TER TRIA: OR THE DOCTRINE OF THE Three Sacred Persons, FATHER, SON, & SPIRIT. Principal Graces, FAITH, HOPE, & LOVE. Main Duties, 

PRAYER,  
HEARING,  
and MEDITATION.   Summarily Digested for the Pleasure and Profit of the Pious and Ingenious Reader.  
By Faithful Teat Preacher of the Word at Sudbury in Suffolk.  
TRIA SUNT OMNIA.  
LONDON, Printed for George Sawbridg at the Sign of the Bible on Ludgate Hill. 1658.   

ILLUSTRISSIMO DOMINO D no Henrico Cromwell, DIGNISSIMO HIBERNIAE PRAEFECTO SACROSANCTAE INDIVISAEQUE TRINITATIS CULTORI INDIVISO TRIPLICI DIVINARm GRATIAR m Coronâ ORNATISSmo TRIBUS Que Apprime Christianis OFFICIIS INTEGERRIME DEDITO, TRIPLECEM HANC TRIADEM SACROR m POEMAT m CHRISTIANAE DOCTRINAE SUMMAMIN SUMMAE OBSERVANTIAE TESTIMONIUM Humillm.  
F. T.  
L. M. D. D. D.   

THE AUTHOR TO THE READER.  

OFt have I seen Luxuriant Vicious Wit  
A wanton Rape on a fair Muse commit:   

At once distaining, by lewd Poetry,  
The Writers Paper-sheets, and Readers Eye.   

And may not I oblige the thrice three Muses  
Chastely to serve so Sacred thrice three Uses?   

Is the grave Body of Divinity  
Less Currant for the feet of Poetry?   

Are Truths, for being short and sweet, less sound?  
Or streams, for running smoothly, less profound?   

David a Prophet, yet in Verse excels:  
'Twas ECCLESIASTES made the Canticles.    

To the Pious and Ingenious Author of this Tripartite Poem.  

BEfore your triple Poems I admit,  
These Votes made up of Three, may well be writ.   

May Understanding, Will, and Memory  
Know, Love, and hold thy Sacred Poetry.   

May Heaven be th' fuller, Earth the better, Hell  
The thinner, by the Truths, you writ so well.   

May pride of life, the lusts of flesh and eye,  
Be poisoned by these leaves of thine, and die.   

If any other three, I'd wish were down,  
'Tis Austria, Spain, the Pope with ' striple Crown.   

This latter Vote if th' King of Kings would make  
An Act, I'd willingly the Earth forsake.   
W. Jenkyn.   

Ingenious Reader.  
SOme few mistakes there are of the Printer that unhappyly hurt the Rhythm, as with these, for withal, p. 4. l. 11, etc. And some the Reason, as p. 20. l 8. Wares for Wars, etc. With some ●seudographies and mispointings, which thine Ingenuity will either Correct, or not Impute to thy Friend  
F. T.   
Ter Tria.  

FATHER.  

THou that beginnest All things begin my ve●se  
My words are wind;  
Thy words are works:  
Thou'lt lightness find  
Where darkness lurks:  
My Pen and Ink may me not Thee rehearse.   

My Pen is but a feathered vanity,  
Like me that writ;  
Yet shall this feather,  
If thou'lt indite,  
Help me fly thither  
Where Angels wings make ●ens beyond the sky.   

Father, mine Inks dark hue, presents mine heart.  
Ink's not more dark,  
Ink's not more black;  
One beam, one spark  
Supply this lack.  
Father of Lights, now show thy perfect Art.   

Lord teach me speak and I'll not hold my peace:  
Which if I should,  
The stones would come;  
Though deaf, yet would  
They not be dumb;  
Break into praises, stony heart, for these.   

No man hath seen thee, Father, but He who  
Did sometime come  
(Thy Son it was)  
Thy bosom from,  
Thy Looking-glass,  
he's the wise Child that doth his Father know.   

Who else sings Thee, sings what he hath not seen:  
My Verse hath feet,  
And fain would run  
Thy praise to meet;  
But, lest the Sun  
Should hurt weak fight, the clouds do intervene.   

Then may I in thy Son thyself discover;  
Sure he's the Mirror  
That shows thy face:  
Prevent mine error;  
Christ's flesh like glass  
A brighter Glory, but unseen doth cover.   

Since than I must be silent, or begin  
To sing th' unseen;  
Father of Mercies,  
That settest the screen,  
Forgive my Verses:  
Oh thou that vail'st their subject, veil their sin.   

Father's a word my child learns first to mutter,  
And thy child too,  
Thy newborn Babe  
First thing it can do  
Is to cry Abbess;  
But both come last to know what first they utter.   

Thou art the Father of that Son that made  
That womb on earth  
That, without Father,  
Did give him birth;  
And might the rather,  
He bee'ng begot where He no Mother had.   

Then shall I call thee Father? Lord, thy Son  
Was called no less  
Before his birth;  
Prophets confess  
He had on earth  
His children, seed and generation.   

Th' Eternal Father call we Thee? or rather  
Thy Child, thy Son  
Born to restore us,  
Thine Holy One  
Given to us, for us?  
I'll call Thee th' Everlasting Father's Father.   

All that's in God is God; and needs must be.  
Thou mad'st mine eye,  
Couldst thou forbear  
Thyself to spy?  
Or so to rear  
The blessed Image of thyself in Thee?   

Surely thou couldst not more thyself not view;  
Then, Lord, not love  
Thyself when seen;  
From whence thy Dove,  
As hatched between  
Thy face and Looking-glass, sprung forth and flew.   

Then shall I not believe thou'rt One, yet Three?  
Father, and Son,  
And sacred Spirit,  
That equal run,  
One bliss inherit?  
Lord, I'll believ Thee surely such to be.   

Yet thou'rt the FATHER still: Those sparkling things,  
Are sons of God:  
Those winged flames  
That fly abroad,  
(Thou knowst their names)  
Made without Bodies, made all face and wings.   

Faces they have, and eyes and tongues, with these,  
To see and sing:  
But O their Grace!  
A sixfold wing  
To every face!  
Wise, happy, humble, obediential.   

Lends wings, dear Dove; we lag and lose our traffic.  
Poor short-leged Rhymes,  
Verses on foot  
Reach Seraphims,  
They cannot do't.  
Lord, now if ever make my Muse seraphic.   

Or if I mayn't have wings, and so keep sight  
Of these bright flames,  
Shades of thy glory  
Yet tell's their names  
And tell's their story;  
And lends a quill, dear Dove, and I'll go write.   

Writ Angels. Lord, 'tis done: but who are they?  
Servants, or sons?  
Subjects or Kings?  
Footstools, or Thro●es?  
Inferior things,  
Or Principalities? What shall I say?   

Sometimes I hear thee call them Elohim;  
Yet they were made:  
These plumed things  
Are but the shade  
Of thy bright wings,  
Before whose Sunshine, all these Stars are dim.   

Sometimes it should seem that they but servants are;  
Or Ministers  
To wait upon  
Salvations heirs,  
And guard thy Throne.  
Yet these stand covered where thy sons stand bare.   

Servants they are, and yet Dominions:  
Each holds his Crown  
By casting it  
Most humbly down  
Before thy feet.  
Father, thy Throne's erected on the Thrones.   

Thousands of thousands of these finite Gods  
On every side,  
I mean the Cherubs,  
When thou dost ride,  
Some serve for stirrups,  
And some thou holdest in thy hands for rods.   

Arch-Angels, Angels that sixwinged Nation.  
Stand trembling, Lord,  
Pressed to obey  
Their Maker's word;  
And glad they may  
By all their running but maintain their station.   

These can't forget that early Funeral;  
These can't forget  
Those morning-Stars  
That risen and set,  
Whose inbred wars  
Blew up themselves. But oh— their fall!   

Yet thou'rt the FATHER still: these Absoloms  
Their beings had  
And beauties, Lord,  
But not their trade  
Nor Traitors sword  
From Thee from whom All good, and only comes.   

How came these then to fall? it should seem that under  
Their Angel's wings  
Each laid some evil  
(Oh wretched things!)  
And hatched a Devil.  
And so by sinning singed their wings. What wonder?   

Thy fine white linen, Lord, sin burnt to tinder.  
Satan's thy creature,  
But now doth want  
First form and feature,  
Oh miscreant!  
Thou mad'st him bright, but sin turned all to cinder.   

Yet thou'rt the FATHER still: those Stars in view,  
Lanterns hung out  
In all men's sights  
Thy Court about,  
Those various lights  
FATHER of Lights there dwelling clearly show.   

That golden Globe comes trundling from thine hand:  
Father, thou sayest  
Thou Sun of mine  
Run East and West,  
Cease not to shine  
Rounding my Bowling-green of Sea and Land.   

That burnished silver Ball's hurled forth by Thee:  
That Moon of thine  
That always ranges,  
Doth sit and shine,  
In constant changes,  
Says plainly He that changeth not made me.   

The Pleyades, cluster of six, called seven:  
The Signs twice six;  
The Errand Train:  
The Stars that fix:  
The Northern Wain  
And all the Constellations of the Heaven:   

The Great Orion with those Bands of his:  
Stars Great and Lest:  
The Milky way,  
With All the Rest,  
Doth plainly say  
That He whose Breasts drop Lights their Father is.   

The Arched Expanse, whose Props who can descry?  
That surging Roof,  
And Saphyre-cieling  
Yields ample proof,  
To all men's feeling,  
It had its rise from Thee, O thou most High!   

Those stately Offices all on a row,  
Standing about  
Thy spangled Court,  
And yet without  
For greater Port;  
Thee Father of heavens Family do show.   

There stands thy Minting-house, thy Bulloign brought  
From 'tis place of birth;  
Vapours, I mean,  
From drossy earth  
Are there made clean;  
And, as thou pleasest, cast and coined and wrought.   

There stands thy Treasury; that doth contain  
Gems in great store  
Of orient hue:  
Who can count o'er  
Thy Pearls of dew?  
Thy golden Lightnings? or thy silver Rain?   

There stands thy Wardrobe. Lord, the purple shrouds  
Which thou dost use,  
And dapled sky,  
Like Ermines, shows  
Thy Majesty.  
And when thou wilt thou wear'st the gold-fringed clouds.  
There stands thy stable-room. Sometimes thy mind's  
To ride abroad;  
That men below,  
There is a God  
Above may know  
Hearing the neighings of thy prancing winds.  
There's thy distillatorie. Thence thou dost  
heavens drops distil  
In such great store  
Earth drinks its fill  
Till it needs no more.  
Then the cold ashes are cast forth in Frost.   

There stands thy great Confectionary. There  
Those heaps of Snow  
Double-refined  
Do clearly show,  
And bring to mind  
That they belong to th' Great Confectioner.   

'Tis He that makes those Frost-works. He that makes  
Moist Drops, when cast  
In's Comfit-mold,  
Hailstones at last,  
When they grow cold,  
'Tis He that candies all the Icy flakes.   

There stands thy Magazine. Thou dost erect  
Thy flaming forges,  
And there prepare  
Thy shafts and scourges,  
Weapons of war  
Which, when thou wilt, thy Rebel foes correct.   

Storms, tempests, thunders, thunderbolts with these,  
Great and small shot,  
Brimstone and fire,  
Father, what nor?  
If thou require,  
Dart thence to chastise those that thee displease.   

Whole Egypt from thy storm of Hail shot runs.  
His Heathen-Head  
That Royal slave  
Slunk under-bed,  
When th' Heavens gave  
But one round volley from thy greater guns.   

thou'rt the Rains Father. Frost thou'st gendred?  
What Prose or Verses  
Can better show  
Thy tender Mercies  
Then melting Dew?  
This shows thine Heart, and hoary frost thine Head.   

Th' Ancient of Days begat me, says the Snow.  
The Lord of Hosts  
's my Father's Name  
The Thunder boasts,  
And Lightnings flame.  
I carry Father's Colours, says the Bow.   

So thou'rt the FATHER still: Lord, 'tis alleged  
By th' Feathered Hosts,  
That here and there  
Th' Aerial Coasts  
And Quarters bear,  
Under thy Wings they were both hatched and fledged.  
That Bird of Paradise, Lord, thou must owe it.  
With chattering cries,  
Swallows and Cranes  
Plead th' Only wise  
Did hatch our Brains  
And He that made our season, made us know it.   

'Twas God Allseeing made my piercing Eye  
Doth the Eagle say.  
To th' God of Love  
Our broods we lay,  
Saith Stork and Dove:  
If these be ours, sure we're thy Progeny.   

With early visits and salutes from Earth  
Up the Lark climbs,  
As if it meant,  
With Seraphims  
Of high descent  
By vieing notes and wings, prove equal birth.   

The plumed Ostriches forget their young;  
But thou their Father  
With careful hand  
Their Eggs dost gather  
Laid in the sand,  
Hatching to life, and hideing them from wrong.   

The goodly Peacock with his Argus-train,  
His Angel's plumes,  
His well-set border,  
Strongly presumes  
To th'God of Order,  
Unto whose pomp this splendour doth retain.   

The tumbling Deeps where all the waters gather  
Roundly declare  
That Name of His  
Whose Counsels are  
The Great Abyss:  
Seas swell too big to own a meaner FATHER.   

Surely the Ocean's thine. Lord, is it not?  
Thou bid'st it boil,  
But not boil o'er:  
And it does recoil  
Within the shore,  
Thou dost both furnish, Lord, and salt the Pot.   

Thou, Great-House-keeper, must the Fishpond own,  
Whose banks and shores  
Are Rocks and sands,  
Whose fullness stores  
All Coasts and Lands,  
For thou the greatest Family canst show.   

These Water-works are thine invention, Lord.  
Is th' Ocean's force,  
When most serene,  
Charged by thine Horse,  
Thy Winds, I mean?  
What mighty banks and trenches, Lord, appear?   

Under the covert of these surging Seas  
Those Armed Bands  
(Each jointed scale  
Like Armour stands,  
Or Coats of Male)  
March here and there securely as they please.   

Leviathan that moving Mount or Fort,  
Who can deride  
storms battering,  
Of Sons of pride  
Thou call'st Him King;  
There tumbles he to make his Maker sport.   

So thou'rt the FATHER still. Even Earth can cry  
From Cliffs and Mountains,  
Hills high and steep;  
Sprin●s, Mines, and Fountains  
That run so deep,  
How deep's thy wisdom, Lord? thy power how high?  
Thou gav'st the Rocks their Rise. Springs sprang from thee.  
Great Architect!  
Earth's Fabric fair  
Thou didst erect,  
And hang i'th' Air  
To show its Maker's Independency.   

Thy very footstool, Lord, thou dost inlay  
With Mines of gold,  
And silver Over;  
Who can unfold,  
Or prise the store,  
Wherewith thou dost enrich poor dust and clay?   

This inlaid footstool thou hast round beset  
With Vegetants.  
Who can declare  
Those various Plants,  
Their Virtue's rare,  
That spring from dust of heavenly Father's feet?   

Those short-lived Beauties that the Florists gather  
Look up a while,  
With a fair Eye;  
Give God a smile:  
And though they die  
Yet leave such seed as plainly shows their Father.   

thou'rt fruitful Parent of All Trees fruitbearing.  
Who doth not see  
Earth doth but nurse  
These Plants for thee?  
Thine heavens disburse  
Continual payments for these Plants up-rearing.   

Some Trees there are, though suckled with earth's sap.  
Yet run upright;  
As if they meant,  
By their vast height,  
Prove their descent,  
And lay their Leavy Locks in Father's lap.   

Others there are too weak to rise alone,  
Yet seem to know  
Where Father dwells;  
Why should they go  
To Neighbours else  
To borrow crutches, to run up upon?   

The Herds, the Folds, the Beasts innumerable:  
The multifarious  
Creeping Creatures,  
Whose food is various  
As their features,  
Cry still to God, Our FATHER, spread our Table.   

Father, to Live, thy Gift alone can be;  
Earth's cold and dead,  
And cannot give  
To what it bred  
To breath or live,  
Surely the fountain of all Life's with thee.   

This spacious House thus built, and furnished so;  
Come let's convey  
Our Image just,  
Did th' Father say,  
To breathing dust;  
Leaving our likeness to keep House below.   

Then was clay stamped, by Act of Parliament,  
With God's bright face:  
A Creature Crowned  
Wish Life and Grace:  
heaven-born, Heav'n-bound,  
Of upright aspect, of Divine descent.   

Father, thy footsteps we may find and gather  
All otherwhere,  
But in this creature,  
Thy face shines clear,  
Witness his feature;  
Who reads man's face may quickly spell his Father.   

Said I, one may? my God, I should have said  
One might have done:  
But things fall cross:  
Flesh turns to stone,  
Pure gold to dross,  
Silver degenerates to dirt and lead.   

Said I, there is? I should have said there was:  
My God there was  
Thy countenance  
So in his face,  
That every glance  
The shining Sun in brightness did surpass.   

Father, this walking, talking Plant was He  
Whom thou didst love,  
Whom thou didst prise  
All Plants above.  
Thy Paradise  
Thou soon didst quit when thou hadst lost this Tree.   

From th' side whereof a female plant did spring  
A splended pair?  
Now th' Earth gins  
T' outshine the Air,  
Where Heavens bright twins  
(The Sun and Moon) their Light, as tribute, bring.   

Woman to man's a gift of Gods own giving,  
(That man alone  
No more might be;  
Yet as much one,  
And one with thee.)  
A gift endorsed with Doners Name, the living.   

This Royal consort to complete man's joy  
Thou God of Union  
Didst well provide  
For chaste Communion  
As his dear Bride  
Whom thou hast crowned on Earth as thy Viceroy.   

So th' little world, with greatest work and skill,  
Was framed at last,  
And being the best  
Its grace was past  
To rule the rest.  
Nothing's forbidden but its knowing ill.   

Upon thy footstool thou hadst built a Throne  
For man to sit,  
My God, at thine;  
And at his feet  
Thou didst consign  
All other things in due subjection.   

Thou gav'st him Life, 'twas fit shouldst give him Law.  
His fear did fall  
By thy command,  
On Creatures All  
In Sea and Land;  
He standing only in his Father's Awe.   

His Diadem was bright Intelligence,  
Wisdom in full,  
Whose every spark  
Makes Diamonds dull,  
And Gems look dark;  
His Ermine Robe was purest Innocence.   

A Rationall-Plant-Animal was he:  
Can vegetate,  
Can Move and walk,  
Can contemplate,  
Discourse and talk:  
Fair Issue of the Blessed Trinity!   

Parents own Picture! wise, just, holy Son!  
Thou mad'st that star,  
His Heart, to be  
Triangular,  
Yet one with thee,  
Who art the Ever-blessed Three in One.   

That Instruments Three Strings thou God Trin-Unc.  
(Th' Intellect, Will  
And Memory)  
Didst Wisdoms skill,  
And Sanctity,  
And Righteousness give charge to keep in Tune.   

And, Oh! What rare and ravishing content  
My God did take?  
Till, on a day,  
A fall did crack  
(spoiling his play)  
The strings together with the Instrumenc.   

But, oh, what tongue? what pen? what prose? what verse?  
What tears? what cries?  
What melting moans?  
What sobs? what fight?  
What piercing groans  
Can man's so sudden, so sad fall rehearse?   

Of late a most complete and upright Piece  
My God did frame,  
Of crooked bone:  
But th' Serpent came,  
When God was gone,  
And wound his work to greater crookedness.   

Wound out of Heaven, but into Paradise,  
In a Friend's guise,  
That cankered Devil,  
By fallacies,  
Drew Eve to evil:  
And thus the Mother of all living dies.   

Man being thus on th' one side mortified,  
How quickly doth  
The Gangrene spread?  
Infecting both  
The heart and head.  
Thus Adam lived and reigned, rebelld and died.   

Down comes the Son by leaping Father's hedge:  
An Apple there,  
As some do gather,  
But a choak-Pear  
As I think rather,  
Did tempt him, Oh my teeth are yet on edge!   

O fruit, Death was thy fruit! thy gall, thy foot  
Me thinks I taste  
With all my bread;  
Which makes me haste  
Unto the dead:  
Thou bredst that worm that killed me in my root.   

Which bee'ng once withered, root and branch did fall  
With such aweight  
Made the earth to groan  
From such an height  
Man fell upon  
The inferior creatures, and so crushed them all.   

These subjects, thus oppressed, soon take up Arms  
'Gainst Rebell-Man,  
heavens deputy,  
(Who first begun  
to mutiny  
Against his sovereign) to revenge their Harms.   

For sin that made man Naked, Armed the Earth:  
So poor man scrambles,  
In sweat and blood,  
'Midst thorns and Brambles  
For sorry food,  
Till's Dust turns thither whence it had its Birth.   

Now the Earth, that sometimes owned him for its King  
Makes him Distrain  
With plough or spade  
For every grain  
Or't can't be had,  
That wont, of'ts own Accord, its Tribute bring.   

Man having broke God's Peace, all turns to strife:  
'Gainst his Creator  
Even Dogs proclaim  
Fallen man a Traitor.  
A two edged Flame  
Cries Come not, Rebel, near this Tree of Life.   

Besides these wares without that worm doth gnaw  
Man's in most soul;  
A worm late breeding  
O th' fruit he stole,  
Whereof man feeding  
Became as broken as his Maker's Law.   

Yet thou'rt the FATHER: these mourning Verses  
Do prove thee so;  
Man's miseries,  
The Creatures woe,  
And all their cries  
Plainly proclaim thee FATHER of all mercies.   

Thy Providence and Patience towards man  
Do seem to strive,  
O blessed strife—  
Who shall reprieve  
The Traitors life,  
By lenghthening out his poor contracted span.   

Though man made so much hast to stir thine ire;  
Yet thou art slow,  
My God, thou art;  
I find it so:  
Thou melt'st mine heart  
With burning Coals, but of another fire.  
Thine En'my hungers, and thou giv'st him food:  
Thine En'my thirsts,  
Thou giv'st him drink:  
Oh! mine heart bursts.  
Oh! Who would think  
Man were so bad, that sees his God so good?   

Father, Thou makest thy Sun still shine on those  
That lowr on thee;  
And when Heaven lours  
'Tis love we see;  
For fruitful showers  
Thou makest then to fall on thankless foes.   

Man, what art made of? Dost not feel that Sun,  
Dissolve the Ice?  
But thou art Clay,  
Th'harder for this:  
Yet showers, we say,  
Soften the hardened Clay; But thou art stone.   

Father, When man had ceased thy son to be,  
And turned thy foe,  
Yet didst thou not  
Desert him so;  
Nor hast forgot  
To set thy child, though battered, on thy knee.   

When man first, stripped himself, and showed his shame,  
 from the Backs  
Of Beasts less wild,  
Man's FATHER takes  
To dress his Child:  
Man lost his Robe, and Beasts must bear the blame   

Can I, to  a Foe, thus strip a Friend?  
My God My God  
What have these done?  
And yet thy Rod,  
Due to thy Son  
Falls on these servants backs that never find.   

Thus Man's both fed and clad at thine expense,  
Kept at thy charge,  
Yet keeps it not;  
But lives at large,  
As having got  
His force to fight thee from thy Providence.   

Heaps upon Heaps! One load upon another!  
God gives Man store,  
Like a Dear Friend,  
Man sins the more,  
Till in the end,  
Or Mercies sins, or sins do Mercies smother.   

Yet thou'rt the FATHER still: of mercy's Father:  
When through sins curse,  
Such Rebels die;  
Thou dost yet nurse  
Their Progeny:  
As th' Hen her Chickens, so thou dost them gather.   

Thus are all things conserved since the fall,  
Both man and Beast:  
The Raven's fed:  
The lilly's dressed;  
Then put to Bed.  
All's kept in 'tis kind, or Individual.   

How beauteous in its season is each thing?  
Summer supplies  
What Winter spends:  
When Autumn dies,  
Such stock descends  
As may set up the next succeeding Spring.   

Thy Providence makes Clouds feed th'Earth with Rain:  
Th' Earth feed the Plant;  
Plant, th'Animal:  
So there's no want,  
Nor waste at All.  
Then th' Earth with Vapours feeds the Clouds again.  
By these, the Marshes make the Mountains drink,  
And liquid Seas,  
At thy Commands,  
Water, by these,  
The parched Lands.  
Who, but thyself should such a thing forethink.   

Thou dost for every mouth provide a Meat:  
For every meat,  
A mouth provide:  
Thy Board's full set  
On every side:  
If aught do fall to th'ground, that th'earth doth eat.   

Father, for All things thou dost well provide.  
Thou didst Erect  
This fair Creation,  
And dost project  
Its preservation:  
And being the Housekeeper art the great House-Guide.  
Thou servest Thyself of All. Even Satan's Brain  
Ripens thy Plot;  
And his design,  
When he thinks not,  
Promoteth thine:  
Thou makest that Blacksmith forge his own dark chain.  
Thou makest man's wrath praise thee: And all his evil  
Thou turn'st to good:  
In all man's Story,  
Even in man's blood,  
Thou sav'st thy glory:  
Goodness rules all in spite of man and Devil.   

Yea such is Father's care, and Father's skill,  
When foolish man,  
Led by that elf,  
Doth all he can,  
T' undo himself,  
T' extract man's greatest good from such an ill.   

So thou 'rt the FATHER still: Thy new Creation  
Most sweetly shows  
Thy Fatherhood:  
My God renews  
Fallen man to good:  
By a new word through th' Spirits Incubation.   

