I m 1 I jM BOH H I ■ innf 1 tiic I RKflRH! Vffil »mn ■ s £i8§ IhhhI |gi| IHBIhhb SK Hill ,i i e <. ,- ^ o > * y o » <*> *p # i x° °^ >0 O V «> ^ .-*' V c -^ V ^ v 7 *, ; . > ^ N v \ V ^ ^> c- v - %-J SACRED POEMS AND PIOUS EJACULATIONS BY HENRY VAUGHAN WITH A MEMOIR BY THE REV. H. F. LYTE Silex ScintillanS) &c. SACRED POEMS AND PIOUS EJACULA- TIONS BY HENRY VAUGHAN Job xxxv. 10, n. Where is God my Maker, who giveth Songs in the night ? Who teacheth us more than the beafts of the earth, and mak- eth us wifer than the fowls of heaven ? LONDON BELL AND DALDY gg ^w yy vvvv ^ftp ^ HE Publishers gladly avail themfelves of this opportunity to thank the per- fonal reprefentativesof the late Rev. H. F. Lyte for their kindnefs in allowing them to reprint the elegant Memoir of Henry Vaughan prefixed to the edition of his Sacred Poems and Pious Ejaculations^ publifhed in 1847. In preparing this new edition for publication, they have had as many of the poems as pof- fible verified and corrected by the original edi- tions ; and they beg to acknowledge their obligations to the Rev. W. T. Bullock and others, for much valuable afliftance in contri- buting to its accuracy. Contents. Page UTHORIS (de se) Emblema .... xii Biographical Sketch of Henry Vaughan xiii The Author's Preface 3 Dedication 15 SlLEX SCINTILLANS, OR SACRED PoEMS. PART I. Regeneration 21 . Death. A Dialogue 24 Refurreclion and Immortality 26 Day of Judgement 28 Religion ^ ...... . 30 The Search 32 Ifaac's Marriage 36 The Brittifh Church . 38 The Lampe 39 Man's fall and Recovery 40 The Showre 42 Diftraclion 43 The Purfuite 44 Mount of Olives 45 The Incarnation and Paflion 46 The Call 47 Early Death 48 Vanity of Spirit 50 The Retreate 51 Abfence 52 Midnight 53 Content 55 Stars 56 The Storm 57 The Morning- watch 58 The Evening-watch 59 Bereavement 60 Church-Service 61 viii CONTENTS. SlLEX SCINTILLANS. Page Buriall 62 Chearfulnefs 64 Diftance 65 Peace 66 The Paffion 66 Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 19 68 The Relapfe 70 The Refolve 71 The Match 72 Rules and LeiTons 73 Corruption 79 Holy Scriptures 80 Unprofitablenes 81 Chrift's Nativity 81 The Check 83 Diforder and Frailty 85 Idle Verfe 87 Son-dayes 88 Repentance 89 The Burial of an Infant 92 Faith 93 The Dawning 94 Admiffion 96 Praife t 97 Drefling 99 Eafter-day 1 01 Eafter Hymn 101 The Holy Communion 102 Pfalm 121 . . 104 Affliction 105 The Tempeft • . 106 Retirement 108 Love, and Difcipline no The Pilgrimage 111 The Law and the Gofpel 112 The World 114 The Mutinie 116 The Conftellation 118 The Shepheards 120 Mifery 122 The Sap 125 Mount of Olives 1 . . . 127 Man 128 The Hidden Flower 129 Begging 132 CONTENTS. ix SlLEX SCINTILLANS. PART II. Page Afcenfion-day 133 Afcenfion-Hymn 135 Departed Friends 136 White Sunday 138 The Proffer 140 Cock-crowing 142 The Starre 144 The Palm-tree 145 Joy 146 The Favour 147 The Garland 148 Love-lick . z 149 Trinity-Sunday 150 Pfalme 104 151 The Bird 154 The Timber 155 The Jews 158 Begging 159 Palm-Sunday 1 60 Jefus weeping 162 The Daughter of Herodias 163 Jefus weeping 164 Providence 166 The Knot 168 The Ornament 169 St. Mary Magdalen 170 The Rain-bow 172 The Seed growing fecretly 174 Time's Book 176 Religion . 177 The Stone 179 The Dwelling-Place 181 The Men of War 182 TheAfs 184 The Hidden Treafure 186 Childe-hood 187 The Night 189 Abel's blood 191 Righteoufnefs 192 Anguifh 194 Tears 195 Jacob's Pillow and Pillar 196 The Agreement 198 The Day of Judgement 200 Pfalm 65 202 The Throne 203 x CONTENTS. SlLEX SciNTILLANS. PART II. Page Death 204 The Feaft . . , 205 The Obfequies 208 The Water-fall 209 Quicknefs 211 The Wreath 211 The Queer 212 The Book 213 To the Holy Bible ■ 214 L'Envoy 215 Pious Thoughts and Ejaculations. To his Books 221 Looking back 222 The Shower 223 Difcipline 223 The Ecclipfe 224 Affliction . 224 Retirement 225 The Revival 226 The Day-fpring 226 The Recovery 228 The Nativity 229 The true Chriftmas 230 The Requeft 231 The World 232 The Bee 235 To Chriftian Religion 239 Daphnis 240 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF HENRT FAUGH AN THE SILURIST r Author is fdefej Emblema. Tent dfii, fateor, fine vulnere fapius, et me Confultum voluit Vox, fine voce, frequens ; Ambivit placido divinior aura meatu> Et fruftra fanclo murmur e pramonuit. S urdus eram, mutufque Silex : Tu> (quanta tuorum Cur a tibi eft !) alia das renovare via ; Permutas Curam : Jamque irritatus Amorem Pojfe negas, et vim, Vi, fuper 'are paras ; Accedis propior, molemque, et faxea rumpis Peftora, fit que Caro, quod fuit ante Lapis. En lacerum ! Ccelofque tuos ardentia tandem Fragmenta, et liquidas ex Adamante genas ! Sic olim undantes Petras, Scopulofque vomentes Curdfti, O populi providus ufque tui ! £>uam miranda tibi manus eft ! Moriendo, revixi y Et fradlas jam fum ditior inter opes. Biographical Sketch of Henry Vaughan, r gg^HE principal collections of the Bri- tifh poets were made at a time when the tafte for French corre&nefs was in the afcendant among us. This may in fome meafure account for the facl: that fo many fmooth Rhymfters, fuch as Pomfret, Yalden, Lanfdown, &c, have been placed on that auguft lift, while Lord Brooke, the Fletch- ers, Withers, Herrick, Habington, and Quarles, have been excluded from it ; and it is only when fome happy accident brings thefe writers and their productions under our notice, that we difcover how many of the true poets of England have been puflied from their places, to make room for mere pretenders to the title. In fome inftances it would almoft feem as if thefe writers xiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH had been ftudioufly run down by thofe, who dole from them firft, and then fought to con- fign them to obfcurity, in order to cover their own plagiarifms. From the days of Milton, however, down to thofe of Burns and Cowper, a very low ftandard of poetic excellence pre- vailed in this country, and a trifling offence againft good tafte, a flight ruggednefs in ftyle and compofition, were fufHcient to condemn a poet of no mean order to oblivion ; as if any correcStnefs of tafte or fmoothnefs of verification could atone for the a&ual dearth of originality. Among thofe who have experienced in a remarkable degree this unfair treatment is the Poet, a part of whofe works we propofe now to republifh. He is entirely unnoticed in the great collections of Bell, Anderfon, and Chal- mers ; and even Campbell, in his fpecimens of the Britifh poets, fpeaks in the moft flighting manner of his talents and productions. All this however is trifling in comparifon with the treat- ment he receives at the hand of his own County Hiftorian, Jones. This writer actually doubts whether