Follower of Thee:  
And, as for all Mankind Thou sheddest thy Blood;  
So I was Born to Live in Doing Good.  
Nor must I say my Hindrances are  
Beyond the Power of Religious Care:  
What tho' thou hast not lent me Wealth to be  
Thy Faithful Steward, Dole my Cbarity  
And with Extensive Bounty, at my Door,  
Act daily Goodness on the Suffering Poor;  
Whilst Thy High Pleasure for my Lot ordains,  
That Poverty my willing Hands restrains.  
What tho' I do want Power to Help, Relieve,  
The Oppressed who injured by Injustice grieve;  
And what tho' no proud Honour deck my Brow:  
A Station High to make me seen below,  
So Seen that Leading of a Life Divine,  
Might stand a Pattern to make Virtue shine;  
Tho' neither Wealth, nor Honour, nor Power are  
Allotted or Permitted to my Share.  
By all these Fetters and these Checks withstood,  
Am I denied the Means of Doing Good?  
Ah no! restrain my Thoughts from thinking this;  
Since thou knowst best, what most Convenient is:  
Make me a Christian inwardly conformed  
To all these Sufferings which the Cross adorned;  
From this world's Pleasure and Affection hurled,  
And Live by other Light, as in another world,  
With different Principles, Proceed new;  
Virtue Embrace, Folly and Vice Eschew:  
My Precious Time in no vain Pleasure waste;  
But have for Spiritual Things another Taste,  
Show my Obedience, in the highest Nature,  
And sole Dependence on my Blessed Creator;  
With true Submission meekly take all Crosses,  
And have a Relish for Contempts and Losses;  
Pleased only with a Life of Faith, and then  
'Slight all the Mockeries of Worldly Men,  
Who Judge not but by Sense; or, at the most,  
By Human Reason, too much to their Cost.  
This Suffering Life in real Practice shown,  
Can be to me Wealth, Honour, and a Crown:  
No more I need not ask to Bless my Days,  
Or cast a Lustre on my Gloomy Ways;  
To make a shining Light at once to be,  
Example to others, and safe Guide to me.  
Lord, let not this be only Barren Thought,  
But to Maturer Growth of Action brought.    

MEDITATION II.  Fret not thyself, because of the Ungodly; neither be thou envious against the Evil Doers, Psalm 37.1. 

TO see the Wicked in a Prosperous State,  
Surrounded with the Happiness of Fate;  
Their Humours pleased, their Undertake Blessed;  
Their Pains Successful, and their Goods Increased;  
Their Pleasures flowing, as their Vices are;  
And Minds disburdened of all other Care:  
So far am I from Envying at this Sight;  
Or Grudging, that I would not, if I might,  
For all the Treasures in Rich Ophir's Soil,  
Even for their Happiness exchange my Toil:  
Their best Enjoyments Poor and Empty are;  
And all their Pleasure but a Flattering Snare;  
Their Prime Felicities in Folly's past,  
And Joys which like declining Shadows wast  
Thus Swift in Vanity from Virtue stray;  
And to Destruction gaily March away:  
Then comes the Terror of approaching Death,  
They must Resign their discontinuing Breath;  
Tortured to Think upon a Mournful Knell,  
And Racked with Horror at the Thoughts of Hell:    

MEDITATION IU.  Thou art about my Path, and about my Bed, and spyest out all my Ways, etc. Psalms, 139. ver. 2.3 

THere is no Path of Life, in which I go:  
But what thou viewst, & every Step dost know  
If in the Way of Virtue I go on,  
Immediately its, by Thy Wisdom, known.  
Nor dost thou Unrewarded let me pass,  
But Crownest with Benefits my Running Glass  
And, if deluded from this happy Way  
Of Virtue, I erroneous go astray  
Into the privatest closest Path of Sin,  
I presently perceive Thee Looking in;  
And with thy Glance dost strike me with a Terror  
Of future Judgements for my Sinful Error:  
In vain do I endeavour to conceal,  
What thy Allseeing Eye must needs reveal:  
My Heart has not retired secret Thought,  
But openly is to thy Knowledge brought:  
Nor does a Word through my whole Life, though ne'er  
So softly Whispered, scape thy Righteous Ears.  
O let me, with Humility, admire  
This great Omniscience, and no more desire  
The dark Perverseness of a Sinful Course;  
Since thou discoverest All; and, what is worse,  
Condemn'st it to the Miserable State  
Of Hell's great Torment, and thy endless Hate.    

MEDITATION V.  If ye love me, keep my Commandments, Joh. 14.15. 

MUst there an IF be made for Loving thee,  
In whom the Mirror of Perfections be;  
Fairer than Light thy Charming Beauties shine,  
No Angel's Form was ever so Divine:  
Never did Prince of such an Offspring come,  
Nor Lover like thee suffer Martyrdom:  
An Angel's Quill I want to write the Story  
Of thy great Passion, High Descent, and Glory:  
But stopped with Wonder, now I would say most,  
My Ravished Soul is in a Rapture lost:  
Who should I Love but thee, where can I find  
An Object like thee to inflame my Mind.  
Should any Fellow-creature ask me this,  
Love you the Mighty Lord of Life and Bliss?  
I should injuriously the Question take,  
In such a case, should they a scruple make,  
And, in a vehement Heat, be apt to cry  
Judge of my Love, by what I now reply,  
He is the only Regent of my Heart,  
I scorn the Rival that should claim a part:  
Confined in a Loan Desert, I could be,  
Having an Intercourse 'twixt him and me:  
The want of Food I could contented bear,  
So I might have but my Beloved near:  
I'd wander all my Life through Sun and Wind,  
In Tears, if Tears alone, my Dear could find;  
Compared to him, my Friends, Relations, Birth,  
Each, all I hate, all that is dear on Earth:  
My Blood I'll spend, and Life will Sacrifice  
For his dear Honour, which I so much prize.  
These great Pretensions would be apt to skip  
From my most passionate unwary Lip;  
But thou hast tried me at an easier Hand,  
By bidding of me keep thy Blessed Command;  
In which no rigid Task thou dost impose,  
Or least true Satisfaction bid me lose,  
Love God, and Love my Neighbour, Watch and Pray  
Oh! Can I wish in these to disobey?  
What can be easier, sweeter, less severe;  
Or, to my Mind more rational appear?  
Pleasing while I perform, and in th' event,  
Of Happiness the certain Consequent.  
Oh let me show I these Commands approve,  
And by my keeping of them dearly Love.    

MEDITATION VI.  Set your Affections on things above, Çol. 3.1. 

ALas! Dull Earth, where can I place on thee  
Affection and one moment happy be;  
I've viewed thee through, I've minded all events  
Of Worldly Grosses, and its Blandishments;  
And as the first by few can be desired,  
The last as little is to be admired:  
One is a Thorny Trouble, still perplexing,  
Tother an Empty Show, and therefore vexing:  
Experimenting Both, I too well tried,  
Grosses vexed, and Pleasures never satisfied:  
This made my Thoughts damp, liveless, sad & slow,  
Each Minute tiresome while they stayed below;  
And wearied much into Impatience grew,  
Till they left Earth, and up with vigour flew,  
Then soaring in all true Delights above,  
I quickly found where I might fix my Love;  
Perceiving Bliss which never met control,  
And Satisfaction Solid as the Soul;  
A Joy so great, untrifling, and so blest,  
If I might in the Meditation rest,  
I ne'er should Love a Thought of Earth again,  
More than a Fit of Sickness or of Pain:  
For nothing less I contemplate and See,  
Than the vast Joys of large Eternity:  
Contenting Vision! how may I possess  
For ever, ever this dear Happiness,  
There's no way to it, but the Gates of Death,  
The dolorous Pangs of an extinguished Breath.  
But why should this so terrible appear;  
Or, either my Aversion move or Fear,  
I know it's this must that Advantage bring,  
O Frightful Ghastly Death where is thy Sting?  
O Conquering Grave where is thy Victory,  
When even the vanquished triumph, & through thee,  
Lies our Ascent to vast Eternity.    

