The Synagogue: OR THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE.  
SACRED POEMS, AND PRIVATE EJACULATIONS.  
In Imitation of Mr. George Herbert.  Plin. Sec. lib. 1. Ep. 5. 
Stultissimum credo ad imitandum non optima quaeque proponere.  
I do esteem't a folly not the least  
To imitate examples not the best.  
The Seventh Edition, Corrected and Enlarged  
LONDON, Printed by S. Roycrost, for R. S. and are to be Sol● by John Williams Junior, at the Crown in S● Pauls Church-yard, 1679.   

To the Author.  
HE that doth imitate must comprehend;  
Verse, Matter, Order, Title, Spirit, Wit;  
For these also our Church-Poet doth intend,  
And he who hath his Imitation writ.  
O glory of the time! best English singer,  
Happy both he the Hand and thou the Finger.  
R. Langford of grays-inn, counsellor of Law.   

Subterliminare.  

DIC, cujus Templum? Christi, Quis condidit? Ede.  
Condidit Herbertus. Dic, quibus auxiliis?  
Auxiliis multis: quibus, haud mihi dicere fas est.  
Tanta est ex dictis lis oriunda meis.  
Gratia, si dicam, dedit omnia; protinus obstat  
Ingenium, dicens, cuncta fuisse sua.  
Ars negat,& nihilest non nostrum dicit in illo;  
Nec facile est litem composuisse mihi.  
Divide: Materiam debt gratia, materiaeque  
Ingenium cultus induat, arsque modos.  
Non: ne displiceat pariter res omnibus ista,  
Nec sortita velint jura vocare sua.  
Nempe pari sibi jure petunt, cultusque, modosque,  
Materiamque, ars,& gratia,& ingenium.  
Ergo, velit si quis dubitantem tollere elenchum,  
Di Templo Herberti talia dicta dabit.  
In Templo Herbertus condendo est gratia totus,  
Ars pariter totus, totus& ingenium.  
Cedite Romanae, Graiiae quoque cedite Musae;  
Unum par cunctis Anglia jactat opus.   

A stepping ston to the threshold of Mr. Herberts Church-Porch.  

WHat Church is this? Christs Church. Who builded it?  
Mr. George Herbert. Who assisted it?  
Many assisted: who I may not say,  
So much contention might arise that way.  
If I say Grace gave all; Wit strait doth thwart,  
And says, All that is there is mine: but Art  
Denies, and says, There's nothing there but's mine:  
Nor can I easily the right define.  
Divide: say, Grace the matter gave, and Wit  
Did polish it: Art measured, and made fit  
Each federal piece, and framed it altogether.  
Nay, by no means: this may not please them neither.  
None's well contented with a part alone,  
When each doth challenge all to be his own.  
The matter, the expressions, and the measures,  
Are equally Arts, Wits, and graces treasures.  
Then he, that would impartially discuss  
This doubtful question, must answer thus:  
In building of his Temple, Master Herbert  
Is equally all Grace, all Wit, all Art.  
Roman and graecian Muses all give way:  
One English Poem darkens all your day.     

The Dedication.  

LOrd, my first fruits should have been sent to thee;  
For thou the three,  
That bare them, only lentest unto me.   

But while I had the use, the fruit was mine:  
Not so divine,  
As that I dare presume to call it thine.   

Before 'twas ripe it fell unto the ground:  
And since I found  
It bruised in the dirt, nor clean, nor sound.   

Some I have picked, and wiped, and bring thee now,  
Lord, thou know'st how:  
Gladly I would, but dare not it avow.   

Such as it is, 'tis here. Pardon the best,  
Accept the rest.  
Thy pardon and acceptance maketh blessed.    

The Church-yard.  

THou that intendest to the Church to day,  
Come take a turn or two, he fore thou goest,  
In the Church-yard; the walk is in the way.  
Who takes best heed in going, hasteth most:  
But he that unprepared rashly ventures,  
Hastens perhaps to seal his deaths indentures.    

The Church-stile.  

SEest thou that style? Observe then how it rises,  
Step after step, and equally descends:  
Such is the way to win celestial prizes:  
Humility the course begins and ends.  
Wouldst thou in grace to high perfections grow?  
Shoot thy roots deep, ground thy foundations low.   

Humble thyself, and god will lift thee up:  
Those that exalt themselves he casteth down:  
The hungry he invites with him to sup,  
And clothes the naked with his rob and crown.  
Think not thou hast, what thou from him wouldst have:  
His labour's lost if thou thyself canst save.   

Pride is the prodigality of grace,  
Which casteth all away by gripping all:  
Humility is thrift, both keeps his place,  
And gains by giving, riseth by its fall.  
To get by giving, and to lose by keeping,  
Is to be sad in mirth, and glad in weeping.    

The Church-gate.  

NExt to the style, see where the gate doth stand,  
Which turning upon hooks and hinges may  
easily be shut, or opened with an hand.  
Yet constant to its centre still doth stay,  
And fetching a wide compass round about,  
Keeps the same course, and distance, never out.   

Such must the course be that to Heaven tends,  
He that the gates of righteousness would enter,  
Must still continue constant to his ends,  
And fix himself in God, as in his centre.  
Cleave close to him by faith, then move which way  
Discretion leads thee, and thou shalt not stray.   

We never wander, till we loose our hold  
Of him that is our way, our light, our guide:  
But, when we grow of our own strength too bold,  
Unhook'd from him, we quickly turn aside.  
He holds us up, whilst in him we are found:  
If once we fall from him, we go to ground.    

The Church-walls.  

NOw view the walls, the Church is compassed round,  
as much for safety, as for ornament:  
'tis an enclosure, and no common ground;  
'tis Gods free-hold, and but our tenement.  
Tenants at will, and yet in tail, we be:  
Our children have the same right to't as we.   

Remember there must be no gaps left ope,  
Where god hath fene'd, for fear of false illusions.  
God will have all, or none: Allows no scope  
For sins inchroachments, or mens own intrusions.  
Close binding locks his Laws together fast:  
He that plucks out the first, pulls down the last.   

Either resolve for all, or else for none:  
Obedience universal he doth claim.  
Either be wholly his, or all thine own:  
At what thou canst not reach, at least take aim:  
He that of purpose looks beside the mark,  
Might as well hoodwinked shoot, or in the dark.    

The Church.  

LAstly, consider where the Church doth stand,  
As near unto the middle as may be;  
God in his service chiefly doth command  
Above all other things sincerity.  
Lines drawn from side to side within a round,  
Not meeting in the centre, short are found.   

Religion must not side with any thing,  
That swerves from God, or else withdraws from him;  
He that a welcome sacrifice would bring,  
Must fetch it from the bottom, not the brim.  
A sacred Temple of the Holy Ghost  
Each part of man must be, but his heart most.   

hypocrisy in Church is alchemy,  
That casts a golden tincture upon brass:  
There is no estence in it: 'tis a lie,  
Though fairly stamp't for truth it often pass:  
Only the spirits aqua regia doth  
Discover it to be but painted froth.    

The Church-Porch.  

NOw, e're thou passest further, sit thee down  
In the Church porch, and think what thou hast seen;  
Let due consideration either crown,  
Or crush, thy former purposes. Between  
Rash undertakings, and firm resolutions,  
Depends the strength, or weakness, of conclusions.   

Trace thy steps backward in thy memory:  
And first resolve of what thou heardest last,  
Sincerity; it blots the history  
Of all religious actions and doth blast  
The comfort of them, when in them God sees  
Nothing but out-sides of formalities.   

In earnest be religious, trifle not;  
And rather for Gods sake, than for thine own:  
Thou hast robbed him, unless that he have got,  
By giving, if his glory be not grown  
Together with thy good: who seeketh more  
Himself than God, would make his roof his floor.   

Next to sincerity, remember still,  
Thou must resolve upon Integrity.  
God will have all thou hast, thy wind, thy will,  
Thy thoughts, thy words thy works. A nullity  
It proves, when God, that should have all, doth find,  
That there is any one thing left behind.   

And having given him all, thou must receive  
All that he gives. meet his Commandement:  
Resolve that thine obedience must not leave,  
until it reach unto the same extent.  
For all his precepts are of equal strength,  
And measure thy performance to the length:   

Then call to mind that constancy must knit  
Thine undertaking, and thine actions fast:  
He that sets forth towards Heaven, and doth sit  
Down by the way, will be found short at last.  
Be constant to the end, and thou shalt have  
An heavenly garland, though an earthly grave   

But he that would be constant, must not take  
Religion up by fits and starts alone;  
But his continual practise must it make:  
His course must be from end to end but one.  
Bones often broken, and knit up again,  
Lose of their length, though in their strength they gain.   

Lastly, remember that Humility  
Must solidate, and keep all close together.  
What pride puffs up with vain futility,  
lies open, and exposed to all ill weather.  
An empty bubble may fair colour carry;  
But blow upon it, and it will not tarry.   

prise not thine own too high, nor under-rate  
Anothers worth; but deal indifferently:  
View the defects of thy spiritual state,  
And others graces, with impartial eye.  
The more thou deemest of thyself, the less  
Esteem of thee will all men else express.   

Contract thy lesson now, and this is just  
The sum of all. he that desires to see  
The sace of God, in his Religion must  
Sincere, entire, constant, and humble be.  
If thus resolved, fear not to proceed:  
Else the more hast thou makest, the worse thou'lt speed.    

Church-Utensils.  