Henry Vaughan ever produced any poetry whatever. He tells us that two little pieces of his, the Olor Ifcanus y and the Charnel Houfe^ were publifhed by Thomas Vaughan, OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xv in the name of his brother Henry ; but that they were generally believed to be Thomas Vaughan's own compofitions. So ignorantly and flippantly could the Hiftorian of Breck- nockfhire write refpe£ting one of its greateft literary ornaments, whofe works, now before us, amount to feven printed volumes. How far this depreciation was deferved, the poems preferved in the following pages will beft teftify ; but we are much deceived if many of them do not commend themfelves to all readers of true poetic tafte, as among the molt ftriking com- pofitions of their age. In this cafe a defire will naturally arife to know fomething refpecling the Author, and this curiofity the Editor here endeavours to gratify: and after carefully look- ing through the aforefaid volumes, and making what enquiries he could both at Oxford and in the neighbourhood where Vaughan lived and died, he offers in the following biographical fketch the refults of his refearches. It may be as well here further to obferve that Henry Vaughan the poet, muft not be confounded with another of the fame name, college, and neighbourhood, who wrote two little theological pieces* of fome merit. Though poffeffing fo many features in common, they were, as the xvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH records of Jefus College mow, totally different perfons. Henry Vaughan, ftyled by his contempo- raries "the Silurift," from his having been born among the Silures, or people of South Wales, was defcended from one of the moft ancient and refpecTiable families of the Principality, de- ducing its pedigree from the ancient kings of that country. Two of his anceftors, Sir Roger Vaughan and Sir David Gam, loft their lives at the battle of Agincourt. His great grand- mother was Lady Frances Somerfet, daughter of Thomas Somerfet, third fon of Henry Earl of Worcefter,and the poiTeffions of the Vaughan family were very extenfive both in Brecknock- mire and in other parts of Wales. The chief family refidence was the caftle of Tretower, in the parifh of Cwmdu, and, when it was dis- mantled, Skethrock, or Scethrog, in the fame neighbourhood. At this latter place Shake- fpeare is faid to have paid a vifit to one of the family, and his commentator, Malone, thinks that it was perhaps there that he picked up the word " Puck," refpecT:ing the origin of which fome of his critics have been much puzzled. Pooky in Welfh fignifies a goblin, and near Scethrog exifts a valley, Cwm-Pooky, the gob- OF HENRY V AUG HAN. xvii lin's vale, v/hich belonged to the Vaughans, and which a tradition, ftill extant, ftates to have been a favorite refort of fome diftinguifhed " Bard," who had once vifited that neighbour- hood. The grandfather of the poet appears to have migrated from Tretower to Newton, in the parifh of Llanfaintfread, about five miles diftant from the family refidence ; and there his fon Henry, in the year 1621, had iffue Henry and Thomas Vaughan, twin brothers, the former of them the fubjecl: of the prefent memoir. Newton, once a comfortable man- fion, is now a farm-houfe near the Ufk, on the road leading from Crickhowel to Brecon, and diftant about five miles from the latter place. Henry Vaughan ftyles it himfelf, in the date affixed to one of his dedications, " Newton by Ufke, near Sketh-rock." The fituation is a very beautiful one, well calculated to nurfe poetic thought and feeling ; and there is abun- dant evidence in Vaughan's works, to mow that it was not unappreciated by its poetic occupant. There are fome very fweet Latin verfes in one of his early volumes, addreffed to the Ufk, and the following lines occur in one of his Englifh apoftrophies to the fame river : — " Garlands and longs and roundelayes, Mild dewie nights, and funfhine dayes, b xviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH The turtle's voyce, joy without fear, Dwell on thy bofome all the year ! ******* The fa&our-wind from far fhall bring The odours of the fcattered fpring, And loaden with the rich arreare Spend it in fpicie whifpers here." Olor Ifc. p. 2. At the age of eleven years Henry Vaughan and his brother were fent for education to the Rev. Matthew Herbert, Rector of Llangattock, under whofe tuition they continued during the enfuing fix years. Here they feem to have made confiderable progrefs in claflical literature, and to have imbibed a ftrong affection for their tutor, as well as a lively fenfe of their obliga- tions toward him. They have both left behind them elegant and affectionate tributes, in Latin Elegiacs, to their old preceptor, and the graceful claflicality of thefe compofitions proves how well their praifes were deferved. From Llangattock the brothers in due time moved on to Oxford, and entered at Jefus College in the year 1638. They were then between 17 and 18 years of age, and well qualified for engaging in the ftudies of the Univerfity. They had fallen however on times unpropitious to literary purfuits. The great rebellion was now fermenting, and politics OF HENRY V AUG HAN. xix feemed to pufh everything elfe into the back ground. The king too by and by moved his Court from London to Oxford, where he had the fympathy and fupport of almoft all the members of the Univerfity. It was fcarcely to be expected that two young and ardent fpirits, like thofe of the Vaughans, would be indifferent to the Royal caufe. They were fprung from a family diftinguimed for its loyalty ; and Wales throughout the Civil War was always favorable to Charles : accordingly we find them both zealous royalifts. Thomas Vaughan actually bore arms on the King's fide, and Henry fuf- fered obloquy and imprifonment for his known and avowed attachment to his Royal mafter. This latter fact appears from a poem of his addreffed to his " learned friend and loyal fellow prifoner^ Thomas Powell, D.D." Whether he ever actually took the field on the King's fide may be a matter of doubt. He fpeaks in a poem of his, of having been cc torn from the fide" of a dear young friend, R. W., in the battle of Rowton Heath, near Chefter, 1645 > and there are other paffages in his works which feem to intimate that he had been engaged in actual conflict with the enemy. However, on the other hand, a Latin poem of his, written in xx BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 1647, expreffly afferts that he had then nothing to do with open warfare. He confidered, he tells us, that there was a voice in a brother's blood, which would cry to Heaven againft the