MEDITATION VII.  
On Isaiah 5. ver. 1.2.  

HO every One almost to Drought accursed,  
Who Famish with the cruelty of Thirst,  
Come, drink ye Waters freely, take your fill,  
Refresh yourselves with Plenty, drink at will:  
Here's Milk that gives a Nourishment divine,  
Not only Heart, but here's Soul cheering Wine.   

A Prophet calls, and gives you this Advice,  
'Tis Purchased without Money, without Price;  
Why spend you Money for what is not Bread,  
When here you may with Delicates be fed.    

On John Baptist being Painted in the Wilderness with a Lamb by him, and Angels descending to him.  

THE Sun's my Fire, as well as Light,  
The Moon and Stars my Lamps at Night;  
Springs are my Cellars of choice Wine,  
A desert's Parlour where I dine.  
The Rocks and Woods my Dainties give,  
On Locusts I and Honey live;  
This Lambs my Guest when ere I eat,  
Who equal with me takes his seat;  
My Garments of the Flocks I take,  
And on the Earth my Bed I make:  
Voluptuous Greatness I think base,  
My Company's of Heavenly Race.  
O happy Life! from nauseous Pleasures free,  
And from distracting Cares, blest should I be  
Were I t' enjoy Mine in a state like Thee.    

On Herodias Daughter being Painted with the Head of John Baptist in a Charger, giving it to her Mother.  

SEE, dearest Mother, what my Charms has caught,  
And to your hand a welcome Present brought,  
The powerful Tongue that, at a Breath before,  
Shook our whole Grandeur, now shall speak no more;  
Nor stern, nor threatening does this Brow appear,  
Whose Look was wont to cast a Dread and Fear;  
As my Adorer, Languishing he lies,  
Imploring Favour from my kill Eyes;  
Vanquished by me alone, and quite suppressed,  
Now undisturbed does in my Arms take Rest.  
Augment my Joys with yours, which else will fade,  
Whilst here the Hermit I've a Courtier made.   

Blessed Martyr, is it thus; the Impious scoff,  
The Tyrant at a word thy Life cuts off:  
Hard case, so great a Prophet living stands  
A Sacrifice to Wanton Feet and Bloody Hands:  
No matter, let them play their Rigorous Part,  
Thou hadst the Blow, but they must feel the Smart;  
They have sent thee from a World wretched & friendless,  
To dwell with Joys unspeakable & endless    

To a Young Lady that desired a Verse of my being Servant one Day, and Mistress another.  

MORE than a King's my Word does rule to day,  
His Subjects His, my Betters Mine obey;  
Quality, Fortune, Beauty, Virtue, Wit,  
Do Govern others, but to me Submit:  

* I teach Ladies Writing and Accounts one day, and keep Shop-Books the other day, in which Business I am a hired Servant.  To morrow from this Dignity I fall,  
And am a Servant at each Beck and Call:  
Next Day I'm free in Liberty and Power,  
And, as before, a Mistress every Hour.   

Changeable is my State, and yet not strange,  
When Day to Night, and Light to Darkness change:  
Yet Fate I cannot blame, but justly own,  
She, in this Difference, Evenness hath shown;  
For when I'm Mistress, none I can Command,  
When Servant, curbed by no Imperious Hand:  
This is a Riddle, yet ne'er wonder why,  
When all the World's a Riddle, why not I?    

On REPUTATION.  

BRight Object, whom each Mortal courts to have,  
From the great Caesar, to the humble Slave;  
From Virtue's Sons to Vices blacker Brood,  
From Hypocrites to those sincerely Good,  
Who pays not Vows to thy most glorious Shrine,  
Who does not Idolise that Name of thine;  
The Wise and Pious commonly declare,  
That much before their Life they thee prefer:  
The Prostigate, who takes a senseless Pride  
In being base, his Skill has often tried,  
In thy blessed Shade his Ulcerous Name to hid.  
Since thou art so adored, what can I do,  
But own I am thy great Admirer too?  
Yet, fair One, give me leave before my Love  
With too much Passion six, first to prove,  
If thou hast Blessings true, as those above.   

I fear thou art of a mutable Degree,  
Weak and defenceless, quickly apt to flee,  
Should I place all my Joys in thee alone,  
Keep all my Actions fair, that not in one  
A Blemish could be found; yet this would be  
A small Assurance of possessing thee,  
For Censure and Opinion have their swing,  
Ill Tongues and bad Belief out-reign a King:  
All as they speak or think, their Fame or Faith,  
Good or bad Names are still but Popular Breath:  
Excuse me therefore, since all this is true,  
If I refuse to set my Heart on you.    

SECURITY.  

'TIs not in Princes or Superiors Smiles,  
Profound Contrivance or ingenious Wiles,  
In boundless Riches or the shining Flame  
Of a dear sweet and odoriferous Name,  
'Tis not by these rare Pleasures we can be  
Placed in the Orb of fixed Security.  
Transient and vain these tempting Charms have proved,  
To those who sought them most, and most have loved,  
And the true Blessing of a Life secure  
Is never found but in a Conscience pure,  
Whose choicer Wisdom with improving Skill,  
Strives Strictly to Obey her Maker's Will;  
Regarding That, can Calmly o'er and o'er  
Take Frowns from the same Brow that smiled before;  
Think Riches are but transitory things  
Which take uncertain Flights with spreading Wings;  
And, with an Intellectual View, despise  
The Bubbling Show of Worldly Policies;  
See a good Name lie in the stabbing Smart,  
Without the Terrors of a troubled Heart;  
And with all Earthly Treasure let that go,  
'Slight as the Dust, if GOD will have it so,  
For 'tis his inward Joy which crowns the Mind,  
More than in all these outward things we find:  
Possessed of which we are securely blest,  
Whatever does become of all the rest.    

To Employ Fear and Hate.  

ASsist, great GOD, this Work which I begin,  
Turn my frail Passions, Fear and Hate, at Sin;  
Let me not know what 'tis to use my Fear,  
Except the danger of a Sin appear;  
Then timorous, shivering, flying, let me get  
Into the Guards of virtue's safe retreat,  
Immured within, whose Sacred Bounds I'd be  
Fearful to Think, to Speak, to Hear, or See,  
Aught that relates to this grand Enemy;  
No Parley would I have, no soft Debate,  
No Passion, but my never-ending Hate,  
Hate! whose Aversion all Revenge excelled,  
By no Example yet e'er paralleled,  
Free and perpetual on this Object spent,  
Without an inclination to relent,  
Desist or cease; no, not with Life to end,  
Nor Time nor Heaven's possession: But ascend  
And Reign within that glorious Orb, while I  
Retain it there to all Eternity:  
Thus, when Sin only shall the Object prove  
Of my fixed Hate, 'tis GOD has all my Love.    

On SUNDAY.  

MOst blissful Day, 'tis for your kind return,  
My highest Wishes do in Fervour burn;  
You bring such heavenly Sweetness with your Rest,  
As if in you alone all Time were blest;  
The other Days with loaded Care abound,  
Earth's Service drives the heavy Circle round,  
And dully fix their Aspect on the Ground:  
Your heavenly Looks reach that amazing Throne,  
Which yours and my great Maker's seated on;  
Never, but upward, your aspiring Head  
Tends with a Look: And so my Soul you lead  
In such delicious Joys, that, when you are gone,  
I still anticipate and reckon on,  
How long before you come again; how near  
The Times expired; when, when will you appear?  
At your first dawn my Heart dilated lies,  
In the content of Divine Ecstasies,  
Exempt from Sorrow, only that I see  
Those precious Moment's do too swiftly flee.  
But after this vast Joy, when Night comes on,  
And I reflect how near the Sabbath's gone,  
For all the Pleasure was so great and true,  
'Tis with a bitter Sigh I part from you:  
Yet though, great Day of Blessings, all sublime,  
You fly, like others, on the Wings of Time,  
No special Favour of a Minute's stay  
Can be prolonged more than another Day;  
But swift, as Hurry, are your Moment's spun,  
And of the common Sand your Glass does run;  
Your Property will change, when I shall have  
Passed one dark Walk to the other side o'th' Grave,  
Then to an everlasting Sabbath I  
Shall be received with endless Ecstasy.    