BEtwixt two dangerous rocks, Phophaneness on  
Th' one side, on the other superstition,  
How shall I sail secure?  
Lord be my steers-man, hold my helm,  
And then though winds with waves o'rewhelm  
My sails, I will endure  
It patiently. The bottom of the Sea  
Is safe enough, if thou direct the way.   

I'll tug my tacklings then, I'll ply mine oars,  
And cry, a fig for fear. He that adores  
The giddy multitude  
So much, as to despise my rhymes;  
Because they tune not to the times;  
I wish may not intrude  
His presence here. But they( and that's enough)  
Who love Gods house, will like his household-stuff.    

The Font.  

THe Font, I say. Why not? And why not near  
To the Church door? Why not of ston?  
Is not that blessed fountain opened here,  
From whence that water flows alone,  
Which from sin and uncleanness washeth clear?   

And may not beggars well contented be  
Their first alms at the door to take?  
Though, when acquainted better they may see  
Others within that bolder make.  
Low places will serve guests of low degree.   

What? Is he not the rock, out of whose side  
Those streams of water-blood run forth?  
Th' elect and precious corner-stone well tried?  
Though the odds be great between their worth,  
Rock-water and ston vessels are allied.   

But call it what, and place it where you will:  
Let it be made indifferently  
Of any form, or matter; yet, until  
The blessed sacrament thereby  
Impaired be, my hopes you shall not kill.   

To want a compliment of comeliness  
Some of my comfort may abate,  
And for the present make my joy go less:  
Yet I will hug mine homely state,  
And poverty with patience richly dress.   

Regeneration is all in all,  
Washing, or sprinkling, but the sign,  
The seal, and instrument thereof; I call  
The one, as well as th' other mine,  
And my posterity's as federal.   

If temporal estates may be conveyed,  
By covenants on condition,  
To men, and to their heirs; be not afraid,  
My soul, to rest upon  
The covenant of Grace by mercy made.   

Do but thy duty, and rely upon't,  
Repentance, faith, obedience,  
When ever practised, truly will amount  
To an authentic evidence,  
Though th' dead were antedatedd at the Font.    

The reading pew.  

HEre my new entered soul doth first break fast,  
Here seasoneth her infant taste,  
And at her mother-nurse the Churches dugs  
With labouring lips and tongue she tuggs  
For that sincere milk, which alone doth feed  
Babes new born of immortal seed:  
Who, that they may unto perfection grow,  
Must be content to creep before they go.   

They, that would reading out of Church exclude,  
Sure have a purpose to obtrude  
Some dictates of their own, instead of Gods  
Revealed will, his word. 'tis odds,  
They do not mean to pay men current coin,  
Who seek the standard to purloin,  
And would reduce all trials to their own,  
Both touch-stones, balances, and weights, alone.   

What reasonable man would not misdoubt  
Those comments, that the text leave out?  
And that their main intent is alteration,  
Who dote so much on variation,  
That no set form at all they can endure  
To be prescribed, or put in ure?  
Rejecting bounds and limits is the way,  
If not all waste, yet common all to lay.   

But why should he, that thinks himself well grown,  
Be discontent that such a one,  
As knows himself an infant yet, should be  
Dandled upon his mothers knee,  
And babe-like fed with milk, till he have got  
More strength and stomach? Why should not  
Nurslings in Church, as well as weanlings, find  
Their food fit for them in their proper kind.   

Let them that would build castles in the air,  
Vault thither, without step or stair;  
Instead of feet to climb, take wings to fly,  
And think their turrets top the sky.  
But let me lay all my foundations deep,  
And learn before I run, to creep.  
Who digs through rocks to lay his ground-workslow,  
May in good time build high, and sure, though slow.   

To tale degrees per saltum, though of quick  
Dispatch, is but a truants trick.  
Let us learn first to know our letters well,  
Then syllables, then words to spell;  
Then to red plainly, e're we take the pen  
In hand to writ to other men.  
I doubt their preaching is not always true,  
Whose way to th' Pulpit's not the reading pew.    

The Book of Common-prayer.  

WHat prayer by th' Book? And Common? Yes. Why not?  
The spirit of grace,  
And supplication,  
Is not left free alone  
For time and place:  
But manner too. To red, or speak by root,  
Is all alike to him, that preys  
With's heart, that with his mouth he says.   

They that in private by themselves alone  
Do pray, may take  
What liberty they please,  
In choosing of the ways,  
Wherein to make  
Their souls most intimate affections known  
To him that sees in secret, when  
Th' are most concealed from other men.   

But, he that unto others leads the way  
In public prayer,  
Should choose to do it so,  
As all, that hear, may know  
They need not fear  
To turn their hearts unto his tongue, and say,  
Amen; nor doubt they were betrayed  
To blaspheme, when they should have prayed.   

Devotion will add life unto the letter.  
And why should not  
That which Authority  
Prescribes, esteemed be  
Advantage got?  
If th' prayer be good the commoner, the better.  
prayer in the Churches words, as well  
As sense, of all prayers bears the bell.    

The Bible  

THe Bible? That's the Book. The Book indeed,  
The Book of Books:  
On which who looks,  
As he should do, aright, shall never need  
Wish for a better light  
To guide him in the night:   

Or, when he hungry is, for better food  
To feed upon,  
Than this alone,  
If he bring stomach and digestion good:  
And if he be amiss,  
This the best physic is.   

The true Panchreston 'tis for every sore,  
And sickness, which  
The poor and rich,  
With equal ease may come by. Yea, 'tis more,  
An antidote, as well  
As remedy 'gainst Hell.   

'tis Heaven in perspective; and the bliss  
Of glory here,  
If any where,  
By Saints on Earth anticipated is,  
whilst faith to every word  
A being doth afford.   

It is the looking-glass of souls, wherein  
All men may see,  
Whether they be  
Still, as by nature th' are, deformed with sin;  
Or in a better case,  
As new adorned with grace.   

'tis the great Magazine of spiritual arms,  
Wherein doth lie  
Th' artillery  
Of Heaven, ready charged against all harms,  
That might come by the blows  
Of our infernal foes.   

Gods Cabinet of revealed counsel 'tis:  
Where weal and woe  
Are ordered so,  
That every man may know which shall be his;  
Unless his own mistake  
False application make   

It is the Index to Eternity.  
He cannot miss  
Of endless bliss,  
That takes this chart to steer his voyage by.  
Nor can he be mistook,  
That speaketh by this book.   

A Book, to which no Book can be compared  
For excellence;  
pre-eminence  
Is proper to it, and cannot be shared.  
Divinity alone  
Belongs to it, or none.   

It is the Book of God. What if I should  
Say, Good of Books?  
Let him that looks  
Angry at that expression, as too bold,  
His thoughts in silence smother,  
Till he find such another.    

The Pulpit.  

'tis dinner time: and now I look  
For a full meal. God sand me a good Cook:  
This is the dresser-board, and here  
I wait in expectation of good cheer.  
I 'm sure the master of the house  
Enough to entertain his guests allows:  
And not enough of some one sort alone,  
But choice of what best fitteth every one.   

God grant me taste and stomach good:  
My feeding will diversify my food;  
'tis a good appetite to eat,  
And good digestion, that makes good meat.  
The best food in itself will be,  
Not fed on well, poison, not food, to me.  
Let him that speaks look to his words; my ear  
Must careful be, both what and how I hear.   

'tis Manna that I look for here,  
The bread of Heaven, Angels food. I fear  
No want of plenty, where I know  
The loaves by eating more, and greater, grow:  
Where nothing but forbearance makes  
A famine: where he only wants, that takes  
Not what he will: provided that he would  
Take nothing to himself, but what he should.   

Here the same fountain poureth forth  
Water, Wine, Milk, oil, Honey, and the worth  
Of all transcendent, infinite  
In excellence, and to each appetite  
In fitness answerable; so,  
That none needs hence unsatisfied go,  
Whose stomach serves him unto any thing,  
That health, strength, comfort, or content can bring.   

Yea, dead men here invited are  
Unto the bread of life, and whilst they spare  
To come and take it, they must blame  
Themselves, if they continue still the same.  
The body's fed by food, which it  
Assimilates, and to itself doth fit:  
But, that the soul may feed, itself must be  
Transformed to the world, with it agree.   

To milk the strongest men must be  
As new born babes, when ever they it see,  
Desiring, not despising it.  
For strong meat babes must stay, and strive to fit  
themselves in time, until they can  
Get by degrees( which best beseem a man)  
Experience-exercised senses, able  
Good to discern from evil, truth from fable.   

Here I will wait then; till I see  
The steward reaching out a mess for me,  
Resolve I'●e take it thankfully,  
whate'er it be, and feed on't hearty.  
Although no Benjamins choice mess,  
Five times as much as others, but far less;  
Yea, if't be but a basket full of crumbs,  
I'll bless the hand, from which, by which, it comes.   

Like an invited guest, I will  
Be bold, but mannerly with all, sit still  
And see what the master of the feast  
Will carve unto me, and account that best,  
Which he doth choose for me, not I  
myself desire: Yea, though I should spy  
Some fault in th' dressing, in the dishing, or  
The placing, yet I will not it abhor.   

So that the meat be wholesome, though  
The sauce shall not be toothsoom, I'll not go  
Empty away, and starve my soul,  
To feed my foolish fancy; but control  
My appetite to dainty things,  
Which oft instead of strength diseases brings:  
But, if my pulpit-hopes shall all prove vain,  
I le back unto the reading pew again.    

