THE CHURCHES Ardent LOVE to CHRIST.  
Being a PARAPHRASE on Cant. 1.2, 3.  By J. J. 

To the READER.  
READER,  

IF thou hast holy flames which ne'er do cease,  
This Poem read, it may thy flames increase:  
Or if thou art Profane, here thou may'st see  
To the true Church, thy Nonconformity.  
Some I have known, who highly did admire  
That any should be singed in Cupid's fire,  
Yet have themselves found it too hot at last,  
To bear the scalding heat but of a Blast.  
So thou that art Profane, thou mayst admire  
That any should be fond of Holy Fire,  
Yet may a holy spark some time or other  
Take in thy heart, which thou mayst never smother;  
And who can tell, but that this Poem may  
That spark produce, wouldst thou but read and pray.  
Perchance thou mayst in reading raise some Jeers,  
For aught I know, thou mayst let fall some Tears:  
He may be won, that longest doth resist,  
The Spirits wind doth blow, where it doth list.   

I'll ne'er despair of any, whilst I see  
A fruitless Tree, may next year fruitful be.   

But yet remember this, there's nothing brings  
More danger, than to scoff at sacred things;  
The Song was his, who wisest was of Kings.   

My style's too low for matter so Divine;  
The R●●● is dull, the Precious-stone doth shine,  
Take thou the Stone, and let the Ring be mine.     
Cant. 1. 2 & 3 Verses. 
Let him Kiss me with the Kisses of his Mouth, for thy Love is ●etter than Wine.  
Because of th● savour of thy good Ointments, thy name is as Ointment poured out, therefore do the Virgins Love thee.  

W●●● Tongue sufficient 〈◊〉 express my grief,  
W●en 〈…〉 presence gives ●e●●●  
In all my straits? Sole Object of my joy,  
(To whom the World compared, is but a toy,  
Which never can my poorest fancy please,  
Without thy blessed Self:) O come and ease  
My wounded Lovesick heart: It's sacred fire,  
If thou sustainest not, 'twill soon expire.  
Thou didst enkindle it, to purge out sin,  
And none besides thyself can keep it in.  
Should it go out, Death soon would me surprise,  
And triumph too, in closing of mine eyes.  
My Love and Life, are interwoven so,  
As one cannot without the other go;  
O! therefore come, with thy enlivening breath,  
Blow up my ●eals, I may not mourn to Death.  
I Salamander like, can be content  
No where, but in Love's fiery Element,  
Nor comfort take, but while my flames exalt  
Their Curling-tops above the Azure Vault;  
And thou alone canst make them so to burn:  
O! therefore, how I long for thy Return!   

Let there no Zenith, there no Nadir be,  
To separate my dear Bridegroom from me:  
Stand off thou East and West, thou North and South,  
Let him me kiss with th' kisses of his mouth.  
Their favours will not only keep me chaste,  
But be of Glory too a good foretaste;  
They will such Sweets convey into my heart,  
As Heaven itself no better can impart.  
So I for waiting shall a full amends  
Receive, and make it known to Foes and Friends,  
That all may see how sweet a Spouse I have,  
And may the same endearing Kisses crave:  
His Kisses so enamour will the Soul,  
As nought but Love divine, shall there control.  
Be gone thou World; let not a frown or smile  
Of thine, (wherewith thou many dost beguile,)  
Fill any place 'twixt him and me: Go, go  
To those that place their happiness below:  
I'll harbour no Competitor, for I  
Resolve to him to live, for him to die;  
So Ardent is my Love, I cannot brook,  
That aught should hinder me but of a Look.  
With his sweet breath let me be so perfumed,  
As all those nasty Worms may be consumed,  
Bred by the want of it: His powerful breath  
Can blow them all beneath the power of Death,  
And cleanse my sullied Soul and Body so,  
As both shall whiter be than driven Snow.   