Adam comes forth but in a new Edition:  
Gods bright Portraiture  
Is new impressed,  
The Divine Nature,  
On man's breast;  
Clear from all treason, and from all Misprision.   

Father, thou soak'st this Adamant in blood  
Of thy firstborn.  
Mine heart, I felt,  
Did the impress scorn,  
And would not melt  
Till that red Sea resolved it to a flood.   

Father, I heard thee beg the Rebel's peace  
Rising betimes  
To open thy doors:  
For all my crimes,  
My God implores  
Me to take pardon for my wickedness.   

Then said I turn me O my Lord my God  
And I will turn  
To bear thy yoke;  
Mine heart doth burn  
That I it broke.  
O my dear child! I'll run and burn my rod.   

Thus spoke my father. Pains o'th' second birth  
Did pinch and grieve,  
But God's dear strength  
Did soon relieve:  
And at the length,  
His child bee'ng washed and dressed, my God makes mirth.  
Nor doth man's elder brother grudge or grieve,  
But sing and smile,  
Angels do shout  
Heaven rings the while  
Th' whole court throughout,  
To see poor spendthrift man return and live.   

Man thus adopted and regenerate  
Searcheth his Father's  
L●st Testament,  
And thence man gathers  
H av'ns full ●nte●t  
For his inheritance and fa●ur st●●●.  
Thou provest thyself my FATHER all these waie●  
Now let thy Dove,  
Teach me to fear,  
To s ve and love,  
Thee, Father Dear,  
Proving myself thy Child, even all my Days.   
If you call on the FATHER, pass the time of your sojourning herein fear,  1 Pet. 1.17.  

SON.  

O Let that Dove, that sometimes did thee Crown  
With yellow Gold,  
And silver Plumes,  
Unto thy Poet Thee unfold  
That humbly by thy leave presumes,  
To spread thy fame and scatter thy Renown.  
Let thine Heroic Spirit guide my Verse  
If thou the thing  
Indite,  
I'll write  
Touching the King,  
What my weak willing heart would fain rehearse.   

'Twas when Augustus Cesaer laid a Tax  
On all the Earth,  
Grace called for Thee.  
'Twas then thy Mother gave thee Birth,  
That thou mightst set all Nations free,  
Heavens fair Impression's stamped on Virgin Wax.  
To us a Child is born, grace gives a Son,  
heavens were too bold,  
To say  
That they  
That King can hold,  
Who now into a Manger crowds His Throne.   

For since sin made man brutish like the Rest  
My God did lay;  
The Bread of Life,  
Come down from Heaven 'mongst Oats, and Hay,  
That man might find his food as rise,  
Yea find his Saviour whilst he seeks his Beast.  
'Tis not the Cloth but Crown that shows the King.  
A Cave's a Court,  
If there  
Appear  
The Princes Port.  
Wise men, what means your Star, your sparkling thing?  
Sure you can read by that Oriental light  
What is this stranger,  
That makes his Bed,  
In this poor Cottage, Crib, and Manger;  
Hav'ng no where else to lay his Head?  
'Tis Christ, Earth's Joy, Hell's Torment, heavens Delight.  
Satan, 'tis Christ my Crown, but Christ thy terror,  
By't if thou dare;  
His heel,  
I feel,  
Is somewhat bare;  
But thy bruised head shall ever rue thine error.   

All wise men do, but foolish sinners do not  
Lie prostrated,  
Before this Babe,  
Being lodged in such a poor straw-beds  
Nor, to this newborn child, cry, Ab;  
They be so unwise their Master's crib they know not.  
My Lord at eight days old began to bleed  
For my disease:  
To free  
Poor me,  
Not for's own ease:  
Surely this martyrs blood's the Church's seed.   

Then went he to his Temple with his Mother.  
One Dove, me thought,  
That blessed maid,  
Might then have spared, that Lamb being brought  
Before the Lord, whose fleece if laid  
But rightly on, the world's whole sin might smother.  
From thence, my Lord, posts into Egypts-land.  
Have at thy head,  
Black Prince,  
For since  
Egypt's dark bed  
Hath lodged this light, what dungeon can withstand?   

When Bethl'hem first gave Judah's Lion breath  
He boldly wades  
Through th' seven fold stream:  
The Dragon's country he invades,  
On their own ground thus daring them.  
Thence safe returning dwells at Nazareth.  
Can any good come thence? fair Nazarene!  
Thou dwellest there:  
Bu●, Lo!  
The Snow  
Is not so clear  
As thou canst make the Black-Moore sinner clean.  
At twelve years old my Lord went thence to sit  
I'th' Temple, which  
Ne'er shines so bright  
As when my Saviour doth enrich  
Its darkened windows with his light,  
There sits the child to teach the Doctors wit.  
The seav'ntieth week being come, the time foreset,  
In daniel's book,  
Foretold  
Of old:  
My Saviour took  
Baptism to him a type of's bloody sweat:   

Then was the water washed that scours my dress  
My God, my Christ:  
Thou couldst not need  
For thine own sake a John Baptist:  
But that thou mightest cleanse thy seed,  
thou'rt pleased thus to fulfil all righteousness.  
Jordan's the cleaner, Lord, for washing thee:  
Hath John indeed,  
To be  
By thee  
Baptised, such need?  
O my baptised Redeemer! Sprinkle me.   

Christ, thence ascending, meets his own dear dove  
Descending, while  
The bridegroom's friend,  
The Baptist, doth both see and smile  
Whose ears that heavenly voice attend  
O son of all my pleasure, all my love!  
From Egypt called, th' baptismal sea being crossed,  
My Lord, sets foot  
In haste  
On th' waist:  
Heaven drives him to't;  
To learn i'th' desert, how to seek the lost.   

Now with the Lion doth the Lamb converse  
God sends his Child,  
His hand to lay;  
Upon these Beasts that are most wild  
Till he hath taught them to obey:  
Tigers, Wolves, Leopards, Beasts most fell and fierce.  
My Lord's sent thither sure to learn to tame  
Man's brutish heart;  
(Moore wild,  
Less mild,)  
By dear bought art:  
●o turn the Savage sinner to a Lamb.   

The fiery Serpent of the Wilderness  
Finding Christ there,  
Doth spit and by't;  
But th' Brazen Serpent's hard and clear,  
Scorning the tempters craft and spite,  
The Bullet's battered, but not the fortress.  
Our Lord now learns to fast that we might feast  
And to be tempted,  
That we  
Might be  
Thereby exempted:  
Or succoured so as still to have the best.   

If thou be th' Christ, this Stone to Bread convert,  
Why fool, the Stone,  
Which thou wouldst move,  
Is Bread already, or there's none,  
My Lord was hungry for my love;  
Yet he's the strengthening Bread of poor man's heart.  
Taking this Rock thence to a Mountain high,  
Saith Satan, See;  
If thou  
Wilt bow  
And worship me:  
Those Kingdoms all i'll give thee instantly.   

Why, fool! Must th' Son buy freedom of a slave,  
Hark how thy Chain  
Doth clatter at,  
Thine heel? My Lord was born to reign:  
An Universal Monarch's state,  
To him long since heavens Letters Patents gave.  
To th'Temples Pinnacle, the Church's Head,  
Is hurried next:  
Bee'ng there,  
I hear,  
Hell took a Text;  
The Wolf by preaching would the Lamb preach dead.  
Jump down: 'Tis written th'Angels shall thee catch  
Say th'Tempters lips;  
And that he might  
Persuade my Lord to leap, he skips,  
Those words should set his Doctrine right  
Angels our ways ('tis not our Trespass) watch.  
Thy neck-verse found, in reading, dost thou Falter,  
Yet seem to preach?  
For thee  
Can be  
No Clergy, Wretch!  
Thus Haman sometime handseled his own halter.   

The tempter bee'ng at last turned off the Ladder,  
My Lord sits still  
Being firmer stone,  
Then th'wrestling-place, the Pinnacle  
From whence he threw bold Satan down:  
Then th' Angels bring a Chariot from his Father.  
This chosen vessel these temptation's season.  
Now he'll begin  
To preach  
In each  
Place he comes in.  
believes his doctrine; MIRACLES, his reason.   

Yet who makes USE? for every tribe but one  
This great High Priest,  
'Mongst all, doth get  
Whom very near his sacred breast  
As precious jewels he may set;  
And of this twelve, one's but a Bristol stone.  
For his first proof Christ water turns to wine,  
At th' marriage-feast.  
O pure!  
Sirs, sure  
It may be guest  
You to your wedding did invite the Vine.   

If this free vine doth yield so rich a store;  
Who can express  
What plenty shall  
Flow from thy cross, my God, thy press  
When they have bruised thy clusters all?  
May this Vines blood be my wine evermore!  
Well done for th' first: Canst do't again? Lord, do it;  
Convert my Verse,  
To thine  
Own wine,  
My water-terse:  
Renew thy miracle upon thy Poet.   

Soon after to his temple goes my God,  
His house of Prayer:  
Where th' sheep and dove  
Are sold as if there were a fair.  
But where is innocence and love?  
'Tis time, Lord, in thine house to use thy rod.  
Doth av'rice with thy temple make thus bold?  
The next step hence  
That we  
Shall see  
This sin commence,  
The temple of thy body must be sold.   

To seek the sunshine, comes a man by night,  
Hav'ng seen the things  
My Lord had wrought.  
heavens mysteries my Lord (forth brings  
But finds the teacher, how untaught?  
Night's most within, but Christ turns all to light.  
After, this Fountain, thirsting, seek a well:  
But finds a ditch  
Within  
With sin  
All foul, the which  
He searcheth first; doth all her do tell:   

Then, by revealing her, himself reveal  
To be the Christ:  
Samaria finds  
What blind jerusalem sought and missed.  
thou'rt Christ to all kindreds and kinds,  
That by believing set to thee their seal.  
Then says Disciples, Master, eat we pray  
But he had got  
A meat  
To eat  
Which they knew not  
For he'd gone eating, working, all the day.   

Bee'ng thence returned again to Galilee,  
A Noble man,  
For's dying son  
Begs a Reprieve of's Sovereign,  
The man believed it should be done,  
And what he first believed did quickly see.  
Happy that Son, whom God's Son quickeneth!  
More noble sure,  
He is  
For this  
Even for his care;  
Bee'ng thus by th'Prince of life reprieved from death▪   

Then to Bethesda's Pool, Salvations Well  
Carries a cure  
And givesed away;  
The Jews this carriage can't endure,  
But think Christ hurts the Sabath Day,  
Whilst he poor man, for whom 'twas made doth heal.  
Is there no cure, my God, for unbelief?  
'Mongst all thine art,  
Doth there  
Appear  
None to impart,  
To this disease a suitable relief.   

My Lord invites five thousand to a feast:  
No store of dishes  
Bee'ng dressed or cooked;  
That, by five loves and two small fishes,  
Their unbelief might all be choked,  
Whilst in their mouths their meat's so much increased.  
Yet ●●e next day, as if they'd ne'er been fed,  
These very men  
Do fret,  
And whet,  
Their teeth again,  
Not to feed on, but to backbite heavens Bread.   

After, The man born blind to sight's restored  
By paste of clay,  
Surely I should  
Have blinded seeing-eyes that way  
Bee'ng so far, Lord, from doing good.  
Yet Jews in these new eyes, can't see the Lord.  
Thou tak'st a living mon'ment from a grave.  
Thy foes may see  
The dead  
Raised;  
Yet they'd kill thee,  
Oh, my dear Lord, what sign would sinners have?   

Devils are all cast out, but unbelief,  
Dead Palsies too  
Receive their cure;  
But Oh, Dead hearts, what aileth you,  
That you do more and more obdure.  
Not miracles, but blood must cure this grief.  
Ah! My dear Lord, the withered hand is healed:  
And yet the hand  
Of faith  
Who hath?  
Jews still withstand:  
And after all, to whom's thine arm revealed?   

Fever's are quenched; yet fury burns amain:  
Issues of blood  
Are staunched quite:  
All evils, but their spleen find good;  
And th' bloody issues of their spite.  
Oh! how Jews hate the good Samaritan!  
Do Pharises wash oft? Ah! they have need:  
Leperds do clear,  
But then  
These men  
The liv'ry wear.  
Gebazi's curse is on them and their seed.   

Who cures their Frenzies, can't their rage allay,  
They contradict  
The tongue that taught  
The dumb to speak: yea when convict  
By the strange cures my Saviour wrought  
In Falling-sicknesses, yet fall away.  
Cripples get legs; yet man's opinions halt  
Who thou shouldst be:  
One while  
They smile,  
Then lower on thee;  
But thou art still the same: Lord! where's the fault?   

For thy good works their hardened hearts do stone thee.  
Sure it displeases  
That they have health,  
And that thou carri'st their diseases;  
Scattering amongst thy poor the wealth.  
My God, even of thine own how few do own thee!  
Oh! how they daily carp at righteousness!  
Life may not live,  
If they  
But may  
The sentence give.  
They plot to bring salvation to distress.   

To drag the resurrection to the grave:  
Earth's health to anguish:  
How fain would they  
See their dear-cheap Physician languish  
Who freely cures them all the day.  
Him to destroy they plot, he them to save.  
My Lord, thy patience is a miracle  
'Mongst all the rest  
(As we  
May see)  
None of the least.  
My Lord! If I may judge it doth excel.   

Oh! how they grudge my Lord his drink and food!  
The Bread, the Vine,  
Sent down to us,  
As bee'ng a bibber of much wine  
They tax, and call him gluttonous  
Who's only greedy for to do them good.  
These dunghills to asperse the sun begin.  
He casts out evil,  
Yet they  
Do say  
He hath a Devil;  
Sinner, they call the fountain open for sin.   

He is the Son o'th' Carpenter, say some;  
The Son of God,  
You might have said,  
Who raised heavens roof you see so broad,  
Such Carpentry's no such mean trade,  
Helping to ground-sill all this lower room.  
Others object, that they his country know,  
The place from whence  
He came  
Can name,  
And how long since.  
Why, Sirs, pray when did you to Heaven go?   

Then they persuade us that the King speaks treason  
Because he makes  
Himself to be  
God as he is: Because he takes  
His own, they cry out robbery.  
Lord all men have not Faith, all have not reason.  
Sometimes he is not Caesar's friend, they say,  
Who's Caesar's King.  
Yet he,  
We see,  
Makes fish to bring  
Tribute to him, that he may Cesar's pay.   

Then they cry out, that he's the sinner's friend.  
But, Oh! that they,  
That thus exclaim,  
Had rightly known what now they say,  
The counsel that to sinners came,  
From his dear friendly lips they'd more attend.  
To make Christ clash with Moses they project.  
The great Lawgiver  
Doth teach  
Its breach;  
This they deliver  
Who would the Copy by the Proof correct.   

How sharp their sight to find faults where are none?  
But Oh! how dim  
For to descry  
That radiant deity in him?  
And most of all, how blind to spy  
Those great prodigious evils of their own?  
The Temple he'd destroy, and then rebuild  
This, Jew's object;  
But what  
Of that?  
Themselves project  
How th' Temple of Christ's Body might be killed.   

How malice mixed with blindness all misconstr'es!  
My Lord so spoke  
As ne'er did Man:  
Yet's words and works too they'll mistake,  
Say he, or do he what he can.  
To match his miracles they bring forth monsters.  
Have Rulers or have Pharisees believed?  
The Law we know;  
Say those  
His foes.  
Ah! if 'twere so  
The Lawmaker would sure have been received.   

Yet this good Shepherd finds some straggling sheep:  
The Gospel-net  
Some Fishers takes:  
Some at receipt of custom set  
Christ's customers his market makes.  
And what he finds he'll spend his life but keep.  
Some wise and noble too, although not many  
King Jesus Court  
Can show:  
And so  
To keep his Fort  
There's one Centurion, Lord 'tis well there's any.   

Marry th' unclean from whom as many Devils,  
As muddy Nile  
Hath streams, are cast:  
Each flood had its own Crocodile:  
Yet she becomes one stream at last  
Of Gospel-penitence for all her evils.  
Christ's feet washed with her tears her hair makes dry:  
And Christ again  
With blood  
Makes good  
Her ways unclean:  
And with forgiveness wipes the weepers' eye.   

A Canaanite to th' King of Hebrews comes,  
Begs and implores  
At Israel's feast  
Some succour from those sacred stores  
That Jesus for the Jews had dressed.  
Whilst Children slight their bread, she leaps at crumbs.  
A little man, but sinner not the least  
Climbs up on high  
That he  
The tree  
Of life might spy;  
And in the fruitless Sycamore a feast.   

Marry, the Lords Messiah, doth anoint;  
Disciples grudge,  
And think't too good  
For him who thinketh not too much  
To spend on them his precious blood.  
See how one Judas puts all out of joint?  
Bee'ng thus anointed Christ as King appears,  
And forth doth go,  
As King  
Riding  
To Zion so.  
Who brings salvation, him an Ass-Colt bears:   

Thus foolish things, and things that men despise  
The Lord doth choose;  
That this dumb Ass  
Might preach performance to the Jews  
Of what of old forespoken was;  
And Christ by weakness might confound the wise  
Judah! thy sceptre's gone but Shiloh's come.  
Jerusalem!  
Look out,  
And shout,  
For David's stem  
Now springs a fresh in thy Lawgivers room.   

Children, by their hosannah's loudly cried,  
Do testify  
My Saviour's praise,  
That he might still his foes thereby,  
His Name these Babes and suckling's rais●,  
Whilst th' Elders and the Fathers him deride.  
Thus whilst the Father's fall i'th' Wilderness,  
Children inherit;  
Why, lo  
Even so  
It pleased the Spirit,  
What men deny, to teach poor Babes confess.   

What Jews reject poor Greeks make friends to see.  
Zion, take heed  
Thou be ned the hive  
That others doth with honey feed,  
Not tasting what itself doth give;  
Whilst Gentiles steal away thy Christ from thee.  
What needs more proof? my Lord puts on the rack  
Devils themselves  
(Though Jews  
Refuse,  
As worse elves)  
Till they to him a full confession make.   

Would you believe, if your high Priest should tell  
Or who's the Christ,  
Should testify?  
Sure your own Caiaphas little mist  
Saying, 'twas meet this man should die  
For th' people, that they perish not: GOSPEL'S:  
How sweetly sings this Swan before them all!  
Though envy fumes  
His skin  
Within  
His whited plumes,  
Their High Priest sings heavens High Priests Funeral.   

Thus men teach Parrots speak, but what they know not;  
The High Priest cries  
(And surely he  
Should know) this man's your Sacrifice.  
Yet Christ their Saviour must not be:  
My Lord, men do confess thee though they do not.  
This Sacrifice the Priest plots how to kill,  
And yet there was  
More Priest  
In Christ  
Then Caiaphas.  
Thus types the truth, shadows would substance spill.   

Innocent Lamb! although thou knewest this plot,  
Yet, Oh! how fain  
Wouldst thou get up  
To be in read'ness to be slain  
'Gainst th' Passover; that all might sup?  
My Lord, thou seest thy death but shun'st it not.  
This is the Paschall Lamb, sure I may call it  
Immaculate;  
O God,  
Thy Blood  
Sprinkles my gate:  
Yet is thy bitter grief my bitter salad.   

I' th' upper room my Lord bespeaks the feast  
For his dear Friends;  
That they might know  
That from above their cheer descends;  
Who'll Feast with Christ must upwards go.  
But, Oh! how dear for all pays this dear guest  
Desiring I've desired this feast to eat  
With you, before  
I go  
Unto  
The other shore.  
Oh! how my Lord hungers to be my meat?   

Yet Friends, there's something I must sadly say:  
You're not all clean,  
'Mongst you doth fit  
(The man that dips with me, I mean)  
A Devil, yet an Hypocrite,  
That shall this night the God of truth betray.  
'Tis my Purse-bearers plot his Lord to sell  
Who had him bought:  
The wretch  
To Preach  
I sometime taught,  
But not to sell me, or himself to Hell.   

Judas! canst thou find death in such a Pot?  
Plot such a matter  
Against thy Master?  
Whilst thy sop softens in my platter,  
Who of each dish make thee a taster,  
Hardens thy heart the whilst, Iscariot?  
Will nothing serve but sops in blood next meal?  
My Purse, my dish  
Were free  
To thee  
What more couldst wish?  
Wretch! what thou dost do quickly: Run, and sell.   

Pensive Disciples when they hear, and know it,  
Each fears for one:  
But he that bears  
The bag, is lag; perditions Son  
He is the last that doubts or fears:  
Slow to confess, but Oh! how swift to do it.  
Come children take this bread, 'tis broke for you:  
Much good  do you;  
'Tis dressed,  
And blest,  
Take it unto you,  
And therewithal my broken body too.   

Come my Disciples, here's an health likewise  
To you, not me:  
Let it go round,  
Salvations cup's the cup you see:  
Your health is in my bloody wound,  
Think of my blood as oft as ye drink this.  
Your Maker's broken Law, your bloody sin,  
And bleeding heart  
Bring me  
To see  
And feel this smart.  
Who would Hell conquer must with death begin.   

My Testament I leave you sealed in blood:  
You I bequeath  
When ere I die  
Full conquest over sin and death  
With life and peace; which by and by  
I the testator by my death make good.  
Pledge me, dear friends, this blood was broached for you  
I'll drink no more  
Of wine  
Oth' ●ine,  
Till bee'ng got over,  
I may in Father's kingdom drink it new.   

Come let's now sing, saith Christ, seeing all my sorrow  
Is but your Crown:  
Thorns at the breast  
Make music, when the Spirit's down,  
Yea sometimes music of the best;  
Let's sing to night, for I must die to morrow.  
My Lord then riseth up from whence he sat  
Whom winds obey,  
And seas  
With these,  
Disciples may  
Now see him, that he may be gracious, WAIT.   

Sure whilst my Saviour SERVES, who ever came  
seeing him so dressed,  
Waiting on all  
Gird with a Napkin, scarce had guest  
This were the feast of's Funeral,  
But Marriage Supper rather of the Lamb.  
After the wine my Lord doth water take;  
Heaven stoops to meet,  
And bow  
As low  
As sinner's feet.  
Oh what clean work Christ's Blood and Spirit makes.  
Peter, thou thinkest that I stoop down too low,  
And sayst I shall  
Ne'er wash thy feet;  
Then canst thou have no part at all  
In David's Son, nor be made meet  
I th' new Jerusalem's clean streets to go,  
Streets that are pure as gold and clear as glass:  
This Basin is  
Thy way  
I say  
To this fair bliss:  
Israel to Canaan must through Jordan pass.   

Sirs, see you what I h've done, and do you know it?  
You call me well  
saying I'm your Lord:  
If I then stoop, Oh! never swell.  
If I have washed your feet, afoard  
You to do likewise: Happy if you do it.  
Servants, my Livery you must wear is Love.  
This bowl's my Spirit,  
Which I  
Now die  
That you may ' nherit:  
The Lamb goes hence that he may send the Dove.   

Oh may this towel bind your hearts in one!  
My bending down,  
Teach them to bow!  
May pride and sinful passions drown  
In this full Basin. Men shall know  
By this that your are mine when I am gone.  
Gone? I'll go too, saith Peter, Lord I will  
What are comes on't.  
Oh no!  
Not so;  
'Tis a sore brunt.  
Best metal melts when men their Maker kill.   

Nay Lord, though all men run, I'll stand by thee:  
Run friends or foes,  
Foes to pursue,  
Or friends to scape the hands of those.  
Poor man I'll tell thee what's more true,  
Ere th' Cock crow twice I thrice denied must be.  
Su●e Peter's courage strangely is come on.  
My Passion, lo!  
He did  
Forbid,  
Now he'll die too.  
Yet when the shepherd dies, the sheep will run.   

Let not your hearts be troubled, but believe  
In God and Me.  
I ride before  
To see things may in red'ness be,  
Behold I'll meet you at the door:  
My Father's house can me and you receive.  
Wither I go ye know, and th' way ye know.  
Saith Thomas, Nay  
Lord, we  
Can't see  
Which is the way,  
For we, alas! know ned whither thou dost go.   

Thomas, I am the true and living way.  
My flesh I gave,  
(Knowest thou me)  
A pathway unto Heaven to pave,  
Cemented with my blood to be,  
So that who walks in me can't go astray.  
Show us the Father, Lord, that's all our bliss;  
Doth Philip say.  
How long  
Among  
You must I stay,  
Ere you know me, saith Christ, why here he is.   

Judas replies, but not th' Iscariot, Lord  
How is't that thou  
Thyself to us,  
But not unto the world, dost show  
Thy blessed self revealing thus:  
Why, I will do't to all that keep my word,  
Peace I leave with you, my peace I you give,  
Not as the world,  
When here  
And there  
You're test and hurled,  
The sweetest calm shall then your hearts relieve.   

Friends, if you love me let me go, don't grieve me.  
Oh! how your sobs  
Do antedate  
My Passion! O my pulse vies throbs.  
Oh let my grief in yours abate;  
My father's arms are ready to receive me.  
Sirs, I can't stay to talk yonder's the Prince  
The world that sways.  
O see  
How he  
Doth's legions raise;  
Yet of one single fault can't me convince.   

I am the vine, ye branches bring forth fruit:  
My blood's your sap:  
My blood's your seed:  
'Tis well for you that others tap  
The vessel, that the vine may bleed:  
The hand that empties me doth you recruit.  
O if you love yourselves let me go send  
That guide to you  
That shall  
Even all,  
Even all things show.  
I h've much to speak which you can't yet attend.   