On Directions to know how to Act Fortunately.  

Feign would I know each day what I should choose,  
What Undertaking I had best refuse;  
I'd have an Art, that all that I forsook,  
Should make all prosperous which I undertook;  
I'd miss to act those Days of ill Events,  
And meet with none but Fortune's sweet Centents;  
I'd know the Minute critical and rare  
Should fill my Wishes all, and crown my Care:  
Some kind Thought tell me how I may possess  
This mighty great desired Happiness;  
Shall I consult the Stars, and read the Sky,  
Grow perfect Mistress of Astrology,  
Know all the Planets and their influence,  
When 'tis they good and when they ill dispense,  
Thus guide my Life, thus steer my Course, and be  
Informed beforehand what the Fates decree;  
To guide my Life with this, Lord, did I say?  
Alas! I know it is a foolish Way:  
Thy Word instructs me, that I can nor must  
Repose in none but thee alone my Trust.  
Why should I like a Heathen then rely  
Upon the Signs and Aspects of the Sky,  
Upon a Babbling Fortune-teller's Skill,  
Or Wonders from the Wise Stargazer's Quill?  
I fly, but envy not their best Perfection,  
And covet only Thy Divine Direction;  
If 'tis my Fate I must sustain a Loss,  
Give me Submission to receive the Gross,  
And, like a Christian, bear it, and adore  
Him, who, for me, the bloody Gross has boar.  
If Disappointments must my Hours attend,  
Raise but my Thoughts to Thee, they're at an end.  
What shall I value here can hit or miss,  
When Heaven alone contains my boundless Bliss?  
If a short Life must make my frail Days few,  
An endless Being sooner will ensue;  
And all I care for here, is only what  
May make me fit and well-prepared for that.  
If a long Life is for my Lot assigned,  
In which the Smiles of Fortune I shall find,  
The Benefit of both can only be  
In Dedicating me and mine to Thee:  
O teach me so to manage all my Days,  
That unto Thee I may direct my Ways,  
Thou whose Almighty Goodness brings to pass  
All Happiness that ever is or was.    

A THOUGHT.  

TO some remote and melancholy Wood,  
Where Trees in growth and nearness do combine,  
The Sun in all his Forces never could  
Peep through the Branches they so closely twine.   

In this obscure Shade fain would I get,  
From all the World, my Friends as well as Cares,  
While some sweet Vision blest the kind retreat,  
And pitying looked upon my Sighs and Tears.   

Against a Tree my weary Head should lie,  
And on my panting Heart be placed my Hand,  
My Sighs, devoutly piercing, cut the Sky,  
While of my LORD I humbly this demand.   

O be thou pleased to let me know, I am  
In thy dear Favour, ●●ough with Grief oppressed,  
And that vile Sin shall ne'er expose to shame,  
Or stop me in the Paths to Heavenly Rest:   

And that I shall the World in Justice leave,  
Rendering to every one their Righteous due,  
When I am gone my Memory may receive  
The blessed Character of Just and True.   

And that the Time shall joyfully expire,  
Wherein I am to breathe and speak my last:  
And being possessed of this, which I desire,  
Called up to Heaven, and leave the Earth in haste.    

The DISCOURAGEMENT.  

IF Fate unprosperous on our Gares attend,  
We striving hope, and nothing still does mend;  
This very thing, Affliction magnifies,  
By pouring in a store of Enemies;  
For not the Bad alone, but Virtuous too,  
Give frequent Wounds, to augment our greater Woe,  
If they themselves have not successless lain,  
By Fortune's Gift or their Industrious Pain.  
Blind or Forgetful, what's the Power that makes  
A Disproportion, as it gives or takes?  
Believe the Structure of all Luck did rear  
On their great Forecast and assiduous Cate;  
And never Person suffered Indigence,  
But what from their own Folly did commence,  
Through want of Wit, or stock of Negligence.  
This I have heard averred: And so they blame  
Deep Poverty, and make it guilty Shame;  
A thousand Slights to the sad Case attends,  
From all our near and much professed Friends:  
Most mighty Sorrow! doubled o'er and o'er!  
How ponderous is this Load, that must be boar?  
'Tis truly so: But since Heaven thought it good  
Such Accidents should come to Flesh and Flood,  
There's an Example left us how to bear,  
Without too much Dejection or Despair,  
As your Lord did: Strive you to do the same,  
Endure the Cross, despising all the Shame.    

Of LOVE.  

O Thou blessed Native of Celestial Joy,  
Which not our Peace but Malice dost destroy,  
Making us Wise, Just, Merciful and Pure,  
Slow to Revenge, and patiently endure,  
Till with soft Blessings we o'ercome and draw  
Tyrannic Foes by LOVE into an awe;  
'Tis not thy Heavenly Rays which I reject,  
Or spare to honour with Divine Respect:  
But here's a racking Passion, which lays claim  
To the blessed Title of thy glorious Name,  
I cannot call it New, nor Counterfeit,  
Though falsely it assumes and plays the Cheat;  
For it was old Thousands of Years ago,  
And acts with certain Fate all Ages know:  
Whence it derives, no Mortal yet can tell,  
Yet all aver they know it too too well,  
Like some enchanting, common Miracle;  
Where e'er it came, I find it is, at best,  
The Grand Disturber of all Human Rest;  
And therefore well avoided, if an Art  
Or Power there be to keep it from the Heart;  
As such I hope there is, which makes me say,  
Charming Seducer! strive not to betray  
One peaceful Minute of my Rest away;  
No Folly quote, to make a fair Excuse,  
The Wisest may be pleased with the Abuse;  
For I have heard, when Reason was perplexed,  
Her Sovereign sent her to peruse a Text  
Charged upon Life and Death, this plain Direction,  
To mortify inordinate Affection:  
If then, thou great Enchanter, with thy Wiles,  
Deluding Pleasures and bewitching Smiles,  
Hast one, or more, or many Souls, ensnared,  
Forgetting this great Duty to regard,  
So suffered thee to tie the enthralling Chains,  
Which brought and fixed intolerable Pains,  
And now if they the Indies did possess,  
Twice doubled o'er would give it for release;  
My chief Assistance, in their sad Despair,  
Shall be this Short but Charitable Prayer,  
That in the Torments of this Fatal Fire,  
When combating with overstrong Desire,  
They do from every Worldly Succour fly,  
And upon Heavenly Grace alone rely,  
No other Refuge seek, or Means approve,  
To expel the Fury of Resistless LOVE.    

On the sudden Return of Fair Wether, after much Wind, Cloudiness and Rain.  