The Communion Table.  

HEre stands my banquet ready, the last course,  
And best provision,  
That I must feed upon,  
Till death my soul and body shall divorce,  
And that I am  
called to the marriage-supper of the Lamb.   

Some call't the Altar, some the holy Table.  
The name I stick not at,  
Whether't be this, or that,  
I care not much, so that I may be able  
Truly to know  
Both why it is, and may be called so.   

And for the matter whereof it was made,  
The matter is not much,  
Although it be of touch,  
Or wood, or metal, what will last, or fade;  
So vanity,  
And superstition avoided be.   

Nor would it trouble me to see it found  
Of any fashion,  
That can be thought upon,  
Square, oval, many-angled, long, or round:  
If close it be,  
fixed, open, movable, all's one to me.   

And yet, methinks, at a communion  
In uniformity  
There's greatest decency,  
And that which maketh most for union:  
But needlessly  
To vary, tends to th' breach of charity.   

Yet, rather than I'll give, I will not take  
Offence, if it be given,  
So that I be not driven  
To thwart authority, a party make  
For faction,  
Or side, but seemingly, in th' action.   

At a Communion I wish I might  
Have no cause to suspect  
Any, the least, defect  
Of unity and peace, either in sight  
Apparently,  
Or in mens hearts concealed secretly.   

That, which ordained is to make men one,  
More than before they were,  
Should not itself appear,  
Though but appear, distinctly divers. None  
Too much can see  
Of what, when most, yet but enough can be.   

If others will dissent, and vary, who  
Can help it? If I may,  
As hath been done alway,  
By th' best, and most, I will myself do so;  
Of one accord  
The servants should be of one God one Lord.    

Communion Plate.  

NEver was gold, or silver, graced thus  
Before.  
To bring this body, and this blood, to us,  
Is more  
Than to crown Kings,  
Or be made rings,  
For star-like diamonds to glitter in.  
No precious stones are meet to match this bread  
Divine.  
Spirits of pearls dissolved would but dead  
This wine.  
This heavenly food  
Is too too good  
To be compared to any earthly thing.  
For such inestimable treasure can  
There be  
Vessels too costly made by any man?  
Sure he  
That knows the meat  
So good to eat,  
Would wish to see it richly served in.   

Although 'tis true, that sanctity's not tied  
To state;  
Yet sure Religion should not be envied  
The fate  
Of meaner worth,  
To be set forth,  
As best becomes the service of a King.   

A King, unto whose across all Kings must veil  
Their crowns,  
And at his beck in their full course strike sail:  
Whose frowns,  
And smiles gives date  
Unto their fate,  
And doom them, either unto weal, or woe.   

A King, whose will is justice: and whose word  
Is power,  
And wisdom both. A King, whom to afford  
An hour  
Of service truly  
performed, and duly,  
Is to speak eternity of bliss.   

When such a King offers to come to me,  
As food,  
Shall I suppose his carriages can be  
Too good?  
No: Stars to gold  
turned, never could  
Be rich enough to be employed so.   

If I might wish then, I would have this bread,  
This wine,  
Vessel'd in what the Sun might blushy to  shed  
His shine,  
When he should see:  
But, till that be,  
I'll rest contented with it, as it is.    

Church-Officers.  

STay. Officers in Church? Take heed: it is  
A tender matter to be touched.  
If I chance to say any thing amiss,  
Which is not fit to be avouched,  
I must expect whole swarms of wasps to sting me,  
Few, or no bees, honey, or wax, to bring me.   

Some would have none in Church do any thing,  
As Officers, but gifted men;  
Others into the number more would bring,  
Then I see warrant for: So then,  
All that I say, 'tis like, will censured be,  
Through prejudice, or partiality.   

But 'tis no matter; If men censure me,  
They but my fellow servants are:  
Our Lord allows us all like liberty.  
I writ, mine own thoughts to declare,  
Not to please men: and, if I displease any,  
I will not care, so they be of the Many.    

The Sexton.  

THe Churches key-keeper opens the door,  
And shuts it, sweeps the floor,  
Rings bells, digs graves, and fills them up again;  
All Emblems unto men,  
Openly owning Christianity,  
To mark and learn many good lessons by.   

O thou that hast the key of David, who  
Open'st and shutest so,  
That none can shut or open after thee,  
Vouchsafe thyself to be  
Our souls door-keeper, by thy blessed spirit:  
The lock and key's thy mercy, not our merit.   

Cleanse thou our sinsoyld' souls from th' dirt and dust  
Of every noisome lust,  
Brought in by the foul feet of our affections:  
The besom of afflictions,  
With th' blessing of thy spirit added to it,  
If thou be pleased to say it shall, will do it.   

Lord, ringing changes all our bells hath marred,  
Jangled they have, and jarred  
So long, they're out of tune, and out of frame,  
They seem not now the same.  
Put them in frame a new, and once begin  
To tune them so, that they may chime all in.   

Let all our sins be buried in the grave,  
No longer rant and rave,  
As they have done, to our eternal shane,  
And the scandal of thy name.  
Let's as door-keepers in thine house attend,  
Rather than th' throne of wickedness ascend.    

The Clerk.  

THe Churches Bible-Clerk attends  
Her Utensils, and ends  
Her Prayers with Amen,  
Tunes Psalms, and to the Sacraments  
Brings in the Elements,  
And takes them out again;  
Is humble minded, and industrious handed,  
Doth nothing of himself, but as commanded.  
All that the vessels of the Lord  
Do bear with one accord  
Must study to be pure,  
As they are: If his holy eye  
Do any spot spy,  
He cannot it endure;  
But most expecteth to be sanctified  
In those come nearest him, and glorified.   

Psalms then are always tuned best,  
When there is most expressed  
The holy Penmans heart:  
All music is but discord, where  
That wants, or doth not bear  
The first and chiefest part.  
Voices, without affection answerable,  
When best, to God are most abominable.   

Though in the blessed Sacraments  
The outward Elements  
Are but as husks and shells;  
Yet he that knows the kernels worth,  
If even those sand forth  
Some aromatic smells,  
Will not esteem it waste, lest Judas like  
Through Mary's side he Christ himself should strike.  
Lord, without whom we cannot tell  
How to speak or think well,  
Lend us thy helping hand,  
That what we do may pleasing be,  
Not to ourselves but thee,  
And answer thy command:  
So that not we alone, but thou mayst say  
Amen to all our prayers, prayed the right way.    

The Overseer of the Poor.  

THe Churches Almoner takes care, that none  
In their necessity  
Shall unprovided be  
Of maint'nance, or employment; those alone,  
Whom careless idleness,  
Or riotous excess,  
Condemns to needless want, he leaves to be  
Chasten'd a while by their own poverty.   

Thou gracious Lord, rich in thyself, dost give  
To all men lib'rally,  
Upbraiding none. Thine eye  
Is open upon all. In thee we live,  
We more, and have our being:  
But there is more than seeing  
For th' poor with thee: they are thy special charge;  
To them thou dost thine heart and hand enlarge.  
Four sorts of poor there are, with whom thou deal'st,  
Though always differently,  
With such indifferency,  
That none hath reason to complain: thou heal'st  
All those whom thou dost wound:  
If there be any found  
Hurt by themselves, thou leav'st them to endure  
The pain, till th' pain render them fit for cure.  
Some in the world are poor, but rich in faith:  
Their outward poverty  
A plentiful supply  
Of inward comforts and contentments hath.  
And their estate is blessed,  
In this above the rest,  
It was thy choice, whilst thou on earth didst stay▪  
And hadst not whereupon thy head to lay.  
Some poor in spirit in the world are rich,  
Although not many such:  
And no man needs to grudge  
Their happiness; who to maintain that pitch,  
Have an hard task in hand,  
Nor easily can withstand  
The strong temptations that attend on riches:  
Mountains are more exposed to storms than ditches.  
Some rich in th' world are sp'ritually poor,  
And destitute of grace,  
Who may perchance have place  
In the Church upon earth; but heavens door  
Too narrow is t' admit  
Such camels in at it,  
Till they sell all they have, that field to buy,  
Wherein the true treasure doth hidden lie.  
Some sp'ritually poor, and destitute  
Of grace in th' world are poor  
Begging from door to door,  
Accursed both in Gods and mans repute,  
Till by their miseries  
tutored they learn to prise  
hungering and thirsting after righteousness,  
Whilst they're on earth, their greatest happiness.  
Lord, make me poor in spirit, and relieve  
Me how thou wilt thyself,  
No want of worldly pelf  
Shall make me discontented, fret and grieve.  
I know thine alms are best:  
But above all the rest,  
Condemn me not unto the hell of riches,  
Without thy grace to countercharm the witches.    

The Church-warden.  