fhedder of it, and therefore he confcientioufly abftained from meeting in the field his infatuated countrymen, though not from the advocacy of his Sovereign's caufe by every means which he deemed legitimate. His brother Thomas how- ever had none of thefe fcruples \ and as his Hiftory is rather a Angular one, it may as well be here purfued to its clofe. Obtaining ordi- nation from Bifhop Mainwaring, he was pre- fented by a diftant relation to the living of Llanfaintfread, the place of his birth, and went to refide there, clofe to his brother Henry. The Parliamentary Ecclefiaftical Commiflloners foon afterwards commenced their inquifitorial vifitations, and Thomas Vaughan was expelled by them from his living, on the ufual charges of drunkennefs, fwearing, incontinency, and having borne arms for the King^ the latter pro- bably being, as in many other inftances, his only real offence. On this event he retired to Oxford, and devoted the reft of his life to Chemiftry, or rather Alchemy, under the auf- pices of Sir Robert Murray, Secretary of State OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xxi for Scotland, himfelf a great admirer of thefe ftudies. While in his fervice Thomas Vaughan publifhed feveral works in verfe and profe under the name of Eugenius Philalethes. The titles of fome of thefe are very whimfical and amufing. There is firfl: " Anima magica abfcondita, or a dlfcourfe of the Univerfal Spirit of Nature, with the fir an ge, abjlrufe, and miraculous afcent and defcent. — London, 1 65 0." " AnthropofophiaThe- omagica, or a difcourfe of the Nature of 'Man , and his ftate after death, grounded on his Creator's proto-chemijlry. — London, 1650." " Magia Adamica, or the Antiquity of Magic, and the defcent thereof from Adam downward, proved; together with a per feci; and full difcovery of the true Cae- lum terra, or the Magician's Heavenly Chaos, and firfl matter of all things. — London, 1650." The laft that we (hall mention is, " Euphrates, or the waters of the Eafi; being a Jhort difcourfe of that fecret fountain, whofe water flows from fire, and carries in it the beams of the fun and moon; London, 1653." In the year 1665, on the Plague breaking out in London, the Court of Charles II. removed to Oxford, and Thomas Vaughan and his patron accompanied it. A few days afterwards however, he was taken ill, and, retiring to Albury, in the neighbourhood, xxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH he died there, Feb. 27th, 1665. Anthony Wood fums up his character by faying, " He was a great Chymift, a noted lover of the fire, an experimental Philofopher, a zealous brother of the Roficrucian fraternity, an underftander of fome of the Oriental languages, and a toler- able good Englifh and Latin Poet. He was neither Papift nor Sectary, but a true refolute Proteftant, in the beft fenfe of the Church of England." The two brothers feem to have been always ftrongly attached to each other. Thomas had the higheft admiration of his bro- ther's poetical powers, and ufhered in his early works with ftrong prefatorial commendations ; and Henry pathetically laments his more ec- centric brother's untimely death, in the verfes entitled " Daphnis" printed at the end of this volume. It was during this period of Henry Vaughan's life that his earlieft verfes were produced. He was intimate with moft of the young literary men of the day, and his occafional effufions appear to have been highly prized and long re- membered among them. He fpeaks with much delight of his occafional vifits to London at this time, and of the focial evenings fpent there at the Globe Tavern. He mentions Randolph as OF HENRT FAUGHAN. xxiii one whom he fpecially delighted in. He flung his poetic tribute, along with fo many others, on Cartwright's premature hearfe. Fletcher's plays, publifhed in 1647, came out with com- mendatory verfes of his prefixed to them. And Ben Jonfon, " great Ben," feems to have been an obje£t of his peculiar admiration. At this period alfo his own firft publication was given to the world, a little volume of verfes, chiefly amatory, addrefTed to Amoret, in the light eafy ftyle of the day, and clofing with a tranflation — not a clofe one — of the 10th fatire of Juvenal. Some of thefe poems exhibit a good deal of vigour and freedom in their verification. The following is a favourable fpecimen : " But grant fome richer planet at my birth Had fpied me out, and meafured fo much earth Or gold unto my fhare, I mould have been Slave to thefe lower elements, and feen My high-born foul flagge with their drofle, and lye A prifoner to bafe mud and alchemic I mould perhaps eate orphans, and fucke up A dozen diftreft widowes in one cup. ******* Thanks then for this deliverance, BlefTed Powers ! You that difpenfe man's fortune and his houres ! How am I to you all engaged, that thus By fuch ftrange meanes, almoft miraculous, You mould preferve me ? you have gone the way To make me rich by taking all away. For I, had I been rich, as fure as fate, xxiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Would have been meddling with the king or ftate, Or fomething to undoe me ; and 'tis fit, We know, that who hath wealth mould have no wit. But above all thanks to that Providence, That armed me with a gallant foule and fenfe 'Gainft all misfortunes, that hath breathed fo much Of Heaven into me, that I fcorn the touch Of thefe low things, and can with courage dare Whatever fate or malice can prepare. I envy no man's purfe or mines. I know That lofing them I've loft their curfes too."" The little volume from whence thefe lines are taken is entitled, " Poems^ with the tenth S a tyre of Juvenal Englijhed^ by Henry Vaughan, Gent. London, 1646." It became, however, now neceflary that Henry Vaughan mould turn his attention to fome pro- feffion for a livelihood. Whatever patrimony may have defcended to him by inheritance, it appears to have been inadequate to his fupport. Befides, he was a Poet, one of that race of whom he playfully fays himfelf, " Thou fhalt not find a rich one. Take each clime, And run o'er all the pilgrimage of time, Thou'lt meet them poor, and everywhere defcrie A threadbare, gold-lefs genealogies That this lot was not indeed a very diftreffing one to him, we may conjecture from a paflage already quoted, as well as from other fine lines of his, in which, addreffing Fortune, he fays, OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xxv " I care not for your wondrous hat and purfe ! The world's my palace. I'll contemplate there 5 And make my progrefs into every fphere. The chambers of the aire are mine, thofe three Well furnifhed (lories my pofTeflion be. I hold them all in capite, and ftand