SOL Banished, or Withdrawn, the mournful Sky  
Is hardly seen without a weeping Eye;  
And from her melancholy Face she pours,  
On the dejected Earth, her Tears by Showers;  
And dismal Sighs in Storms of Winds did break,  
Screecht through the Globe, and made the Houses shake;  
The Ground seemed chilled with Sadness in a State  
of Grief, that did its Nature macerate:  
From Day to Day no sign of change, but worse,  
Looked rather settled in a hopeless Course:  
Yet in the little space of one short Night,  
The Tide is turned, and all things altered quite;  
The Sky so clouded is serenely clear,  
The SUN in his full Lustre does appear,  
And as he downward cast his Rays, the while  
The new-healed Earth sent up a joyful Smile:  
I saw it as I walked, and could not choose,  
But at the sudden Alteration muse,  
And think within myself, Thou, LORD, who now  
Hast, in a trice, dispelled from Nature's Brow,  
A Cloud of Sorrow; hast the same Power still  
To help all Grievances, when 'tis thy Will:  
Oft have I almost staggered in my Gare,  
But Thou art Mercy, LORD, what should I fear.    

On THANKSGIVING.  

IN the Abyss of Sorrow, dark and deep,  
Where heavy Mortals drouze but cannot sleep,  
Racked with an agonizing Grief, I lay,  
My Heart all Pulse, my Flesh distempered Clay;  
Myself no more myself, my Thoughts all were,  
Through Terrors great, near Borderers on despair;  
None but black Minutes did on me attend,  
No Breath I fetched, but did in Sighs ascend;  
And while my Time thus dismally did waste,  
Methoughts all Hopes of better Things was passed:  
So run the Night of Trouble, but the Morrow  
Succeeds with Joy, that equalled all my Sorrow;  
Out of the Pit of this Affliction, I  
Am carried to a Spacious Liberty;  
Comfort, like Walls, my Residence surround;  
Comfort, the Voice and Echo all resound:  
My Prayers, which just before in begging mourned,  
To Joyful Praises, for the Grant, is turned:  
What shall I render, how shall I extol  
The uplifting of my Heart, recovery of my Fall;  
Shall it suffice to Celebrate one Day?  
Not the whole seven the Acknowledgement can pay?  
A larger Stock of Gratitude I crave,  
That on my Heart this MERCY Heaven engrave;  
Beyond the Race of Time, and Fortune's Lot,  
With glad Remembrance ne'er to be forgot.    

Observation on the Life of Epictetus.  

POor Epictetus, born the Slave of Fate,  
Unparalleled for abject mean Estate,  
Rapt in a Cloud of unkind Fortune's Jars,  
And Destiny that seemed to have no Stars;  
Dark as the Eye of Chance, which some call blind,  
Obscure from Light in all things but his Mind,  
Which was enriched with Faculties could reach  
The rarest things Philosophy did teach;  
Yet by Laborious Burdens bathed in Sweats,  
He every Day must Earn the Bread he eats;  
But he the Envy of his Fate beguiles,  
And for her rigorous Frowns gives pleasing Smiles,  
Contentment plained and smoothed, each step was rough  
And in his Wants still made him rich enough,  
Set him above the Top of Fame's Renown,  
And higher than the Envy of a Crown,  
More happy than the Miser, whose proud Share  
Of Wealth is equalled with a Load of Care:  
Thus lived he free, brisk, satisfied and gay,  
As if, for Earth, he scorned to throw away  
A single Wish; and, as he studied, said,  
My Thoughts, just now my present State have laid  
In view, and, as I look, this I behold,  
In my Condition I am Poor and Old,  
And Happy therefore, knowing 'tis the best,  
Because the GOD'S have chose it from the rest,  
To give it me; their Wisdom cannot err,  
And I the Gift before all things prefer.  
O wondrous Kertue in a Heathen Man!  
With what Impatience, with what Face then can  
A Christian murmur sorrow or repine,  
That reads this vast Humility of thine?  
But who, alas! retains a peaceful Thought,  
More than by Heaven's Diviner Hand is wrought?  
Heaven is the Giver and Preserver too  
Of every spark of good we think or do.    

Observation on the Life of Joab.  

WIth ghastly Grief this Man of War I see,  
His Noble Deeds and Sad Catastrophe;  
Who can at first but fall into Confusion,  
To trace his Life and see the strange Conclusion?  
Permit then, with Compassion, I may Write,  
While I his Actions and his Fate Recite,  
Few ever with more Loyalty adored  
The Interest of a Loved and Sovereign Lord,  
And, as an Omen of Heroic Glory;  
We find it mentioned in the Sacred Story,  
Heaven and his King did trust in him repose,  
For of great Israel he was General chose,  
And he a Reverence too to both did pay,  
In the auspicious and victorious Day,  
When Syria's Host before him fled away.  
These Cares and Dangers and the Victory still,  
Seem small to please his Royal Master's Will,  
For when in Sin he asked him to combine,  
With too fond readiness he straight did join,  
And poor Uriah falls by the Design;  
To Rabbah Ammon's Royal City than  
He leads the Bands of his undaunted Men,  
Where soon the Potent Foes in Strength decline,  
Their weakened Army's ready to resign  
Their Post, their Arms, Themselves and Magazine:  
He to his Lord in haste the News expressed:  
See, Rabbah yields! Come thou and do the rest.  
The City of Springs I have already ta'en,  
Take thou the Royal City, that thy Fame  
May make it called by thine and not my Name.  
Then, to complete the Pleasure of his Soul,  
He did by Wile the Rule of State control,  
To fetch his Darling Absolom from Exile,  
For whom the Indulgent. Father pined the while;  
And when this Charming Youth with flattery stole  
The Hearts of Israel, Joab's constant Soul  
Defies the Treason, as a thing abhorred,  
And never left the Service of his LORD,  
Till even, against his own express Commands,  
He David's Shield and Israel's Champion stands,  
Piercing that Heart where Rebel-thoughts arose,  
Against his Sovereign's Life and safe Repose.  
When this was ended, Sheba's Plot gins,  
And thrives as fast as all new growing Sins;  
Here Amasa is sent, to number all  
That would declare to answer David's call;  
But slack in his return, the King's no less  
Than put in fear of Sheba's great Success:  
At which, enraged with Choler, Joab slew  
Good Amasa; then, like a Lion, flew  
With his Courageous Troops for Warriors Fates,  
To Abel of Beth-Maacah City-gates,  
There, with a brave Revenge, his Forces spread,  
Till o'er the Walls they throw the Traitor's Head.  
Now David, with a secret Pride, inspired,  
The Number of all Israel desired,  
From Dan to Beersheba, o'er Jerdan's Ford,  
To see of what vast People he was Lord;  
And, that the Account might be exactly made,  
On Joab his Commands he straightway laid.  
Joab, not pleased, in Modesty replies,  
May He that blesses all, bless my Lord's Eyes,  
To see that People, whose great Sums untold,  
Tho' ne'er so numerous, now increase a hundred-fold.  
But why, my Lord, the most religious King,  
Delight his Sacred Self in such a thing?  
Good, was the answer; but to no effect,  
David's the same, and Joab's great respect  
To him, o'ercomes his own Reluctancies,  
His King he serves, whate'er neglected lies,  
Tho' Fame and Conscience both he sacrifice.  
Who could have thought a Man of this Renown,  
So true and long a Servant to the Crown,  
Should from the best of Masters, when he came to die,  
Receive a fatal unkind Legacy;  
And that his Prince, with his expiring Breath,  
Should give his Silver Hairs a Crimson Death,  
Which, when the Royal Head in Dust was laid,  
Was quickly by his Heir with Rigour paid?  
Heaven's Justice ordered this, and we may see  
There's no escape from its Divine Decree;  
Nothing secure, but what is purely done  
With upright Thought before that Holy One,  
Who does the secret of the Heart regard,  
And, as we think, gives openly reward.  
O Joab, hadst thou sought thy GOD in all,  
No Human Power could have made thee fall;  
Better hadst thou at King and Kingdom spurned,  
And to thy GOD for Counsel always turned,  
Then safe and blameless had thy Actions been,  
Without the Stain or Punishment of Sin:  
From thy Example may I never trust  
In those Illustrious Names, Great, Good, and Just;  
A Princely Patron or a Noble Friend,  
Their Smiles no true Security can lend:  
Give me Integrity to GOD no less  
Than the Almighty's Smiles can truly bless,  
'Tis he alone that must defend me still,  
Man may be a Friend 'tis true, GOD I am sure will.    