A little while I disappear, Anon  
I'm seen again;  
For to the Father  
I go, say they, what may this mean,  
This little while? we cannot gather.  
Why, Friends, when Winter's over, Spring comes on.  
Truth, Lord! we now believe. Ah do you so?  
Just now comes on  
An hour  
Whose shower  
Will make you run,  
Whilst solitary to my grave I go.   

Yet am I not alone: O blessed Father!  
thou'rt with me still:  
Now glorify  
Thy Son, thy Son: when Butchers kill  
Thy Lamb, Oh take me up on high  
And thine and mine Lord with me, to me gather:  
These are thy stock I kept and did improve them.  
For these I pray,  
And all  
That shall  
Their word obey.  
Lord, here's thine own again; O keep them, love them!   

Then his Disciples forth my Lord doth lead.  
Cedron i'th' way  
Makes me bethink  
What th' Psalmist of th' Hi●h Priest do say,  
He of the brook i'th' way shall drink  
Therefore he shortly shall lift up the head.  
Thence they together to the garden pass,  
Where grew that store  
That can  
Fallen man  
Make as before:  
Sure my Redeemers RVE'S that herb of grace.   

'Twas in a garden Adam did undo us  
There grew that fruit  
Whose bitterness,  
That man for ever might not rueed,  
My Lord did taste and squeeze and press:  
Then from a Garden brings our cure unto us.  
O mount of Olives! O Gethsemane!  
To all else yet  
A soil  
Of Oil!  
Of bloody sweat  
Only to me— sinner! here's Oil for thee.   

Sirs, sit you here, Peter, and James and John,  
Oh! I begin  
To feel such smart  
Amazeth me that ne'er knew sin:  
Yet how it cuts my very heart!  
Sirs, sit you down. I must pray or I'm gone.  
This cup, this cup, O Father! may it pass!  
This cup, this cup  
 pass!  
Alas!  
Must I drink't up?  
Why, all thy vials dregs are in this glass.   

Ah! friends your heav'ness doth augment mine too.  
How can your eyes  
Continue shut  
So near such strong and bitter cries?  
Dulness, I now perceive, can cut:  
Will you not watch with him that's sick for you?  
You three of all I chose for sentiness:  
I bade you lie  
perdieu,  
But you  
Sleep, though I die.  
Yet in weak flesh a willing spirit dwells.   

But though my foot-guard sleeps, mine horse men watch  
Though men do grieve me  
Yet at the length  
Mine Heav nly Angel doth relieve me,  
heavens succours reinforce my strength.  
Sin do thy worst now, thou'st meet with thy match,  
Yet, Oh this cup! this cup! Lord let it pass  
If't be thy will;  
Yet thine  
Not mine  
Perform thou still.  
Thy scalding wrath, Lord, cracks my brittle glass.   

Sin ent'red man at first but by one hole:  
But every poor  
Throughout my skin,  
My God my God becomes a door  
Whence blood goes out whilst wrath comes in.  
Such anger, through thine anger, melts my soul.  
Can you get sleep, whilst in this scalding ba●h  
I melt away,  
Blood-wet  
In sweat?  
Sirs, think I pray,  
'Tis for your fevers sake of sin and wrath.   

What, can I not one hours short watch obtain?  
One hours? I say.  
Oh! you'll be tempted;  
Watch, for your own sakes then, and pray:  
Oh! pray that you may be exempted.  
There are no vapours left in my parched brain:  
I'm past all sleeping now, but the sleep of death.  
But, Oh! let pass  
This cup!  
Drink't up.  
Thy sword, Alas!  
In thine own fellow-shepheard dost thou sheathe?   

Oh! how thy wrath my flower to hay converts!  
My bones do stare,  
My flesh consumes,  
My skin is parched, as bottles are  
I' th' smoke, Lord, through thine angry fumes.  
Disciples, now sleep on, and rest your hearts.  
This restless night of mine procures for you  
A day of peace;  
My showers,  
Your flowers,  
Your joys increase.  
Never did night yield such a blessed dew:   

Honey to mine, though Gall and Blood to me:  
I mean those drops  
Which from my brow  
Bedew the ground. Sinners, what crops  
May your dear Lord expect from you?  
Bu● now let's rise; you Traitor comes, I see.  
Your Saviour's given into sinners hands.  
Judas! Ar● come?  
Thou ' lt soon  
Be gone  
Hence to thine home.  
Whilst thou twists mine, I faster knit thy bands.   

Thou send'st me to my cross: But I'll be even.  
Thou shalt hang first,  
Thief that thou art!  
Thou'st broke thy faith, and thou shalt burst  
A sunder, false perfidious heart!  
'Tis fit such pay be to such traitors given.  
Into the second Adam's garden creep  
Dost thou, Serpent?  
That way  
Betray  
The innocent?  
Me thinks thou smil'st as Crocodiles do weep.   

Canst kiss, and court me still? Hail! Master, Hail!  
'Twas sometimes said,  
O kiss the Son  
Lest he be wroth, and strike you dead  
Sure thy kiss is not such a one.  
With unbelievers, Hypocrites shall wail.  
Judas, thou knowst mine haunt. I th' very place  
Me to betray  
Just there  
Even where  
With me to pray  
Thy feigned lips were wont, hast thou the face.   

What means thy search? wretch, thou'rt the fugitive  
Your Lantern light,  
Sirs, also shows  
Your works are darkness, and you night▪  
Why force you what I don't refuse?  
Is it my life you seek? 'tis that I give.  
Jesus of Nazareth you're come to take;  
Why I am he.  
They all  
Down fall.  
Can majesty  
Upon such Rebels such impression make?   

My Lord, thou needest nor flee, nor Peter draw?  
They run, they run:  
Backwards they fall:  
Yet, to be taken, thou comest on,  
Yielding thyself unto their thrall,  
Who cannot slip thy curb from off their jaw.  
Servants are let go free, while th' master's bound  
Bold Peter now,  
To show his  
Prowess,  
Is word and blow.  
But the meek prisoner gently cures the wound.   

Thou chidest thy Champion, while thou friend'st thy foe,  
Sweet Prince of peace!  
The wounds of foes  
Thou'dst rather heal with gentleness;  
Then thine should steel to flint oppose.  
Peter's too hot to hold, I fear me so.  
What mean your swords and staves? sirs! who's the thief:  
've stolen the fruit,  
And yet  
Are set  
To make pursuit.  
I've only stolen the punishment and grief.   

Was I not with you in the temple still?  
Have you forgot  
My Sermons there?  
Yet all that while ye took me not.  
And must I now these shackleses wear?  
Th' Essential must the written word fulfil.  
See, my Disciples leave me and they fly:  
Each shifts for one:  
And so  
I too  
Can well have done:  
But, lo! my bondage is their liberty.   

Thus bond they drag me to the high Priest first,  
Who am the goat  
Doomed thus to die  
More by heavens counsel then their plot,  
For sin, in mine Humanity;  
Which though it knew no sin, for sin's accursed.  
Then they confess over my guiltless head  
Their sins, not mine:  
Yet I  
Did cry,  
Something divine  
You'll find hath scaped your hands when I am dead.   

In my two natures I'm both Goats in one:  
Can die, yet scape;  
Can scape, yet die:  
I can discharge first Adam's rape,  
Then second Adam's bands untie.  
Sinner, I must do both, or thou'rt undone.  
False witness they suborn 'mongst faithless Jews.  
Such is their grudge  
Their Lord  
They 'ccord  
To death t' adjudge.  
Though witnesses agree not, that accuse.   

Art thou the Christ? they captiously inquire.  
Not for to know  
As sometime did  
John's dear Disciples, but to throw  
Mine own confessions at mine head.  
They watch my words with an inflamed desire:  
This Mary sometimes did, but not as they;  
Not life, but death  
They watch  
And catch  
From my dear breath,  
Both to themselves and me this bloody day.   

Peter steals to their fire, to melt, not fight:  
Mine seldom warm  
Themselves with such  
But quickly rue their dearbought harm,  
Saying the warmth's not half so much.  
Sirs, is't so this morn? 'twas hot i'th' night;  
I felt it so. Nor find I ought yet cool,  
Except it be  
The love  
Even of  
My friends to me,  
Whilst enemies my wisdom fain would fool.   

The High Priest rends his  but not his heart  
Then all condemn me  
The Hall throughout,  
Who must judge all: Abjects contemn me,  
Whom Angels do admire, they flout.  
They are the Ishma'ls, I bear isaack's part.  
Then they blindfold mine eyes, to whom the night  
Shines as the day:  
I can't,  
Sure, want,  
Who gave away  
So many eyes to others wanting sight.   

Oh! how these Bats project to blind the Sun!  
Moles plot and think  
(How wise they are?)  
With a poor clout thus to hoodwink  
jacob's true bright and morning star.  
Indeed if't could, 've need it should be done.  
How they to make me like themselves devise?  
I, and they, wink:  
They see  
Not me;  
And so they think  
I can't see them, although I made their eyes.   

Others, for spite, spit on my blessed face,  
Which Moses, and  
Elias too,  
Did once i'th' mount admiring stand  
Transfigured then, disfigured now.  
How men bespatter Gods own looking-glass.  
These pot shards then their potter smite with rods.  
My white and ruddy  
These foes  
With blows  
Make black and bloody:  
I'm boxed by slaves, who rule among the Gods.   

Then prophesy who smote thee, some do cry.  
Alas! who not?  
Yet I'll impart;  
Me, for my seed, my Father smote;  
But never did mine own clean heart.  
Scorners, go read Isaiah's Prophecy.  
He did esteem me stricken of my God;  
That stripes on me,  
My smart  
Of heart,  
Man's cure might be:  
Man did the fault, and I must feel the rod.   

Peter, I doubt thy courage will soon cool  
At that same fire;  
Th' Ague'll come on:  
Satan to sift thee did desire.  
Now Peter prove thee rock and stone.  
My dear Disciple, do ned deny my school.  
Oh! at first charge, I see, my Champion's laid!  
The shield, the shield  
Of faith  
He hath  
Near lost this shield.  
Who played the man 'mongst men, falls by a maid.   

Whom flesh and blood revealed not, flesh and blood  
Can teach deny,  
Even his dear Lord;  
Constant to's own unconstancy.  
Even as if this had been his word,  
I will deny, not die, to this he stood.  
Oh! my poor fisher's caught the second time.  
I said, abide  
In me,  
O ye  
Will quickly slide:  
But now it seems to b● of me's a crime.   

Then others cry, this man's of Nazareth.  
He by and by  
With cursing doth  
Me, tha● hav● born his curse, deny:  
〈…〉 e●rs 〈◊〉 ●now● not what he knoweth  
Peter, they say they smell thee by thy breath  
To be of me, Oh! that I could so say!  
Sirs, don't you hear?  
The man  
Can ban,  
Can curse and swear.  
That he's of me, Sirs, doth such speech bewray?   

Surely you know my speech no more than me.  
Peter denies  
His Christ— so crew  
The Bird that wakes the sleeper's eyes;  
I looked on Peter, than he knew  
The Cock his Master's Monitour to be.  
Peter thus finding all crow over him  
Runs forth to weep;  
His soul  
Now foul  
To wrinse and steep;  
Even in a spring-ride of salt tears to swim.   

I have denied my Lord, my Lord that's dying:  
I have denied  
My Lord, my Lord  
Whom I confessed, professed; bee'ng tried  
I have renounced his and my word;  
My Lord that bought me I have been denying.  
Now his hot fit's come on. My Christ, when ever,  
Through thou knowst what,  
Thee I  
Deny  
In word or thought;  
Oh! give me Peter's sweat, in Peter's fever.   

By this time is my doom's days dawning come.  
Their rightful King  
Jew's having bound  
Before an alien Judge do bring.  
That guilt i'th' guiltless might be found,  
Butcher's object, but I the Lamb, lie dumb.  
Herod, and Pontius Pilate, Gentiles, Jew's  
Counsel and plot:  
I am  
The Lamb  
Must go to pot:  
Satan is at mine heel, which he will bruise.   

Who art? and, what is truth? Pilate inquires,  
Bee'ng strange to both,  
I find it so:  
Yet to my blood shed lag and loath,  
Whilst mine own people raging go  
To burn King David's branch with Gentile fires.  
Take him yourselves, saith Pilate; Jewish men,  
Ease your own grudge.  
Say they  
We may  
No man adjudge  
To death. Our sceptre's gone. Where's Shiloh then?   

See you your wants? not what ye have, O ye?  
Why, Shiloh's come:  
My white and ruddy  
This wine and milk, though I be dumb  
Speaks it; this innocence thus bloody.  
This is your Shiloh's garment: can't you see?  
'Tis not so long, O thou my city! since  
hosannah's, cried  
In thee  
To me,  
Me testified;  
Thy people gathering round about their Prince   

'Tis not so long since I did bind my foal,  
Mine Ass' Colt,  
Unto my vine;  
To thee, jerusalem, now revolt;  
That I might wash my weeds in wine,  
Whilst to the death I'm pouring out my soul.  
Judas meanwhile, considering all that's done  
Through his foul sin,  
Relents  
Reputes  
And brings again  
That dunghill dirt for which he sold the Sun.   

For's thirty pieces, thirty thousand woes  
Oppress his heart.  
Then to his Priest,  
I've sinned, and th' innocent must smart.  
The wretch bee'ng shriven, so confessed.  
See thou to that, say th' Priests, see thou to those.  
Oh! to what lead doth illgot silver turn?  
Judas can't bear  
The weight  
Of it;  
Yet 'twas his dear:  
Oh! take't again. My fingers burn, they burn.   

Into the treas'ry this they dare not cast:  
Oh! 'tis not good,  
Poor men they dare not;  
Oh! 'tis the price, the price of blood!  
And yet to spill that blood they spare not:  
Thus Gnats do stick, whilst Camels go down fast.  
They take the money first, and then dispute  
whether it should be so.  
Mean while  
The vile  
Traitor doth go,  
Bee'ng self-condemned himself to execute.   

A bloody piece of charity's the end.  
The Potter's field,  
That strangers might  
Be buried there, to buy they yield  
Not burying there their own strange spite.  
Thus kind to strangers, whilst they kill their friend.  
Mean while me at a godly price men hold;  
Hereto it's come,  
One field  
Can yield  
As great a sum,  
As doth the Maker of the world when sold.   

Now th' Judge of all stands bound at Pilat's bar.  
Great God is tried  
For's life, by man:  
Yet by this stranger justified,  
Say mine own people what they can.  
Hurried to Her●d next, and's men of war.  
Herod forsooth would see a miracle  
And doth, whilst I  
Sustain  
Disdain  
So patiently,  
Who could scowl these proud scorners quick to Hell.   

In white and splendid raiment then, from thence  
I'm re-conveyed  
To my first judge.  
('Twixt whom and Herod peace is made  
They in my blood can sink their grudge)  
Wearing the type of my clear innocence  
Saith Pilate, see nor I nor Herod can  
His crime descry  
Why he  
Should be  
Condemned to die;  
Will you, this feast, that I release this man?   

Take him, and scourge him, scourge him as you list,  
Oh! What I feel!  
My God, what lashes!  
Think you my back is stone or steel  
Like your hard hearts? O gage these gashes?  
And spare your rod, or tell me wherefore is't.  
Yet doth mine hand still sway that iron-rod,  
Wherewith I can  
All those  
My foes,  
Even as one man,  
In pieces break; and make them know I'm God.   

Who would have thought all government were laid  
Upon these shoulders,  
Thus rend and torn  
By cruel stripes? yet they're th' upholders  
Whereon both globes o'th' world are born;  
A load that's light to th'stripes of them that strayed.  
I am the fruitful field now ploughed in furrows,  
That every sin  
Might have  
Its grave  
To whither in.  
I am the rock, these holes are sinners burrows.   

Princes, whilst under Paedagogues they be,  
Can stand and see,  
When 've transgressed,  
Subjects whipped for't, why, Pilate me,  
Thou'st innocent and king confessed,  
Yet for my people's faults I'm scourged by thee.  
Pilate, thou thinkest these bloody stripes may cease  
Their bloody cry,  
But blood  
‛ So good,  
They'll drink them dry,  
And their Hydropic thirst will more increase.   

Alas! thou thinkest to seal me a release  
From blood in gore,  
But 'twill not be  
Till I have emptied all my store.  
Then, sinner, there's release for thee.  
So dearly must I buy my Subject's peace.  
pilate's own wife becomes mine advocate:  
Her sufferings in  
Her dream,  
To them  
She doth begin,  
So to prevent my Passion, to relate.   

But who can harden his soft cowardice.  
To take my part,  
And shield my right?  
Or mollify their hardened heart  
To quit their spleen, or scirrhous spite?  
Pilate, have nought to do with Christ, she cries:  
Woman, thy husband's like to have nothing sure  
With me to do:  
Whilst he  
For me  
No heart can show;  
But to condemn, whom he acquits, endure.   

pilate's own Lady plays the nursing mother;  
Whilst Jews reject,  
Builders refuse  
Fair Zions precious stone elect  
Which for the corner God will use.  
‛ Ware  lest this crowd thy conscience smother.  
Pilate and I have two hard parts to play;  
Pilate, to please  
All those  
My foes,  
Yet me release:  
I, to make Heaven and earth good friends this day.   

Time after time he questions and approves  
Mine innocence;  
And tells the Jews  
That clearly that's all mine offence:  
And doth the oil of courtship use,  
Which either more inflames, or nothing moves.  
Pilate hangs first 'twixt two bee'ng crucified,  
Conscience and fear:  
The Rout  
Without  
For blood appear:  
By pilate's Privy Counsel 'tis denied.   

Will you, saith Pilate, I release your King,  
Or Barrabas  
The Murderer?  
The Man of Men the Monster was  
Yet Barrabas they all prefer  
Blood upon blood thus on themselves they bring.  
Now, O ye Heavens, stand astonished!  
And thou, bright Sun,  
Be gone:  
Get on  
Thy mourning gown!  
That when I bow mine, thou may'st hid thinehead.   

Let Gad'rens now for kind commended be;  
Yet they preferred  
Their herd of swine,  
But no Barrabas in that Herd.  
But, Oh! the hoggishness of mine,  
Even of mine only people unto me!  
Why even these Butcher's trade's a mystery.  
There is a skill  
That they  
This day  
Have learned to fill  
Their hands with blood: and that before I die.   

The murder and the murderer all's their own  
Whilst they thus choose:  
And oh! what wonder?  
What fit head, for bloody Jews,  
Than this Barrabas, to list under;  
Whilst from their head they cast off me their crown?  
My Christ, there's yet a sweeter mystery:  
Innocent breath  
I see  
In thee  
Condemned to death;  
That th' chief of sinners might escape thereby.   

What shall I do then with your King, saith he.  
Him Crucify,  
Cries all the rout:  
Oh let him, let him, let him die!  
As if they could not live without  
His blood, no more can I Lord, give it me.  
Why, but saith Pilate, tell me what's his crime,  
Or take him you.  
Away,  
Say they,  
Let him die now.  
To find his fault would ask too long a time,   

Whilst all can tell me how, none can tell why  
I should be killed.  
Sirs, is it because  
I gave you good and righteous Laws  
Which you have broke, and I fulfilled?  
Must I because I let you live, now die?  
Or is it for some injuries of old!  
In Egypt, and  
In the  
Red Sea,  
And desert Land,  
Whereof your Father's Fathers have you told?   

Or is't because I said I came from God  
To bring a new  
And great Salvation,  
Greater than th' first, to thee, O Jew!  
Proving my mission to my Nation,  
By an all-conquering wonderworking Rod?  
Is it because your dumb can speak, that I'm  
Cried out against?  
'Gainst me  
Are ye,  
O Jews! incensed  
Because of all my cures? are they my crime?   

Is it because your dead are raised, that I  
Am grudged my breath?  
Grudged what I give?  
Am I therefore condemned to death?  
Dost therefore grieve you that I live?  
Why, I shall quicken the more, when ere I die.  
Then Pilate puts me in the soldier's hands:  
They plate a Crown:  
Alas!  
It was  
A thorny one  
Which he must wear, who Heaven and Earth commands.   

Why, I am israel's King: and him I found  
Ith' Wilderness,  
That howling waste,  
Whose Music these outcries express;  
Whose only fruits are thorns, I taste:  
Clothed with their sins I'm with their thorns too crowned.  
Thus I with sinner's change, 'tis well for them:  
Their thorney Crown  
So worn,  
And born,  
I make mine own,  
Yielding for it an heavenly diadem.   

israel, that so long brought me no sweet Cane,  
Now puts me off  
With a poor weed:  
For sacrifice, they bring a scoff:  
And for my sceptre, bring a reed;  
Yet by me Princes rule and Kings do reign.  
Then in Purple Robe they me invest:  
But that same colour  
I wore  
Before,  
Through stripes and dolour,  
Both on my scourged back and tortured breast.   

Then gathering round, even as they lift, they flout me.  
Hail King! they cry;  
And bow the knee,  
But not their hearts: (Why, truly I  
Ever had some that so serve me)  
Breathing disdain yet can't they breathe without me.  
They rend my flesh, the temples of mine Head  
They smite with reeds:  
But I  
Surely  
Shall quit their deeds,  
By rending veil and Temple when I'm dead.   

In strange disguise (for so are Princes wont  
When as they pass  
Through stranger's lands,  
And such Judea is, alas!  
To me, whilst I am in such hands:)  
Brought forth I am that Priests might me confront  
A ruthful spectacle! a man of grief!  
Laden with woes!  
With thorns;  
With scorns  
Of bitter foes!  
Will not the Priest and Levite yield relief?   

Whither, oh! whither, would I, could I fly?  
Shall I repair  
To th' altars side?  
Spite is there hottest. There they are  
That first cried, be he Crucified.  
Away, say they, O let him, let him die.  
We have a Law, the Son of Death he is  
God's Son to be  
That makes  
Or takes,  
Himself here's he.  
Sirs do not quote the Second Psalm for this.   

Pilate an Heathen, dreads my reverend name,  
Which Jew's despise:  
Inquires the more  
Whence I am? whence my kingdom is?  
Not of this world, I head said before:  
So, he my dumbness, I his deafness blame.  
Of what he asks I did the truth impart,  
And told him so:  
But he  
Began flee  
The truth as though  
It were some Ghost or Mormo Truth! what art?   

With's power of life and death he then doth brave me,  
Who hold the keys  
Of David still  
To shut and open as I please,  
To bind and lose all as I will,  
For such Commandment God my Father gave me:  
Yet pilate's Conscience in his face still flies:  
Now he projects  
How me  
To free;  
But all th' effects  
T' inflame their fury, double their out-cries.   

Yet in their anger so much wit they have  
As to compound  
Some thing to calm  
Poor pilate's Conscience, why, 've found  
Some simples sovereign as balm;  
Oh! 'twas good satisfaction that they gave.  
Thou art not Caesar's friend if this man go.  
Now take your Christ,  
Fulfil  
Your will,  
Do what you list  
With him, Jews, so I sentence, and so do.   

Thus he and I swim down one stream this day.  
Yet the poor man  
Found want of water,  
Called for a Basin, and began  
To wash him from this bloody matter:  
Which nothing can, but what he gav● away.  
Truly his washing clears not him, but me:  
He doth proclaim,  
That I  
Now die  
A spotless Lamb:  
Then, wretch, what Ocean can compurgate thee?   

Pilate, upon us and our children fling  
Thou this man's blood:  
We Jews, thus wish.  
Is this your so much longed for food,  
To you of all th' forbidden dish?  
Pilate then cries, ye Jews, behold your King.  
We have no King but Cesar, they reply.  
Sirs, you forget  
Whose hour  
Of power  
This is as yet.  
Satan's your Cesar, more than he or I   

Satan, not Cesar, bade you plot my fall:  
That Prince of Hell,  
Philistia's King  
Ploughs with mine heifer, Israel:  
Thu● to mine end, mine own me bring.  
Yet Sampsons' death's Philistia's Funeral.  
The Purple Robe then strip they from my back;  
Which plainly shows  
It's worn  
And born  
For sinners use,  
That of my Righteousness they might partake.   

Thus is the truth stripped naked: And again  
My seamless coat  
They make me wear  
Unto mine execution-plot,  
That by my sweet atonement there  
I might an Union wove 'twixt God and Men,  
Thence to the place of Souls, Lo! I their Head  
The tree accursed,  
Before  
It bore  
Me, bear it first;  
Till I, by bearing it, am almost dead.   

Thus mine may learn in me, what burden he  
Must daily bear,  
Taking his cross,  
That in my ways will persevere,  
Reckoning death gain, counting life loss:  
Who stumbles at my cross, can't follow me.  
Now are my groans new pickled in friends tears,  
They'd steal, I spy,  
This tree  
From me,  
By Sympathy;  
Which by constraint Simon of Cyrene bears.   

But weep not, Daughters of Jerusalem!  
For me at all  
But for your City:  
Alas! who can prevent thy fall,  
Who show'st thy builder no more pity?  
If they do thus to th' green tree, woe to them!  
T●us under pilate's sentence, and command  
O th' Roman state,  
That all  
May fall  
On Rome's proud Pate;  
I th' place of Crucifixion, lo! I stand.   