Propt by my fancy there. I fcorn your land, It lies fo far below me. Here I fee How all the facred liars do circle me." Then, after cafting off all the groffer parts of nature, he proceeds, " Get up, my difentangled foul ! thy fire Is now refined, and nothing left to tire Or clog thy wings. Now my aufpicious flight Hath brought me to the Empyrean light. I am a feparate efience, and can fee The emanations of the Deitie. And how they pafs the feraphims, and run Through every throne and domination. With angels now and fpirits do I dwell 5 And here it is my nature to do well. And fhall I then forfake the itars and figns, To dote upon thy dark and curfed mines ?" All this however, though fine in the way of poetic fpeculation, would not do for every day practice. Accordingly Henry Vaughan, having no tafte for the Church, (indeed there was not much to attract him thither in fuch times) turned his attention to medical purfuits, and leaving Oxford, without graduating there, he went to London, and in due time became M.D., xxvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH and retired to praftife at Brecknock (now Brecon) the county town, a few miles diftant from his native place. He found things greatly- changed there under the republican regime, and not very congenial, it would feem, to his own feelings. " Here's brotherly Ruffs and Beards, and a ftrange fight Of high monumental Hats, tane at the fight Of eighty eight ; while every BurgefTe foots The mortal Pavement in eternall boots.'" We find him accordingly foon migrating from thence to his native refidence, Newton, where he continued to purfue his profeffion, and to employ his leifure hours in various lite- rary occupations. About this time it was that he prepared for the prefs his little volume entitled " Olor Ifca- nus" * the fwan of the Ufk, the dedication of which to Kildare, Lord Digby, bears date De- cember 17, 1647. This volume however he never himfelf publifhed. It appears to have been configned to the hands of his brother, when he returned to Oxford on his ejection from the living of Llanfaintfread, and in 1651, * Olor Iscanus. A Collection of fome feleft Poems, and Tranflations. Formerly Written by Mr. Henry Vaughan, Silurift. Publifhed by a Friend. Lon- don : Printed by P. W. for Humphrey Mofeley, 1651. OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xxvii three years afterwards, it was printed by him, with an apologetic advertifement, and com- mendatory verfes from himfelf and other Oxford friends. Thomas Vaughan, in his addrefs to the Reader, expreffly fays, " I have not the Author's approbation to the fact," (viz. of publication) " but I have Law on my fide," (as) "I hold it no man's prerogative to fire his own houfe." It would appear therefore that Henry Vaughan wiflied to have deftroyed thefe ebullitions of his youthful mufe, as he had many others of the fame kind, and that they were in the end publimed contrary to his defire. Yet there is really nothing objectionable in the volume. The poems contained in it are not of a ftriclly religious character ; yet they are full of juft and noble fentiments ; and I am not aware of a line that any one need have been afhamed of. The volume, when complete, has a curious frontifpiece, engraved by Robert Vaughan (qu. a relation ?) with the fwan of the Ufk very confpicuous in the centre of it, and the following Latin verfes before it : — AD POSTEROS. Diminuat ne fera dies praefentis honorem, Quis qualifq fui percipe, Pofteritas. CAMBRIA me genuit, patulis ubi vallibus errans xxviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Subjacet aeriis montibus ISC A pater. Inde finu placido fufcepit maximus arte HERBERTUS, Latiae gloria prima Scholae. Bis ternos, illo me Conducente per annos Profeci, & geminam Contulit u?ius opem Ars & amor, mens atq manus certare folebant, Nee lajfata Illi menfve, manufvey«/7. Hinc qualem cernis crenjijfe : Sed ut mea certus Tempora eognofcas, dura fuere,fcias. Fixi, divifos cum fregerat haerefis Anglos Inter Tyfiphonas prejbyteri & populi. His primum miferis per zmoenafurentibus arva Proftravit fanclam e vilis a In fecret flow confumption weares away. All that we have pafie from us, and once paft, Returne no more. Like clouds they feeme to laft, And fo delude loofe greedy mindes. But where Are now thofe trim deceits ? To what dark fphere Are all thofe falfe fires funk, which once fo fhined, They captivated foules and ruled mankind ? And what, Therafia, doth it us availe, That fpatious ftreames fhall flow and never faile, That aged forrefts live to tyre the winds, And flowers each Spring returne and keepe their kinds ? Thofe ftill remaine ; but all our Fathers dyed ; And we ourfelves but for few dayes abide. This fhort tyme then was not given us in vaine, To whom tyme dyes, in which we dying gaine 5 But that in tyme eternall life fhould be Our care, and endleffe reft our induftrie. And yet this tafke, which the rebellious deeme Too harfh, who God's mild lawes for chaines efteem, Suites with the meeke and harmleffe heart fo right, That 'tis all eafe, all comfort, and delight. OF HENRT FA UGH AN. xxxix " To love our God with all our ftrength and will ; " To covet nothing 5 to devife no ill " Againft our neighbours 5 to procure or doe " Nothing to others which we would not to " Our very felves 5 not to revenge our wrong 5 " To be content with little 5 not to long " For wealth and greatnefle j to defpife or jeare " No man 5 and, if we be defpifed, to bear : " To feed the hungry ; to hold faft our crown ; " To take from others nought to give our owne." Thefe are his precepts, and alas in thefe What is fo hard but faith may doe with eafe ? He that the holy Prophets doth beleeve, And on God's words relies, (words that ftill live, And cannot dye) that in his heart hath writ His Saviour's death and triumph 5 and doth yet With conftant care admitting no neglect His fecond dreadfull coming ftill expe£r. ; To fuch a liver earthly things are dead j With Heaven alone, and Hopes of Heaven he's fed. He is no vafTall unto worldly trafh, Nor that black knowledge, which pretends to wafh, But doth defile 5 a knowledge by which men With ftudied care lofe Paradife again. Commands and titles, the vaine world's device, With gold, the forward feed of fin and vice, He never minds. His ayme is farre more high 5 And ftoopes to nothing lower than the fkye. Nor griefs nor pleafures breede him any pain : He nothing feares to lofe 5 would nothing gaine. Whatever hath not God he doth deteft. He lives to Chrift ; is dead to all the reft. This Holy One, fent hither from above, A Virgin brought forth, fhadowed by the Dove. A Crown of Thornes His bleflfed head did