THe Churches guardian takes care to keep  
Her buildings always in repair,  
Unwilling that any decay should creep  
On them, before he is ware.  
Nothing defaced,  
Nothing displaced  
He likes; but most doth long and love to see  
The living stones ordered as they should be.  
Lord, thou not only super-visor art  
Of all our works, but in all those,  
Which we dare own, thine is the chiefest part:  
For there is none of us, that knows  
How to do well:  
Nor can we tell  
What we should do, unless by thee directed:  
It prospers not thats by ourselves projected.  
That which we think ourselves to mend, we mar,  
And often make it ten times worse:  
Reforming of Religion by war  
Is th' chemic blessing of a curse.  
Great odds it is,  
That we shall miss  
Of what we looked for: Thine ends cannot  
By any but by thine own means be got.  
'tis strange we so much dote upon our own  
Deformity, and others scorn.  
As if ourselves were beautiful alone:  
When that which did us most adorn  
We purposely  
Choose to lay by,  
Such decency and order, as did place us  
In highest esteem, and guard as well as grace us.  
Is not thy daughter glorious within,  
When clothed in needle-work without?  
Or is't not rather both their shane and sin,  
That change her rob into a clout,  
Too narrow, and  
Too thin, to stand  
Her need in any stead, much less to be  
An ornament fit for her high degree?  
Take pity on her, Lord, and heal her breaches:  
cloth all her enemies with shane:  
All the despite that's done unto her reaches  
To the dishonour of thy name.  
Make all her sons  
Rich precious stones,  
To shine each of them in his proper place,  
Receiving of thy fullness grace for grace.    

The Deacon.  

THe Deacon! That's the Minister.  
True, taken gen'rally.  
And without any sinister  
Intent, used specially,  
He's purposely ordained to Minister.  
In Sacred things, t' another officer.  
At whose appointment, in whose stead,  
He doth what he should do,  
In some things, not in all: Is lead  
By law, and custom too.  
Where that doth neither bid, nor forbid, he  
Thinks this sufficient authority:  
Loves not to vary, when he sees  
No great necessity,  
To whats commanded he agrees,  
With all humility;  
Knowing how highly God submission prizes,  
pleased with obedience more than sacrifices.  
Lord, thou didst of thyself profess  
Thou wast as one that served,  
And freely choosest to go less,  
Though none so Much deserved.  
With what face can we then refuse to be  
entered thy servants in a low degree?   

Thy way to exaltation  
Was by humility:  
But we, proud generation,  
No difference of degree  
In holy orders will allow; nay more,  
All holy orders would turn out of door.   

But if thy precept cannot do't,  
To make us humbly serve,  
Nor thy example added to't,  
If still from both we swerve;  
Let none of us proceed, till he can tell,  
How t' use the office of a Deacon well.  
Which by the blessing of thy spirit,  
Whom thou hast left to be  
Thy Vicar here, we may inherit,  
And minister to thee,  
Though not so well as thou mayst well expect,  
Yet so, as thou wilt pleased be t' accept.    

The Priest.  

THe Priest I say, the Presbyter I mean,  
As now adays he's called,  
By many men: But I choose to retain  
The name wherewith installed  
He was at first in our own mother tongue:  
And doing so, I hope, I do no wrong.   

The Priest, I say, 's a middle Officer,  
Between the Bishop and  
The Deacon, as a middle Officer,  
Which in the Church doth stand  
Between God and the people, ready prest  
In the behalf of both to do his best.   

From him to them offers the promises  
Of mercy which he makes;  
For them to him doth all their faults confess,  
Their prayers and praises takes,  
And offers for them at the throne of grace,  
Contentedly attending his own place.   

The word and Sacramants, the means of grace,  
He duly doth dispense,  
The flourishes of fall should to deface,  
With truths clear evidence;  
And sins usurped tyranny suppress,  
B' advancing righteousness, and holiness.   

The public censures of the Church he sees  
To execution brought:  
But nothing rashly of himself decrees,  
Nor covers to be thought  
Wiser than his superiors; whom always  
He actively, or passively obeys.   

Lord Jesus, thou the mediator art  
Of the new Testament,  
And fully didst perform thy double part  
Of God and man, when sent.  
To reconcile the world, and to atone  
'Twixt it and heaven, of two making one.  
Yea, after the order of Melchisedeck,  
Thou art a Priest for ever.  
With perfect rightcousness thyself dost deck,  
Such as decayeth never.  
Like to thyself make all thy Priests on earth,  
blessed fathers to thy sons of th' second birth.  
Thou cam'st to do the will of him that sent thee,  
And didst his honour seek,  
More than thine own: Well may it then repent thee,  
Being thyself so meek,  
To have admitted them into the place  
Of sons, that seek their fathers to disgrace.  
Lord, grant that the abuse may be reformed,  
Before it ruin bring  
Upon thy poor despised Church, transformed  
As if't were no such thing:  
Thou that the God of order art, and peace,  
Make cursed confusion and contention cease.    

The Bishop.  

THe Bishop? Yes, why not? What doth that name  
Import that is unlawful, or unfit?  
To say the Overseer is the same  
In substance, and no hurt, I hope, to it:  
But sure if men did not despise the thing,  
such scorn upon the name they would not fling.  
Some Priests, some Presbyters, I mean, would be  
Each Overseer of his federal cure,  
But one superior, to oversee  
Them altogether, they will not endure;  
This the main difference is, that I can see,  
Bishops they would not have, but they would be.  
But who can show of old that ever any  
Presbyteries without their Bishops were: Though  
Though Bishops without Presbyteries many,  
At first must needs be, almost every where?  
That Presbyters from Bishops first arose,  
T' assist them, 's probable, not these from those.   

However, a true Bishop I esteem  
The highest Officer the Church on earth  
Can have, as proper to itself, and deem  
A Church without one an imperfect birth.  
If constituted so at first, and maimed,  
If whom it had, it afterwards disclaimed.   

All order first from unity ariseth,  
And th' essence of it is subordination:  
Who ever this contemns, and that despiseth,  
May talk of, but intends not, reformation.  
'tis not of God, of Nature, or of Art,  
T' ascribe to all what's proper to one part.   

To rule and to be ruled are distinct,  
And federal duties, sev'rally belong  
To federal persons, can no more be linked  
In altogether, than amid the throng  
Of rude unruly passions, in the heart,  
Reason can see to act her sovereign part.   

But a good Bishop, as a tender father,  
Doth teach and rule the Church, and is obeyed.  
And rev'renc'd by it, so much the rather,  
By how much he delighted more to led  
All by his own example in the way,  
Than punish any when they go astray.   

Lord, thou the Bishop, and chief Shepherd art  
Of all that flock, which thou hast purchased  
With thine own blood: to them thou dost impart  
The benefits which thou hast merited,  
Teaching and ruling by thy blessed Spirit,  
Their souls in grace till glory they inherit:  
The stars which thou dost hold in thy right hand,  
The Angels of the Churches, Lord, direct  
Clearly thy holy Will to understand,  
And do accordingly: Let no defect  
Nor fault, no not in our New politics,  
Provoke thee to remove our candlesticks;  
But let thy Urim and thy Thummim be  
Garments of praise t' adorn thine holy ones:  
Light and perfection let all men see  
Brightly shine forth in those rich precious stones,  
Of whom thou wilt make a foundation,  
To raise thy new jerusalem upon.  
And at the brightness of its rising let  
All nations with thy people shout for joy:  
Salvation for Walls and Bulwarks set  
About it, that nothing may it annoy.  
Then the whole world thy diocese shall be,  
And Bishops all but Suffragans to Thee.    

Church Festivals.  

MArrow of time, Eternity in brief  
Compendiums epitomized, the chief  
Contents, the Indices, the Title-pages  
Of all past, present, and succeeding ages,  
Sublimate graces, antedatedd glories,  
The cream of holiness,  
The inventories  
Of future blessedness,  
The Florilegia of celestial stories,  
Spirits of joys, the relishes and closes  
Of Angels music, pearls dissolved, roses  
presumed, sugared honey-combs, delights  
Never too highly prized,  
The marriage rites,  
Which duly solemnized  
Usher espoused souls to bridal nights,  
Gilded Sun beams, refined Elixars,  
And quintessential extracts of stars:  
Who loves not you, doth but in vain profess  
That he loves God, or Heaven, or happiness.    

The Sabbath, Or Lords day:  

HAil  
Holy  
King of days,  
The Emperour,  
Or Universal  
Monarch of time, the weeks  
Perpetual dictator.  
Thy  
Beauty  
Far exceeds  
The reach of art,  
To blazon fully,  
And I thy light eclipse,  
When I most strive to raise thee.   

What  
Nothing  
Else can be,  
Thou only art  
Th' extracted spirit  
Of all Eternity,  
By favour antedated.   

veil  
Wholly  
To thy praise  
For evermore  
Must the rehearsal  
Of all, that honour seeks,  
Under the worlds Creator.  
My  
Duty  
Yet must needs  
Yield thee mine heart,  
And that not dully:  
Spirits of souls, not lips  
Alone, are fit to praise thee.   

That  
Slow things  
Time by thee  
Hath got the start,  
And doth inherit  
That immortality  
Which sin anticipated.   

O  
That I  
Could lay by  
This body so,  
That my soul might be  
Incorporate with thee,  
And no more to six days owe.    

The Annunciation, or Lady-day.  

UNto the music of the spheres  
Let men, and Angels, join in consort theirs.  
So great a messenger  
From heaven to earth  
Is seldom seen,  
attired in so much glory,  
A message welcomer,  
Fraught with more mirth,  
Hath never been  
Subject of any story:  
This by a double right, if any, may  
Be truly styled the worlds birth-day.   

The making of the world ne're cost  
So dear, by much, as to redeem it lost.  
God said but, Let it be,  
And every thing  
Was made strait way,  
So as he saw it good:  
But e're that he could see  
A course to bring  
Man gone astray  
To the place where he stood;  
His wisdom with his mercy for mans sake,  
Against his justice part did take.   