Such distances are nothing to my Dear,  
I can no sooner wish, but lo he's near:  
I knew this glorious Sun was nigh to dawn,  
Because I felt my frozen heart was thawn.  
Lo, at their widest spread, are here mine arms  
Thee to embrace: My heart is filled with Charms  
Of Love. Ye everlasting doors stand ,  
And let the King of Glory have full scope  
To enter in; O! come, possess thine own,  
Within my Heart set up thy Kingly Throne;  
Rule in my Heart, and rule thou there alone,  
Cast out all those which oft have made me groan;  
For thy dear Love far better is than Wine,  
That cheers my heart, but This makes it divine:  
Yea, it hath a Virtue too, more worth than Gold,  
It changeth Enmity into Love's mould;  
For even those that did thee hate, and by  
False Lovers were defiled, thy glancing Eye  
Hath made them quit those Lovers all, to cleave  
To thee, knowing thou ne'er will't them deceive.  
Yea, it transcends all worldly Joys so far,  
As it admits not of the least compare;  
Nay should they be compared, (substracting trouble)  
The World, in full, could never weigh a Bubble.   

Verse 3.  
Thou great Chirurgeon of Mankind, thou hast  
Both Power and Will to cure (but with a Cast  
Of thy most bright and radiant Eye) the heart,  
Though wounded through with Satan's fiery dart.  
The goodness of thine Ointment too is such,  
All Maladies it hath cured but with a Toutch.  
It's sovereign virtues when thou didst make known,  
(How it had cured the World of being none;  
Yea, when 'twas self-destroyed, and had Death's groan  
Upon●t,) than its sweet Savour did disperse  
Such sweet Perfumes throughout the Universe,  
So mixed with Love and Grace, that Virgins all,  
By a most dear Impulse, could not but fall  
In Love with thee. That thou that didst Eternity  
Enjoy, with all above that yonder Sky,  
Where true and everlasting Joys abound;  
And if there no Associates had been found,  
Hadst happy been in thine ownselfs' enjoyment,  
W●●●● the slavish trouble of Employment,  
Shouldst yet have thoughts of making Man, and for  
His Dwelling-place, a World that should concur  
With him, to answer all his needs; and then,  
To joy to dwell among the Sons of Men;  
And for that World t'employ thy Providence,  
Both for its Sustentation and Defence;  
And t'undertake the toil to rule't, although  
Thou knewest that Man (thy Deputy) would grow  
More wild, than wildest Bruits, and thee forsake.  
And that this World thou shouldst of nothing make,  
And Man but of a dirty Clod of Clay,  
And dart into him such a glorious Ray,  
As did thy blessed Image on him stamp,  
And place within him such a heavenly Lamp,  
As might have guided him in all his ways,  
And brought him safe to Glory, thee to Praise!   

But O! let Seraphims speak if they can,  
It is above the reach of Finite Man,  
The wonderful Stupendiousness to tell  
Of thy Redeeming Love: That when Man fell  
From his created state, had quite defaced  
Thy sacred Image, all his Oil was wasted,  
Extinguished that Lamp, which was his Guide,  
And nought became, but a huge Mass of Pride,  
And yet of Misery! That thou shouldst leave  
Thy glorious Throne, Man's Nature to receive!  
Disrobe thyself for Rags, and be content,  
From thy Dear Father's bosom, to be sent  
Into this World of wickedness and woe,  
Pains far beyond our thoughts to undergo,  
Such as thou never couldst have born their Load,  
Hadst thou been only Man, and not been God,  
One drachm whereof t'have born, would e'er have pressed  
The Universe below the hope of Rest,  
Yet should, if thou hadst not the whole have born!  
Exposed unto thy Vassals greatest scorn!  
The worst indignities of vilest Men!  
The wrath of an incensed God And then  
Thy spotless Soul a Sacrifice for Sin  
To offer up! 'Tis endless to begin  
Thy condescending Love t'admire, for all  
Thy Sufferings were, to free vile Man from thrall,  
And reinstate him in a state of Bliss  
Of thy free will, for no desert of his!   

That thou the King shouldst Traitorous Man forgive,  
Yea, die the traitor's death, that he might live!   

Well might the World's bold eye ashamed be,  
When Men would not thy Innocency see!   