wound, Nayles pierced His hands and feet, and He faft bound xl BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Stuck to the painfull croffe, where, hanged till dead, With a cold fpeare his heart's dear blood was fhed. All this for man, for bad ungratefnll man, The true God fuffered : not that fuffering can Adde to his glory aught, who can receive AceefTe from nothing 5 whom none can bereave Of his all-fulnefle : but the bleft defigne Of His fad death was to fave me from mine. He dying bore my fms ; and the third day His early rifmg raifed me from the clay. To fuch great mercies what mall I preferre, Or who from loving God fhall mee deterre ? Burne mee alive with curious fkilfull paine, Cut up and fearch each warme and breathing vein ; When all is done death brings a quick releafe, And the poore mangled body fleepes in peace. Hale mee to prifons 5 fhut mee up in braffe : My ftill free foule from thence to God fhall paffe. Banifh or bind me $ I can be no where A ftranger or alone ; my God is there. I fear not famine. How can he be faid To ftarve, who feedes upon the Living Bread ? And yet this courage fprings not from my ftore 5 Chrift gave it mee, who can give much, much more. I of myfelf can nothing dare or doe 5 He bids mee fight ; and makes mee conquer too. If like great Abraham I mould have command To leave my father's houfe and native land, I would with joy to unknown regions run, Bearing the banner of His bleifed Son. On worldly goods I will have no defigne ; But ufe my owne, as if mine were not mine. Wealth I'll not wonder at, nor greatnefle feeke ; But chufe, though laughed at, to be poore and meake. In woe and wealth I'll keepe the fame flayed mind 5 Grief fhall not breake me, nor joyes make me blind ! OF HENRY V AUG HAN. xli Then come, my faithfull confort, joyne with me In this good fight, and my true helper be ! Cheer me when fad, advile me when I ftray $ Let us be each the other's guide and flay. Be your Lord's guardian. Give joynt ayde and due 5 Helpe him when falne ; Rife when he helpeth you. That fo we may not onely one flefh bee, But in one fpirit and one will agree V* It would be gratifying to be able to ftate that Henry Vaughan's poetry, replete as it is with beauty and originality, had met with a better reception than his profe. But we cannot in honefty fay that this was the cafe. That he had his admirers among the difcerning few there can be no doubt. His friends at Oxford more efpecially feem to have treafured up carefully every fcrap of verfe that fell from his pen. But with the public at large, and particularly with reference to his religious poetry, it was far otherwife. It might at firft fight appear that his Silex Scintillans had at leaft found readers enough to carry it through a fecond edition. A volume fo defignated by the Publilher was fent forth in the year 1655, containing all the poems printed in the year 1651, together with a fecond part, almoft equal in extent to the former, and the whole preceded by a very in- terefting preface, full of juft thoughts and pious xlii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH fentiments. But on clofer infpe6tion it is evi- dent that we have here only the unfold copies of the volume before publiflied, with the pre- face and fecond part added to them, and a new title prefixed to the whole. All this is difcernible from the paging of this nominally fecond edition, and it fpeaks loudly of the neglect which the previous volume had experienced. The poems contained in this fecond part are in no refpecT: inferior to thofe before publifhed. Indeed in fome points they prefent rather an improve- ment on them. They feem to exhibit more of Vaughan's own natural vein, and lefs of that of his excellent mafter. Preferving all the piety of George Herbert, they have lefs of his quaint and fantaftic turns, with a much larger infufion of poetic feeling and expreflion. Their merits however feem to have been but ill appreciated by the taftelefs and godlefs generation for whom Vaughan wrote, and his little volume accor- dingly foon fank into oblivion. We learn from its contents that the Author was ftill a fufFerer, his body ftill labouring under the protracted illnefs that had attacked him five years before, and his heart bleeding from the further lofs of beloved relatives and friends. It is fcarcely to be wondered that, under fuch OF HENRT VAUGHAN, xliii difcouraging circumftances, Henry Vaughan, in the prime of life, and the full maturity of his talents, fhould have ceafed from all further Authorfhip. Accordingly during the forty years that he lived, after the fecond edition of his Silex Scintillans, he gave nothing more to the public. In the year 1678 however, one of his zealous Oxford friends, J. W. (the initials have not been verified) fent forth a little volume, entitled, " Thalia Rediviva ; the pajjiimes and diverfions of a Countrey Mufe" which, though it contains no reference to Henry Vaughan in the title-page, confifts entirely of his poetry, together with a few of his brother Thomas's Latin verfes appended. But in this publication Henry Vaughan took no part, though there is no reafon to fuppofe that he was actually oppofed to it. The contents are of a motley defcription, confifting of elegies, tranflations, addrefTes to individuals, and are evidently of the moft various dates, fome of them written in his youthful days at the Univerfity, and others in his maturer years, fubfequently in all probability to the pub- lication of the " Silex Scintillans" The Volume is umered in by commendatory verfes from "the matchlefs Orinda," Mrs. Catherine Philips, Dr. Thomas Powell, and other Oxford friends and xliv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH admirers, and contains nothing which the mod: faftidious moralift could find fault with. At the clofe of the work is a collection of religious pieces, entitled, "Pious Thoughts and Ejacula- tions" the whdle of which, together with a Paftoral Elegy on the death of Thomas Vaughan, we have included in the volume now publifhed, fo that the whole of Henry Vaughan's religious poetry may ftand at once before the reader. From the time of this laft publication to that of his death we have no further information to furnifh refpecting our Author. He appears to have ftolen away altogether from public life, to purfue his quiet walk with God, and enjoy the converfe of fuch friends as were ftill left to him ; and found abundant fcope for the exercife of his powers, in the labours of a ufeful profeflion, and the education of his growing family. He was twice married, and had by his firft wife five children, two fons and three daughters, and by the fecond, one daughter. Of the