And the result was this days news,  
Able the messenger himself t' amuse,  
As well as her, to whom  
By him 'twas  told,  
That though she were  
A Virgin pure, and knew  
No man, yet in her womb  
A son she should  
Conceive and bear,  
As sure as God was true.  
Such high place in his favour she possessed,  
Being among all women blessed.   

But blessed especially in this,  
That she believed, and for eternal bliss  
relied on him, whom she  
Her self should bear,  
And her own son  
Took for her Saviour.  
And if there any be,  
That when they hear,  
As she had done  
Sure their behaviour,  
They may be blessed, as she was, and say,  
'tis their annunciation-day.    

The Nativity, or Christmas-day.  

UNfold thy face, unmask thy ray,  
Shine forth bright sun, double the day.  
Let no malignant misty sume,  
Nor foggy vapour, once presume  
To interpose thy perfect sight  
This day, which makes us love thy light  
For ever better, that we could  
That blessed object once behold,  
Which is both the circumference,  
And centre of all excellence:  
Or rather neither, but a treasure  
Unconfined without measure,  
Whose centre and circumference,  
Including all pre-eminence,  
Excluding nothing but defect,  
And infinite in each aspect,  
Is equally both here and there,  
And now, and then, and every where  
And always, one, himself, the same  
A being far above a name.  
Draw nearer then, and freely pour  
Forth all thy light into that hour,  
Which was crwoned with his birth,  
And made Heaven envy earth.  
Let not this birth-day clouded be,  
By whom thou shinest, and we see.    

The Circumcision, or New-years day.  

SOrrow betid my sins! Must smart so soon  
Seize on my Saviours tender flesh scarce grown  
Unto an eight days age?  
Can nothing else assuage  
The wrath of heaven, but his infant-blood?  
Innocent Infant, infinitely good!   

Is this thy welcome to the world, great God!  
No sooner born, but subject to the rod  
Of sin-incensed wrath?  
Alas, what pleasure hath  
Thy Fathers justice to begin thy passion,  
Almost together with thine Incarnation?   

Is it to antedate thy death? T' indite  
Thy condemnation himself, and writ  
The copy with thy blood,  
Since nothing is so good?  
Or, is't by this experiment to try,  
Whether thou beest born mortal, and canst die?   

If man must needs draw blood of God, yet why  
Stays he not till thy time be come to die?  
Didst thou thus early bleed  
For us to show what need  
We have to hasten unto thee as fast;  
And learn that all the time is lost that's past?   

'tis true, we should do so; Yet in this blood  
There's something else, that must be understood:  
It seals thy covenant,  
That so we may not want  
Witness enough against thee, that thou art  
Made subject to the law, to act our part.   

The Sacrament of thy regeneration  
It cannot be; It gives no imitation  
Of what thou wert, but we:  
Native impurity,  
Original corruption, was not thine,  
But only as thy righteousness is mine.   

In holy Baptism this is brought to me,  
As that in Circumcision was to thee:  
So that thy loss and pain  
Do prove my joy and gain.  
Thy circumcision writ thy death in blood:  
Baptism in water seals my livelihood.   

O blessed change! Yet, rightly understood,  
That blood was water, and this water's blood.  
What shall I give again,  
To recompense thy pain?  
Lord take revenge upon me for this smart:  
To quit thy fore-skin, circumcise my heart.    

The Epiphany, or Twelfth-day.  

GReat, without controversy great,  
They that do know it will confess  
The mystery of godliness,  
Whereof the Gospel doth entreat.  
God in the flesh is manifest,  
And that which hath for ever been  
Invisible, may now be seen,  
Th' eternal deity new dressed.   

Angels to shepherds brought the news:  
And wise men guided by a Star,  
To seek the sun are come from far:  
Gentiles have got the start of Jews.   

The stable and the manger hid  
His glory from his own: but these,  
Though strangers, his resplendent rays  
Of Majesty divine have spied.   

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh, they give;  
And worshipping him plainly show,  
That unto him they all things owe,  
By whose free gift it is they live.   

Though clouded in a veil of flesh,  
The sun of righteousness appears,  
Melting could cares and frosty fears,  
And making joys spring up afresh.   

O that his light and influence,  
Would work effectually in me  
Another new epiphany,  
Exhale and elevate me hence:   

That, as my calling doth require,  
Star-like I may to others shine:  
And guide them to that sun divine:  
Whose day-light never shall expire.    

The Passion, or Good-Friday.  

THis day my Saviour died: and do I live?  
What hath not sorrow slain me yet?  
Did the Immortal God vouchsafe to give  
His life for mine, and do I set  
More by my wretched life, than he by his,  
So full of glory, and of bliss?   

Did his free mercy, and mere love to me,  
Make him forsake his glorious throne,  
And mount a across, the stage of infamy,  
That so he might not die alone,  
But dying suffer more through grief and shane,  
Than mortal men have power to name?   

And can ingratitude so far prevail,  
To keep me living still? Alas!  
Methinks some thorn out of his crown, some nail,  
At least his spear, might pierce, and pass  
thorough, and thorough, till it revived mine heart;  
As the right death-deserving part.   

And doth he not expect in should be so?  
Would he lay down a price so great,  
And not look that his purchases should grow  
Accordingly? Shall I defeat  
His just desire? O no, it cannot be:  
His death must needs be death to me.   

My life's not mine, but his: for he did die  
That I might live: yet died so,  
That being dead he was alive; and I  
thorough the gates of death must go  
To live with him: yea, to live by him here  
Is a part in his death to bear.   

die then, dull soul, and if thou canst not die,  
Dissolve thyself into a sea  
Of living tears, whose streams may ne're go dry.  
Nor turned be another way,  
Till they have drowned all joys, but those alone,  
Which sorrow claimeth for its own.   

For sorrow hath its joys: and I am glad  
That I would grieve, if I do not:  
But if I neither could, nor would, be sad,  
And sorrowful, this day, my lot  
Would be to grieve for ever, with a grief  
Uncapable of all relief.   

No grief was like that, which he grieved for me,  
A greater grief than can be  told:  
And like my grief for him no grief should be,  
If I could grieve so, as I would:  
But what I would, and cannot, he doth see,  
And will accept, that died for me.   

Lord, as thy grief and death for me are mine,  
For thou hast given them unto me:  
So my desires to grieve and die are thine,  
For they are wrought only by thee.  
Not for my sake then, but thine own, be pleased  
With that, which thou thyself hast raised.    

The Resurrection, or Easter-day.  

UP, and away,  
Thy Saviours gone before.  
Why dost thou stay,  
Dull soul? Behold the door  
Is open, and his precept bids thee rise,  
Whose power hath vanquished all thine enemies.   

Say not, I live,  
whilst in the grave thou liest:  
He that doth give  
Thee life, would have the prize't  
More highly than to keep it buried, where  
Thou canst not make the fruits of it appear.   

Is rottenness,  
And dust so pleasant to thee,  
That happiness,  
And heaven, cannot woe thee,  
To shake thy shackles off, and leave behind thee  
Those fetters, which to death and hell do bind thee?   

In vain thou sayst,  
Th'art buried with thy Saviour,  
If thou delay'st,  
To show, by thy behaviour,  
That thou art risen with him; Till thou shine  
Like him, how canst thou say his light is thine?   

Early he rose,  
And with him brought the day,  
Which all thy foes  
Frighted out of the way:  
And wilt thousluggard-like turn in thy bed,  
Till noon-sun-beams draw up thy drowsy head?   

Open thine eyes,  
Sin-seized soul, and see  
What cobweb-tyes  
They are, that tramel thee;  
Not profits, pleasures, honours, as thou thinkest;  
But loss, pain, shane, at which thou vainly winkest.   

All that is good  
Thy Saviour dearly bought  
With his hearts blood;  
And it must there be sought,  
Where he keeps residence, who rose this day:  
Linger no longer then; up, and away.    

The Ascension, or Holy Thursday.  

MOunt, mount, my soul, and climb, or rather fly  
With all thy force on high,  
Thy Saviour rose not only, but ascended:  
And he must be attended  
Both in his conquest and his triumph too.  
His glories strongly woe  
His graces to them, and will not appear  
In their full lustre, until both be there.   

Where he now sits, not for himself alone,  
But that upon his throne  
All his redeemed may attendants be,  
Robed, and crowned as he.  
Kings without Courtiers are' loan men, they say;  
And dost thou think to stay  
Behind on earth, whilst thy King reigns in heaven,  
Yet not be of thy happiness bereaven?   

Nothing that thou canst think worth having's here.  
Nothing is wanting there,  
That thou canst wish, to make thee truly blessed.  
And above all the rest,  
Thy life is hide with God in Jesus Christ,  
Higher than what is highest.  
O grovel then no longer here on earth,  
Where mis'ry every moment drowns thy mirth.   

But tower, my soul, and soar above the skies,  
Where thy true treasure lies.  
Though with corruption, and mortality  
Thou clogged and pinioned be;  
Yet thy flight thoughts, and sprightly wishes, may  
Speedily glide away.  
To what thou canst not reach, at least aspire,  
Ascend, if not in dead, yet in desire.    

Whitsunday.  

NAy startle not to hear the rushing wind,  
Wherewith this place is shaken:  
Attend a while, and thou shalt quickly find  
How much thou art mistaken,  
If thou think here  
Is any cause to fear.   

seest thou not how on those twelve reverend heads  
Sit cloven tongues of fire?  
And as the rumour of that wonder spreads,  
The multitude admire  
To see it: and  
Yet more amazed stand   

To hear at once so great variety  
Of language from them come,  
Of whom they dare be bold to say they be  
bread no where but at home,  
And never were  
In place such words to hear.   