Well might the senseless Rocks in sunder rend,  
When Reas'n-endowed Men would not relent!   

Well might the sacred Temple's vail be broken,  
When Worshippers would show, of grief, no Token!   

Well might dead Bodies rise out of their Graves,  
When living Men would not be Free, but Slaves!   

And well might Angels stoop themselves, to see  
The greatness of so great a Mystery!   

These works of Love and Wonder have such Fame  
In Heaven and Earth thee got, as that thy Name  
Is as most precious Ointment poured out,  
Attracting Virgins Love the World throughout,  
Mounting their Faith above their Hope, with me  
For e'er to love, and be beloved of thee.   

And are some of thine Ointments sweet Perfumes,  
Whose Fragrancies have filled all the rooms  
Of Virgin-hearts, whereby they are made fit  
For thee their King to enter in, and sit  
And sup with them, and make them long to see  
Thy glorious self their welcom●st Guest to be.  
The savour of thine Ointment too, is sweet  
Both in thy Word and Temples where they meet;  
O! how they joy, that thou hast so contrived,  
That in thy Word (to keep their hearts revived)  
As in a glass, they may thee still behold:  
That thou their Spots, and their depraved Mould,  
Dost by thy Spirit cleanse, and make them whiter  
Than scouring can by Fuller's Soap and Nitre,  
And hast engaged for ever me t'uphold  
Against Hell gates, or aught that can be told.   

Thy Graces too, prepared with heavenly Art,  
Do Cordialize thine Ointment for the Hea●t,  
Being sweet'ned with thy Promises; these deck  
Thee more than Chains of Gold the purest Neck,  
And send such Odours forth, as that they draw  
With sweeter Violence than Jet the Straw  
All Virgins unto thee, with power such,  
The Loadstone draws not Iron half so much.  
And thou with these, all Virgins hast adorned:  
These Rubies, and these Pomanders, though scorned  
By others are, yet are by them so prized,  
As by thy help, they have them Temperized,  
So are fit Habitations of thy Spirit,  
Meet for that glorious Light which Saints inherit,  
And will at last be my Companions found,  
For they with me, with Love to thee are Crowned;  
And these our Crowns, which here are made of Love,  
Will help make up our glorious Crowns above.    

To the Ingenious Mr. Joshua Jordan, on his foregoing Poem.  

I.  
SAY sacred Bard? What Muse did thee inspire?  
none of the Poets nine, it could not be;  
I rather think 'twas some Diviner fire,  
and wish the same would so inspire me.   

II.  
So sweet each Cadence flows, replete with sense,  
the more I read it, I admire thee more;  
And so attractive is your Eloquence,  
methinks I have no power to give over.   

III.  
Your sacred Accents with bright virtue fraught,  
declares your thoughts are pure, immaculate;  
Wisdom and Grace together there is wrought,  
and sprightly Wit triumphant sits in state.   

iv  
Some may (perhaps) in these debauched times,  
censorious be, but let them do their worst;  
The Wise and Virtuous will affect your Rhimes,  
whilst impious Critics do with envy burst.   

V  
As when bright Sol, hid in a gloomy Cloud,  
breaks forth, it shines more glorious than before;  
Even so your Verse, though darkness may it shroud  
a while, at length 'twill please us more and more.   
Oxcynthes, R. B.   

To the Bookseller, on the foregoing Poem.  
THE Author's yet unknown to me, so I  
forbear to speak, for fear I should thereby  
Detract from his desert, and hurt his Name,  
Who once may gain an everlasting Fame.  
His Aim is good, the Subject's too divine,  
To be made better by a Pen of mine:  
The Genius may, by use, be more sublime,  
And Dr— n may become his Friend in time.  
His Name (perhaps) may make the faithless World  
Believe his Muse from Helicon was hurled.  
Till then, I'll say no more, than that I am,  
Your faithful Friend, and still will be the same.  
C. B.   

Licenced,  
May 4. 1687. R. M.   

LONDON, Printed for John Taylor, at the Ship in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1687.