Rome! thou'rt that Sodom, Egypt, Babylon,  
Though Mystical;  
Drunken with blood  
Of all my Martyrs, mine withal  
Now mingling with thy tiber's flood.  
Rome's stored with crosses and now lends me one!  
Not Jabbathah but Golgotha's the stage  
The Camp without;  
Where I  
Must die  
'Mongst all the rout,  
Tasting at once both Hells and Heaven's Rage.   

Why I am the great Sacrifice for sin,  
And therefore must  
Without the gate  
Unto the Earth commend my dust,  
Whilst my dear blood doth expiate  
From all transgressions that those are within.  
Behold, my dear Disciple, my dear Mother!  
Her I bequeath  
To thee,  
To be  
After my death  
Provided for as by her Son, my Brother.   

Now see your Brazen Serpent lift, on high,  
Upon the pole!  
My bloody cross  
Bears fruit to quit what Adam stole:  
Justice, I find, may ned go by th' loss,  
Yet grace shall reign by righteousness, hereby.  
Oh! how I'm stretched and tortured on this tree!  
Oh! how each vein,  
And nerve  
Doth serve  
A several pain!  
'Twas man grew lose, and I must straitened bee.   

Oh! how those hands, I stretched forth all the day,  
To Israel,  
Are stretched again?  
That as my Patience did excel,  
So now I might exceed in pain;  
Whilst sinners to mine heart find open way.  
Oh! how my feet, that ne'er took step awry,  
Are pierced through!  
Made fast  
In haste  
My cross unto;  
Till the transgressors may find time to fly.   

I am the door, they nail me to the tree:  
And, as is fit,  
Over this gate  
A royal superscription's writ  
That in all tongues might preach my state.  
Oh! all ye that pass by, turn in by me.  
To th' cross I'm hinged in mine humanity.  
That from the floor  
Even each  
Might reach  
That living door  
Whose upper hinge clasps in with th'Deity.   

Romans, and Greeks, and Hebrews, come and look:  
These open arms  
Show th' open way,  
How by mine, you may case your harms;  
And may become one fold this day:  
I am the shepherd, and my cross the crook.  
I am the shepherd, and my crook, the cross;  
Whereby I gather  
And keep  
My sheep,  
And thine, O Father!  
I'll suffer death, ere thou shalt suffer loss.   

Living, my bread of life among my Jews  
I ever broke,  
For 'twas their right;  
Who whilst they spread these arms, do make  
A feast for Gentiles through their spite;  
That, dying, I might none, that come, refuse.  
Come unto me all ye that laden be  
With sin and wrath;  
Come ye  
To me;  
O come in faith.  
I'll bear your burdens whilst my Cross bears me.   

Mine hands are not so nailed, but that I can  
Even with these nails  
Still pick the lock  
Hung on your heel, if your key fails:  
But whilst I preach, alas! they mock.  
If thou be th'Christ be thine own Jesus, man.  
Why Jew's remember what your high Priest taught  
How needful 'twas  
That I  
Should die,  
That th'cup might pass  
My people, whilst I drink their bloody draught.   

But, oh Jerusalem! canst laugh at me?  
And at my griefs?  
As thou didst know  
My pressures to be thy reliefs;  
Repent, believe; and be it so.  
But laugh not at me who h've wept over thee,  
And yet weep blood, for this thy stupid state.  
Father, I pray  
Reprieve,  
Forgive  
These foes for they  
Alas! my God, they do they know not what.   

They curse, I bless: I pray whilst they revile.  
Whilst Priests do scoff  
And sore disdain  
The Sacrifice that comes not off  
Th' Altar, but suffers to be slain,  
My blood makes intercession all the while.  
Who'd raze than raise the Temple (this is he)  
In three day's space;  
Yet he,  
We see,  
 quit this place  
Where all the nails that hold him, are but three   

Yet mock not, passenger; wag not thine head  
In so much scorn,  
When thou thinkest least,  
When I this bitter death have borne,  
To earnest I'● soon turn thy jest;  
And raise this Temple ere't be three days dead,  
Come down say some, and so convince thy foes:  
Which if I should  
How sore  
A store  
Of wrath, and blood,  
Would come down too? Sirs, I bear of your blows.   

With the transgressors numbered am I:  
On either side,  
Truth bee'ng between,  
Falsehood and theft hang crucified;  
Yet if heavens Rolls these men had seen  
They'd found me in another Trinity.  
But, oh my grief! not only mine own Nation  
But those, that be  
Justly  
To die,  
First scoff at me;  
Their partner not in crimes, but condemnation.   

Yet can I not forget my dear Compassions:  
Though both reproach  
And flout at me,  
My blood for sinners since I broach,  
I will not suffer both to be  
At once partakers of two condemnations  
Th' one I call home though in th' eleventh hour:  
And thereby show  
How kind  
A mind  
I bear to you  
That turn, though late, to me your Saviour.   

But oh his rare Conversion! oh how he  
Justifies God  
Rebukes his mate!  
Open his sin! kisseth his rod!  
Takes me for Lord, beseeching that  
In my Salvation he might sharer be.  
Thus on my Cross I work a new Creation:  
Losing the bands  
Of sin  
Within  
From th' sinners hands.  
My bitter sacrifice brings sweet salvation.   

Thus I give life to others, yet I die;  
I heal their wounds,  
And break their bands;  
Yet anguish mine own soul confounds  
More than these nails do pierce mine hands  
My God why dost thou me forsake? Oh! why?  
They rend my garments, cast lots for my coat,  
Whilst I hang here;  
Shame doth  
Me ,  
Else naked I were  
Yonder's thy joseph's coat, Lord! dost not know't?   

The seamless vesture of thy sinless child,  
How bloody is't?  
My God My God  
Yet not so bloody as thy Christ  
Is all within by thy sharp rod.  
O be not fierce to me, for I am mild.  
See, how I'm nailed to this most bitter tree!  
How I'm accursed!  
How gall  
Is all  
My drink in thirst!  
And wilt thou so, my God, my God leave me?   

See, how men turn my Glory into shame.  
Mocking my faith  
And confidence;  
Some say he for Elias pray'th:  
But, Lord, thou knowst my mind and sense.  
They flout, they fleet, whilst I call on thy name.  
Yet save me, for I'm thine: thine handmaid's son  
Made of this woman:  
Thy shade  
This maid,  
When known by no man,  
Impow'rd to bring forth me, thine holy one.   

Father! I'm the only fatherless on earth:  
All others have  
Fathers, or had:  
O pity, pity, Lord! and save  
Thy Fatherless, support the sad.  
Oh! leave me not in death, who gav'st me birth.  
My God my God why dost thou me forsake?  
Who never thee  
Forsook,  
Or took  
One sin to me,  
Except the sins that thou didst bid me take.   

They fill the sponge with vinegar, but thou  
My soul dost fill  
With sharper grief.  
Oh! sinner, here's a bitter pill,  
Yet for thy sickness sweet relief.  
My God my God O do not leave me now!  
How darkness veils the land! yet clouds do hover  
Darker by far:  
Thy wrath  
Lord, hath  
Eclypsed thy star,  
Whilst from thy darling thou thy face dost cover.   

How both Suns suffer while thy Son lies under  
Thy fierce displeasure!  
Th' Sun bears a part  
But mine eclipse it cannot measure.  
Lord thy sore frowns do tear my heart  
More than the Temples veil, that's rend asunder.  
Now come thy breaches and thy darkness on,  
O Jewish Land!  
For thou  
Hast now  
Both rid thine hand  
Of thy bright light and of thy Cornerstone.   

Father, the earth's all ague, and I more:  
Even rocks are rend,  
My soul's more torn:  
Yet flinty Jews done't once relent.  
My God: leave not mine hope forlone.  
I h've done. Lord, open th' everlasting Door.  
Father, into thine hands I give my Spirit,  
And utmost breath;  
Whilst I  
Thus die;  
And, with me, death:  
That my dear seed henceforth may life inherit.   

Then Christ, in sweet submission, bows his head  
To all God's pleasure:  
I think on't still:  
Lord make the bowing heart my treasure  
An heart to bow to all thy will;  
That dying I may say, all's finished.  
This done, my Saviour quickly shows his force  
Graves open fly;  
They shake  
And quake  
That see him die:  
The rude Centurions struck with strange remorse.   

Thus Christ let's lose his prisoners, captivates  
His scornful foes;  
They knock their breast,  
Confessing whom they did oppose  
To be God's SON, now not in jest.  
Thus Sampsons' death broke the philistians pates.  
Then with a spear his side a Soldier strikes;  
Cleaving the Rock  
That may  
Each day  
Water that Flock,  
Whose Shepherd is now past all push of pikes.   

This is the fountain oped for thy sin,  
Jerusalem!  
Thy filth, thy guilt;  
Here is for each a proper stream,  
Water and Blood: Let none be spilt:  
O quench thy guilt, and cleanse thy filth herein.  
Isra'l thy Paschall Lamb, thy Christ is dead,  
That Lamb from Heaven:  
Have care,  
Prepare,  
Purge out thy Leaven:  
Mingle no more thy malice with thy bread.   

Or if the Jewish lump won't leave their leaven  
Make me leave mine:  
I have in me  
(Lord, nail it to this Cross of thine)  
An evil heart of enmity.  
Lord kill this enmity 'twixt Earth and Heaven.  
Be thou my fort, and hiding-place, my soul  
Would lodge in thee:  
My Lord  
Afford  
One cleft for me.  
Thy walls are shatt'red, yet thou'rt timber-whole.   

Satan and sin I h've seen, i'th' Tragic story,  
Shoot through and through  
Thy blessed heart;  
Yet not one bone was broken, though  
Mount Sinai's Cannons played their part.  
In this rock hid me, till I h've seen thy Glory.  
Shall not Christ Crucified far dearer be  
To me then Pelf,  
Then name  
Or fame  
Or life itself?  
'Twas thus with Joseph, why not thus with me?   

The Soldiers having broke the others legs,  
But not my Lords;  
Joseph, a man  
Rich in the goods this world affoards  
But more in faith, most boldly ran  
To Pilate, and Christ's lifeless body begs.  
Then in clean linen wraps that skin and bones,  
That martir'd treasure:  
And why  
Can't I  
Take as much pleasure  
To  thy members, Lord, thy naked ones?   

Jews, now ou● kings come down: Sirs do you see him?  
Your Temple lies  
Flat by the ground:  
Will you believe when't doth arise?  
Catching your Christ at his rebound?  
Why if his own won't have him, Lord! give me him.  
Christ having now given death his deadly wound,  
Follows him home:  
Invades  
Death's shades,  
Enters a tomb,  
To see what spoils may in a grave be found.   

Great Conqueror, who hast killed death i'th' duel  
After this art  
Lodged in a stone?  
Rather take up in my poor heart  
How hard soever, or how none.  
Oh! that I were thy Cabinet, dear jewel?  
But joseph's rock was pure, that grave was new:  
First in a womb,  
Which none  
Had known;  
Then in a tomb  
Where none had lain, my Lord lodged, this doth show,   

I must be clean and new first. Yet thy passion  
And stream of blood,  
What did it mean,  
That Purple yet a Christ all flood?  
Was't not the making of me clean?  
Doth not thy rising mean my renovation?  
Then make and take for such this heart of mine  
And dwell in it:  
This breast  
Is best  
That I can get,  
Had I a better, Lord, it should be thine.   

Surely the King of terror I could brave,  
If my Lord would  
This Sepulchre,  
This heart, as his own quarters hold;  
I would nor goal nor gaoler fear.  
Oh how my Saviour's Corpse perfume the grave!  
Lord, make this heart of mine a living one  
Through thy death's merit  
Convey  
I pray  
To me thy spirit,  
Who thy dead flesh didst Coffin in dead stone.   

With th' Arimathean Counsellor combined  
A learned Rabbi  
To show Christ kindness;  
An Israelitish Doctor: may be  
Some wiser man will blame my blindness,  
And Antichrist in Law and Learning find.  
But may my soul with blessed Joseph dwell  
And Nicodem:  
Yet, down  
With th' Gown,  
Cry some of them  
Who scarce I doubt from these can bear the Bell.   

A spicy mixture, 'bout an hundred pounds,  
Who came by night  
To Jesus brings  
T' embalm his Lord, that gave him light,  
With Aromatic precious things:  
Y●● not one half so precious as those wounds.  
Now Jesus (Jonah-like) heavens sealed one,  
Enters the deep:  
But shall  
The Whale,  
The grave, him keep?  
See, Soldier's watch, and Pilate seals the stone.   

As Daniel's sealed when cast into the Den,  
Malicious Jews  
Require a seal,  
And watch, which  won't refuse,  
Left some the Coffined Corpse should steal.  
They'll keep the Sun from rising; Crafty men!  
Lo! in a Garden stood the sealed Tomb.  
Adam the first  
Hav'ng been  
For sin  
Ith' Garden cursed  
To th' Grave. My Saviour thus fulfilleth the doom.   

Then dawns that blessed light that ever since  
Makes one day shine  
More than six other;  
For should six weekday lights combine,  
One Lordsday brightness would then smother  
With thee, Thy Day Lord riseth and proves Prince  
That Day is now obscured wherein Christ slept;  
That Day's made bright  
In which  
That rich  
And orient light  
Quit that blind prison where he had been kept.   

Surely that day's the whole week's Jubilee  
(That day's the best  
Which my dear Lord  
By ceasing from his labour blest,  
Labour that cost more than a word)  
Wherein redemption set the ransomed free.  
This first day finds more than the seaventh day lost  
Can superadd  
And raise  
More praise  
Than th' other had:  
So th' old Commandment is fulfilled, not crossed:   

That bids me celebrate what day of seven  
God hath most blest;  
And HIS, doth call:  
Such WAS the Jewish, IS our rest.  
We soured God's first works by our fall,  
Till Christ's last Passover purged out the leaven  
Was not Christ's Burial part of is Humiliation?  
His day of rest  
From that  
Dark state  
 not be blest?  
Shall I less prize a new then old Creation?   

Redemption is a making old things new.  
Rouse Christians then:  
Though dead before,  
Let lords-days find you living men;  
That with your Christ can rise and soar.  
And for the Christian, quit thy Sabbath, Jew.  
The first in sin runs first to th' Sepulchre  
Poor woman kind:  
But Christ  
Is missed:  
Oh! they can't find  
Their Lord; though two of his Life guard appear,   

The two bright pointers of that blessed Star  
His countenance,  
Who head rolled the stone,  
striketh keepers hearts, at's first advance,  
As dead as what he sat upon.  
Thiefs were, now Angels Christ's attendants are.  
Say th' women who shall roll the stone away?  
'Twas done before.  
Thus may,  
I pray,  
I find my score  
Quit to mine hand, when I cry who shall pay?   

Surely my surety did my debt discharge:  
Lord, else why should  
Thine Angel be  
Sent down t' unlock that prison-hold  
Wherein my Saviour lay for me?  
My surety's free, why may n●t I walk at large?  
They would with Ointments, Odours, precious things  
Perfume his Prison:  
But th' dead  
Was fled;  
Their Sun was risen  
With sweeter balm with healing in his wings.   

Marry the sinner, Marry Magdalen  
Marcheth i'th' van  
To th' Sepulchre,  
But th' stone's removed, and so's the man:  
She missing her dear Saviour there,  
To john and Peter runs, and comes again.  
These run a race, the wager's precious truth.  
But john outran:  
Alas  
He was  
The younger man.  
Happy the man runs after Christ in youth.   

Peter, successor to his Master's Cross,  
Whilst John keeps out  
Enters Christ's Tomb;  
Looks for his Christ but finds a clout,  
And winding-sheet in Saviour's Room:  
But Christ is gone. O blessed, gainful loss!  
Marry th' old weeper stands without and cries;  
But stooping down,  
Spies here  
And there  
The Grave  thrown,  
Which linens scarce can serve to wipe her eyes,   

She is still anxious, turns her round, and lo  
There the Gardener stood,  
As she conceived,  
Even he that waters with his blood  
Each plant of his. Thus Christ's received  
By the true seeker oft when't thinks not so.  
Sir, if thou have borne him hence (and 'twas well guest)  
Tell me, saith she:  
Marry!  
Lo I  
Even I am he.  
Ah! my dear Lord, that word revives my heart.   

Yet touch me not, saith he, I'm not ascended:  
But go thou rather  
And tell abroad  
Unto my Brethren, to my Father  
And yours I go, mine and your God.  
So richly is the poorest Saint befriended!  
How studious is my Lord that they should know,  
And so partake  
Of this  
His Bliss  
That did forsake  
Him in his captive state and sufferings so.   

Surely these men that fled then from their colours,  
Might have expected  
Another kind  
Of message should have been directed  
From their now rising Lord: but find  
Their sins in his Grave buried with his dolours.  
No word of th' old uncomfortable story.  
But say I'm risen:  
Let tears  
And fears  
Take up my prison.  
Run tell my Brethren thou hast seen my Glory:   

Also the Angel cries, be not afraid:  
Jesus you'd have:  
I know it well:  
But think you David in a cave,  
Or David's Son must ever dwell?  
Come see the place where your dear Lord was laid.  
Women, your Lord's not here; your Lord is risen  
Have you forgot  
Your Lords  
Own words?  
Or have you not?  
Seek you the Prince of life in this dead prison?   

Run, tell the rest and Peter, Christ is gone  
Towards Galilee  
As he did say.  
With joy and fear away they flee  
All dapled like the time of day  
And as they march, behold! they see the SON.  
O may my Lord thus evermore appear,  
And shine upon  
Poor me,  
When he  
Saith, get thee gone,  
And unto others, of me, tidings bear.   

Oh blessed meeting! Courtship, and devotion!  
All Hail! saith he:  
They bow t'his feet;  
Light that forbids us courteous be  
Was then so dark Christ could not see't.  
That master taught his scholars no such notion.  
Men, 'tis observed the rising sun adore;  
Christ's risen now:  
And bright  
Day light  
Beams from his brow;  
Shall not all worship the Son of God much more?   

The watch mean while bring news of all that's done.  
To th' Priests within,  
Even that Christ's risen;  
Who seeing him past reach, begin  
To plot how they this truth m' imprison.  
Christ's second Grave-stone is a silver one.  
What potent pranks can mighty Mammon show!  
Powerful pelf  
In'ts facts  
Out acts  
Even power itself:  
Money can make truth falsehood, falsehood true.   

Money betrayed my Lord to all these wrongs:  
Now they're devising  
To keep on foot  
Something to cloud this bright Suns-rising;  
And 'tis large money that must do't.  
This silver key must turn the soldier's tongues.  
Soldiers are taught a sorry tale to tell;  
Which should methinks  
Near slip  
Their lip;  
But that which chinks  
So sweetly, can make all sound pretty well.   

Say, Whilst we keepers slept at th' Sepulchre,  
's Disciples came  
And stole him thence;  
Which if the governor shall blame  
We'll mediate and make your defence.  
Now hear O Heavens! and O Earth! give ear.  
Canst thus, O Isr'ell, fool away thy Glory?  
Is such a wise  
Fable  
Able  
To blind thine eyes?  
Is this th' authentic, yet received story?   

Why, soldiers, if you slept at th' Sepulchre  
Whilst that vast stone  
Was rolling back  
(Which may a Jew believe, or none)  
And some by stealth the corpse did take;  
I marvel you could see what men they were.  
Or if you saw the thiefs, why did you not  
Stop or pursue?  
So short  
Report  
Want so much give?  
See how the last words have the first forgot.   

But oh fond Priests and Elders whence is it  
That you can stroke  
These soldier's pates?  
Sure such neglect would you provoke  
Of all. Yet you're their advocates.  
Alas! how fury doth befool their wits!  
Mean while Disciples were so far from thieving  
That, when this news  
They btought  
That saw't,  
Yet, they refuse  
To take't for truth, being so far from believing.   

As two of them were to Emaus going  
Their busy tongue  
Bee'ng well employed,  
My dearest Lord stands them among;  
No sooner talked of, then enjoyed.  
Happy the Servants whom he finds so doing.  
What is your talk that makes your walk so sad?  
Saith Cleopas  
Dost thou  
Not know  
These things? Alas!  
A mighty Man and Prophet we have had;   

Mighty in word and deed with God and Men:  
Jesus was he  
Of Nazareth  
We'd hoped might our Redeemer be:  
But him, our Rulers put to death  
This bee'ng the third day since. And yet again  
We know not what to think on't, hurried  
'Twixt hope and fear;  
For some,  
That come  
From th' Sepulchre,  
Assure us that he's risen from the Dead.   

But oh this evil heart of unbelief!  
This want of faith  
That can provoke  
The gentle Lamb of God to wrath,  
Setting in every wheel a spoke,  
Clouding the rising Sun with gloomy grief!  
O fools, and slow of heart replies my Lord  
Slow to believe me!  
But oh  
Not so  
Not slow to grieve me,  
Ought not your Christ fulfil the written word?   

But Christ can't always hold his chiding story:  
Sugars his checks  
With sweet instructions;  
Moses his veil in pieces breaks;  
Proves by prophetic fair deductions,  
Through Seas of sufferings Christ must land in Glory.  
My Lord then makes as he would further go:  
But they begin  
so pray  
Him stay,  
And he turns in:  
Happy, who love their close reprovers so.   

This bread of life thus broken when he had,  
He breaks more bread  
And makes them eat:  
Their Lord's their Shepherd, they're well fed,  
Body and Soul, with blessed meat.  
My soul, seek Christ first; and those things he'll add.  
Just now my Lord makes them see who he is,  
Then slips away.  
And, oh!  
'Twas so  
With me last day,  
One moment oped and sealed up like bliss.   

When Christ was gone, say they we might have guest  
What light 'twas brought  
So bright a day  
To darkest Scriptures: might have thought  
The risen Sun was in our way  
Finding our hearts so burn within our breast.  
Then they return back to jerusalem  
Brimful of joy  
To feast  
The rest;  
But they are coy  
Till Christ Himself stands in the midst of them.   

And 'tis so still. Whoever's scent about  
To tell thy story,  
Hardness of hearts  
And unbelief blinds all thy glory:  
Lord, who believes? Lord, who converts?  
Till thy dear presence puts all out of doubt.  
Their doors bee'ng shut, and hearts much more, that even  
My Lord to put  
All out  
Of doubt;  
(None else can do't)  
This news imparts in person to th' eleven.   

Yet oh how hard a thing is this believing?  
A spirit appears  
As they suppose;  
The same that in their storms of fears  
Walked on the Seas when winds arose.  
Fantasies fooles-bolt, how't hinders truths receiving.  
Jesus salutes them with a peace be to you  
Once and again:  
'Tis I;  
Sirs, why  
Distrust you then?  
Why do you let such thoughts arise, why do you?   

Down doubtings; I'm got up: And ready have  
(Sirs, come and see  
And feel, I pray)  
A Tomb, dead unbelief, for thee  
Digged in my side but t'other day,  
And for your doubtings, in each hand a grave.  
If these suffice not, handle, feel my feet  
There are two more.  
Doubt not,  
I've got  
All as before:  
Rather than miss their faith their sense he'll meet.   

Then for the further feeding of their faith  
He calls for food;  
They give him fish,  
And Honeycomb: but, oh! his blood  
And body is a sweeter dish.  
Then, breathing, take the Holy Ghost, he saith.  
Now doth the frost-nipped Tree of life recover:  
Puts forth again:  
New springs,  
And brings  
Fruits that remain  
Spirit and Life, so proves Death's Winter's over   

Thomas mean while bee'ng absent from the rest  
Freezing from th' fire,  
(Like them that miss.  
Th' assemblies Christ is wont t' inspire  
With sweet assurance, joy and bliss)  
Can't feed his faith with hear-say of a feast  
He must first hold a Coroners inquest:  
Must see Christ's ails,  
And must  
First thrust  
Ith' print of o'th' nails  
His fingers; e'er this faith enter his breast.   

His faith must go on stilts or not at all:  
See with the eye,  
Feel with the hand,  
His faith must in his fingers lie,  
His faith must in his feeling stand,  
At th' bound from sorry sense he'll catch the ball.  
Th' week after he and they being all together  
With blessed greeting  
(Increase  
Of peace)  
Christ Crowns their meeting.  
Thomas, saith he, come reach thy finger hither.   

As men are wont 've Children to be taught  
My Lord was fain,  
(Though every letter  
In's hands and feet were printed plain)  
With's finger teach him spell the better,  
The Child to faith by feeling must be brought.  
My Lord! and my God (how this sight relieves me!)  
Poor Thomas cries.  
Christ saith,  
Thy faith  
May thank thine eyes:  
Blessed is he who sees not, yet believes me.  
Disciples after this, a fishing go:  
But nothing's caught,  
Throughout the night;  
Till Jesus comes, and brings a draught:  
Lord show me so which side's the right,  
When to catch souls thy Gospel's net I throw.  
Christ looked into their cupboard just before▪  
Children, have ye  
Got meat  
To eat?  
Else come to me:  
I've food and firing for you on the shore.   

Hence sinful cares; infest my soul no longer,  
Base diffidence:  
Doubtings retreat:  
Soul, mind thy Saviour's providence:  
Do thine own work, and he'll find meat.  
Or give thee somethings better if thou hunger.  
Dinner bee'ng done, Christ speaks of working then:  
And so should we:  
Our whet,  
Not let  
Our food should be.  
Shepherds Christ feeds, to feed his sheep again.   