Mock not, profane despisers of the spirit,  
At what's to you unknown:  
This earnest he hath sent, who must inherit  
All nations as his own:  
That they may know  
How much to him they owe.   

Now that he is ascended up on high  
To his celestial throne,  
And hath lead captive all captivity,  
He'll not receive alone,  
But likewise give  
Gifts unto all that live;   

To all that live by him, that they may be,  
In his due time, each one,  
Partakers with him in his victory,  
Nor he triumph alone,  
But take all his  
Unto him where he is.   

To fit them for which blessed state of glory,  
This is his agent here:  
To publish to the World that happy story,  
Always, and every where,  
This resident  
ambassador is sent.   

Heavens legier upon earth to counter-work  
The mines that Satan made,  
And bring to light those enemies, that lurk  
Under sins gloomy shade:  
That hell may not  
Still boast what it hath got.   

Thus Babels curse, confusion, is retrieved,  
Diversity of tongues  
By this division of the spirit relieved:  
And to prevent all wrongs,  
One faith unites  
People of different rites.   

O let his entertainment then be such,  
As doth him best befit:  
What ever he requireth think not much  
Freely to yield him it:  
For who doth this,  
Reaps the first-fruits of bliss.    

Trinity Sunday.  

GRace, Wit, and Art assist me: for I see  
The subject of this days solemnity  
So far excels in worth,  
That sooner may  
I drain the sea,  
Or drive the day  
With light away,  
Than fully set it forth,  
Except you join all three to take my part,  
And chiefly Grace fill both my head and heart.  
Stay busy soul, presume not to inquire  
Too much of what Angels can but admire,  
And never comprehend:  
The Trinity  
In Unity,  
And Unity  
In Trinity,  
All reason doth transcend.  
God Father, Son God, and God Holy Ghost,  
Who most admireth, magnifieth most▪  
And who most magnifies best understands,  
And best expresseth what the heads, and hands,  
And hearts, of all men living,  
When most they try  
To glorify,  
And raise on high,  
Fall short, and lie  
grovelling below: Mans giving  
Is but restoring by retail with loss,  
What from his God he first received in gross.  
Faith must perform the office of invention,  
And Elocution struck with apprehension.  
Of wonder, silence keep.  
Not tongues, but eyes  
Lift to the skies  
In reverend wise,  
Best solemnize  
This day, whereof the deep  
Mysterious subject lies out of the teach  
Of Wit to learn, much more of Art to teach.  
Then writ non ultra here; Look not for leave  
To speak of what thou never canst conceive  
Worthily, as thou shouldst:  
And it shall be  
Enough for thee,  
If none but he  
Himself doth see,  
Though thou canst not, thou wouldest  
Make his praise glorious, who is alone  
Thrice blessed one in three, and three in one.    

Invitation.  

TUrn in, my Lord, turn in to me;  
Mine heart's an homely place;  
But thou canst make corruption flee,  
And fill it with thy grace.  
So furnished it will be brave,  
And a rich dwelling thou shalt have.  
It was thy lodging once before,  
It builded was by thee:  
But I to sin set ope the door,  
It rendered was by me.  
And so thy building was defaced,  
And in thy room another placed.  
But he usurps, the right is thine:  
O dispossess him Lord!  
Do thou but say, this heart is mine,  
He's gone at the first word.  
Thy word's thy will, thy will's thy power,  
Thy time is always; now's mine hour:  
Now say to sin, depart:  
And, son give me thine heart.  
Thou, that by saying, Let it be, didst make it,  
Canst, if thou wilt, by saying, Give't me, take it.    

Comfort in Extremity.  

ALas! my Lord is gone,  
Oh my woe!  
It will be mine undoing;  
If he go,  
I'll run and overtake him:  
If he stay,  
I'll cry aloud, and make him  
Look this way.  
O stay, my Lord, my Love, 'tis I;  
Comfort me quickly, or I die.  
Cheer up thy drooping spirits,  
I am here.  
Mine all-sufficient merits  
Shall appear  
Before the throne of glory  
In thy stead:  
I'll put into thy story  
Lift up thine eyes, sad soul, and see  
Thy Saviour here. Lo, I am he.  
Alas! shall I present  
My sinfulness.  
To thee? thou wilt resent  
The lothsomness  
Be not afraid, I'll take  
Thy sins on me,  
And all my favour make  
To shine on thee.  
Lord, what thou'lt have me, thou must make me.  
As I have made thee, now I take thee.    

Resolutions and Assurance.  

LOrd, thou wilt love me. Wilt thou not?  
Beshrew that not:  
It was my sin begot  
That Question first: Yes, Lord, thou wilt:  
Thy blood was spilled  
To wash away my guilt,  
Lord, I will love thee. Shall I not?  
Beshrew that not.  
'twas deaths accursed plot  
To put that question: Yes, I will  
Lord love thee still,  
In spite of all my ill.  
Then life, and love continue still  
We shall, and will,  
My Lord and I, until,  
In his celestial hill,  
We love our fill,  
When he hath purged all mime ill.    

Vows broken and renewed.  

SAid I not so, that I would sin no more?  
Witness my God, I did;  
Yet I am run again upon the score:  
My faults cannot be hide.   

What shall I do? Make vows, and break them still?  
'twill be but labour lost;  
My good cannot prevail against mine ill:  
The business will be crost.   

O, say not so! thou canst not tell what strength  
Thy God may give thee at the length:  
Renew thy vows, and if thou keep the last,  
Thy God will pardon all that's past.  
Vow, whilst thou canst: while thou canst vow, thou mayst  
Perhaps perform it, when thou thinkest least.   

Thy God hath not denied thee all,  
Whilst he permits thee but to call:  
Call to thy God for grace to keep  
Thy Vows, and if thou break them weep.  
Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again:  
Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain.  
Then once again  
I vow to mend my ways,  
Lord, say, Amen,  
And thine be all the praise.    

Confusion.  

O! How my mind  
Is graveled!  
Not a thought,  
That I can find,  
But's ravell'd  
All to nought.  
Short ends of threads,  
And narrow shreds  
Of lists,  
Knots snarled ruffs,  
Loose broken tufts  
Of twists,  
Are my torn meditations ragged clothing,  
Which wound, and woven shape a suit for nothing▪  
One while I think, and then I am in pain  
To think how to unthink that thought again.  
How can my soul  
But famish  
With this food?  
Pleasures full bowl  
tastes ramish,  
Taints the blood.  
Profit picks bones,  
And chews on stones  
That choke:  
Honour climbs hills,  
Fats not, but fills  
With smoke.  
And whilst my thoughts are greedy upon these,  
They pass by pearls, and stoop to pick up pease.  
Such wash and draff is fit for none but swine:  
And such I am not, Lord, if I am thine.  
cloth me anew, and feed me then afresh:  
Else my soul dies famished, and starved with flesh.    

A Paradox.  
The worse the better.  

WElcome mine health: this sickness makes me well.  
Medicines adieu:  
When with diseases I have list to dwell,  
I'll wish for you.   

Welcome my strength: this weakness makes me able.  
Powers adieu:  
When I am weary grown of standing stable,  
I'll wish for you.   

Welcome my wealth: this loss hath gained me more.  
Riches adieu:  
When I again grow greedy to be poor,  
I'll wish for you.   

Welcome my credit: this disgrace is glory.  
Honours adieu:  
When for renown, and famed I shall be sorry,  
I'll wish for you.   

Welcome content: this sorrow is my joy.  
Pleasures adieu:  
When I desire such griefs as may annoy,  
I le wish for you.   

Health, strength, and riches, credit, and content,  
Are spared best, sometimes when they are spent:  
Sickness and weakness, loss, disgrace, and sorrow,  
Lend most sometimes, when they most seem to borrow  
blessed be the hand, that helps by hurting, gives  
By taking, by forsaking me relieves.  
If in my fall my rising be thy will,  
Lord, I will say, The worse the better still.  
I'll speak the Paradox, maintain thou it,  
And let thy grace supply my want of wit.  
Leave me no learning that a man may see,  
So I may be a Scholar unto thee.    

Inmates.  

AN house I had( an heart I mean) so wide  
And full of spacious rooms on every side,  
That viewing it I thought I might do well,  
Rather than keep it voided, and make no gain,  
Of what I could not use, to entertain  
Such guests as came: I did; but what befell  
Me quickly in that course, I sigh to tell.   

A guest I had( alas! I have her still)  
A great big-belly'd guest, enough to fill  
The vast content of hell, Corruption.  
By entertaining her I lost my right  
To more than all the world hath now in sight.  
Each day, each hour almost, she brought forth one  
Or other base-begot transgression.   

The charge grew great. I, that had lost before  
All that I had, was forced now to score  
For all the charges of their maintenance  
In dooms-day book: Whoever knew't would say,  
The least sum there was more than I could pay,  
When first 'twas due, besides continuance,  
Which could not choose but much the debt enhance.   

To ease me first I wished her to remove:  
But she would not. I sued her then above,  
And begged the court of heaven, but in vain,  
To cast her out. No, I could not evade  
The bargain, which she pleaded I had made,  
That, whilst both lived, I should entertain,  
At mine own charge, both her and all her train.   