Observation on the Life of Elijah, Prophet of the Lord.  

CAn pregnant Honour, from her swelling Store,  
Of none but glorious Gifts distribute more  
Than this high Title? Or can Earth afford  
Aught greater than a Prophet of the Lord,  
To whom the general World Respect should bear,  
And whom crowned Heads do Honour, Love and Fear?  
In this great Dignity, Elijah he  
Was of the Highest Rank, Noblest Degree,  
For Heavenly Graces don't all equal shine,  
And there are Classis even of Beams Divine;  
For an Immortal Mark of Honour more  
This Man the Type of blessed Messiah bore:  
But see, for all these Wonders, how he lived,  
Tortured, afflicted, hated, poor and grieved,  
And he whom Miracles as Means did wait,  
I find ne'er compassed Competent Estate;  
Tho' born a Jew, whose common Blessing was,  
In prosperous Ways, each Nation to surpass,  
And then thought Crowned with all the Bliss of Life. a beauteous Wife;  
When to their Store they had numerous Children and  
But Celibacy seems his State to be,  
And never any Wife or Child had he.  
If these are Joys that bless the bravest Hearts,  
And only suitable to great Deserts,  
Did Heaven to others all these things divide,  
While he, blessed Prophet, was of all denied;  
Throughout his Life there's nothing does appear,  
But Sorrow, Solitude, Hardships, and Fear.  
The first I read of his exerted Power,  
Was in that lamentable dreadful Hour,  
When he denounced the near approaching Birth  
Of Famine on the unreplenished Earth,  
When in three sultry Years not one kind Shown,  
To her parched Heat a Balmy Drop should pour;  
This he denounced, and very well he knew  
The Oracle of Fate would prove too true,  
Yet, for himself, no hoarded Stock he laid,  
No Granary and no Provision made:  
I do not hear but that the Earth, of Rain,  
Enjoyed as much as he had Land or Grain,  
And no prudential Store of Food was made,  
To keep his Life as the Egyptians had;  
Tho', 'tis not doubted, Ahab and the rest  
Of the rich Israelites in Form possessed  
A visible Supply, that might sustain  
Till Plenty came with the return of Rain.  
Mean time a Voice from Heaven warns him from thence,  
To see the Miracle of Providence,  
Bidding him hid himself towards the East,  
At Cherith's Brook apply himself a Guest,  
Where Ravens, by Omnipotent Command,  
Should be his Feeders from the Almighty's Hand:  
'Twas so, and thus the Miracle enjoyed,  
Life was preserved, and Hunger was destroyed:  
But now a dreadful Scene before his Eyes,  
This Life-preserving Riverwater dries;  
No Miracle is sent to stop the Course  
Of Nature's drought, or stay its rapid force:  
What Proof and Trial of his Faith was here,  
To have the River fail, and he not fear?  
How would a faithless murmuring Wretch have cried,  
The Means is perished which my Wants supplied!  
Was I sent forth a Wanderer thus accursed,  
To die in Fires by an inflaming Thirst?  
Not such a Fear or once regretting Word,  
His Heart did show or milder Lips afford,  
But waits the Time of his remembering Lord,  
Who had prepared the Widow's Meal and Cruse,  
To serve the rest of all the three Years use,  
And in it did a Miracle produce.   

This being o'er, the Sacred Man is sent  
To see that King who none but Punishment  
Did study, and resolve for such a Guest  
Too heavenly and divine on Earth to rest:  
But the erroneous King's malicious Power  
Had Limits set, till Heavens appointed Hour.   

And now Elijah bravely does alarm  
Baal's Priests and Priests o'th' Grove, who flocking swarm  
With all the poor deluded People, who  
Their own true God scarce ever sought or knew;  
Elijah, reasoning with them, made demand,  
Why they, 'twixt two Opinions, halting stand?  
And bids them follow God, if 'twere the Lord,  
Or if 'twere, Baal: They answered not a word.  
Then said he to them, I, even I alone  
Remain a Prophet of the Lord's, besides me there is none,  
But Baal's in number more abound, the Account  
Does to a Host of near five Hundred mount;  
Let them therefore two Bullocks give, and choose  
One for themselves, the other I will use;  
Both being cut in pieces, both we'll lay  
On Wood, but put no Fires, only pray,  
They to their Gods, I to the Lord, and see  
Who answers first by Fire, the God shall be.  
This done, the Priests of Baal all loudly cried,  
And cut and wound themselves, and prophesied  
Till Evening, but no Voice or Sign replied.  
Then did Elijah to the People call,  
Who wait him with expecting wonder all;  
He straight repairs GOD's Altar, broke before,  
And took twelve Stones, and made one Altar more;  
And round that Altar made a Trench as great  
As would contain two Measures full of Wheat;  
He puts the Wood in order, then dissects  
The Bullock of his Limbs, a Pile erects;  
The Flesh, thus ready laid for Sacrifice,  
Four Water-barrels he commanded thrice  
Be filled, and thrice poured forth, and all the while  
The trickling Altar and the floating Pile  
With these repeated Currents drenched and drowned;  
The Trench so filled, stood as 'twere moated round;  
Then to his GOD with moving Ardour calls,  
When lo the wondrous Heavenly Fire straight falls,  
Consuming not the Sacrifice alone,  
But the Wood, the very Dust and Stone;  
So hot the Flames, that even the Waters burn  
The very Trench itself.  
No more a Watery now an Ashy Urn,  
At which, amazed, the People prostrate fall,  
And, with a Face confused, they loudly call,  
To tell who was the Living God alone;  
The LORD is GOD, the LORD is GOD they own.  
Then did Elijah charge them not to spare  
One of Baal's Prophets, but secure, with care,  
The total Number, which he wholly took,  
And brought them safely down to Kishon-Brook,  
And with a Zeal religious and severe,  
Spared not only Cheat, but slew them there.  
And then he sent his Servant to the King,  
Who of the showering Heavens did the blessed Tidings bring,  
Bidding him, Eat and Drink and post away.  
Which Message Ahab heard and did obey.  
Who now could think there could a danger be  
O'er all the Earth to make this Prophet flee?  
Yet so it was, though King and People too,  
Their Eyes so late convinced, they trembling view,  
His wondrous Might, Deeds more than Man could do.  
Idolatrous Jezebel his Doom has given.  
Behold, that Royal painted Foe of Heaven  
Has vowed, that the next Morning-Sun shall see  
The Sacrificer, now the Offering be;  
Swears, to revenge her darling Favourites Blood,  
His own shall mix with their dear Crimson Flood.  
Her Cruelty he soon believes and shuns,  
And, for his Life, on this occasion runs  
To Beersheba belonged to Judah, where  
He left the Man that was his Servant there,  
And all alone into the Desert went  
A whole Day's Journey in his Discontent,  
Under a Tree of Juniper he sat  
Considering of his dismal mortal Fate,  
And now requested for himself to die,  
Perhaps not thinking his blessed Change so nigh;  
So, while in Prayer and musing Thoughts he keeps,  
Under this Tree resigned, he lies and sleeps,  
Mean time an unseen Angel brings him Meat,  
Gives him a touch, and bids him rise and eat.  
He rose, and eat and drank, and down he lay,  
To sleep again his Weariness away,  
His sweet Disturber comes once more; his Guest  
Invites a second time t' his Heavenly Feast,  
Viands so rich, tho' short was the Repast,  
(No Table spread with Pomp, but laid in haste)  
That by two Meals, so cherish Nature reigned,  
As forty days and nights of Health & Life maintained.  
Thus to the Mount of GOD, Horeb by Name,  
He in the strength of this twice eating came,  
And there he took his Lodging in a Cave,  
The Emblem of his so much courted Grave.  
Then comes the Interrogative of GOD,  
And asks him, Why it was he there abode?  
He tells his Zeal, does Israel's Sin declare,  
They had all GOD's Prophets slain, nor him would spare.  
Now is he bid to ascend that Mount, a Place  
Which great Jehovah's presence deigned to grace,  
Where all descending from his Throne more high,  
As the Omnipotent, passed radiant by,  
The Mountains rend with Wind, the frighted Earth did quake,  
The Adamantine Rocks in shattered pieces shake;  
Then blazed a stream of Fire, the Harbinger  
Of the great GOD, for yet GOD was not there.  
Now spoke a still small Voice, bids him appoint  
Two Royal Successors, and both anoint;  
To these a third and greater Successor,  
Heir to his own Divine Prophetic Power,  
A Tongue whom Oracles should all inspire,  
Touched with a Coal from his own Heavenly Fire.  
Now thou, dear Prophet, whose resigning Breath  
Had asked before no Boon of GOD but Death,  
Time hastens that thy Toils must be released,  
Thy Sufferings ended, and thyself at rest  
Within the Regions of the ever-blessed:  
How supernatural was thy Desire,  
Crowned with a Chariot of Triumphant Fire,  
Which flew more swift than ever Motion run:  
And carried thee above the Stars and Sun:  
Thus fledst thou up to thy immense Reward,  
And nothing could thy heavenly Flight retard.  
O, unexampled Man! who Earth resigned;  
Earth and its Vanities all left behind;  
Feltst not the Pangs of an expiring Breath,  
The Course of Sickness, or the Stroke of Death.  
Sure then our Father Abraham thou wast greater,  
For he, like others, fell weak Nature's Debtor,  
Kept in a Grave, turned to Original Dust,  
Consigned there, till the rising of the Just.  
If then a Saint, incomparable rare,  
One of the greatest Prophets ever were,  
Led all his Life but sorrowful and poor,  
I must conclude, in Poverty, there's more  
Designed by Heaven, for Guidance or Defence,  
Than ever was found out by Human Sense;  
'Tis a mysterious Thing, that Want should be  
The leading Path that joins Felicity,  
And those who least are trusted and approved,  
To enjoy Estates are most by Heaven beloved;  
Strange is the Method, but I cannot fear,  
There is a Secret in't, divine and clear,  
To Heaven's eye alone and never yet to Mortals did appear,  
'Cause this blessed Man did undergo that State,  
That seemed his very Choice as well as Fate;  
Fate he could change; we see his Prayers alone  
That Wonder had performed, and had he known  
Poverty a Curse, sure he had changed his own:  
Besides, as he foresaw the prickly Thorn,  
A Wreath should even the Brow of GOD adorn,  
Poor, Humble, Low, in Shilo's blessed Record,  
Reserved the Titles of the World's great LORD.  
The Path of Poverty well hast thou trod,  
Blessed Prophet, to be followed by thy GOD.    