Shepherds who love to eat but not to feed  
Are what they're not,  
Not what they are;  
(A Paradox, and Gordian knot,  
Which Christ will cut, and will not spare)  
Shepherds in name but ravening wolves indeed.  
Peter, dost love me more than these? I'll prove thee.  
Then feed and keep  
My flock;  
My st●ck  
Of Lambs and Sheep.  
All knowing Lord, saith he, thou knowst I love thee.  
Peter, when thou wast young, than thou wast free  
To come and go  
As thou'dst a mind,  
Girding thyself: it shall not be so  
When thou art old, others shall bind,  
And gird, and carry thee. Man! follow me.  
Peter replies, and what must this man do?  
What's that to thee?  
Fellow  
Me thou.  
How busy we  
Are to mind others works, our own not so.   

In an appointed mount in Galilee,  
Christ meets th' eleven:  
Chargeth them there,  
By all his power in Earth and Heaven,  
To Preach the Gospel ev'ry where;  
Baptising in the name of One and Three.  
And in so doing, saith, I'm with you still.  
He shows Hell's loss:  
Death's gate,  
Sins state  
Spoiled by his Cross.  
Now is our Samson got on Gaza's hill.   

To prove my new bought right to every Nation,  
New tongues I give  
Unto you: Though  
You drink what's deadly, you shall live:  
Serpents and sicknesses shall know  
And Devils too, that I have wrought Salvation.  
A● many years as Isr'el just had been,  
Christ▪ day's doth spend  
'Twixt the  
Red Sea  
Of's bloody end,  
And Heavenly Canaan: forty days he's seen.   

Meanwhile Christ Summons others from the dead  
To evidence  
His Resurrection:  
From types, from texts, from faith, from sense,  
Of proofs how full, how fair collection.  
Shew'ng Christ is Risen as the Church's head.  
Now, O devourer! where's thy victory?  
Out of the grave  
That old  
Strong hold  
And cating cave  
Comes meat and sweetness; which who tastes can't die:  
Even Christ comes thence. And now in Olivet  
Where he laid down  
In part of pay  
For th' purchase of his new bought crown,  
His bloody sweat: even there this day  
To see's Inthronization Saints are me●:  
Wilt thou restore the kingdom, Lord, they cry,  
To Isr'el yet?  
For you  
To know  
Times is not fit:  
I'll send my spirit! that's my Lord's reply.   

O what an eager foolish thing is man!  
Busy to know  
What least concern him!  
But to take forth, alas! how slow  
The lessons that my God would learn him.  
A sieve that lets go th' flower but holds the bran.  
Melchisedeck mean time, our Priest for ever,  
With lift up hands  
On his  
All bliss  
And grace commands;  
Whom clouds receiving from their sight do sever.   

But not from th' eye of faith, which fixedly  
Pursues their king;  
Till Angels do  
Tidings of is second coming, bring,  
In such sort as they'd seen him go.  
Cheer up, my drooping heart, thine head's on high.  
Yet not so high, but that his heart's as low  
As still to mind  
Poor thee  
Till he  
Hath made thee find  
What for thy gain he sometime did forego.   

Now'● the forerunner entered in for thee:  
Thy Lord's ascended;  
Up and away:  
When Christ first risen; this flight he 'ntended:  
And art thou quickened here to stay?  
May all my life but one Ascension be.  
But I'm all fits and starts, and cannot get  
Hold of mine own:  
But clouds  
Prove shrouds:  
And all seems gone:  
Sometimes I rise with Christ, but cannot fit.   

Yet am I fixed, whilst Saviour sits in Heaven;  
There are no hills  
And dales on high:  
My Swampes my Saviour's merit fills,  
That all might in a level lie,  
Making my state, though not my comfort even.  
Why art thou then, my soul, disquieted?  
Christ dwelled in dust  
As thou  
Dost now;  
Shall I not trust  
Him, that drank of my brook, to lift mine head?   

Is this the Butler that bore Pharaohs cup?  
Though he forgot  
Joseph i'th' Prison,  
When raised himself, thy Lord will not  
Reckon that he's completely risen,  
Till all his foes are down and friends got up.  
Down then, thou evil heart of unbelief!  
Thou art a foe,  
To me  
I see,  
To him I know:  
A goal would fit thee well, for thou'rt a thief.   

Thou pickest my comforts and thou stealest his praise,  
His and my loss  
We lay to thee:  
Betwixt two thiefs Christ left one Cross  
Void, that there hanged thou mightst be.  
Th' arch-thief of all that rob on God's highways.  
Now as Mount Olivet for Zion Mount  
Thou didst forgo  
Teach me  
Like thee,  
Sweet Saviour, so  
heavens joys before earth's fatness to account.   
I determined not to know any thing save Jesus Christ, and him Crucified,  1 Cor. 2.2.  

SPIRIT.  

MY Verse proceeds to him that by proceeding  
Subsisteth in the Deity;  
But can't proceed without his speeding:  
This Dove doth teach all other birds to fly.   

My callow muse hath pinions but no wings,  
Pinions indeed of ignorance;  
Yet th' Dove that hatcheth other things  
Can fledge mine infant muse with utterance.   

But th'ther day I saw a Lamb take wing  
And fly to Heaven from an hill:  
I watched to see if any thing  
Would fall from him in flight, and found a quill,   

Of which I made a pen, and fell to write  
The story; writing, found a Verse;  
Whilst on mine hand a Dove did light,  
And had me with the Lamb the Dove rehearse.   

My Master from mine head but th'ther day  
The Clouds did take: unkind? or kind?  
For whilst my Master went away  
His Mantle dropped, which whoso seeks may find.   

I seek it: Blessed Spirit! Come and spread  
Thy beaming wings and cover me  
In thy bright light thy Poet lead  
That in thy light would fain discover thee.   

'tis only Sunshine that can show the Sun,  
Alas! my Lord, my spirits flesh;  
Darklanthorn light is next to none:  
My Frost-nipped blooms what Sunbeams can refresh?   

Since than my carnal mind can never show  
Or who, or what, dear Dove! thou art:  
The spirit of my mind renew  
And it shall reimburse what thou It impart.   

Father and Son are God, and God's a Spirit,  
And yet God's Spirit neither is  
Father nor Son; yet doth inherit  
With both an equal yet distinguished bliss.   

Father and Son are God, and God is love,  
Yet neither Father nor the Son  
But their sweet spirit's the sweet Dove:  
Each hath his Spirit, yet they both but one.   

By this eternal Spirit Christ the word  
Offers himself to God and dies;  
Yet by this Spirit doth afford  
Of life unto dead sinners all supplies.   

This Spirit's infinite: oh! who can flee  
His presence and all-searching sight?  
Yet he's a wind, which who can see  
From whence it comes, or whither it takes flight?   

This Spirit's infinite; dwells every where,  
Fathoms all hearts, sounds every deep:  
Yet how few Temples, Lord! are there  
Wherein this holy Ghost doth house or keep?   

This active Spirit moves in every wheel.  
Works as he will: doth what he lists.  
Man's heart's that only brass and steel  
That the sweet Spirits motions resists.   

This powerful Spirit did the Heaven's garnish  
And doth renew earth's withered face:  
When winter washeth off the varnish  
And makes a verdant spring in every place.   

And why not in my soul? Awake and blow  
O North wind, and thou South wind come  
Let all my sweets and spices flow  
That he that owes my garden, may have s me.   

Where the Lords Spirit is, there's liberty:  
Yet a grim Sergeant one day came,  
And neck and heels my soul did tie,  
Saying, he did it in the Spirits name.   

He did his office, and would not be bribed:  
But as his warrant showed a writing;  
Spirit of bondage, there subscribed  
I spied; and found 'twas of his own inditing.   

My heart before had been a bird of prey  
But now bee'ng conquered by a Dove,  
I think on't still how't sprangling lay  
Crying for quarter to that bird of love.   

I marked his bill but saw no Olive branch:  
●eate I implored, but he denied;  
What blood he drew, refused to staunch  
Till I submitted to be mortified.   

Dear Dove, said I convince me, pierce me, grieve me:  
Strike through and through this wretched heart  
So that thou'lt but at length relieve me  
And with thy gentle wings but stroke my smart.   

Dear heart, said he I struck thee for to struck thee.  
Put thee in bonds to set thee free:  
That I might better heal, I broke thee:  
I'm sent to comfort by convincing thou.   

Though I'm all light and peace, yet I did send thee  
To a dark prison, holding over  
My black rod, but it was to mend thee.  
For friends do Fools and Phranticks thus recover.   

Remember, man, thy wild and Bethlem tricks:  
How oft I strove with the in vain:  
Thine heel could kick against my pricks.  
Sure 'twas high time to get thee in a chain.   

Thou, and Manasseh, stood in much more need  
Of iron chai●s, than chains of Gold.  
Distracted folk must purge and bleed  
And in their months be caught and kept in hold.   

O blessed bonds! said I, O happy trouble!  
O bitter-sweet sweet-bitter smart!  
My pain was great, my profit double  
Whilst thus thou undertakest to tame mine heart.   

Void, Chemics! spill your Spirits! quit your art!  
Cease from your oft sought, unfound stone:  
There's but one Spirit can convert  
An iron chain into a golden one.   

Dear Dove, thy prisoner may I ever be!  
Bondage is like to be my state,  
If to myself thou leave me free.  
He's only free whom thou dost captivate.   

Where the Lords Spirit is, there's liberty:  
No man can say, Jesus is Lord  
But by the Holy Ghost, or cry  
Abba, till that sweet Spirit teach that word.   

I was a lisper, and a stamerer  
And could not skill o'th' Shibboleths  
That might my prayer to God endear  
Till this free Spirit gave new speech and breath.   

I was a beggar so extremely poor  
I skilled not how to make my moans:  
But this Dove met me at God's door.  
Supply'ng my want of words with store of groans.   

I was in suit, and could not well make good  
My Title: But said this free Spirit,  
Soul, take this seal, the seal of blood.  
I am thy witness, and thou shalt inherit.   

I found a riddle whilst I sought a Text,  
But this free Spirit loosed the knot:  
Which when I head read, yet what was next  
Had not this Spirit prompted I'd forgot.   

My barren grounds were chapped for want of rain  
Gasping towards Heaven for a flood;  
This Spirit flowing in a main,  
Told me that he had brought me that's as good.   

I sea the mine heart found so much dross and tin  
So ●it●●● else; I self a mourning  
Both for my gross and splendid sin:  
Then he to me the spirit was of burning.   

I fell a burning when my God did chide me:  
Water, said I, or I'm undone:  
This streaming Spirit straight supplied me  
Till all those scorching flames were quenched and gone.   

I fell a chilling till my heart grew stone:  
Scarce had I left one warm desire:  
My frozen heart was next to none:  
Then said this holy Spirit I am fire,   

I fell a melting when I felt his heat;  
My soul was broached at mine eyes  
The ice was thawn to tears and swear  
Which with fresh gales this Spirit gently dries.   

These fontinells thus dried pride raised a tumour  
And then the Spirit's fain to take  
His Lancet and let out the humour:  
But, oh! mine heart how did it burn, and ache?   

Which this dear Dove perceiving strait way goes  
TO a precious box, and thence applies  
An ointment made of Sharons' Rose;  
Which both the swelling cools, and mollifies.   

When I was none, this Spirit made me be,  
And live, and breath: when I was worse  
(For worse than nothing, sin made me)  
For my rebuilding freely did imburse.   

My stony heart this spirit harcht to flesh:  
My fleshly heart did circumcise:  
My bleeding heart with balm refresh,  
Those tears that fell from bleeding Saviour's eyes.   

In native gore when I polluted lay,  
Hav'ng none to wash, to salt, to swath me;  
His counsels were my salt that day;  
His laws my swaddling bands: his grace did bathe me.   

With milk for Babes this comforter did fill  
Both Testaments, the old and new  
But how to come by'● I'd not skill  
Till he those breasts of consolation drew.   

He took me by the hand and taught me go  
For I went all by forms before,  
Till's holy unction made me know  
A new and living way to Father's door.   

I got upon an hill, would fain descry  
heavens Canaan from earth's wilderness  
But being there, could nothing spy  
Till with his eye salve he mine eyes did dress.   

Over against heavens haven on the shore,  
I stood and waited for a wind  
Then did this Spirit waft me over  
In heart, in hope, in faith, in joy of mind.   

Arithmetic and th'u'rt of measuring  
I head studied, but bungled still;  
The measure of a span to bring  
O● number of my days I could not skill:   

Then this free Spirit gave a watch to me  
Which ev'ryday wind up I must,  
To tell me how my time did flee:  
But I forgot, and let is stand and rust.   

Then being grieved that I'd so direspected  
Both gift and giver, did endeavour  
To wind it up but the had collected  
Such soil as from the wheels I could not sever.   

Then did I moutning to the donour go;  
Confessed my fault, showed him the soil  
It gathered whilst neglected so:  
Do not despair said he for I am oil.   

This is the Spirit of all life and bliss  
Yet when I felt him first, I died:  
The fountain of my life he is,  
Yet but for him I head near been mortified.   

This Spirit in mine heart doth she'd abroad  
God's dear and never dying love:  
Yet not a day but his sharp rod  
Doth me severely chastise and reprove.   

This Spiritraised my Christ, yet casts me down  
Doth cast me down, and yet uphold:  
Mine humblings are my joy, my Crown;  
My fear doth make my faith more firm and bold.   

Calms are not always profitable for me,  
Therefore the winds are sometimes high;  
This Spirit blusters and is stormy,  
That I might groundfast in humility.   

This Spirit is my good and only guide:  
Yet walk i'th' Spirit, Scriptures say.  
My conduct, and my path beside  
This Spirit is; my Captain, and my way.   

Man walk according to thy native light,  
Say some, and thou shalt perfect be:  
Perfect indeed as noons at night:  
Lord, in thy Spirits light, light let me see.   

A spirit there's in man but th' inspiration  
Of the Almighty only can,  
By no less than a new Creation,  
Enlightened; such a dungeon sin made man.   

Man's spirit is the Candle of the Lord;  
Which who would see by, first should light  
At Gods own fire, even Gods own word:  
Gods word's his mind seat us in black and white.   

For since th' incarnate word his tender love  
In blood to write us condescends,  
What wonder that his own dear Dove  
In ink and paper prays us to be friends?   

Nor Son nor Spirit had I understood  
Bee'ng sunk so deep in sins dark grot  
Had not the Son took bone and blood  
Had not the Spirit pen and paper got.   

The Son, in humane nature clad, doth raise  
My conscience out of guilts dark grave  
The Spirit, clothed in humane phrase,  
My mind out of blind ignorances' cave.   

The Son in servile form came down among's  
Serving to purchase us command:  
The Spirit fell in cloven tongues,  
As who would lisp that we might understand.   

Surely this Spirit of all Spirits framed  
That Book of Books, my Bible dear:  
A thing that's all things can be named:  
Food, physic, treasures, pleasures, all are here.   

A glass that shows to every man his face;  
A staff that helps the lame to walk:  
A spur that makes him mend his pace:  
A light that shows what, and what not, to balk.   

A Book that makes the simple truly wise:  
A Book that proves the wisest fools:  
A Book that helps the Readers eyes:  
A Book that baffles, and befools the schools.   

A Book whose every leaf, whose every line  
Out shines the milky way as far  
As if heavens light should all combine  
To darken and obscure one painted star.   

A Book that told my story ere I was:  
A Book that tells me what shall be  
When I'm no more: what doom shall pass  
On States, on Churches, Persons, and on me.   

This Book's truths standard, nay, 'tis truth itself;  
So well's the Spirit here portrayed:  
This Book doth sanctify the shelf,  
The heart, I mean, where it's sincerely laid.   

Yet some by reason, some by new found light  
Not only leave to question take  
But mend this Book and set it right  
By Tables of Erratas they would make.   

So much is good, and 'tis Canonical,  
As to man's reason is commensured:  
God's light, by man's, must stand or fall:  
And so the Sun by th' Sexton's Clock is censured.   

Methinks I love the Author for the Book:  
The Book for th' Author much more love:  
When opening into it I look  
My God, I can't forget thy sweet spread-Dove.   

The gentle wings I feel, and hear the mourning  
Of that dear Turtle waiting still,  
Upon my grieving and returning,  
To bring an Olive-branch of peace i'th' bill.   

The lines, I grant, are not all of one colour  
Yet all make up man's doom and duty  
Some promise joy, some threaten dolour  
Variety makes up the Turtle● beauty.   

This Dove Bezaleel and Aholiab taught  
All curious works for th' Sanctuary:  
But Scriptures are more finely wrought  
Showing most art, where they seem most to vary.   

As when this one sweet Spirit is called seven,  
Perfection's meant in unity:  
A Spirit filling Earth and Heaven  
That operates in all, but diversely.   

Some reckon seven Suns to every week,  
So many Moons to every year,  
As she turns th' whole face or half cheek  
And doth by turns first sit and then appear.   

This Spirit makes in Samson strength excel  
And in a Moses government,  
And wisdom in a Daniel,  
And all much more in Christ, where't dwelled unpent.   

This Spirit doth transcribe the Gospell-story  
On th' fleshly tables of mine heart.  
Christ's Cradle, Cross, his Grave, his Glory  
All's acted on that stage by th' Spirits art.   

To his Birth answers my Regeneration:  
Heart-Circumcision suits to his:  
To's Cross and Grave mortification:  
And Grace and Hope to's Rising and his Bliss.   

And then as Christ makes intercession for us,  
The Spirit in us, intercedes:  
With crying blood out Christ doth store us,  
With sighs and groans the Spirit in us pleads.   

This Spirit is unbounded, yet believers  
In earthen vessels this rich treasure  
Only receive as he delivers,  
And he dispenseth each one but a measure.   

This Spirit is eternalll, never dies,  
An unextinguishable fire:  
Yet in men's hearts oft gasping cries  
Oh! if you quench me thus I shall expire.   

This Spirit is a Dove, yet to contest  
With Crows and Vultures is he fain;  
Whilst, in his room, man's wretched breast  
Doth lusts unclean, wraths, rapines entertain.   

This Spirit is a Dove, yet's vexed often  
By foolish man, that peevish wasp  
Whose heart nor Sun nor shower can soften,  
Man grieves him without whom he could not gasp.   

This tender Spirit who but man would grieve?  
If I my Comforter make sad,  
Who only can sad hearts relieve,  
Alas! my God, who then shall make me glad?   

Grieve, foolish heart! be't to thine own perplexing  
Be thou as melted wax in me,  
That thou shouldst set this Dove avexing  
That sweetly seals redemption unto thee.   

Give, stubborn heart, relent, since for thy sake  
The Lamb of God not only blood,  
But even God's turtle tears doth take,  
Let thy repentance still help on the flood.   

Melt, stony heart! till all becomes one river.  
Dove do delight near ponds to dwell:  
Groans are best music to a griever:  
Such is God's Dove, whose groans thy duty tell.   

Show not thyself vexatious to a Dove,  
That cannot grieve thee without grieving:  
Even Publicans yield love for love.  
Quench not truths Spirit by thy unbelieved.   

Afflict not this dear guide: go not astray:  
Nor look back from an holy life:  
While th' Spirit says this is the way,  
Have salt in thee: remember, man, Lot's wife.   

Check not this Spirits checks, but let them be  
Taken for kindness, as they are:  
His smitings reckon oil to thee  
Say, smits' my rock, my God, and do not spare.   

Grieve not this Holy Ghost, by entertaining  
Such inmates as he cannot bear:  
If bands of lusts thine heart be training  
What room for this sweet Spirit can be there?   

Seek holiness, seek peace, make after Union:  
Let Medication stir this fire:  
Prayer blow it up: let sweet Communion  
Maintain it burning still, and raise it higher.   

Quench not the smallest spark in thy weak brother:  
What flames are on that hearth of thine  
Boast not, nor yet deny or smother.  
Rather desire thou for to burn then shine.   

Some care not for this Dove had they his feather;  
A sorry bargin such would make;  
Over a while such shall have neither:  
Seek thou the Spirits gifts for grace's sake.   

Ware sinning, against light and grace, and love:  
Know, every of those sins that are done  
Directly against this dear Dove  
Comes near to that that never shall have pardon.   
If we live in the SPIRIT, Let us walk in the SPIRIT.  Gal. 5.25.  

FAITH.  

FRom thee, dear Dove,  
Yet still in thine embraces,  
To Faith, Hope, Love  
That Trinity of graces  
Now let me pass, and secure so my Verses  
That I may express what my muse rehearses.   

Faith, I'll begin  
With thee; for thou wast th' first,  
When bloody sin  
Had made me all accursed,  
That showed th' avenger posting after me,  
And bade me to some refuge-City flee.   

Some men would make  
Faith and Repentance strive  
Who should place take;  
But surely Faith's the hive  
In which that busy Bee, repentance, makes  
Tears drop like honey from man's heart like wax.   

For who can grieve  
For that which they believe not?  
Who can believe  
Man's sinful state, and grieve not?  
I did believe the law, and so relented,  
I did believe the Gospel, and repent.   

I did believe  
That God, made all things good;  
And then did grieve  
That I had brought a flood  
A flood of sins, and so of miseries  
On all: this brought a deluge on mine eyes.   

I did believe  
That God took flesh, lost blood  
So to relieve  
Me, and to drown sins flood:  
Then girt like Peter did begin to swim  
In a repentant Sea of tears to him.   

Repentance lours,  
Yet (like sad rainy days)  
Bring fruits and flowers  
And floods to wash our ways,  
Its Clouds bee'ng-filled with what bright faith exhales.  
But's dry as desperation, when faith fails.   

Yet have I heard  
That some repent not  
That afterward  
They might believe. This knot  
Is soon untied: First Faith lends tears and grief  
Unto repentance, than an handkerchief.   

Thus Faith precedes  
Repentance yet comes after;  
Follows, yet leads;  
As Mother and as Daughter:  
As the bright Sun the brackish Sea doth round  
Encompassing Repentance, Faith is found.   

Faith, I would tell  
Thy story if I could,  
Where thou dost dwell  
Or what thou art, behold:  
But thou art Faith which sense can no more reach  
Than death Deity can praise, or preach.   

I did ask at  
heavens gate for thee, dear grace,  
But was told that  
There vision held thy place:  
Then some infernal fiends said they could show thee  
But took thee for no grace, for they did rue thee.   

I looked about  
On earth to find thee there,  
For there no doubt  
Thou dwellest if any where:  
And yet again th' unerring Scripture saith  
When Christ shall come, shall he on earth find Faith?   

Surely not much:  
When he shall that day bring  
Unto the touch  
Each one that wears a ring  
All won't prove Gold that glisters, and is specious,  
Nor feigned Faith be then approved as precious.   

Oh! that I knew  
Thee, precious Faith; and could  
Thy real hue  
Thy lustre but unfold  
I should soon draw all eyes from him that hath  
Gold rings, to gaze on th' poor when rich in Faith.   

Alas! most take  
Thee for some pebble, they  
Do nothing make  
To believe any way  
Only those few that have thee, jealous are  
Their Faith is not the right, the right's so rare.   

Thou 'rt a rich stock,  
A Diadem brought forth  
Only by th' rock  
Of ages, of such worth  
That who hath thee, although he hath no more  
May well esteem the golden Indieses poor.  
By thee the just  
May live, when wants surround:  
And so he must  
When other things abound.  
Faith makes the conscience good and that well dressed  
Is a continual food, a constant feast.  
Of the household  
Of Faith I'm sure I've read;  
And dare be bold  
They want no household-bread:  
Faith daily sets on the believers board  
The Heavenly bread of th' everliving word.   

Others look by  
Their trades to be maintained:  
Why should not I  
To be by faith sustained?  
Thou art the calling: man but misapplies,  
To other trades, the name of mysteries.   

The mystery  
Thou art, yet th' Oedipu●  
That dost untie  
All doubts and knots for us.  
Nothing is hard to thee: where thou canst not  
Unriddle, thou'st a sword to cut the knot.   

How blind were man  
But for thy piercing eye?  
Who nothing can,  
No, not himself, descry.  
Thy clue guides through both Laborinth-like ways  
Of mine own heart and through the Scriptures maze.   

I should be set  
And posed at first and last  
Ith' Alphabet  
But that, dear Faith, thou hast  
Taught me to know my letters. Who but thou  
Can make me th' Alpha and Omega know!   

Or to know him  
Aright? alas! my sight  
Were dark and dim  
But for thine eyes, thy light  
Who seest him that is invisible.  
What flesh and blood perceives not thou see'st well.   

Pray'r's a blind beggar,  
If it do want but thee:  
It may be eager,  
But right it cannot be.  
Hope were an hopeless thing but that thou dost  
Allow it spend upon thy proper cost.   

Faith makes prayer know  
Where t' have its Ammunition,  
And teacheth how  
To level each petition.  
Of clamorous sin, quick prayer, by Faith, gains cope,  
And brings salvations tidings back to hope.   

In pilgrimage,  
I went to Calvery  
That bitter stage  
Where my dear Lord did die;  
Where missing him, I cried out where is he?  
Faith whispered to me, go along with me.   

Faith brought me to  
A door, but it was locked:  
Faith bade me go  
And knock, and so I knocked:  
Then th' door flew open and a Lamb did stand  
Cry'ng take both fleece and flesh. But I head no hand.   

But as my moan  
I made with tears and grief,  
Faith lent me one  
So I took the relief:  
Which having got I found that this believing  
Both gives me Christ, and is of Christ's own giving.   

But as I thought  
To h've carried home this gift,  
A Cross was brought  
Which I was bad to lift  
Or leave the rest: I tried but could not bear it:  
Said Faith, I'll lend thee shoulders, do not fear it.   