No help then, but or I must die, or she;  
And yet my death of no avail would be:  
For one death I had died already then,  
When first she lived in me: and now to die  
An●ther death again were but to tie  
And twist them both into a third, which when  
It once hath seized on, never looseth men.   

Her death might be my life; but her to kill  
I, of myself, had neither power nor will.  
So desp'rate was my case. Whilst I delayed,  
My guest still teemed, my debts still greater grew;  
The less I had to pay, the more was due.  
The more I knew, the more I was afraid:  
The more I mused, the more I was dismayed.   

At last I learned, there was no way but one:  
A friend must do it for me. He alone,  
That is the Lord of Life, by dying can  
Save men from death, and kill corruption:  
And many years ago the dead was done,  
His heart was piere'd; out of his side there ran  
Sins corrosives, restoratives for man.   

This precious balm I begged, for pities sake,  
At mercies gate: where Faith alone may take,  
What Grace and Truth do offer lib'rally.  
Bounty said, Come, I heard it, and believed;  
None ever there complained, but was relieved.  
Hope waiting upon faith said instantly,  
That thenceforth I should live, Corruption die.   

And so she died, I live. But yet, alas!  
We are not partend: She is where she was,  
Cleaves fast unto me still, looks through mine eyes,  
Speaks in my tongue, and museth in my mind,  
Works with mine hands: her body's left behind,  
Although her soul be gone. My miseries  
All flow from hence: from hence my woes arise.   

I loathe myself, because I leave her not:  
Yet cannot leave her. No, she is my lot,  
Now being dead, that living was my choice:  
And still, though dead, she both conceives and bears  
Many faults daily, and as many fears:  
All which for vengeance call with a loud voice,  
And drown my comforts with a deadly noise.   

Dead bodies kept unbury'd quickly stink,  
And putrefy: How can I then but think  
Corruption noisome, even mortified?  
Though such she were before, yet such to me  
She seemed not. Kind fools can never see,  
Or will not credit, until they have tried,  
That friendly looks oft false intents do hid.   

But mortified Corruption lies unmasked,  
Blabs her own secret, filthiness unaskt,  
To all that understand her. That do none,  
In whom she lives embraced with delight:  
She first of all deprives them of their sight:  
Then dote they on her, as upon their own,  
And she to them seems beautiful alone.   

But wo is me! One part of me is dead:  
The other lives. Yet that which lives is lead,  
Or rather carried captive unto sin,  
By the dead part. I am a living grave,  
And a dead body I within me have.  
The worse part of the better oft doth win:  
And when I should have ended, I begin.   

The sent would choke me, were it not that grace  
Sometimes vouchsafeth to perfume the place  
With odours of the Spirit, which do ease me,  
And counterpoise Corruption. Blessed Spirit,  
Although eternal torments be my merit,  
And of myself Transgressions only please me,  
Add grace enough being revived, to raise me.   

Challenge thine own. Let not intruders hold  
Against thy right, what to my wrong I sold.  
Having no state myself, but tenancy,  
And tenancy at will, what could I grant  
That is not voided, if thou say, avaunt!  
O speak the word, and make these inmates flee:  
Or, which is one, take me to dwell with thee.    

The kerb.  

PEace, rebel thought: dost thou not know thy King,  
My God, is here?  
Cannot his presence, if no other thing,  
Make thee forbear?  
Or were he absent, all the standards by  
Are but his spies:  
And well he knows, if thou shouldst it deny,  
Thy words were lies.  
If others will not, yet I must, and will,  
myself complain.  
My God, even now a base rebellious thought  
Began to move,  
And subt'ly twining with me would have wrought  
Me from thy love:  
Fain he would have me to believe, that sin,  
And thou might both  
Take up my heart together for your Inn,  
And neither loath  
The others company: a while sit still,  
And part again.  
Tell me, my God, how this may be redressed.  
The fault is great,  
And I the guilty party have confessed,  
I must be beat.  
And I refuse not punishment for this,  
Though to my pain:  
So I may learn to do no more amiss,  
Nor sin again:  
Correct me, if thou wilt; but teach me then  
What I shall do.  
Lord of my life, methinks I heard thee say,  
That labour's eased:  
The fault, that is confessed, is done away,  
And thou art pleased.  
How can I sin again, and wrong thee then,  
That dost relent,  
And cease thine anger strait, as soon as men  
Do but repent?  
No, rebel thought; for if thou move again,  
I'll tell that too.    

The Loss.  

THe match is made  
Between my Love and me:  
And therefore glad,  
And merry now I'll be.  
Come glory, crown  
My head,  
And pleasures drown  
My bed  
Of thorns in down.  
Sorrow, be gone;  
Delight,  
And joy alone  
Befit  
My honey Moon.  
Be packing now,  
You cumb'rous cares, and fears:  
Mirth will allow  
Now room to sighs and tears.  
Whilst thus I lay,  
As ravished with delight,  
I heard one say,  
So fools their friends requited.  
I knew the voice  
My Lords,  
And at the noise  
His words  
Did make, arose.  
I looked, and spied,  
Each where,  
And loudly cried,  
My dear,  
But none replied:  
Then to my grief  
I found my love was gone,  
Without relief,  
Leaving me all alone.    

The Search.  

WHither, Oh! whither is my Lord departed?  
What can my love, that is so tender-hearted,  
Forsake the soul, which once he thorough darted,  
As if it never smarted?   

No, sure my love is here, if I could find him:  
He that fills all can leave no place behind him.  
But oh! my senses are too weak to wind him:  
Or else I do not mind him.   

O no, I mind him not so as I ought;  
Nor seek him so as I by him was sought,  
When I had lost myself: he dearly bought  
Me, that was sold for nought.   

But I have wounded him, that made me sound▪  
Lost him again, by whom I first was found:  
Him, that exalted me, have cast to th' ground;  
my sins his blood have drowned.   

Tell me, oh! tell me,( thou alone canst tell)  
Lord of my life, where thou art gone to dwell:  
For in thy absenceh eav'n if self is hell:  
Without thee none is well.   

Or, if thou beest not gone, but only hidest  
Thy presence in the place where thou abidest,  
Teach me the sacred art, which thou providest  
For all them whom thou guidest,   

To seek and find thee by. Else here Ile lie,  
Until thou find me. If thou let me die,  
That only unto thee for life to cry,  
Thou diest as well as I.   

For, if thou live in me, and I in thee,  
Then either both alive, or dead must be:  
At least I'll lay my death on thee, and see  
If thou wilt not agree.   

For, though thou be the Judge thyself, I have  
Thy promise for it, which thou canst not wave,  
That who salvation at thine hands do crave,  
Thou wilt not fall to save.   

Oh! seek, and find me then; or else deny  
Thy truth, thyself. O! thou canst not lie,  
show thyself constant to thy word, draw nigh.  
Find me. Lo, here I lie.    

The Return.  

LO, now my love appears;  
My tears  
Have cleared mine eyes: I see  
'tis he.  
Thanks, blessed Lord, thine absence was my hell;  
And, now thou art returned, I am well.  
By this I see I must  
Not trust  
My joys unto myself:  
This shelf  
Of too secure, and too presumptuous pleasure  
Had almost sunk my ship, and drowned my treasure.  
Who would have thought a joy  
So coy  
To be offended so,  
And go  
So suddenly away? As if enjoying  
Full pleasure and contentment, were anoying,  
Hereafter I had need  
Take heed.  
Joys, amongst other things,  
Have wings,  
And watch their opportunities of flight,  
Converting in a moment day to night.  
But, is't enough for me  
To be  
Instructed to be wise?  
I'll rise,  
And red a lecture unto them that are  
Willing to learn, how comfort dwells with care.  
He that his joys would keep,  
Must weep;  
And in the brine of tears,  
And fears,  
Must pickle them. That powder will preserve:  
Faith with repentance is the souls conserve.  
Learn to make much of care:  
A rare  
And precious balsam 'tis  
For bliss;  
Which oft resides, where mirth with sorrow meets:  
Heavenly joys on earth are bitter-sweets.    

Inundations.  

WE talk of Noahs flood, as of a wonder;  
And well we may;  
The Scriptures say,  
The water did prevail, the hills were under,  
And nothing could be seen but sea.  
And yet there are two other floods surpass  
That flood as far,  
As heaven one star,  
Which many men regard as little, as  
The ordinary'st things that are.  
The one is sin, the other is salvation:  
And we must need  
Confess indeed,  
That either is an inundation,  
Which doth the deluge far exceed.  
In Noahs flood he and his household lived:  
And there abode  
A whole Ark-load.  
Of other creatures, that were then reprieved:  
All safely on the waters road.  
But, when sin came, it overflowed all,  
And left none free:  
Nay even he,  
That knew no sin, could not release my thrall,  
But that he was made sin for me;  
And, when salvation came, my Saviours blood  
drowned sin again,  
With all its train  
Of evils, overflowing them with good,  
With good that ever shall remain.  
O, let there be one other inundation,  
Let grace o'erflow  
In my soul so,  
That thankfulness may level with salvation,  
And sorrow sin may over-grow.  
Then will I praise my Lord and Saviour so,  
That Angels shall  
Admire mans fall,  
When they shall see Gods greatest glory grow,  
Where Satan thought too root out all.    

Sin.  