On the worthily honoured Madam Mary fountain.  

Weep, weep, ye Clouds, distil into her Urn  
Such Tears to quench a Flame unapt to burn.  
The Uurn itself shall weep perpetual Store,  
Because this noblest Friend of mine's no more:  
Let Nymphs attend the Glory of the Plains,  
Whose charming Brightness is adored by Swains,  
With Sable Vestments, clothed in mournful state,  
To solemnize her Funeral Rites, tho' late;  
While I, dejected, strive for to rehearse  
Unspotted Virtues in Eternal Verse,  
In tuneful Lays, tho' dismal are the Strains,  
Which chills the circling Blood, runs through my Veins;  
Witness, ye Heavenly Powers, the Favours she  
Daily bequeathed my Parents and to me;  
Who loved my tender Mother to the end,  
And showed herself a thousand Ways her Friend,  
In all Extremities stood her Defence,  
Under the goodness of Omnipotence.  
If Wisdom, Love, or Honour, could defeat  
The Stroke of Death, this Star had never set,  
But still been shining in her splendid Sphere  
And influential Beams around her Cheer.  
Ye Fountains, now your gliding Currents cease,  
And fertile Nile, forbear your vast Increase,  
Since I'm deprived, by fatal Sisters three,  
Of this great Blessing, O! so dear to me.  
You'll say, no Discomposure ought profane,  
Much less despair my well fixed Morals slain:  
But he, who Precepts gave as well as kept,  
Can not forbear his dearest Friend, but wept.  
Oft have I wished from Business to retire,  
To contemplate the griefs of my Desire;  
There, in some secret Grove, where none might see,  
I might for ever mourn her Obsequy,  
In Sorrow's Rills condole, with piteous Moan,  
To grateful Echoes, which resound each Groan;  
And harmless Flocks their Lamentations ring,  
While the poor Birds with doleful warbling sing.  
Let then this sad uncomfortable Verse,  
Embalm her Memory and bedew her Hearse.  
" Unmixed, preserve these Relics; faithful prove,  
" O Marble Urn! and constant as her Love.  
'Tis Love, that all do court, but few can find,  
Springing from Actions rooted in the Mind:  
Sweet, Rich, and Strong, she to the Centre drew,  
As Honey, Jewels, and as Marrow do;  
None, by the Storms of Life, was e'er oppressed,  
But still might find a Haven in her Breast.  
Why do such Blessings end in sharpest Pain,  
By being given to take back again?  
Stay, run no farther, my impetuous Soul,  
This Answer does your flowing Grief control;  
Compute the Sum of your unwise Complaint,  
'Tis pious, she lived and died too soon a Saint:  
Consider, there's not only a Regard  
Due to your Interest, but to her Reward;  
You ought your Loss with Patience to sustain,  
Since what's your Loss is her immortal Gain:  
Can you repine, since she in Beams of Light  
Soars in the Heavenly Regions pure and white,  
Her Deeds resplendent in a Crown more bright,  
With a Victorious Palm and Radiant Seat,  
Reigns there among MARIA'S Good and Great,  
Whilst you're depending on your Future State,  
Her lovely Virtues strive to imitate.    

On my dear Friend Mr. Robert Harding.  

HOw have I wished and begged no Pen might send  
A sad reviving Thought of this my Friend,  
Nor mention make, now he is gone, but I  
Might let my Grief in hushed oblivion lie:  
In vain I urge such Means, to sinned retreat  
From Mourning Thoughts, my Sorrows to defeat,  
The loss of such vast Worth, so true a Friend,  
In all dissolved Mortality must end;  
And, if my Verse may live to blaze his Praise,  
Which, like the Sun, darts with refulgent Rays,  
His Merit must, in Characters sublime,  
Outlast the envious mouldering Fate of Time:  
In Friendship's Orb no brighter Star appeared,  
Since by his good all was revived and cheered,  
And, in his Nuptial Rites, example may  
Proclaim his Life to be one Halcion-day;  
Detested Paths of Vice he nobly scorned,  
Whilst virtuous Precepts in his Breast he formed;  
While Vice he scorned, Fidelity he loved,  
'Twas Honour guided him and Pity moved;  
Whatever Object was there in distress,  
Compassion could and did not soon reverse?  
To adverse Fate, distant and near, it slew,  
And Prisoners, in pale Want, his Kindness knew.  
Lofty indeed his Temper was to soar,  
But never turned his Back upon the Poor;  
Whose pious Acts aspiring to rehearse,  
I lose his GLORY in submissive Verse;  
Can Prayers avail for him, which cannot be,  
What store is due and should be made by me?  
Yet  I end, let me call o'er the Fate  
Did his great Kindness first to me create.   