With much ado  
I got this blessed pack,  
Christ and's Cross too  
By Faith upon my back:  
But could nor go nor stand, till Faith did meet  
Me just a sinking with a pair of feet.   

Faith hav'ng new vampt  
My soul, I then could walk.  
Reason's sin-crampt;  
And 'tis but idle talk  
To speak of marching in its strength and might  
Till Faith lends reason legs and sets it right.   

We stand by Faith  
Saith Paul, we stand by reason.  
Whoever saith  
I doubt me, doth speak treason  
They show their reason best that daily beg  
Lord give us Faith, reason's a wooden leg.   

Faith makes me see  
What reason's ask still,  
How can it be?  
Let him take heed that will  
Believe no more than he finds reason for  
Lest he find reason to believe no more.   

When Faith as Queen  
Makes reason wait upon her,  
Reason's then seen  
Look like a maid of honour:  
But let that saucy Courtier ' ware his head  
That crowds the Queen into the truckle-bed.   

In a few miles  
March, betwixt this and Heaven  
I found some styles  
Not few'r than six or seven  
That reason stumbling at; Faith, help me over,  
Said I ●●ll poor Lame reason shall recover.   

No sooner said  
I so but Faith did lift,  
Even as I prayed,  
Me over with my gift:  
Which done I fell aboard that sacred flesh  
That so I might my fainting soul refresh.   

Bee'ng cold and thin  
The fleece I had received  
I went to spin  
And wove, but as I woven  
An enemy did cast a fiery dart,  
Which but for th' shield of Faith had killed my heart.   

Where hadst that fleece  
Said Satan, thievish sinner,  
Of righteousness  
That thou'rt become a spinner?  
I answered, false accuser, not by thieving,  
Had I my Righteousness but by believing.   

Believing? what  
Dost thou, poor foolish wretch  
Tell me of that?  
Said Satan, go and fetch  
God's Law-Book, and thy Conscience Book and say  
If thou canst stand as righteous any way.   

Malicious foe,  
Said I, cease troubling me,  
Or else let's go  
To suit i'th' Chancery.  
God's Common-Law admits of mine appeals  
To th' Law of Faith that Righteousness reveals.   

But equity  
Requires thy debts be paid;  
Said he; said I,  
And satisfaction's made  
By one that left his Cross, when he was slain,  
That I therewith might thee, foul serpent! brain.   

Then Satan flew,  
Quitting the field. Anon  
A numerous crew,  
A WORLD it was, came on.  
Thronging so thick and threefold in upon me,  
That, had nor Faith pressed in, they had undone me.   

Earth showed her strength,  
Her treasures, pleasures, pride:  
Giddy at length  
Poor I began to slide,  
Hold, man! said Faith, thou hast a staff by thee  
Christ's Cross can help thee stand, & force these flee.   

But in this broil  
Ere I the Cross could use,  
I had a foil,  
And got at inward bruise,  
Conscience spat blood, pain pierced and wrung my side,  
Till Faith some better blood like balm applied.   

Faith also bad  
A vein shoul oped be,  
Urging I had  
Much putrid blood in me:  
Content, said I, for I had heard o'th' art  
Of saving Faith to purify the heart.   

But lest I should  
In bleeding faint, Faith took  
Some Cordials rolled  
In Bible leaves, a Book  
Whose every leaf, said Faith, rich drugs contains  
As I compound them, sovereign for heart-pains   

Alas! said I,  
Many those drugs have got,  
But do decry,  
Finding they profit not;  
But straight remembered what the Sripture saith  
Th' word did not profit being unmixed with Faith.   

O powerful Faith!  
Whose every smallest grain,  
If sound, who hath  
May say, and not in vain,  
Mountains of guilt that here so long have stood  
Get hence into the Sea of Saviour's blood.   

This skilful grace  
Did first Phlebotomize,  
Then wash the place.  
And after wipe mine eyes.  
Dear Faith! said I, I see that thou dost mean  
Not only for to make me whole but clean.   

As soon as I  
Was cured of this my pain,  
Impetuously  
The world comes on again.  
I took Faith's Cross, and found what Scripture saith  
Our victory over the world's our Faith.   

Vain world be gone  
Said I, vex me no more,  
Vexation  
And vanity's thy store  
This jacob's ladder helps me to descry  
A surer sweeter world beyond the sky.   

By this dear Cross  
My dearest Lord did climb:  
I'll count thee loss  
That I may follow him.  
His and my Kingdom's not i'th' worlds enjoyment  
If 'twere who knows where it would be next moment?   

World thou must be  
Set one day all on fire,  
Witchchrafts in thee,  
And blood deserve this hire.  
Then shall my dust see by thy bright firelight  
To rise that morning that shall ne'er have night.   

We do but jest,  
Great Alexander's story  
Is best expressed  
When we say this world's glory  
Vanquished that seeming victor; sure I am  
Nothing but Faith this world ere overcame.   

When I begin  
To fight, and want supplies;  
Faith summons in  
Heavens Auxiliaries;  
And stores with precious promises that are  
The very sinews of that holy war.   

And more than this  
Brings in a rare commander  
Jesus it is,  
Not Mars, or Alexander:  
But he that taught all fingers fight, can quell  
All foes, even Christ i'th' heart, by faith, doth dwell.   

Jerusalem  
Above, that City is  
Where David's stem  
Reigns and remains in bliss  
Yet 'tis his royal pleasure here in us  
To dwell by Faith as in his Countryhouse.   

Faith makes man's heart  
That dark, low, ruin'd thing,  
By its rare art,  
A palace for a King;  
high then proud Babel's tower by many a story,  
By faith Christ dwells in us the hope of Glory.   

Thus Faith doth raise  
Out of vile dust a Court,  
Imputing praise,  
Honour, and good report.  
Hearts, Rahab like, when once they entertain  
heavens spies by Faith, a good report do gain.   

If thou believe  
All things are possible:  
Faith can relieve  
Even to a miracle:  
This Faith can wash an Aethiopian clean,  
Witness the Eunuch of Candace the Queen.   

And as Faith makes  
Us Courts, so Courtiers too:  
God pleasure takes  
In us when all we do  
Is done in Faith, then reckoning that he hath  
Most glory by us, when most strong in Faith.   

And as by this  
Our service proves his pleasure;  
Even so doth his  
Hereby become our treasure:  
One day in Gods Cour● Faith doth far prefer  
Before a thousand any other where.   

'Tis unbelief  
Ith' evil, evil heart,  
His and my grief,  
That makes us ever part:  
That Blessed Man whose feet this Faith hath sh●d  
With, Noah and Enoch still can walk with God.   

By Faith who strives  
To walk with God whilst here  
Doth live two lives  
At once each day o'th' year:  
And dying Joseph like commands his bones  
To Canaan there to dwell with living ones.   

Dear Faith said I  
My joy, my crown, my treasure!  
Tell me whereby  
I may do thee a pleasure.  
Thou art that lock in which my strength doth lie,  
Thee not to tender were self-cruelty.   

If thou wouldst please  
Me better, work me more;  
Said Faith, 'tis case  
Only that makes me poor.  
But I do use to bid my workmen eat,  
Said I; dear Faith, inform me what's thy meat.   

Said Faith I came  
Out of the eastern lands,  
Old Abraham  
And I have oft shook hands:  
My food's an Hebrew root that Gardener's dress  
On Lords Days mostly called the root of jesse.   

By hearing I  
Came first; and we are fed  
Most kindly by  
The things whereof we're bred.  
Forget not, if you love me, the Church-path:  
Line upon Line's the way from Faith to Faith.   

The careful foot,  
That walks by Scripture-LEAVES,  
Shall find this ROOT,  
Which happy who receives;  
So nutritive, Antidotive and good  
Who feeds on it, needs scarce fear any food.   

Make but my bread  
Of this root when I Sup  
Let th' Dragon's head  
Be then broke and served up:  
Yet Toad-stools, one would think, need be well dressed  
Ere they will make a good dish for a feast.   

Art I did gain  
Sometime, and that by book,  
The Temters' brain  
To wholesomeness to cook.  
Only have care as ever thou dost mean  
To keep me long in health to lodge me clean.   

Good conscience is  
An old comrade of mine,  
Whom I cant miss:  
If thou wouldst make me thine,  
And keep me, thou must keep him too; that day  
Thou partest with him, look I should pack away.   

Self confidence,  
My natural enemy,  
Must be packed hence.  
An hand, a foot, an eye  
Who hath of's own, will scorn to be my debtor:  
Who parts with these, works, walks and sees the better.   

Prove that thou art  
A Pilgrim: daily die:  
Of death get th' start  
And live eternally.  
I that in Abrah'ms' heart dwelled many a day,  
To Abrah'ms' bosom now show thee the way.   

Fear always; Yet  
Faint never: Eye the cloud  
That doth beset  
Thee, that triumphant Crowd:  
Look unto Jesus: watch th' word of command,  
Which, when thou hast done all these things, is STAND.   
By grace ye are saved, through Faith,  Ephess. 2.8.  

HOPE.  

DRive on, my muse, till thou 'rt got through:  
Let not Hope find thee in a slough:  
Let that that drives the Farmer's plough,  
Drive thine much more.  
To th' Hope of Isr'el let me yet  
In hope my running rhyme commit,  
And humbly say, God prosper it;  
Or 'twill be poor.   

Hope is a door, the Scripture saith;  
And so is Christ, and so is Faith:  
Who be out of these doors are in wrath  
And Condemnation.  
Faith into Christ doth first advent're:  
Christ into Hope allows me enter:  
Hope makes my very Soul to centre  
On God's Salvation.   

Hope is Faith's expectation:  
Fa●●h is the Moses, Hope's the stone  
That Faith in Prayer doth rest upon  
Till't overcome.  
Faith doth upon Hope's tiptoe stand  
Stretching its neck to look for land  
Beyond death's gulf: and life beyond  
The day of doom.   

Hope is next door to heavens gate;  
'Tis but a step from this to that:  
Nay Hope doth Heaven antedate,  
And bring down hither.  
Hope's th' antidote against despair;  
Coffin of fear; and Couch of care;  
Cradle of patience: Hope hath fair  
Even in foul weather.   

Hope is the mourner's Handkerchief:  
Hope is the Balm of every grief.  
Hope doth endorse the beggars brief  
Ere it's collected.  
In Hope I have, what yet I want:  
Hope makes me full, while things are scant:  
Hope doth consummate, what I can't  
Yet see effected.   

Hope hath an harvest in the Spring:  
In Winter doth of Summer sing:  
Feeds on the fruits whilst blossoming,  
Yet nips no bloom.  
Hope brings me home when I'm abroad,  
As soon as th' first step homeward's trod:  
In Hope to thee, my God my God  
I come, I come.   

Hope sends the Ship to Sea, and then  
Ere it returns, bringsed home again:  
The port of all Seafaring men  
Is this GOOD HOPE.  
I am a Sea man too. My Soul,  
Though tossed with doubts when weather's foul,  
Doth like some Sea-sick vessel roll;  
Yet heavens its scope.   

Hope doth the Soldier's weapon wield:  
By Hope the Soldiers Helmet's steeled:  
Hope gives him, ere he fights, the field:  
Hope holds his station.  
I am a Soldier too. My Sword,  
Is that o'th' Spirit, th' two-edged word:  
Now for an Helmet give me, Lord,  
Th' Hope of Salvation.   

Hope sets the poor Apprentice free  
First day he's bound. And why not me?  
Thou hast Indentures Lord by thee  
Wherein I'm tied.  
Mount Sinais Covenants they be  
Yet Hope doth, Lord, Enfranchize me  
In Sion-hill, where all are free  
That do reside.   

In Hope the School. Boy doth commence  
Master of Art, and fair science:  
Yea whilst i'th' lowest form steps thence  
To th' Doctor's Chair.  
I'm a School-Schollar too, My God  
But yesterday I felt thy rod:  
Yet still with Hope am girt and shod.  
Away, despair.   

'Tis Hope ●hat doth the sour feed;  
Who seems to cast away his seed,  
But doth preserve in very deed  
And mend his store.  
I am a Seedsman too, my Lord!  
And but for Hope thou wouldst afford  
Thy blessing, when I sow thy word,  
I had forbore.   

I am a Seeds man; every tear  
I sow in Hope, 'twill bring an care  
Fit for thy floor in time of year  
For thee to gather.  
Were't not for Hope the heart; some say,  
Would break; yet Hope led me one day  
Weeping along the Milky way  
To thee, O Father!   

I am a Seeds man casting bread  
On th' waters where it seems lie dead;  
Yet Hope assures me it shall be fed,  
And then restored.  
Hope doth the prisoners bolts unlock:  
His fetters doth in sunder knock:  
Hope drives the Freeman's trade and stock.  
My dearest Lord!   

I am a captive too. Sins chain  
Doth hold and hamper, but in vain:  
By Hope I'm saved, and set again  
At liberty.  
I am a Tradesman too. Thou art  
That God with whom I deal. My heart  
Takes Heaven to be the only mart,  
Thither trade I;   

Exporting groans and broken prayers  
That scarce can clamber up the stairs.  
Importing rich and precious wares,  
Even joy and peace.  
Joy that exceeds all understanding  
Oth' Spirits sealing, Christ's own handing:  
Peace that is of Gods own commanding  
And can't surcease.   

Hope makes the labourer to run  
A race as 'twere with each day's Sun  
Paying his wages ever's work be done,  
And mine much more.  
I daily dig and delve within  
Stubbing at th' roots and stumps of sin  
And but for Hope one day to win  
I should give over.   

O come that longed for day! come quickly!  
This Hope deferred makes my heart sickly.  
Grace is a Rose, but sin is prickly  
And still adheres.  
Amphibion like the diver tries,  
Whet sharp with Hope, t' anatomize  
And geld the deeps: his hoped for prize  
Forbids his fears.   

I am a diver too. Thy word  
Doth richer rarities afford:  
A greater deep, and better stored  
With Pearls and treasure.  
Angels desire to dive into  
These deeps; and so I daily do:  
Whose Pearls are rich and Cordial too;  
Health, Wealth, and Pleasure.   

'Tis Hope that makes the racer fleet,  
Bringing the wager to his feet,  
Make haste, saith Hope, what? done't you see't?  
've won, 've won.  
I am a racer too. My race  
From sin to glory is by grace;  
Hope sets heavens Bliss before my face,  
And then I run.   

I heard the witty world once say,  
The bird i'th' bush may fly away:  
Take Heaven who will, 'tis present pay  
For which we trade.  
To Faith and Hope I told this story;  
Their have are but transitory,  
Said Faith: said Hope, and I have glory  
That cannot fade.   

Hast it? said I; Hope, show it me.  
What's this, said Hope, thou here dost see?  
Said I, an Acorn: No, said he  
But 'tis an Oak.  
What is't, said Hope, thou see'st fast by?  
A grain of Mustard seed, said I.  
A plant, said Hope, reaching the sky;  
And thou'dst right spoke.   

Then I perceived the meaning was  
Hope ripens seeds of Grace to Grace:  
Makes Grace, when grounded, Mount and pass  
To th' highest story.  
Hope showed me then a sparkling stone  
What's this, said Hope, that I've got on?  
I straight replied, 'tis Grace begun.  
Said Hope, 'tis glory.   

Then learned I that Grace inchoate,  
By lively Hope doth maturate:  
And ripening, doth anticipate  
Heaven here on Earth.  
I spoke to Hope of a reversion  
I had in Heaven since conversion:  
Said Hope, why cast you an aspersion  
On th' second birth?   

Reversion sounds, said Hope, to me  
Your state at present dead to be  
But I have Heaven in hand, you see.  
Whereon I live.  
I am Faith's present recompense:  
My Grammar knows no Future tense:  
The Verbs that make up all my sense  
Are Substantive.   

Who be these, said Hope, thou see'st before,  
Prostrate and begging at a door.  
Said I, they are heavens Parish Poor:  
Said Hope, they're Kings.  
Kings? said I. But where are their Crowns?  
Their Sceptres, Kingdoms, Countries, Towns?  
Their Armine Robes, and Purple Gowns,  
Those royal things?   

I can, said Hope, tell where they be:  
Safely they are reserved by me,  
Safely reserved from them and thee:  
Look here are they.  
All's locked. Hope, lends the key, said I.  
Hope fetch a Bible presently:  
On which when I head but cast mine eye  
I found a key.   

The right key 'twas o'th' door of Hope  
Enter, said Faith, thou ●●edst not ●rope:  
I turned the key, and th' door flew ,  
And I went on.  
But O the things that there I saw!  
Jewels of joys, in foils of awe!  
But blab not, Muse. knowst not the Law?  
Peace, and have done.   

'Tis not allowed thee to display  
The brightness of Hopes holy day.  
Unutterable things to say;  
Muse, do not vent're.  
Hope showed me, but I can't say what.  
Only let him that questions that,  
But get the key, that then I got;  
And let him enter.   

Then let him say, If ever he  
The like things unto those, did see:  
Or yet can utter what they be  
That there he saw.  
This only can I say, that there  
Crowns, Sceptres, all enamelled were  
With Grace and Peace, with Faith and Fear,  
With Love and Awe.   

True Hope though pleasant, yet is gracious:  
Not light, though lightsome: Not audacious,  
Though bold: though joyous, not salacious:  
Merry, not vain.  
Hope can rejoice, but never rant:  
Always feeds high, but revel can't:  
 Scripture comforts that provant  
Doth Hope sustain.   

The word whereon I hope, doth urge  
Pureness: the fire wherein I forge  
The Anchor of mine Hope, doth purge  
My dross, my ●in.  
That Hope makes not ashamed, but sure  
The bottom's rock, and shall endure;  
That makes me strive, as God is pure,  
To purge my sin.   

True Hope's a jacob's staff indeed:  
True Hope is no Egyptian reed:  
That springs from mire, or else can feed  
On dirt, or mud.  
By Hope just men and sanctified  
Ith' Ocean safe at Anchor ride  
Fearless of wrack by wind or tide  
By ebb or flood.   

Hope's the top-window of that ark  
Where all Gods Noah's do embark:  
Hope let's in skie-light, else how dark  
Were such a season?  
But wouldst not be engulfed, or drowned  
When storms and tempests gather round;  
Ere thou canst Anchor, try the ground:  
Hope must have reason.   

Hope's Anchorhold can not be good  
Where th' bottom's all or only mud.  
Shall th'Sinner in his Native-blood  
To Hope pretend?  
Or th' Hypocrite strengthen his mast,  
(Who boldly doth Hope's Anchor cast  
On's sandy bottom) when at last  
heavens storms descend?   

‛ W●re Cob-web-Hopes, when God shall come  
With's bosom of impartial doom  
To sweep man's heart, that inner room;  
Shall they stand sure?  
Oft have I seen a branch in spring  
Rend from the root, yet blossoming,  
As 'twere some Hopeful growing thing,  
But can't endure.   

He that is at the pains and cost  
To plant and water it, next frost  
Is like to see his labour lost,  
And hope to perish,  
Surely 'twill pose all skill and art  
But only his, that can convert  
This lively Hope in a dead Heart  
To plant and cherish.   

And where there's but a name to live,  
Though for a season Hope seems thrive,  
When such give up the Ghost they give  
Their Hopes up too.  
Good Hopes through grace. And whosoever  
Part Righteousness from Hope endeavour  
The Helmet from the Breastplate sever,  
Which who would do?   

But let what waters will assail,  
The Hope o'th' righteous cannot fail,  
Whose Anchor's cast within the veil  
Till th' flood assuages.  
His Hope's no Lott'ry, hit or miss;  
But an Inheritance it is:  
Christ is in him the Hope of Bliss,  
That rock of ages.   

Mine eyes are unto Sion-hill  
Longing in Hope, yet waiting still  
For he that shall, will come, and will  
Not always linger.  
Therefore in Hope will I rejoice,  
Yea when the floods lift up their voice;  
When Seas shall roar, to drown their noise,  
I'll turn a singer.   

I'll turn a singer, and my song  
Shall be by book, lest I go wrong:  
For I h've not skilled of music long,  
Or holy mirth.  
Weeping into the world I came,  
Bringing a world of sin and shame:  
Bearing the first Apostates blame  
Even at my birth.   

The fruit old Adam and his Eve  
Did so long since together thieve,  
Wring my mother made us grieve  
And groan together  
And as I thus did weeping come  
Out of one grave, I mean the womb;  
My face was towards a deader Tomb  
And I bond thither.   

My life was but a Bondage through  
The fear of death, that fatal slough.  
But lively Hope forbids me now  
All slavish fears.  
Oft have I been contemplating  
Of death that melancholic thing;  
Weeping, till Hope hath made me sing  
Drying my tears.   

Author and rock of all my Hope,  
That hast deaths prison-doors broke ,  
So fastening to Faith's Cable-rope  
Hopes Anchor strong.  
What though I sail through foaming Seas?  
Billows are Pillows, Beds of ease:  
Deaths blast rocks me asleep in these;  
Waiting erelong   

At thy shrill sudden voice to rise,  
And rub deaths dust out of mine eyes  
When death shall have disgorged its prize  
Safe on the shore.  
Then hold my rudder in thine hand  
Who put to Sea at thy command  
Till I may make some newfound land  
Oh! help me over.   

I need not want an anchor, Lord,  
With wood and iron, bee'ng so stored.  
With what thy Cross and Nails afford  
Had I but skill.  
Anchors, I see, by th' Forgers art,  
Have both a straight and bending part:  
Hope strengthens, yet it bows the heart  
To wait Gods Will.   

The Scripture saith that tribulation  
(And 'tis a strange Concatenation)  
Works patience; as if vexation  
Did make more quiet;  
And Patience works Experience:  
Experience, Hope: Yet Patience,  
I'm sure: doth live on Hope's expense  
For daily diet.   

Thus have I seen the Grand-childs' purse  
For the Grandsires support disburse  
Thus Hope doth Patience feed and nurse;  
Patience again  
Doth tutor Hope, and teach it know  
All points of Heavenly Courtship; How  
To wait on God, to bend, to bow,  
To bear his train:   

To follow him in all his ways,  
And so to hold even all its days,  
Seeking that honour, glory, praise  
That God shall give.  
Patience of Hope makes Heaven smile  
To see the trodden Camomile,  
Whilst underfoot, spring up the while  
And the more thrive.   

When death comes, with his leaden foot,  
Hoping to crush mine Hope i'th' root,  
The utmost hurt that death can do't  
Is but to make  
Mine Hope grow up into fruition;  
Whilst Faith's translated into vision  
Mending thereby my souls condition  
Doubling my stake,   

What though mine Haven, Heaven lie  
Beyond the dead Sea? what though I  
Decease? mine Hope shall never die,  
Never decay.  
What though I walk through th' vale of tears?  
Hope is a staff that ever bears:  
Hope is a rod chase my fears  
Guiding my way.   

What though revengeful Papists burn  
Dear Bucers' bones still Hope's his urn  
Till's ashes to a Phoenix turn  
And live afresh.  
What though death's scorching flames presume  
To turn my moisture to dry fume?  
My soul shall one day reassume  
Calcined flesh.   

Therefore my dying tongue shall sing:  
Yea even my flesh that fading thing  
Shall rest in Hope for that dayspring  
All th' night of death.  
And when I lay my weary head  
And bones i'th' grave as in a bed,  
Let not the mourner say he's dead,  
But slumbereth.   

Yet bonny death sometimes looks in  
Bringing a list of all my sin  
Pinching mine Hope till it looks thin  
And's like to die:  
Death in my very face doth stare  
So ghastly, as if't meant to scare  
And fright mine Hope into despair,  
While sin stands by.   

Ah Conscience! Conscience! when I look  
Into thy Register, thy Book,  
What corner of my heart, what nook  
Stands clear of sin?  
And though my skin feels soft and sleek,  
Scarce can I touch my chin and cheek,  
But I can feel death's jawbone prick  
Even through my skin.   

Yet why art thus cast down, my soul?  
Hope still in God, and on him roll.  
If Heaven smile, what though death scowl,  
And Conscience louvre.  
A Book of my dear Christ's I have  
By which I look my God will save  
My soul from sin, my flesh from grave,  
And from death's power.   

O death, where is thy victory?  
That I might live, my Lord did die  
He fled thee not, but made thee fly,  
Hav'ng drawn thy sting.  
Thou hadst of teeth a double row,  
Till Christ by's Cross took thee a blow  
When fastening on him. But thou'rt now  
A tooth-less thing.   

Well mayst thou bark, but canst not by't,  
Bending thy brow, showing thy spite:  
Death do thy worst: Hope sets me quite  
Beyond thy spleen.  
What though my death seems written in  
The very parchment of my skin  
With the black ink of my foul sin;  
Yet have I seen   

On both hands of a friend once slain,  
But since returned to life again,  
A better story Printed plain,  
My sights but dim;  
Yet in the print o'th' nails I see  
Life in a Saviour's hands for me  
Whilst as he hung upon the tree,  
Hope hangs on him.   

And still shall hang on him until  
My bones have learned to climb that hill  
Where now he sits, and whence he will  
Yet come down hither  
That he may gather into one  
Each dust of his, and scattered bone;  
Then shall he, as a living stone  
Translate me thither.   

And now, my Lord, what wait I for,  
Standing, and knocking at thy door?  
I stand and knock at th' door of Hope  
Till knocking makes the door stand .   
We are saved by HOPE, but Hope that is seen, is not Hope,  Rom. 8.24.  

