Protestantisme Revived. OR, The Persecuted CHURCH Triumphing.  

IN Sable Weeds I saw a Matron clad,  
Whose Looks were grave, whose Countenance was sad;  
Pensive with Care, she musing sat alone,  
Her State, too too unhappy, to bemoan:  
Deep bitter Pangs I saw her undergo,  
And pay the tributary Drops of Woe.  
So wept Deucalion when he saw the State  
And Face of Nature changed and desolate.  
By this dumb Elegy a while sh' expressed  
The gloomy Sorrows of her troubled Breast.  
Then heaving up her Head, she silence broke,  
And with a heavy Sigh dejected spoke.   


Good God what Grief surrounds my aged Head!  
What new distracting Woes I daily wed!  
Who am by spiteful Foes in Triumph led:   
They pierce my side with wounds, they break my rest,  
And snatch my sucking Children from my Breast:  
My elder Sons inhumanely they treat,  
My weaker ones they bubble with Deceit.  
Thus they insult, thus put me to disgrace,  
And spit their frothy Venom in my Face:  
My growing sorrows to complete the more,  
I' m flouted by a Babylonish Whore.  

Put me to death they can't, since Heaven decreed,  
I must not die, though with my Saviour bleed,  
But humbly should in aftertimes succeed:   
What most my anxious Soul tormented hath,  
Is, He that should defend, betrays my Faith.  
Thus, thus abused, I' m to all Griefs betrayed,  
Thus my Delights are double Sorrows made.  
Who e'er was Curbed by such a Concubine?  
Who so perplexed? Was ever Grief like mine?   

Then she bowed down her Head, and with her Tears  
Bedewed the parched Earth: When straight appears  
A Comforter by pitying Heaven sent  
To raise her drooping Spirits, almost spent:  
Who when he had respectful Homage paid,  
In terms obliging, reverently said,   

Mother, I know the Cause of all thy Grief,  
I' m sent thy Succour, and thy true Relief:  
Thy God has heard thy Sighs, thy faithful Prayers,  
And graciously received thy flowing Tears:  
I'll wipe them off, I'll rugged Grief expel,  
And usu'al Joy shall in thy Countenance dwell:  
I've made thy haughty Domineerers bow,  
And own their Lives they to my Bounty owe:  
I've broke your Yoke, I've freed you from your Chain,  
And set you once at Liberty again:  
I've foiled them all, I have disarmed them quite,  
They have the Power to Bark, but not to By't.  
To Ease your Pain by th' God of Heaven I'm sent,  
He acts, and I'm the Honoured Instrument.   

Then she arose, Joy smiling in her Eye,  
And with a cheerful Voice did thus reply:  
Thanks Gracious God, thanks thou Victorious Son,  
By whom I have my wont Glory won:  
Rejoice my Sons, and Hallelujahs sing,  
Unto our Saviour, our Triumphant King.  
For I an Anthem will compose, and then,  
We'll sweetly sound it to our God. Amen.   
C. A. Linc. Coll. Oxon.   

LON●, Printed for S. Walsall at the Heart and Bible near the Royal Exchange in Cornhill, 1688.