SIn, I would fain define thee: but thou art  
And uncouth thing:  
All that I bring  
To show thee fully, shows thee but in part.  
I call thee the transgression of the Law,  
And yet I red,  
That sin is dead  
Without the Law; and thence it strength doth draw.  
I say thou art the sling of death. 'tis true:  
And yet I find  
Death comes behind:  
The work is done before the pay be due.  
I say thou art the devils work; Yet he  
Should much rather  
Call thee Father:  
For he had been no devil but for thee.  
What shall I call thee then? If death and devil,  
Right understood,  
Be names too good,  
I'll say thou art the quintessence of evil.    

Travels at home.  

OFt have I wished a traveller to be:  
Mine eyes did even itch the sights to see,  
That I had heard and red of. Oft I have  
Been greedy of occasion, as the grave,  
That never says enough; yet still was crost,  
When opportunities had promised most.  
At last I said, what meanest thou, wandring elf,  
To straggle thus? Go travail first thyself.  
Thy little world can show thee wonders great:  
The greater may have more, but not more neat  
And curious pieces. Search, and thou shalt find  
Enough to talk of. If thou wilt, thy mind  
Europe supplies, and Asia thy will,  
And afric thy affections. And if still  
Thou list to travail further, put thy senses  
For both the Indies. Make no more pretences,  
Of new discoveries, whilst yet thine own,  
And nearest, little world is still unknown.  
Away then with thy quadrants, compasses,  
Globes, tables, cards, and maps, and minute glasses.  
Lay by thy journals, and thy diaries,  
Close up thine anuals, and thine histories.  
Study thyself, and red what thou hast writ  
In thine own book, thy conscience. Is it fit  
To labour after other knowledge so,  
And thine own nearest, dearest, self not know?  
Travels abroad both dear and dangerous are,  
Whilst oft the soul pays for the bodies fare:  
Travels at home are cheap, and safe. Salvation,  
Comes mounted on the wings of meditation.  
He that doth live at home, and learns to know  
God and himself, needeth no further go.    

The Journey.  

LIfe is a journey. From our mothers wombs,  
As houses, we set out: and in our tombs,  
As Inns, we rest, till it be time to rise.  
'Twixt rocks and gulfs our narrow foot-path lies:  
Haughty presumption and hell-deep despair  
Make our way dangerous, though seeming fair.  
The world with its enticements sleek any sly,  
Slabbers our steps, and makes them slippery.  
The flesh, with its corruptions, clogs our feet,  
And burdens us with loads of lusts unmeet.  
The devil, where we tread, doth spread his snares,  
And with temptations takes us unawares.  
Our footsteps are our thoughts, our words, our works.  
These carry us along; in these there lurks  
Envy, lust, avarice, ambition,  
The crooked turnings to perdition.  
One while we creep amongst the thorny brakes  
Of worldly profits; and the devil takes  
Delight to see us pierce ourselves with sorrow  
To day, by thinking what might be to morrow.  
Another while we wade, and wallow in  
Puddles of Pleasure; and we never lin  
daubing ourselves with dirty damned delights,  
Till self-begotten pain our pleasure frights.  
Sometimes we scramble to get up the banks  
Of icy honour; and we break our ranks  
To step before our fellows; though, they say,  
He soonest tireth, that still leads the way.  
Sometimes, when others justle and provoke us,  
We stir that dust ourselves, that serves to choke us;  
And raise those tempests of contention, which  
Blow us beside the way into the ditch.  
Our minds should be our guides: but they are blind,  
Our wills out-run our wits, or lag behind.  
Our furious passions, like unbridled jades,  
Hurry us headlong to th' infernal shades.  
If God be not our guide, our guard, our friend,  
Eternal death will be our journeys end.    

Engines.  

MEn often find, when nature's at a stand,  
And hath in vain tried all her utmost strength,  
That Art, her Ape, can reach her out an hand,  
To pierce her powers with to a full length.  
And may not grace have means enough in store,  
Wherewith to do as much as that, and more?   

She may: She hath engines of every kind,  
To work what Art and Nature, when they view,  
Stupendious miracles of wonder find,  
And yet must need sacknowledge to be true;  
So far transcending all their power and might,  
That they stand even amazed at the sight.   

Take but three instances; faith, hope, and love.  
Souls helped by the perspective glass of faith  
Are able to perceive what is above  
The reach of reason: yea the Scripture saith,  
even him that is invisible behold,  
And future things, as if they'd been of old.   

Faith looks into the secret Cabinet  
Of Gods eternal Counsels, and doth see  
Such mysteries of glory there, as set  
Believing hearts on longing, till they be  
transformed to the same image, and appear  
So altered, as if themselves were there.   

Faith can raise earth to heaven, or draw down  
Heaven to earth, make both extremes to meet  
Felicity and misery, can crown  
Reproach with honour, season sour with sweet.  
Nothing's impossible to faith: a man  
May do all things that he believes he can.   

Hope founded upon faith can raise the heart  
Above itself in expectation  
Of what the soul desireth for its part:  
Then, when its time of transmigration  
Is delayed longest, yet as patiently  
To wait, as if't were answered by and by.   

When grief unwieldy grows, hope can abate  
The bulk to what proportion it will:  
So that a large circumference of late  
A little centre shall not reach to fill.  
Nor that, which giantlike before did strout,  
Be able with a pigmey's place t' hold out.   

Hope can disperse the thickest clouds of night,  
That fear hath overspread the soul withal,  
And make the darkest shadows shine as bright,  
As the Sun-beams spread on a silver wall.  
Sin-shaken souls Hope anchor-like holds steady,  
When storm, and tempests make them more than giddy.   

Love lead by faith, and fed with hope, is able  
To travail through the worlds wide wilderness;  
And burdens seeming most intolerable  
Both to take up, and bear with cheerfulness.  
To do, or suffer, what appears in sight  
extremely heavy, love will make most light.   

Yea, what by men is done, or suffered,  
Either for God, or else for one another,  
Though in itself it be much blemished  
With many imperfections, which smother,  
And drown the worth, and weight of it; yet, fall  
What will, or can, love makes amends for all.   

Love doth unite, and knit, both make, and keep  
Things one together, which were otherwise,  
Or would be both divers, and distant. Deep,  
High, long and broad, or whatsoever size  
Eternity is of, or happiness,  
Love comprehends it all, be't more, or less.  
Give me this threefold cord of graces then,  
Faith hope and love, let them possess mine heart,  
And gladly I'll resign to other men  
All I can claim by nature, or by art.   

To mount a soul, and make it still stand stable,  
These are alone Engines incomparable.   
FINIS.   

To my Reverend Friend, The Author of the SYNAGOGUE.  
SIR,  

I loved you for your Synagogue, before  
I knew your person; but now love you more;  
Because I find  
It is so true a picture of your mind:  
Which tunes your sacred lyre  
To that eternal choir,  
Where holy Herbert sits  
( O shane to profane wits!)  
And sings his and your Anthems, to the praise  
Of him that is the first and last of days.  
These holy Hymns had an Ethereal birth:  
For they can raise sad souls above the earth,  
And fix them there  
Free from the worlds anxieties and fear.  
Herbert and you have power  
To do this: every hour  
I red you kills a sin,  
Or lets a virtue in  
To fight against it; and the Holy Ghost  
Supports my frailties, lest the day be lost.  
This holy war, taught by your happy pen,  
The Prince of Peace approves. When we poor men  
Neglect our arms,  
W'are circumvested with a world of harms.  
But I will watch, and ward,  
And stand upon my guard,  
And still consult with you,  
And Herbert, and renew  
My vows, and say, well fare his, and your heart,  
The Fountains of such Sacred Wit and Art.   
Iz. Wa.   

To his Ingenious Friend, The Author of the SYNAGOGUE, UPON HIS Additional Church-Utensils.  
SIR,  

SO the cheap Touch-stone's bold  
To question the more noble gold;  
As I, at your command,  
Put forth my blushing hand  
To try these Raptures, sent to my poor Test;  
But since your Question's, Are they like the rest?  
I say they are the best:  
That once conceived, the other is confessed.   

But Sir, now they are here,  
For to prevent a female jeer,  
Thus much affirm I do,  
They're like the father too;  
And you like him whose sublime paths you tread,  
Herbert! to be like whom, who'd not be dead?  
Herbert! whom when I red,  
I stoop at stars that shine below my head.   

Herbert; whose every strain  
Twists holy breasts with happy brain  
So that who strives to be  
As elegant as he,  
Must climb mount Calv'ry for Parnassus hill,  
And in his Saviours sides baptize his Quill;  
A Jordan fit t' instil  
A Saint-like style; backed with an angels skill.   

He was our Solomon,  
And you are our Centurion;  
Our Temple him we owe,  
Our Synagogue to you:  
Where if your Piety so much allow  
That structure with these ornaments t' endow,  
All good men will avow,  
Your Syn'gogue, built before, is furnished now.   
J. L.   

SIR,  

WHile I red your lines, methinks I spy  
Churches, and Church-men, and the old Hierarchy  
What potent charms are these! You have the knac●  
To make men young again, and fetch time back.  
I've lost what was bestowed on Judah's prince,  
And am now where I was thrice five years since.  
The mid-space shrunk to nothing, Manners, Men,  
And Times, and all look just as they did then.  
Rubbish and ruins vanished, every where  
Order and comeliness afresh appear.  
What cannot Poets do? They change with case  
The face of things, and led us as they please.  
Yet here's no fiction neither. We may see  
The Poet Prophet, his Verse history.   
Jan. 1. 1654. A. S.  
FINIS.