LOVE  

FRom Faith and Hope I come sweet Love to sing  
For every Anchor hath its ring  
Whereby 'tis wedded to its Cable-Rope.  
Love makes the match 'twixt Faith and Hope.   

Betwixt Grace and Grace no marriage can be made  
But where this golden ring's first had.  
O golden Love, thou circling, endless thing!  
All grace concenters in thy ring.   

What though mine heart be flinty rock and stone?  
Yet flints have fire: And have I none?  
No spark of Love, thou God of Love! for thee  
That hast twice over hammered me?   

There's not one spark kindled upon mine hearth  
But at first glance it quits the earth,  
As if it knew the element of fire  
Were some Diviner thing and high'r.   

Lord, I can feel there's such a thing as Love  
Warm in my breast, and feel it move;  
I find I love my Child, and so doth he:  
And shall I not, my God love thee?   

Is Love the only fire that doth descend?  
Or is my God, my God, no friend?  
Sure all my doubts and fears cannot disprove  
The condescension of thy Love.   

The Elements, we find, invert their course,  
Fearing a Vacuum would be worse:  
And did not Love stoop low, when God did die  
To fill up man's vacuity?  
Reader! stop here:  
And drop a tear!   

When Love that, every Evening, makes my bed  
Had not whereon to lay his head:  
Except you'll call that bloody Cross and bitter  
A Lovesick Saviour's bed and litter.   

When Love itself being as rich as store  
To make me rich ●id become poor:  
Unless those tears and bloody drops that fall,  
You'll Pearls account and rubies call.   

And can the flaming Element of Love  
To store my wants drop from above?  
Why can't mine Earth as well to Heaven grow,  
As heavens Love fire come down so low?   

Why may I not, Elijah-like, aspire  
To ride to Heaven in that fire,  
That fire of Love that came from thence down hither  
On purpose sure to help methither.   

When Love to hatred did himself expose,  
And prick's own foot to ease his foes:  
Printing full proof in his chapped parched skin  
What flames of Love there were within.   

When Love unthought, unsought for did come down  
Exchanging, for a Cross, his Crown  
Love undesired, Love undeserved did take  
Man's game to play to save man's stake.   

Whilst flames of wrath so sorely did contest  
With this Love-fire in Saviour's breast  
Heightening the heat so far till's blood boiled over,  
Issuing out at every poor,  
Lord! can the eye,  
That reads, be dry?   

Ah! if it can; let not the writers be:  
No tears of Love, my God for thee?  
Lord! could Love make thee take my sins as thine?  
Sure then thy sorrows shall be mine.   

The stripes that rend thy back, shall smite and knock  
My breast, till they have cleft my rock.  
The ir'n that in thine hands left such a p●int  
Shall strike some fire out of my flint.   

Shall I not love that friend that loved me So  
So Loved me when I was his foe!  
Lord! let not want of Love increase my score!  
My debts were great enough before.   

Make me thy Love so burning hot to feel,  
As to dissolve and melt my steel:  
And burn my stony heart to fervent lime,  
As I h've seen fire turn stone sometime.   

My heart is thine; Lord thou hast bought that stone  
And thou hast fuel of thine own:  
 not quit cost? great builder! if it will,  
O throw mine heart into thy kill.   

Lime is an useful thing in buildings sure:  
And lime of stone will best endure:  
Knowledge puffs up, but Love is edifying,  
And grows the stronger by long lying.   

Oh that I had that lime of Love that is  
(As by Antiperistasis)  
Hotter for water! I would often then  
Weep till I even flamed again;  
But now I mourn,  
That I can't burn.   

 burn? Alas! my God, I'm burning ever:  
But oh my burning is a Fever.  
Such hectic heat doth too too plainly prove  
That I am but infirm in Love.   

Lord, dost not see how Giants do invade  
Thy right? my God, confound their trade,  
Who using lust for lime, by Hellish art,  
Would rebuild Babel in my heart.   

'Tis not so long my God and Saviour since  
Thou didst expel th' usurping Prince  
Rasing his works and strong holds built within  
With lime of lust and piles of sin.   

Can I Love sin, that hateful cruel thing,  
That grinds the Serpent's forked sting;  
Shew'ng death how twice at once to murder me?  
And can I not, my God, Love thee?   

Can I Love sin, that puts me on the wrack  
Till bones do break and sinews crack?  
And Can I not Love him that climbed the tree?  
Wracking himself to take down me?   

Can I Love sin, since hatred ne'er had been?  
Never been heard of but for sin?  
And can I not love LOVE, that came to die,  
To kill hatred and enmity?   

Love sin, that founded Hell at's own expense?  
And not my God that saves me thence?  
Alas! how strangely Love its mark can miss!  
Oh that mine head and heart for this  
Were both one flood  
Of tears of blood!   

Or can mine heart like joseph's Mistress, make  
Love to the Servant? and mistake  
These things below for my dear God above  
To whom I own even all my Love?   

And then when these chaste Creature-comforts fly  
Rather than yield, or gratify,  
Can I complain unto my Lord, and say  
That they did tempt then fly away?   

Alas! poor Creatures would not be abused:  
And must they yet be thus accused?  
And God in them? And that I may be found  
Guiltless, must guilt reach God at th' bound?   

Thou gav'st me these to prove thy Love to me,  
But not to steal my Love from thee:  
I cannot Love the giver, for his gift;  
Alas! my God, that's a poor shift.   

Why? shall I court the Bearer, that doth bring  
Forgetting him that sends the ring?  
All Creature-good in this world or the next  
Being but a comment on Love's Text:   

This whole Creation being but one round drop  
Hanging down from love's fingers top,  
If all the world were Pearl, yet why should I  
Desire to wear it in mine eye?   

So that for this world's Love I should not see,  
My dearest Lord, how to Love thee?  
Can I so Love the world? And can't I yet  
Love God that made both me and it?  
Lord, I must cry,  
Here's Witchery!   

If the world be th' inchantress, Lord, I pray  
Hasten the General Judgement day!  
For sure my Love, when it sees the witch a burning  
To its right wits will be returning.   

But rather I suspect 'tis Hell's black-art  
That from my God thus charms my heart.  
Remembering 'twas the wily Serpent's plot  
That first broke the True-Lovers-Knot.   

When baalam's Divinations could not move  
From God's dear Israel God's dear Love,  
But God that loved them once, would love them still,  
Though Balaam went from mount to hill.   

He next instructs the Moabites to lay  
Adulterous Loves in israels way  
To quench their Love to God through wanton fire  
And thereby to incense God's ire.   

And if this world play the Moabitess;  
'Tis Satan's project, Lord, I guess:  
Who seeing he can't divert thy Love from me  
Would thus divide my Love from thee.   

And, is mine heart divided? ah! my God,  
Whose clo●en foot thereon hath trod  
The print discovers. What though Balaam's dead?  
Thou God of peace! bruise Satan's head.   

But I am most afraid the worst's within:  
The witchcraft of my native sin.  
Sin winds and circles, Lord, so many ways  
Till sin ofttimes the Devil raise;  
Lord! thou art fire,  
Give sin her hire.   

Burn up this witch, her crafts, and Philtre-pots:  
Sins books of curious arts, charms, knots,  
By thy refining Spirit, that I may  
Get warmth of Love to thee that way.   

Who hath bewitched me that I am so coy  
When thou wouldst fain my Love enjoy,  
Thou, blessed Three, standest suing for mine heart  
Who only canst fill every part?   

Dear God who hath bewitched me that I cant  
Deny the courting world a grant,  
That never yet could fill my heart, unless  
It were with griping emptiness?   

The garment of thy goodness is entire;  
Can keep me warm without a fire:  
To which this whole creation's but a shred,  
Each Creature's but one single thread.   

To give these things their due, they're good for use:  
And lovely too: unless their juice,  
By Love inordinate, be dried up;  
Leaving behind an empty cup.   

And is gold rich? and can the mine be poor?  
Theirs at the best is borrowed store.  
Nay, so long borrowed that it now grows old:  
O that my Love could wax as cold,   

As cold to earth, as earth is in decay:  
But more intense to God each day!  
Who'll soon serve earth for all its glittering grace  
As we do serve old Silver-lace,  
Lord! fire this pile  
Of man mean while.   

I h've heard good husbands say, that they that borrow  
Their stock to day, may break to morrow:  
Sure the world's credit cannot long hold good.  
'Tis much the world thus long hath stood.   

Considering when the world's in fullest trade  
How poor and sorry payment's made  
Him, that owes all, and must his right recover;  
Sure th' world must then all trade give over:   

Shall I not therefore deal i'th' interim  
Less with the world, but more with him,  
With him whose Love's an unexhausted spring  
Of every good and perfect thing.   

Methinks men's trading with the world might stop  
At thought of this who keeps her shop.  
Alas! my God, the world is Devil ridden:  
The thing is known and can't be hidden.   

Hell hath deflowered the earth, and now I see  
IT would put its leave off to me,  
Daubing false paint on th' face o'th' wrinkled Creature  
Hav'ng worn and spoiled its native feature.   

The earth's all Egypt now: And Egypt's curse  
Is over all the world, or worse:  
For Beelzebub with his swarming train  
Hath all things flyblown. To be plain   

There is no flesh that's sweet, but Saviour's, now.  
Which Satan tried, but knew not how  
To taint. All's dogs-meat else. Lord! teach me choose  
And I shall all the rest refuse,  
And only wish  
For that one dish.   

A dish that's wholesome, and 'tis healing too.  
Ah my dear God what shall I do  
To Love thy flesh enough that tasted once  
For ever heals my broken bones.   

Set thine apart, all other flesh is grass:  
And is my soul an ox or ass?  
That it should Love no higher than my beast?  
Or can my soul such fare digest?   

Come, Trencher Critics, you that eat by book,  
And in your food for physic look,  
Your Cook must be some small Apothecary,  
Will you allow a Verser    

From your received rules? and be content  
To try a new experiment?  
Flesh in a feaver's good Divinity,  
Which who most eats, escapes best, say I.   

Provided that the flesh be sound and good  
(For I would be right understood)  
As never did, nor could, corruption see:  
Ah my dear Saviour! I mean thee.   

Alas! how low in an high burning Fever  
Of God's displeasure, never never  
To have been cured otherwise, did sin  
Once bring me, till I did begin   

To fall aboard that sacred flesh? And then  
How soon did I grow well again?  
Then welcome, gentle guest, if thou hast not  
To prise and Love thine health forgot,  
Come sit down here  
And Love this Cheer.   

Or tell me is it sweetness and delight  
That rather doth thy Love invite?  
What more delicious, sweeter thing can be  
Than that sweet blood was shed for me?   

When I Repentance take, that purging pill  
I take it in this Syrup still:  
Wha● purgeth, pains; and would too much corrode  
●●t for this sweet emulgent blood.   

You curious Palates, that can't let one glass  
Without a strict Examen pass  
Come taste, and tell me if (this blood) this wine  
Bened generous and genuine?   

The Vine is Divine, nay'tis somewhat more;  
And can the blood o'th' Grape be poor?  
'Tis this High-Country-Wine that fills my cup,  
When at my Saviour's board I sup.   

Wine, that's as sweet as wrath of God is bitter,  
Which, who hath tasted is the fit  
To relish this rich liquor. Wrath makes dry  
But here's the cup of Charity.   

This is the grace-cup. Nothing's sweet nor good  
Till dashed or sprinkled with this blood.  
Men are but Swine, wines are but swill before  
This blood man to himself restore.   

A Wine so good, fallen Angels might not taste it;  
Who therefore did contrive to cast it  
Upon the ground; which when they thought to spill  
They broached for man against their will.  
Lord who can love  
Thy blood enough?   

Or do you Love for Loveliness? Come hither;  
My Lord is Lovely altogether.  
Alas how amorous wits forget their duty  
To this supreme and perfect beauty!   

You fond admirers of a skindeep hue,  
To dusty beauties bid adieu,  
To dusty beauties that have marred your eyes:  
Ah my dear God that wit were wise!   

It cuts mine heart to see much silken wit  
And snares and halters made of it.  
Halters to th' owners, snares to th'passers by.  
How fast lose wit can wantoness tie,   

And stake them down! till first the lover burns  
In heart, and then in Hell by turns.  
But say his Love be chaste; And she a flower;  
All's next to nothing the next hour:   

'Tis killed with kindness, dies when complemented,  
And soon fades when 'tis most scented.  
Whose Muse doth dress his Mistress, hangs a Verse  
To day upon to morrows Hearse:   

Friends must be then called in to have away  
What wanton wit adores to day.  
Skin-beauty's but a Sodom-apple just:  
When crushed, it turns to stench and dust.   

The wanton world complains their Love is blind  
And I must needs be of their mind;  
Whilst for such walking shades they cannot see  
My dearest Lord, how to Love thee.  
Yet thou art fair  
Beyond compare.   

Had I a wit, and had I grace I'd bring  
My Saviour an enamelled ring,  
A ring whose Posy should be this alone,  
Stars get ye gone, the Sun hath shone.   

Stars? I mean glow-worms: earthen beauties which  
Ith' dark do sparkle in a ditch,  
And fools mistake for Stars; ill touch informs,  
And proves them to be silly worms.   

But, Lord, my Muse unworthy is to bear  
The shoes that thy fair feet do wear.  
Fairer for bee'ng so swift, swift to shed blood;  
Their own I mean to do me good.   

How fair's thy face then? may I, Lord, one day  
Have leave to see, though none can say  
How fair it is. My dear, the Sun's a Clod  
To thy bright face, fair Son of God   

Wherein still fresh and fresh together grows.  
With valleys Lily, Sharons' Rose.  
A rose that ne'er bore prickles of its own;  
Yet sinners thorns did Saviour crown.   

And shall I Love my Champion less for scars  
He got in waging of my wars?  
Thy bruises are but beauty spots, my dear,  
That make thy Love more fair appear.   

Who loves for fleshly gloss and silken skin  
May find a Serpent oft within.  
But thy deep wounds, Lord, prove thee that thou art  
All Lovely to thy very heart.  
Beauty thus deep,  
Will hold and keep.   

Or is it Knowledge, Learning, Science, art  
That takes the more ingenious heart?  
Come, bookish man, and sit a while down here;  
Till thou hast read my dearest dear.   

What's that that's printed in his hands and feet?  
The print is plain, man, dost not see't?  
A mystery that learned flesh and blood  
Never taught yet, nor understood.   

I h've sometime stood and wondered at the Owls  
How they should prove Minerva's Fowls:  
But since have learned that learning's blind as Love  
Till both be tutoured from above.   

Oh what a Dungeon is the mind of man,  
Let Pallas paint it what she can!  
Some would not be such fools but that they're wise:  
And might see better but for eyes.   

Lord shall I Love to know, and not know thee,  
In whom all wisdoms treasures be?  
Great Magazine I whose wisdom's infinite,  
Give me that panoply of light.   

An Epictetus or an Antonine  
Ith' dark may make a shift to shine:  
But being by thy Sun-light understood  
Alas, my God, prove putrid wood.   

Shall venturous Students every Toads-head look  
For Pearls of knowledge? And thy book,  
Thy works lie by unloved, unlooked into?  
Thy Pupils, th' Angels don't so do:  
But help their sight  
By gospel-light.   

Or do I Love for likeness? Ah, my dear,  
Whose Image was't I first did bear?  
Whilst yet I stood in Primitive perfection  
Lord, what was I, but thy reflection?   

So like thee that thyself thou couldst not Love  
But Love me too: Nor could I move  
Thy Love from me, till I thy likeness lost  
Thine Image bee'ng sin-slured and crossed.   

But now I'm hateful grown and hating too  
Alas, my God, what shall I do  
To Love thee and to be beloved of thee?  
My Lord, thy Love preventeth me.   

For since the ground of liking likeness is,  
Rather than my poor Love thou'dst miss;  
Since cursed sin made man unlike his maker,  
God of man's likeness was partaker.   

When sin, to man's undoing, had undone  
God's Image; God next sent his Son  
In likeness of poor sinful flesh; thereby  
Condemning sin i'th' flesh to die:   

My God was hungry, thirsty, naked, poor:  
In fears, in tears, in sweat, in gore:  
Was tempted, was betrayed, forsaken, sold,  
Was captivated, kept in hold.   

Was judged, condemned, was killed, was buried then  
That he and I might rise again  
In one Divine and sweet similitude  
And Love in likeness be renewed.  
And can I yet  
Thy Love forget?   

Or do I Love for consanguinity?  
For nearness and relation? why  
For me Christ took, and shed that Blood of his;  
And do I ask how near he is?   

My Lord is much more mine, than I mine own  
My Lord was mine, when I was none:  
My Lord, when I was lost and gone astray,  
Was both my Shepherd and my Way.   

Surely my Lord and I are near skin,  
Ere since my Saviour was made SIN  
Form, and I made RIGHTEOUSNESS in him.  
He is my head and I a limb:   

He is the Vine, and I the branch: the root,  
Whereof I am a slip or shoot:  
Of my salvation he the captain is,  
And I am a reprize of his.   

He is my Father, I his seed: nay he,  
In travail of his soul, bore me:  
My brother too, born for adversity;  
The Joseph of the family.   

He is my Maker, yet mine husband too:  
This Potter me his clay did woo:  
And rather than he'd miss the match did make  
Him a clay-body for my sake.   

Even all men Love their own, and shall I not?  
Help Lord, and I will knit the knot.  
In full acceptance of thy free donation:  
Clasp hearts and hands in sweet relation  
Lord, thou art mine,  
Make me more thine!   

Or do I Love for suitable supplies  
To all my wants? sure I want eyes  
Or I could not want Love, my Lord, to thee  
In whom all blessings treasured be.   

O that my drop into a Sea could swell  
Of Love to him, in whom doth dwell  
All fullness, as in bank or house of store,  
Even Grace and Bliss for evermore.   

Thine bee'ng once asked if they would away,  
O whither shall we go? said they  
The words of life eternal, Lord, thou hast.  
And that's a stock can never waste.   

Goodness is all contracted in thy face,  
As Sunbeams in a burning-glass:  
Oh that I lay in some director line  
That I might burn whilst thou dost shine.   

Am I a sinner? thou'rt a propitiation:  
I h've wrought confusion, thou salvation.  
I h've purchased death both for myself and thee,  
But thou to life hast ransomed me.   

As God, thou seest; as man, thou feelest my grief.  
As both, thou'rt suitable relief:  
My Creditor, and yet my Surety too:  
Paying and pardoning what I owe.   

Creatures are Cisterns, leaking vessels, they  
Cannot supply themselves one day  
And me much less. My springs are all above  
My light, my life: Why not my Love?  
Oh 'tis thy right:  
Accept my mite.   

Or is it Love that sharpens Love again?  
My Saviour, every grinding pain  
Of thine on Earth, and present Intercession  
Pleads for a Love beyond expression.   

'Tis Love I live upon. And do I yet  
Suspect thy Love! or question it?  
Lord, if my Living be ned full proof, thy dying  
Gives evidence beyond denying   

Herein is Love without dissimulation  
Thy Love thou provest by thy Passion,  
Whose every wound with open mouth cries out  
We are Love's Vouchers, if you doubt.   

When Heavenly Hosts first saw thee breath if then  
They run and preach good will towards men  
If thus they comment on thine Infant-breath  
My God what thought they of thy death!   

Oh! how he Loved him? if who saw thee shed  
Tears for thy friend Laz'ras bee'ng dead,  
Cried out; What might 've said that saw thee die  
Bleeding for me, thine enemy.   

And dare I? can I yet renew that grief?  
Doubting thy Love, through unbelief.  
If I but say I Love, how doth it grieve me  
If yet my Friend will not believe me.   

And dare I yet suspect the God of Love  
Who says, who swears, who dies to prove  
He Loves me. Shall I fail in proof of mine  
And then, to make a mends, doubt thine!  
Doubling thereby  
Each injury?   

I find, I feel, I see, and can't I say,  
He Loves me? doubts out of my way.  
Doubtings by Demonstrations overcome  
Sure then if ever may be dumb.   

Or if I needs must doubt and jealous be  
Lord I'll suspect myself not thee.  
My soul! lov'st thou thy Lord? say yea or nay,  
My God I'm graveled what to say.   

Yet will I hold mine heart to th' Scrutiny  
Till it affirm or else deny  
Deny? my God I dare not, nay I cannot,  
And yet, methinks, affirm I may not.   

Oh that I could. This only can I say  
Dear Lord, that I cannot say nay  
Thoughts in again! (Loves not such neutral thing)  
You must a certain Verdict bring.   

Only be sure, for 'tis your own behoof,  
Your Verdict stands on certain proof.  
Alas my thoughts can never solve this doubt  
Unless thy Love Lord help me out.   

My God what crowds of witnesses seem strive  
To be deposed o'th' Negative?  
My seldom thoughts of thee, my cold devotions,  
Heartless profession, lifeless motions;   

My wanton Dalian with the world and sin:  
My want of kindness to thy kin:  
My little longing when thou'rt out of sight  
Or labouring to regain the light,  
I sigh to say  
How these plead NAY.   

These? ah my God and many more than these;  
My little little care, to please;  
Or fear, of grieving thee, my want of leisure,  
For thee; and in thee, want of pleasure.   

My numb Lethargic zeal when men defame  
Thy Saints, thy worship, ways, or name,  
How say I that I Love thee, when mine heart  
So poorly plays the Lover's part?   

My Love commands mine eye, mine hand, my purse  
Can I Love thee, yet serve thee worse?  
Or must my friend of all friends be denied  
What I yield all I Love beside?   

Alas! my Lord! such proof had almost got  
A Verdict passed I Love thee not;  
But that one witness came and crossed the rest  
Stifling that Verdict in my breast.   

Yet 'twas not much that witness had to say  
But sorely weeping cried I pray  
If't be as you pretend that there's no fire,  
Whence is this smoking flax desire?   

My Jesus! thou'rt my Judge, the Judge of all,  
To whom my Love must stand or fall  
Thou that know'st all things know'st that I abhor  
Myself for Loving thee no more.   

My dear! I h've sometime longed, and do I not  
Long yet that thou wouldst lose one knot  
To tie another? what's this life to me,  
If I must still be strange to thee?  
To Love is life,  
Else life's but strife.   

Oh that I were a Graduate in that College  
Where Love is known that passeth knowledge:  
Where smiling Saints do comprehend and dwell  
In Love incomprehensible.   

Where perfect Love casts out tormenting fear:  
Nor theirs nor thine is doubted there:  
Where full-eyed Love may see to interline  
Thy text with some short Notes of mine.   

But whilst I'm low as earth, short as a span,  
Fleet as a shade, narrow as man  
The height, length, depth, and breadth, of Love to measure  
I have nor skill, my God, nor leisure.   

Love that's as high as Heaven, for thence it came  
And thither with it bond I am.  
Love that's as long as length; eternity  
Must say how long, for so can't I.   

Love that's as deep as Hell, for thence it took,  
Me; And the day's down in my book.  
Love that's as broard as sin that spreads all over  
Yet, Lord! thy Love my sin doth cover.   

Th' Astronomer what houses stars do keep  
Can tell, the diver gauge the deep;  
But I, poor Christs-Cross-Sholler, cannot spell  
LOVE, though a monasyllable.   

Lord I could be content mine earth might turn  
To ashes, so my soul might burn  
And all my powers become one Holocaust  
Reaching thy Love and life at last;  
Lord stir this fire  
And raise it higher.   

Here's a poor broken heart, a Sacrifice  
Which yet thou'st said thou'lt not despise  
I bind it on thine Altar in desire  
heavens favour set it all on fire!   

Lord shall I ever be a Questionist?  
Help me commence in Love to Christ:  
Or still incept'ring? pass a grace mine heart  
May once be master of this art.   

But as I said, methought, I heard one say,  
Away bold Freshman you must stay  
Your time: there's many'n act ere this degree.  
And hare there must no hudlings be.   

Lord if it must be so, my now Condition.  
I tender to thine own Tuition  
Till I have better Arguments to prove  
I'm more proficient in thy Love.   

Charge thyself with me. Me and all that's mine  
Subject I to thy discipline,  
Lord I will have no mind distinct from thee  
Who givest all that's thine to me.   

If others ask me, can you walk abroad?  
I'll answer, Go and ask my God.  
Where thou sayest go though flesh and blood say stay  
I'll creep if I can't run that way.   

Or if I, as I fear I shall, transgress  
This law of Love I now express;  
I'll humbly strip myself next serious thought  
Till thou hast whipped me for my faued:  
Then kiss thy rod;  
And cry, my God   

Then if thou smile thy favour Lord shall be  
Like rain upon mown grass to me.  
Or like warm Sunbeams that succeed some shower  
Till joys poor Bud's a full-blown flower   

But I will watch left some Old-Adam seed,  
With joys fair flower, put forth some weed.  
Which when't first peeps, thy weeding knife I'll borrow  
Lest the ground harden by to morrow.   

I'll mark thine eye; a better brighter Star,  
Than that that guid● the Mariner.  
My dull remissness, Lord, thine eye, shall whet  
To more observance, when sharp set.   

Thy quick and hasty look shall quicken me:  
I'll away to my Book, or Knee.  
I'll chide my busy play-fellows; Away,  
My master frowns; I dare not play.   

Lord, I'll see by thine eyes; thine every beck  
Shall be my Bridle curb, and check.  
The Watch thou giv'st me I'll keep for thy sake:  
And wind it up when ere I wake.   