latter alone is anything further known. She married John Turberville, and her granddaughter died fingle in 1780, aged 92. For himfelf he had the fatisfaclion of clofing his days under the roof and amidft the fcenes where they had com- menced. His beloved Ufk and the beautiful OF HENRY FAUGHAN. xlv vale through which it flows were daily before his eyes to the laft, and probably afforded him many a poetic ramble, when his more ferious avocations admitted of them. It would appear from one of his little Latin poems, that he was an angler, and the moral with which he accom- panies a falmon of his own catching, fent as a prefent to a friend, would feem to imply that this amufementwas occafionally purfued by him even in riper and more thoughtful years. But thefe little conjectural notices of his ordinary life and avocations muft neceffarily reft on very (lender data. Much more fatisfactory is it to know, that he died, as he lived, in holy con- fcioufnefs of his own unworthinefs, and in hum- ble dependence on the merits of his Redeemer. He departed this life, April the 23rd, in the year 1695, aged 73, and defired that the fol- lowing infcription mould be placed on his tomb, " Servus inutilis, Peccator maximus, Hie jaceo. Gloria ! ♦$• miferere ! " c An unprofitable fervant, the chief of finners, I lie here. Glory be to God ! kJh Lord have mercy upon me ! ' Such are the particulars that we have been xlvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH able to gather refpe&ing Henry Vaughan and his works. They prefent a picture of one who lived to God rather than to man ; and if there is little of incident in the details, let us remember, that it is with the lives of private individuals as with the reigns of Princes ; thofe are often the happieft and moft profperous, which make the leaft noife and (how in the page of Hiftory. The mind and heart of our Author are abun- dantly exhibited in his writings, which are full of individuality ; and while we would deprecate pledging ourfelves to every fentiment they con- tain, we feel that they claim for him unvarying refpecT:, and commend themfelves to us as the genuine overflowings of a fincere and humble fpirit. We feel, while reading them, that we have to do with a truly good and earneft man. His poems difplay much originality of thought, and frequently likewife much felicity of expref- fion. The former is indeed at times condenfed into obfcurity, and the latter defaced with quaintnefs. But Vaughan never degenerates into a fmooth verfifier of common places. One indeed of his great faults as a poet, is the attempt to crowd too much of matter into his fentences, fo that they/ead roughly and inharmonioufly, the words almoft elbowing each other out of OF HENRT V AUG HAN. xlvii the lines. His rhymes too are frequently de- fective, and he delights in making the fenfe of one line run over into the line following. This, when not overdone, is doubtlefs a beauty in verification, and redeems it from that mono- tony, which fo offends in the poets of Queen Anne's time. Yet even this may be pufhed to excefs, and become by its uniformity liable itfelf to the imputation of monotony. Take for in- ftance the very beautiful lines of Vaughan en- titled " Rules and L efforts " the firft five ftanzas of which ftrikingly exemplify the fault here fpecified ; and it was perhaps their confequent harfhnefs, that induced Bernard Barton to tranf- pofe them, not infelicitoufly, into a different ftanza. A more favourable fpecimen of line flowing into line is the following " Morning Addrefs to a Bird." Hither thou com'ft. The bufie wind all night Blew through thy lodging ; where thy own warm wing Thy pillow was : and many a fullen florin, For which coarfe man feems much the fitter born, Rained on thy bed, And harmlefs head ; And now as frefh and cheerful as the light Thy little heart in early hymns doth fing ! This will be felt to be very tender and beau- tiful, notwithftanding the imperfect rhyme in xlviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, ETC. the fourth line ; and the volume now repub- lifhed is full of like paflages. Indeed it may with truth be faid of Vaughan that his faults are in a great meafure thofe of the age he lived in, and the matter he imitated, while his beau- ties are all his own. That he will ever become a thoroughly popular poet is fcarcely to be ex- pected in this age. But among thofe who can prize poetic thought, even when clad in a drefs fomewhat quaint and antiquated, who love to commune with a heart overflowing with reli- gious ardour, and who do not value this the lefs, becaufe it has been lighted at the earlier and purer fires of Chriftianity, and has caught a portion of their youthful glow, poems like thefe of Henry Vaughan will not want their readers, nor will fuch readers be unthankful to have our Author and his Works introduced to their acquaintance. H. F. L. SILEX SCINTILLANS. The Author's Preface to the following Hymns. [HAT this Kingdom hath abounded with thofe ingenious perfons, which in the late notion are termed Wits^ is too well known. Many of them having caft away all their fair portion of time, in no better imployments, than a deliberate fearch, or excogitation, of idle words^ and a moft vain, infatiable, defire to be reputed Poets; leaving behinde them no other Monuments of thofe excellent abilities conferred upon them, but fuch as they may (with a Predeceffor of theirs) term Parricides, and a foul- killing Iflue, for that is the Bpafislov, and Laureate Crown, which idle Poems will certainly bring to their unrelenting Authors. And well it were for them, if thofe willingly ftudied and wilfully publifhed vanities could de- file no fpirits, but their own ; but the cafe is far worfe. Thefe Vipers furvive their Parents^ 4 THE PREFACE. and for many ages after (like Epidemic difeafes) infeft whole Generations, corrupting always, and unhallowing the beft-gifted Souls and the moft capable Vejfels ; for whofe fan&ification and well-fare, the glorious Son of God laid down his lifej and fuffered the pretious blood of his blefled and innocent heart to be poured out. In the mean time it cannot be denyed, but thefe men are had in remembrance, though we can- not fay with any comfort, Their memorial is blejfed ; for, that I may fpeak no more than the truth (let their paflionate worjhippers fay what they pleafe) all the commendations that can be juftly given them will amount to no more than what Prudentius the Chriftian-facred Poet be- ftowed upon Symmachus ; Os dignum, even by peaceful and obedient fpirits y is of fome antiquity in this Kingdom. And yet, as if the evil confequence attending this invete- rate error were but a fmall