Pardon, if I digress, to sing the Fame  
Of his bright spotless Virgin-Daughter's Name,  
Whom Grace, like the Sunshines, did adorn,  
When beauteous Rays gild first the bashful Morn,  
In whose lovely Youth was the same Sweetness shown,  
As Flowers in Spring, or Roses newly blown,  
ALICIA bright, that cast her pleasing Eye,  
To my indifferent State of Poverty,  
The charming dear One yet could love so true,  
Scarce for a Minute I her Absence knew,  
Each place abroad, at home, where e'er I be,  
She, Angellike, goes, meets or follows me.  
Perpetual Kindness LOVE immensly breeds,  
LOVE, that all slight in Poetry exceeds,  
Where flowing Kindness, tided to excess,  
And mine proportioned more than hers, not less.  
Had Fate proposed a Choice, one I must have,  
This fair one's Death, or my own sudden Grave?  
The last I should have thought the mildest Doom,  
To Engrave her Friendship on my finite Tomb.   

But cease, my Muse, cease, lest I now despair,  
To think how I lost her, that was so dear;  
Marriage, which fixes Lovers in one State,  
Divides us two to Places separate;  
The Daughter's loss, the Father would repair,  
By a High Friendship and Paternal Care,  
Whose worthy Soul with Virtue quite is fled,  
And, in his Sex, (for aught I know) true Kindness wholly dead.  
Sighs may condole: But hold, some Cherub sure,  
Allays my Grief with this blessed balmy Cure;  
Think and consider well, observe the End,  
Who was it gave and took away your Friend,  
He that gives all things good, and can restore  
Whate'er you want; cease, Mortal, to deplore,  
Use pious Job's Expression, and no more.    

An EPITAPH on the Pious Madam Mary Carter.  

BRight Soul, whose Sacred Relics I must mourn,  
Till from my Toils I sleep in peaceful Urn;  
Then follow thee, to make one Witness more,  
Of all thy righteous Deeds heaped up in store.  
Thy Pious Days Heaven does already know,  
By Prayers, that minutely did from thee flow,  
Such was thy Converse, so Divine below.  
Thine Alms, Christ's needy Members ,  
Refreshed with Love and Bounty, will declare.  
O! with what dazzling Glories art thou crowned!  
What Songs in Heaven did at thy Entrance sound.    

A satire.  

AS Dungeons are for Criminals prepared,  
Tyburn and Gyves too is their just Reward;  
So Satyr's Lash dipped, poisoned in Disgrace,  
Is fit to Scourge the Vice of Human Race.  
Did not the Lamb of God, with Sacred Terror,  
Reprove all Pharisaic Sins and Error?  
Where's then my Muse? Does my Poetic Vein!  
Want Skill or Courage for this useful Strain?  
Baptismal Vows engage Heroic Minds,  
Women are valiant, tho' of different Kind's,  
And tho' my Sex is weak, my Heart's not so:  
Led on my Chief, I fear not where I go.  
Instruct me LORD, I wait for thy Command,  
Without it I dare stir not Foot or Hand.  
I begged again, and then my LORD replied,  
My Precepts and Example be your Guide;  
Go follow them. Straight then I called to mind  
His Golden Rule, propitious left behind:  
First cast away the Beam that hides the Light  
Of thine own Eye, deluded Hypocrite;  
Which, once removed, thou better may'st discern  
The little Mote thy Brother does concern,  
And with more reason ask to pull it out,  
When thy clear Light dispels his darker Doubt:  
But if black Vice thy Life itself betray,  
And thou pretendest to Guide the perfect Way,  
'Tis like a blind Man raving in a Heat,  
Inspired by some ridiculous Conceit,  
He's able to lead all that go astray;  
His Tongue cries out, his Feet quite miss the way;  
Sometimes his Steps are right, but rarely so;  
Still with invective Bawls, You falsely go.  
Should this his Conduct be by Prudence tried,  
Would he be thought a Madman or a Guide?  
Our Saviour,  such Work he did begin,  
Asked, Which of you convinces me of Sin?  
And must his spotless Life a Pattern be  
Imitable for such a Worm as me?  
The great Example I can never reach,  
Alas! I want time more to Watch than Preach.  
My Self is Task sufficient to look o'er,  
I find no Moment where I need explore  
The Faults of others, but my own deplore.  
And now I beg, since my Design has missed,  
Make me true Christian, tho' no Satirist.    

Of the HEART.  

WHat tho' the Soul mysterious is to Art,  
And all in all and all in every part,  
Yet we conceive the Heart, by Nerves and Veins,  
Does vivify the Body and the Brains;  
For as the Senses from the Spirits move,  
Inspiring Rays with Simpathetick Love,  
So GOD's Essential Goodness most requires  
By Consecrating Gifts to men's Desires;  
Say but from thee the smallest Present came,  
It kindles all Acceptance in a Flame;  
Hence, hence, the Pulse that gives Life's Lamp its ease,  
Hence all the endearing Ties that Lovers please;  
So rare a Jewel sure has no deceit,  
Nothing that's vain, but Virtue all complete,  
My Thoughts sincerely blest, in my esteem,  
All pure, divine, immaculate, did seem,  
Whilst my consenting Heart in rapture vowed,  
Henceforth no Sin shall be by me allowed,  
But that my Conscience should in Empire reign,  
Never to be opposed by Vice again.  
And as my weary Knees the Centre pressed,  
It seemed convulsive in my trembling Breast,  
Darting full Torrents through mine Eyes in Tears,  
And shivering gasped, almost expired in fears,  
Implored the LORD in this distress of need,  
T' assist a Heart, that for Offence does bleed;  
Kind Heaven assents, and, with propitious Grant,  
Assured the Comfort that my Heart did want,  
And, from the depth of Sin, drew it as high  
As the blessed Region of Immortal Joy:  
From this Divine Ascent, transported, cried,  
Vain is that Fool that does in Sin abide.  
My Lips o'erjoyed, at the Conversion, sung,  
As David when his tuneful Harp he strung,  
And, to my pleasing Thoughts, these Words I mixed,  
My Heart to Sacred Joys is ever fixed.  
Thus lived I in Serenity and Mirth  
An Angel's Life almost upon the Earth.   

But O! the Blast this pious Life destroys,  
Hypocrisy the blissful Stream annoys;  
My Conscience, to whose Empire my Heart swore,  
Strives to depose the Conduct of its Power,  
Till with a hideous Gild, by horrid Sin,  
Aghast, I durst not cast a Look within,  
And tho' my conscious Heart stood knowing by,  
That Acts nor Thoughts from the Omniscient Eye  
Was hid in vain, Delusion seemed to think.  
That the All-just should at our Frailties wink,  
And when my Private Prayers I do direct  
With Holy Praise and most Divine Respect,  
Yet, when GOD's Sacred Court I come within,  
I contemplate and gaze, all dark with Sin,  
And, while the Pteacher tells what I should learn,  
My Thoughts rove, busy in some strange Concern,  
Confused with odious Things, I cannot speak,  
And which, to shun, Mortality's too weak;  
My Mind grows wild, my Soul in terror raved,  
By what I trusted thus to be deoeived.  
Then, to my GOD, with weeping Eyes I turn,  
In deep distress I supplicate and mourn;  
All-powerful GOD, this Heart from me receive,  
Since, by Despair, I must for ever grieve.  
Or, if this longer must with me remain,  
Vouchsafe, great GOD, once more to make it clean,  
I know thy Blood can wash out every stain.  
And, whilst I live, henceforth I'll set a guard,  
Surpizing Thoughts, not good, shall be debarred;  
A Watch I'll keep as long as I keep Breath,  
To help secure my Virtue till my Death;  
I'll send to all my Friends to do the same,  
And trust to more this rarity of Fame.  
But always Watch and Pray, Suspect and Fear,  
While thou dost justify, and make me Clear.    

Thinking on the Life of our Blessed Saviour.  