The Book thou gav'st me, that blood-guilded Book,  
I'll ever, ever in it look  
Till I find thee there, and myself, thy beauty,  
And learn to know and do my duty.   

Then showing to others, See the token Love  
I'll say hath sent me from above:  
Keeping the cleaner hands that I may not  
Discolour it with any spot;  
Unless a tear  
Drop here or there.   

The task thou setst me Lord I'll nor complain:  
Thy work shall be my wage and gain:  
Clean as I can I'll do't if sullied then  
My tears shall wash it over again.   

Thy strict commands and Love-lined yoke shall be  
A neck-chain of pure gold to me.  
Thine hardest sayings when my stomaches queasy  
Love shall digest, and make them easy.   

Thine is no Labans-service if it were,  
Yet Love two Prenticeships might bear:  
But to be bound, or held in durance by  
Thy Royal Law, is liberty.   

Mine heart shall be less lose, and yet more large  
Being stretched out unto all thy charge:  
And where my life falls short of either table  
Love shall fulfil; for Love is able.   

If thou wilt come, and take an Inventory  
Of all that's mine; I'll not be sorry:  
If thou wilt search and ransack all I have  
I'll help thee, or thine help I'll crave.   

If aught I have displease, or if I doubt,  
I will, for sureness throw it out.  
If I can pleasure thee with aught that's mine:  
I'll quit my Title, Lord 'tis thine.   

If mine heart fit thy walking thou shalt have it  
If not, yet Love shall mend and pave it  
With such clear solid stone even all within  
As yet can weep for every sin,  
Washing thy feet  
When men done't see't.   

Mine heart being thus possessed, when strangers come  
I'll say thou'st taken up my room:  
Then if thou ask whose purse, or parts are these  
I'll answer, thine Lord if thou please.   

If on mine Houre-Glass thou then lay thine hand  
And ask whose is this running sand  
I'll answer, Lord the little's left is thine:  
But what's run out is no more mine.   

Or if thou ask me, who are those at th' door?  
Smiling on them; I'll say, my poor,  
I'll draw my soul out when thy Lazar knocks  
My Cupboard shall be th' poor man's box.   

If others come, like those poor Greeks, to me  
With a Sir, we would Jesus see  
I'll gladly tell them where my Lord doth Sup  
Do'ng all I can to help them up.   

If others curse thee Shimes like; if they  
Cast dust, I'll blow the dust away  
With sighs and groans; if they thine honour slain  
I'll weep and wash it clean again.   

Or else I'll chide or fight if thou shalt bid  
(But first of all with T●ai ours hide  
At home) I'll fear no colours whilst above  
Thy Banner over me is Love.   

Who sues to be a favourite of mine  
I'll ask him first if he be thine,  
If not, I'll pray him to be reconciled  
To thee, that so my Love to th' Child  
May a●l be found  
Thine at the bound.   

Or when thy tender Lily bleeds, my God  
Torn with those cru●l● thorns abroad  
Or rend with Schisms at home and heart division  
Ile what I can play the Physician.   

I'll plead with thee with them; if things grow worse  
I'll bleed myself to turn the course  
When I thy People's Hearts divided see  
Surely mine Heart shall broken be.   

Thy Love hath lent me all the balm that's thine  
Why should not then thy sores be mine  
My God they shall: but chief when my Passion  
Or lust provokes thine indignation.   

I'll berevenged on one, myself I mean,  
And grieve till thou art pleased again.  
Passions shall live like Gibeonites, their Law  
To hue thy wood and water draw.   

So all I have shall serve thee till I know  
My Love hath life and find it grow.  
Lord I'll account of all as it conduces  
To help Love's growth and serve its uses.   

If in the Sunshine of a prosperous state  
My fire can't burn so clear for that.  
I'll rather choose some courteous clouds return  
Then see Loves holy fire not burn.   

Or if I fail of aught I here profess  
And thy rod can't my fault redress  
Rather than live thy grief, I'll yield to die  
So Love inflict the penalty.  
That paid my score  
By death before.   

If Love yet let me live a growing debtor  
I'll study hard but I'll live better:  
Live I mean Love; that's the Commandments en●  
And that's the life that I intent.   

Though Love wax cold abroad, and sin abound,  
Hard Frost o'er spreading all the ground.  
Shall th' heat of Kitchen fire be more increased  
And not thy flames within my breast?   

Lord what● a Silver Tongue if't cannot talk  
A Golden Leg if it cannot walk  
Faith that can Mountains move when 'tis desired  
Or Martyrdom, if Love be ned fired.   

What if I give my goods and all my store,  
But not in Love to feed thy poor?  
But if in Love a cup of water cold  
Though the drink's mean, the cup is Gold.   

Love tunes my Prayers, makes Praises Musical:  
Which else at best but howl or ball.  
Love makes two Mites to God as acceptable  
As if to bring two worlds 'twere able.   

True Love's true beauty, beauties else but paint  
No more am I if Love I want.  
Lord help me put on Love to keep me warm:  
To dwell in Love secure from harm.   

To walk in Love, till Love i'th' stream do lead  
To Love that is the Fountain head  
Or th' Ocean which if I cant comprehend  
I'll plung into: that in the end  
Lost I may be,  
If lost, in thee.   

Yet when I think what penned and narrow room,  
Ith' Virgin's Womb,  
The God of Love lodged in, methinks mine heart  
May hold its part.  
Into mine heart O shed thy Love abroad,  
My God my God.  
Both being Spirit, what can better suit,  
Then th' Spirits fruit?  
Drink thirsty vessel, till thou fill or break!  
But never leak.  
The broken Heart, and truly contrite Breast  
Holds Love the best:  
And the best Love: a Love more worth than wine.  
Lord I mean thine:  
Then as the purpose of thy G●ace and Love  
None can remove  
Let me So Love thee as to part and lever,  
Lord, n ver, never.  
Ungirt, Unblessed, we say: my God Love is  
The bond of Bliss  
And perfectness: A Grace, whose Bondmen be  
The only free.  
Works without Faith can never, Lord, please thee  
Nor p●●fi me.  
Faith without Love, can't operate o● move  
But works by Love.  
Love is a Grace that stands her ground in Glory  
That upper story.  
Love, when Tongues, prophecies, and knowledge fail,  
Ent'ring the Veil,  
Possesseth as Supreme and highest Grace  
The Holiest place.  
When Faith and Hope do thither wait upon her,  
As Maid's o● Honour  
Sole Love is left as Queen of all the Graces  
In God's Embraces.  
Mean while, Lord, to be sick of Love to thee  
Is health to me.  
They that have not this sickness, h●ve a worse,  
●hy plague and curse.   
If any man LOVE not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema Maran-atha,  1 Cor. 16.22.  

PRAYER.  

NExt th' Trinity of Persons and of Grace's  
Man's three main Duties Muse and Method   

Who views my God and Grace in all their Beauty places.  
 (I should think) but take delight in Duty.   

But who belieus, Hopes, Loves (I'm sure of that)  
Will Love to Pray, to Hear, to Meditate.   

Pray'r's the first breath put forth in crying then  
When, through sad pangs, poor souls are born again.   

Heaven well commends Faith's midwifery, and says,  
The Child's not still born, for behold he prays.   

Prayer is the rapper at heavens door: Faith knocks,  
Who's there? saith Love within doors, and unlocks.   

Prayer is the key: what e'er i'th' lock retards;  
Prayer, ●yld with mourning, gently slips the wards,   

And moves the Spring, God's heart: Doth Ephraim mourn?  
The bolt gives back, Jehovah's bowels turn.   

Prayer is an Arrow from a well-bent heart:  
Watch the Returns, and see what 'twill impart   

Of heavens Intelligence: i'th' floods decrease  
This mournful Dove brings th' Olive branch of peace.   

Prayer is the saced Bellows when these blow,  
How musically doth faith's Organ go;   

Thus Prayer proves Faith an Instaument: and Love  
Answers to this wind-musick from Above,   

In sweet consort, with ravishing consent,  
Upon that Lute (that dear stringed Instrument)   

Whose strings are Bowels of that Lamb once slain,  
Who makes the Music, bee'ng! Alive again.   

Prayer is the sacred Bellws, when these blow,  
How doth that Live-cole from God's Altar glow!   

By Prayer Love burns to zeal: and hot desire  
Baptizeth the souls fuel all with fire.   

Prayer breath's the gale, whilst Faith doth navigate  
Ith' brittle bark of Man's frail mortal state:   

Good Hope's the Cape: fair Heaven, and fair wind!  
Whilst Faith, in prayer steers the low ballast mind.   

Prayer is Faith's Limbeck there the Promise lies  
And thence distils: mock not Prayr's watery eyes.   

On th' knees of Prayer Faith brings forth Promises,  
As Bilba sometimes bare on Rachel's knees.   

Prayer is Faith's Bucket (Prayer doth upward move,  
Drawing its waters from those wells above)   

Chained to that Bucket of the Blessing, so  
That that comes down, as this doth upward go.   

Prayer is Faith's Pump, where't works till th' water come  
If't come not free at first, Faith puts in some;   

Some truly penitential tears: and then  
Pumping the Promise, pays itself again.   

Prayer is the Christians Pulse: Prayer instantly  
The Temper or Distemper will descry.   

Some read; some sing and some their prayers can say,  
He's an Elias that his prayers can pray.   

Prayer lifting up its holy hands can dart.  
To Heaven that hand-granado of the Heart,   

Of the whole Heart, which kindled with desire  
In fervent motion breaks, sets Love on fire:   

Compassions burn● Heaven, suffering violence,  
Grows to surrender unto man, propense.   

Pray'r's a chief piece of Faith's Artillery,  
Take a right ground, mount Prayer, aim right, let fly:   

Doth Heaven hold out? let Heaven hear from Faith  
What force Prayer home-charged with a Promise hath.   

Doth Hell assault? let fervour fire this Gun  
And the report shall make bold Legion run.   

Prayers Rhetoric commands, when't begs, and so  
Makes most victorious whom it brings most low.   

Prayer lifteth up the Eyes, Hands, Heart we see;  
When Prayer most humbly doth bow down the knee.   

Prayer makes Man Prince with God: Doth Jacob kneel,  
Saith King of Glory, Rise up Israel!   

Prayer, in the silent Hannah, loudly Speak●;  
Prayer both Manasse's heart, and prison, breaks.   

Elijahs Prayer doth pierce the brassy skies:  
And makes the Tears to stand in Heavens eyes.   

'Tis not an armed Amalek can stand  
When Prayer lifts up a Moses's naked Hand.   

As Thunder struck Philistines once did fall,  
D●wn tumbles Rain, and th' Enemy withal,   

At th'Lightning Legions Pray'●. Oh who can war,  
Where private Soldiers such Commanders are?   

Prayer bee'ng aboard the great Leviathan,  
In whose close Cook-room Jonah's shipped, poor man!   

Mak●s Land, runs th' Hull on shore, and open breaks  
The Prisoners' way, by blowing-up the Decks.   

Prayer undertakes to discipline the SUN:  
To teach that Giant Postures, when to Run,   

When to Retreat, to make a Halt, to stand:  
At praying Joshua's word of Command,   

This Rolling Eve, in Heaven's Brow stands still;  
Wondering to see Faith's Prayer thus work its will.   

Fifteen Degrees, when Hezekiah prayed,  
His Life, and ten the Sun ran retrograde,   

Thus Prayer prevails in Heaven, Earth, and Seas:  
Add but its conquest over Hell to these?   

How th' Air of Prayer chokes the serpentine brood  
Of that old crooked Dragon in the flood;   

Sin, Satan's spawn, and how the intestine Thorn,  
Is by true prayer's compunction outworn:   

How th' Messenger of Satan's buffeted,  
Who came to buffet: how the Serpent's Head,   

Under the knees of Prayer is squeezed at last;  
And Beel-zebub is himself out-cast,   

By the rare force of Prayer, that grows more strong  
By Fasting, and more fresh by watching long.   

The sum of all is Prayers stupendious Art,  
To bind God's hands, and keep in hold his Heart.   

Prayer importuning this Samson hath found,  
Himself revealing; how he may be bound;   

Even God be bound, who's infinitely free,  
Yet saith to Faith and Prayer Command ye me.   

The Prayer-hearing God the Father is:  
The Pray'r-perfuming God that Son of His,   

(With flagrant, fragrant Incense of His Merit)  
The Pray'r-inditing God is God the Spirit.   

Prayers Tears are washed in God's Blood, & its means  
Are aired with God's unutterable groans:   

Thus Prayer prevails with God: yet Praises shall  
Not Prayer, but th' God of Prayer, victorious call,  
Who's All in All.   
Pray always with all PRAYER, and watch there unto with all Perseverance,  Eph. 6.18.  

HEARING.  

FRom Prayer to Hearing I proceed  
For that prepares for this indeed  
But who from Hearing turns his ear away  
The Lord abominates to hear him pray,   

Hark? 'tis God's voice: can man forbear  
To hear Him speak that made the Ear?  
Why should the Head of hearing Ears make show  
Since such Deaf Ears upon Man's Heart do grow?   

Heaven did to poor Man's misery  
Give ear before he gave the Cry.  
Methinks a Saviour's words should all sound loud,  
Acuted with the Accents of his Blood.   

What vile Dishonesty appears  
By Man's disgraceful loss of Ears?  
And y●● let Siren's frog, and Satan knock;  
〈◊〉 Hear can 〈◊〉 too ●ight, too soon unlock;   

No Cords can hold, or Lusts be bound,  
Till All is overboard and drowned.  
When th'Serpent charms this Adder hears, but when  
Heaven charms more wisely, th' Ears are charmed again.   

Most what I see a monstrous sight  
Most have two Ears, yet neither's Right,  
God gave them two, yet they'll by no means lend  
So much as one to such a bounteous Friend.   

Sure such a Friend would soon repay,  
By giving ear to what they pray.  
God ever takes up Ears on Interest,  
And doth his greatest Creditors pay best.   

They teach their very Ears to pray  
Who listen well what God shall say.  
Th' uncircumcised in Ear bid God deny,  
Refusing Him that speaketh, when they cry.   

The Deaf Ear'd-Idoll is abhorred  
And Men like Idols, of the Lord:  
Who deafness plague's with deafness, and doth turn  
His Ear from Dives whilst his Tongue doth burn.   

Lord therefore to Deaf Hearers give  
To live to hear, to hear and live.  
Yea into th' Harvest send forth Labourers  
To fill thy floor by gathering in of Ears.   

Thou sow'st thy Word as Seed, and then,  
'Tis fit thou reap the Ears of Men,  
As Mary weeping heard till showers of tears,  
Full ripe for thine own reaping made her Ears.   

What Heaps shall in thy Garnets' be  
When Ears are Circumcised by Thee?  
Fair Zion shall be like an heap of Wheat  
That round about with Lilies is beset.   

When Malchus lost an Ear thy touch  
(A Saviour's skill and virtue's such)  
Repaired that Loss: Lord 'tis but Ask and Have:  
Thou canst find Ears in Lazarus his Grave.   

Thou David's Heir of David's Keys  
Canst shut and open as thou please,  
Thy still voice loud winds, and proud waves obey;  
Unto thy Word, let not men's Ears say Nay.   

Thou didst a Prisoner once impow'r  
(Judge Felix bee'ng Auditor)  
To give the Charge that took the Judge by th' Ear  
More Bonds did then on th' Bench than Barr appear.   

When heavens great Guns from tire to tyre,  
According to thy Word give fire  
Kadesh doth tremble: Hinds do calve for fear:  
The howling Deserts, and deaf Rocks give ear.   

And is Mars Heart more wild? more hard?  
More full of noises? stronger barred?  
Yet is the star the keyhole: Lord put in  
Thy finger, than the gentlest word will win.   

All turns and moves: One Eph●phatha.  
Removes obstructions out of th' way;  
Then th' Ear shall welcome every second word  
Wi●h a Come in thou Blessed of the Lord!   

The Scriptures speak of th' Learned Ear;  
S●●● then thy tongue must teach to hear,  
Morning by morning let thy Music make  
The heavy Ears of Man's dull mind to wake.   

If Sons of God, fair Angels, stand  
Waiting the Son of God's command,  
(Which when it comes, who sees these Holy things,  
Might see their Ears converted into wings)   

If the Deaf Devil lends an Ear  
Not led by Love but forced by Fear  
And if the sworn, plague, famine only know  
By harkening to his Word they Come and Go;   

In vain doth poor Man stop his Ear  
And say in's Heart he'll never hear:  
Harvests bring Ears: and such is the World's end:  
Graves must find Hearers then; The Dead attend.   

Then Happy He that sooner heard,  
Hearing before for afterward;  
God had his Ears on Earth, and doubtless He  
Shall with full sheaves repaid in Heaven be.   

If Sol'mons' servants were so blest  
That couned their Lesson from his breast,  
How Happy're those Disciples then whose Ears  
Are tuned to the true Music of the Spheres?   

Where the First-Mover is Free Grace,  
Free Purpose moves i'th' second place:  
Third Orbe's the Word of Grace in which do shine  
As many Stars as Promises Divine   

These Lessons so Divine, so good  
(The Orbs bee'ng Oiled in Saviour's blood)  
Do so divinely correspond, that so  
Needs must the Hearer the Diviner grow.   

Then comes that holy Turtle Dove,  
Gently descending from above;  
And stealing through the Earth-hole into th' heart,  
Doth heavens Intelligence on Earth impart.   

This is a joyful sound indeed  
What Halcyon days shall hence succeed,  
Whilst Thunders terror makes Deaf Rebels quail,  
Christ● voice to his Disciples is All hail!   

If God that rules all otherwhere  
Love so to move the Orb of th' Ear,  
Sure than the Blessed of the Lord are they  
That Hearing harken, Harkening that Obey.   

The Humble Hearer may invite  
God Guestwise to a Disht Delight  
A fervent whole-broke-heart served up in Tears  
The Bread bee'ng made o'th' Contrite hearers Ears.   

Nay God invites Himself to sup  
Where such delights are so served up  
By a clean hand, whereth ' ear and the heart's kept hot  
God is Man's Guest, and Heaven will pay the shot   

A letter H is not say we  
Let HEARING then mine EAR-RING be.  
Thou God of Israel bore thy servants Ear,  
That I in i● this Jewel still may wear.   
Let every one be swift to HEAR. But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own Souls,  Jam. 1.21, 22.  

MEDITATION.  

I come to sing the last but not the least,  
Being that that Clencheth in man's mind and breast  
Those Nails th' Assemblies Masters drive  
Not t' eat but to Digest, makes thrive.   

Sweet, sacred thing! Celestial Contemplation!  
Old enoch's Trade, young Isaac● Recreation.  
That furnishest Man's thoughtful breast  
With Greatest Work, and Sweetest Rest.   

Israel's sweet Singer used when first awake,  
His Lark-like Rise, upon thy wings, to take;  
With which, he made his morning-flight:  
Of which, his Featherbed at night.   

The nimble Lifeguard of that Royal mind,  
Were Thoughts, by thee divinely Disciplined:  
Marshaled in each day's front and rear,  
Greatness thus guarded knows no fear.   

When anxious Muse would invade that soul;  
When Cares would clog, or make it stomack-foul,  
Thou didst exonerate, Thy skill,  
Did still prepare the Stomack-pill.   

Thy Physic having wrought; and hungry health  
Thine hopeful Patient re-surprized by stealth  
Then thou that hony-comb didst drain;  
And break the Bone, that did contain   

The fat, the sweet, which from the Promise flows  
(Whereof the sensual worldling nothing knows)  
Thus Meditation first sets right  
Then sa●iat's the souls Appetite.   

Man's fed with Manna; void of surfeits fear:  
Where Meditation's Cook, Digestions clear:  
Mortals, thus fed with Angels far;  
Converted into Angels are.   

By Contemplation was that Darling dressed,  
When Guest-wife Heaven bade him to a feast.  
John's clothed in spirit, when they call  
To keep the Lords days festival.   

In Contemplation's Mount who dwell, can stretch  
Their hand to Heaven that Starry Crown to reach:  
And dress themselves in that bright Sun  
Whilst underfoot they tread the Moon.   

In Contemplation's Pisgah they, that have  
At once a view of Canaan, and their grave.  
(In this world's Desert wearied)  
Do willingly undress to Bed.   

Sweet sacred Meditation! may I be  
Wrought, recreated, guarded thus by thee:  
Physick'd and fed by thy Dispensatory:  
By thee be dressed with Grace, prepared for glory.    


I.  

Then learn O man! to part betwixt  
Dead earth and th' earth wherewith thou're mint:   

Sure walls of ●lay may higher rise,  
Than what in earth's ●ead dungeon lies.   

The Soul with Earth's already clad,  
Earth upon earth would make more sad.   

Shall wings make massy Mountains fly?  
Shall hands stitch Earth unto the sky?   

Then dungbill dro●es scale Heaven may,  
And Muck-worms creep i'th' Milky way.   

To carry Earth to Heaven some think:  
But must Earth rise? or Heaven sink?   

Nor Earth nor Heaven must be their prize;  
But a fools (Mah'mets) Paradise.   

If yet thine Earth to Earth adhere,  
Then let the Dead the Dead inter;   

If thou can't lift the inferior part;  
Yet, as Gods Offering, heave thine heart.   

Thy Body's but thy Beast, and sure  
All else is but its furniture:   

Leave then thy heavy jade below,  
Up to the place that God shall show.   

Earth's ever moving to Earth's Centre;  
Man's for a more sublime Advent'r:   

'Tis pity Dust in th' Air or Eye  
Should hinder a Celestial spy.   

With lumbering Body leave behind?  
The low, th' ignoble, servile mind:   

Such men I mean as can't out-pass  
Old Abrah'ms servants, or his Ass,   

The secret secker only knows  
What secrets Heaven can disclose.   

God's Holy of Holies still shuts out  
The vulgar and unholy rout.   

In secret places of the stairs  
And clefts of Rocks lie mine Affairs.   

Angel's will scarce in crowds appear.  
We say The few'r the better cheer.   

If busy Aunts of molehill birth  
Promiscuously converse on Earth,   

Let th' Highborn Bird of Paradise  
Scorning the Earth, still scale the skies.   

An Anthill and Exchange agree,  
Save, Men the greater Trifters be,   

Thus mortals toil to live below,  
Whilst Man by toil to Heaven might go.   

What though thou been short-winded? sure  
heavens hill can Earth's green-sickness cure.   

Or what needst dread the journey's length,  
Whilst all along thy way's thy strength?    

II.  

BEe'ng thus Ascended, Bind and slaughter  
Thy fin, thine Only Child of laughter,   

In this Mount God will soon be seen  
If some Dear sin doubt intervene;   

Dear sin indeed? whilst Angel's sect  
Their first Estates for it and Hell.   

Dear sin! whilst for its bu●ks men do  
Fair Heaven's household-bread forgo.   

A present flash, and future flame  
Is the best Income sin can name.   

'Twas sin eclipsed the Angel's Crown,  
And what brought them, will keep thee, down.   

Man dost not see how Cherubs stand  
With flaming swords on every hand,   

From rape of such to guard Life's Tree  
As of dead works the workers be?   

Ah! guilty soul, darest look abroad,  
Or unagreed darest walk with God?   

To reconcile darest thou aspire  
Thy dross with that consuming fire?   

Sure such Atonement shall begin,  
When sin proves grace, or grace proves sin.   

Since Earth's too dead, too dark, too low;  
Sure Hell to Heaven shall never go.    

III.  

BEe'ng thus far onward in this steep,  
Wouldst further climb? then learn to creep.   

Who try can tell th' Ascents like these  
Are the best s●al'd on th' hands and knees.   

Angel's first rose, then fell; and so  
By growing too high, became so low.   

But Christ did raise his Royal Crest  
By building such a lowly nest,   

The Pharisee that nothing knows  
Of the true Temple, boldly goes   

Into its shadow there to boast  
Reckoning proud fool without his Host.   

The Publican doth smite upon  
His Heart, as if 'twere made of stone:   

Which stone despised thought it lay below  
Did to a Temple sooner grow.   

Unto God's Altar nakedness  
God suffers to have no access:   

Th' endowments of men's minds we call  
Their parts, importing therewithal,   

No man of parts can decent be  
Unless clothed with humility,   

The Highest to the low gives grace:  
Who veil ●heir own shall see his face▪   

In dust and ashes self abhorred  
Are the accepted of the Lord.   

Most flaring fair faced Dinas are  
Sooner undone for being fair:   

The veiled Rebekah Isaac takes,  
And his dear bosom-consort makes.   

How can a near acquaintance grow?  
Whilst God proud hear●s far off doth know   

Proud hearts know not themselves and then  
Sure Heaven must needs be out o● ken.   

Whilst the void Air and worthless wind  
Brooks no way to be down confined,   

Earthquakes must all things overthrew  
Rather than empty Air keep low;   

Gems, Jewels; India's Treasures dwell  
In meanest Caverns low roofed Cell.   

Thus from the pots the Lord doth take  
And into Crowns his Treasures make.   

Wouldst then be profited by me  
From earth, sin, and proud self get free.   

Yet 'tis a Trinity indeed  
After the which with winged speed   

I would pursue, and ever may  
Both body, soul, and spirit pray.   

He whom I seek, and ever shall  
Is THREE, and ONE: And ONE and ALL.   
MEDITATE upon these things, give thyself wholly to them, that thy proffiting may appear to all,  1 Tim. 4.51.  
FINIS.