thing, there is fprung very lately another profperous device to affift it in the fubverfion of fouls. Thofe that want the genius of verfe fall to tranfating ; and the people are every term plentifully furnifhed with various Foraign vanities ; fo that the moft lafci- vious compofitions of France and Italy are here naturalized and made Engli/h ; and this, as it is fadly obferved, with fo much favour and fuc- cefs, that nothing takes (as they rightly phrafe it) like a Romance. And very frequently, if that Character be not an Ivybujh, the buyer receives this lewd ware from perfons of honour , who want not reafon to forbear : much private misfortune having fprung from no other feed at firft, than fome infe&ious and diflblving Legend. To continue after years of difcretion in this vanity , is an inexcufable defertion of pious fo- 6 THE PREFACE. briety ; and to perfift fo to the end, is a wilful defpifing of God's facred exhortations, by a con- ftant fenfual volutation or wallowing in impure thoughts and fcurrilous conceits, which both de- file their Authors, and as many more as they are communicated to. If every idle word Jh all be accounted for ; and if no corrupt communication Jhould proceed out of our mouths, how defperate, I befeech you, is their condition, who all their life time, and out of meer defign, ftudy tafcivi- ous ficlions, then carefully record and publifh them, that inftead of grace and life, they may minijler fin and death unto their readers ? It was wifely confidered, and pioufly faid by one, That he would read no idle books ; both in regard of love to his own foul, and pity unto his that made them ; for, faid he, if I be corrupted by them, their Compofer is immediately a caufe of my ill ; and at the day of reckonings though now dead, mujl give an account for it, becaufe I am corrupted by his bad example, which he left behinde him. I will write none, left I hurt them that come after me ; I will read none, left I augment his punijhment that is gone before me* I will neither write, nor read, left I prove a foe to my own foul : while I live, I fin too much ; let me not continue longer in wickednefs than I do in life. It is a fentence of facred authority, that he that is dead is freed from fin ; becaufe he cannot in that flate, which is without the body, fin any more ; but he that writes idle books makes for himfelf another body, THE PREFACE. 7 in which he always lives, and fins (after death) as faft and as foul, as ever he did in his life ; which very confideration deferves to be a fuf- ficient antidote againft this evil difeafe. And here, becaufe I would prevent a juft cenfure by my free confejjion, I muft remember, that I myfelf have, for many years together, languifhed of this very ficknefs ; and it is no long time lince I have recovered. But (blefled be God for it !) I have by his faving affiftance fuppreft my greatejl follies, and thofe which ef- caped from me, are, I think, as innoxious, as moft of that vein ufe to be ; befides, they are interlined with many virtuous, and fome pious mixtures. What I fpeak of them is truth : but let no man miftake it for an extenuation of faults, as if I intended an Apology for them, or myfelf, who am confcious of fo much guilt in both, as can never be expiated without fpeci a I forrows, and that cleanfing and pretious effufion of my Almighty Redeemer. And if the world will be fo charitable as to grant my requeft, I do here moft humbly and earneftly beg that none would read them. But an idle or fenfual fubjecl is not all the poyfon in thefe Pamphlets. Certain Authors have been fo irreverendly bold, as to dafh Scrip- tures, and the facred Relatives of God with their impious conceits ; And (which I cannot fpeak without grief of heart) fome of thofe defperate adventurers may, I think, be reckoned amongft 8 THE PREFACE. the principal or moft learned Writers of Englijh verfe. Others of a later date, being corrupted, it may be, by that evil Genius, which came in with the publique diftra&ions, have fluffed their books with Oatbes, horrid Execrations, and a moft grofs and Audiedfilthinefs. But the hurt that enfues by the publication of pieces fo noto- rioufly ill, lies heavily upon the Stationer's ac- count, who ought in confcience to refufe them, when they are put into his hands. No lofs is fo doleful as that gain, that will endamage the foul. He that prints lewdnefs and impieties, is that mad-man in the Proverbs, who cajieth fire- brands, arrow S) and death. The fuppreffion of this pleafing and prevailing evil lies not altogether in the power of the Magi/irate; for it will flie abroad in Manufcripts, when it fails of entertainment at the Prefs. The true remedy lies wholly in their bofoms, who are the gifted perfons, by a wife exchange of vain and vitious fubjeSfs, for Divine Themes and Celejlial Praife. The performance is eafie, and, were it the moft difficult in the world, the reward Is fo glorious, that it infinitely tranfcends it : for they that turn many to righteoufnefs Jhall [bine like the Jlars for ever and ever : whence follows this undenyable inference, that the cor- rupting of many, being a contrary work, the recompenfe muft be fo too ; and then I know nothing refer ved for them, but the blacknefs of THE PREFACE. 9 darknefs for ever ; from which, O God, deliver all penitent and reformed fpirits ! The firft, that with any effectual fuccefs at- tempted a diverfion of this foul and overflowing ftream,wasthe blefTed man, Mr. George Herbert^ whofe holy life and verfe gained many pious Converts^ of whom I am the leaft ; and gave the firft check to a moft flourifhing and admired Wit of his time. After him followed diverfe, — Sed non pajfibus aquh ; they had more of fajhion than of force. And the reafon of their fo vaft diftance from him, befides differing fpirits and qualifications, (for his meafure was eminent,) I fufpe£t to be, becaufe they aimed more at verfe, than perfeclion^ as may be eafily gathered by their frequent impreffions, and numerous pages. Hence fprang thofe wide, thofe weak, and lean conceptions, which in the moft inclin- able Reader will fcarce give any nourifhment or help to devotion; for, not flowing from a true praftick piety, it was impoflible they fhould effect thofe things abroad, which they never had acquaintance with at home ; being onely the productions of a common fpirit, and the obvious ebullitions of that light humor, which takes the pen in hand, out of no other confideration, than to be feen in print. It is true indeed, that to give up our thoughts to pious Themes and Contemplations, if it be done for pietie's fake, is a greaty?