WHy did my Lord, whom Heaven could not contain,  
Choose to spend Life on Earth in toil & pain,  
And not the Ease and Splendour of a Reign?  
Why did he, like a Man unfortunate,  
Walk thousand weary Walks? No Pomp or State  
A Servant to that World he did create.  
Why did he let his spotless Name be used,  
With Lips that slandrously that Name abused?  
Why did he, who was all pure Innocence,  
Endure such Rigours as atone Offence,  
Or bring the Wicked into Penitence?  
Methinks an inward Whisper tells me why;  
Tells me, my LORD was pleased to do't, that I  
Might not despise those Methods he approved,  
Nor hate that sort of Life himself has loved.    

Reflections upon my extraordinary Joy, at the Certain and Sudden News of Peace being concluded, Sept. 1697.  

NIne Years Bellona brandished in full Pride,  
Till Christian Land with Blood was ruddy died,  
But Kings are reconciled and Wars must cease,  
To give admittance to a glorious Peace;  
PEACE! is the Cry, assured Peace is come,  
The charming Wonder strikes my Senses dumb;  
Felicities in Loads a Peace repair,  
And fill my Mind with more than I can bear;  
My Knees fall on the Earth, to hear the Sound,  
And Tears of Joy run rolling to the Ground;  
The heating Beam does take away my Sleep,  
Exhales that Dew did my lulled Spirits steep;  
Like Philomela, my watchful Thoughts employ;  
Her Thorn keeps her less waking than my Joy.  
Give me Assistance, some kind Power, to bear  
The Ecstasies, while this blessed News I hear.  
I did not think all Earth could give or find  
Such Pleasure to my Pleasure-hating Mind;  
'Tis true, the Joy is rational and just,  
Fitting to be allowed: But dare I trust  
My Thoughts to rove in such a vast Content,  
And Raptures of unlimited Extent;  
When this is not the Peace, my Soul must calm,  
Nor this the fair white Dove, that brings my Palm,  
The great IRENE, that secures me blest  
In endless Joys, the Eternity of Rest?  
No, that's 〈◊〉 Peace in my own Empire-mind,  
A Place of Residence for GOD designed,  
By Actions just and pure of every kind:  
'Tis on this Peace that I must build alone,  
T'other I may enjoy, yet be undone;  
This is the Peace resplendent Being's praise,  
And to the Spangled Roof the Echoes raise,  
The lofty Arches mightily resound,  
And Heaven's Inhabitants, in Raptures drowned,  
The joyful Chorus charm Eternal round.   

O! New Jerusalem, for thy Peace I long,  
Thy jo-peons in Immortal Song,  
To Heavenly Lyres and Hallelujahs tuned,  
Airs that Britannia's Peace can never sound;  
Thy Triumphs are magnificent and rare;  
Thy Joys unmixed with Sin, with Fright, or Care;  
Brighter than Sun, more lasting far than Time;  
Eternal blessed, unparalleled sublime;  
O! that my Hours to come may all be spent  
In seeking this, above all Earth's content:  
O! that I could express what Joy there lies  
In but a Hope of this unfading Prize;  
The Universe comes short to equal this,  
In Glory or Duration, State or Bliss.  
Go then, my Pilgrim-Soul, pursue the Way,  
Through Brakes and Rocks, Black Seas and Stormy Day;  
Through wont Conflicts and tremendous Griefs;  
Through narrow Passages and straitened Cliffs;  
Through Vanities to allure, and Foes to Fright;  
The Snares of Flattery and the Darts of Spite;  
Through Pains and Miseries, Tears, Toil, Doubts and Strife,  
All the whole long-trained Cavalcade of Life,  
Through Slanders, Slights, Wrongs, Wants, the swelling Flood,  
That does but Tempest-toss poor Flesh & Blood:  
Through these, all these, and thousand, thousand more,  
Sail, happy Voyager, to that blessed Shore,  
Where no Waves dash, nor Winds nor Tempest roar;  
To that Divine, true Haltion Nest above,  
The Mansions of Beatitude and Love,  
That Union no dividing Foes shall sever,  
But the white Flag of Peace hangs out for ever.    

To my Mother the CHURCH.  

Unfeigned, as Martyrs in the Days of Yore,  
Whose precious Blood their Testimonials bore,  
Grant, Holy Mother, (high Oblation due)  
My Humble Lays I consecrate to you,  
Whose Pious Care in Infancy did bloom  
With Fruit, selected from corrupted Rome;  
Your Hallowed Rites inspired me first to see,  
And from Exreams of Peril set me free,  
Guiding to blissful Rest the Milky Way,  
Whose Streams of Light point to Eternal Day:  
No Superstition does your Precepts, stain,  
Nor Zeal enthusiastic with you reign;  
But Love divine slows with a kind Embrace,  
Kindles Seraphic Flames, enlightening Grace,  
Whilst Heaven, like Life, which centures in the Heart,  
Inflames religious Beams through every part,  
By Spiritual Manna fed, I Wisdom sinned,  
Blessed Mistick Rules invelope in my Mind;  
 directs my Actions how to square,  
But Sacred Instinct cautions to beware,  
It bids me not this World and Life abjure,  
But checks my Paths where vicious Baits allure,  
Instructs with Hallelujahs praise to sing,  
Unerring Truths of Sion's gracious King,  
True Dictates of Parental Heavenly Guide,  
Which does ensure Salvation on my side.  
These and the rest, more fully to rehearse,  
More Volumes crave than Tribute of my Verse;  
But, as in Duty bound, Devotion shall  
For ever pray for you, as you for all,  
Whilst Cherubs sound in their melodious Choir,  
And I still Offerings pay on constant Lyre;  
Reign, Phoenixlike, thy Ashes gives new Birth,  
Nor finite perish in the mouldering Earth,  
But as in Sickness Nature's Power will strive,  
The Patients strong do grow and Pains survive;  
So let the past Convulsions reinstate  
Immortal Health, to foil the Stroke of Fate,  
The Triumphs of thy Toils shall endless be,  
And sweet too, as the Love I bear to thee.    

On the VERSES some Gentlemen presented me, which are placed at the beginning of my Book.  

VAst is the Joy, when Transports do inspire,  
Which, Lightning-like, strikes with Poetic Fire:  
Ravished! I gaze, and wonder to rehearse  
Those high Encomiums you vouchsafe my Verse.  
But, O what I'll does Nature's Frailty raise!  
Truth strikes a Damp in Contemplation's maze;  
I view like him that sees the Weapon fly,  
But can't avoid the Dart that makes him die,  
Such dazzling Flights so great Surprise impart,  
As does confuse and wound my sinking Heart;  
A thousand strange Reflections seize my Breast,  
And trembling Fits my peaceful Hours molest.  
Discourses, grave and mystic, use to move,  
Perplex my Mind with Wisdom from above,  
As Nathan's Charge to David did control  
That Man of GOD with Anguish in his Soul;  
So you, like faithful Monitors, declare,  
My Time and Life but transitory are;  
Tell me of my Translation and of Powers,  
Of Finite Being's, and of Fleeting Hours,  
Infer the Grave completely all devours,  
Dismal and heavy Thoughts methinks to me.  
Your lofty Verse proclaims Mortality,  
As tho' it were my Living Elegy;  
Decked with a Theme of Praise and Mournful State,  
Like warning Trumpets, o'er my Death and Fate,  
I'm flattered with a Crown of Sacred Bays,  
With polished Sense, expressed in tuneful Lays;  
Melodious Peals, which charm me to apply  
Some Tears, to suit the Solemn Obsequy;  
Tears that alloy and quench disordered Strife,  
Fitting Attendants for a Dying-Life,  
Whilst your harmonious Muse in Virtue sings  
Sweet Strains of Death, which happy Life to me hereafter brings.   
FINIS.