^/> towards perfeclion ; becaufe it will refine, and difpofe to devotion and fan&ity. io THE PREFACE. And further, it will procure for us (fo eafily communicable is that loving Spirit) fome fmall prelibation of thofe heavenly refrejhments, which defcend but feldom, and then very fparingly, upon men of an ordinary or indifferent holinefs. But he that defires to excel in this kinde of Hagiography, or holy writing, muft drive by all means for perfeclion and true holynefs, that a door may be opened to him in heaven, Rev. 4. I. and then he will be able to write, with Hiero- theus and holy Herbert, " A true Hymn.' 9 To effeil this in fome meafure, I have begged leave to communicate this my poor Talent to the Church, under the prote£tion and condu£t of her glorious Head : who, if he will vouchfafe to own it, and go along with it, can make it as ufeful now in the publick as it hath been to me in private. In the perufal of it, you will (per- adventure) obferve fome paffages, whofe hiftory or reafon may feem fomething remote ; but were they brought nearer, and plainly expofed to your view, though that perhaps might quiet your curiofity, yet would it not conduce much to your greater advantage. And therefore I muft defire you to accept of them in that lati- tude, which is already allowed them. By the laft poems in the book, were not that mi/lake here prevented, you would judge all to be fatherlefs, and the edition pofthume ; for in- deed / was nigh unto death, and am ftill at no great diftance from it ; which was the neceflary THE PREFACE. n reafon for that folemn and accomplifhed drefs, you will finde this imprejjion in. But the God of the fpirits of all fie Jh hath granted me a further ufe of mine than I did look for in the body ; and when I expefted, and had by his afliftance prepared for, a mejfage of death, then did he anfwer me with life ; I hope to his glory, and my great advantage; that I may flourifh not with leafe onely, but with fame fruit alfo ; which hope and earneft defire of his poor Creature, I humbly befeech him to perfect and fulfil for his dear Son's fake, unto Whom, with Him and the moft Holy and loving Spirit, be afcribed by Angels, by Men, and by all his Works, All Glory, and Wifdom, and Dominion, in this the Temporal and in the Eternal Being. Amen. Newton by UJk 9 near Sketh-Rock, Septem. 30, 1654. Lord, the hope of Ifrael, all they that for fake thee Jhall be ajhamed ; and they that depart from thee, Jhall be written in the earth, becaufe they have for faken the Lord, the fountain of living waters. Heal me, O Lord, and I Jhall be healed ; fave me, and I Jhall be faved,for thou art my health, and my great deliverer. I f aid in the cutting off of my days, I Jhall go to the gates of the grave ; I have deprived my f elf of the refidue of my years. I faid, I Jhall not Jee the Lord, even the Lord in the Land of the living : I Jhall behold man no more with the Inhabitants of the world. O Lord! by thee doth man live, and from thee is the life of my Jpirit : therefore wilt thou recover me, and make me to live. Thou haft in love to my foul delivered it from the pit of corruption ; for thou haft caft all my ftns behind thy back. For thy name's fake haft thou put off thine anger ; for thy praife haft thou refrained from me, that I Jhould not be cut off. For the grave cannot praife thee, death cannot celebrate thee : they, that go down into the pit, can- not hope for thy truth. The living, the living, he jh all praife thee, as I do this day : the Father to the children jh all make known thy truth. Lord; thou haft been merciful ; thou haft brought back my life from corruption; thou haft re- deemed me from my fin. They that follow after lying vanities, forfake their own mercy. Therefore Jh all thy f on gs be with me, and my prayer unto the God of my life. 1 will go unto the altar of my God, unto God, the joy of my youth ; and in thy fear will I worjhip to- wards thy holy temple. I will facrifice unto thee with the voice of thankf- giving ; I will pay that which I have vowed y fal~ vation is of the Lord. To my moft merciful, my mofl loving, and dearly loved Redeemer, the ever bleffed, the onely Holy and Just One, JESUS CHRIST, The Son of the living GOD, and the facred Virgin Mary. Y God ! thou that did ft dye for me, )) Thefe thy death's fruits I offer thee ; I Death that to me was life and light, But dark and deep pangs to thy fight. Some drops of thy all-quickning blood Fell on my heart ; thofe made it bud, And put forth thus, though Lord, before The ground was curfl and void of ftore. Indeed I had fome here to hire Which long redded thy defire, That fton'd thy fervants, and did move To have thee murther'd for thy love ; But Lord, I have expell'd them, and fo bent, Beg thou wouldft take thy Tenant's rent. 16 THE DEDICATION. II. Dear Lord, 'tis fmifhed ! and now he That copyed it, prefents it thee. 'Twas thine firft, and to thee returns, From thee it mined, though here it burns ; If the Sun rife on Rocks, is't right, To call it their inherent light? No, nor can I fay, this is mine, For, deareft Jefus, 'tis all thine, As thy cloaths, when thou with cloaths wert clad, Both light from thee, and virtue had ; And now, as then, within this place, Thou to poor rags doll ftill give grace. This is the earneft thy love fheds, The candle mining on fome heads, Till at thy charges they mall be, Cloath'd all with immortality. III. My dear Redeemer, the world's light, And life too, and my heart's delight ! For all thy mercies and thy truth, Shew'd to me in my finful youth, For my fad failings and my wilde Murmurings at thee, when mofl milde ; For all my fecret faults, and each Frequent relapfe and wilful breach, For all defigns meant againft thee, And ev'ry publifh'd vanity, Which thou divinely haft forgiven, While thy blood wafh'd me white as heaven ; THE DEDICATION. 17 I nothing have to give to thee, But this thy own gift, given to me. Refufe it not ; for now thy Token Can tell thee where a heart is broken. Rev. cap. 1. ver. 5, 6, 7. Unto him that loved us, and wajbed us from our fins in his own blood. And hath made us Kings and Priefts unto God and his Father ; to him be glory and dominion \ for ever and ever. Amen. Behold, he cometh with clouds, and every eye Jhall fee him, and they alfo which pierced him; and all kin- dreds of the earth jhall wail bee aufe of him: evenfo. Amen. f >AIN Wits and Eyes, Leave, and be wife : Abufe not, fhun not holy iire, But with true tears wafh off your mire. Tears and thefe flames will foon grow kinde, And mix an eye-falve for the blinde. Tears cleanfe and fupple without faile, And fire will purge your callous veyl. Then comes the light ; which, when you fpy, And fee your naked nefs thereby, Praife him, who dealt his gifts fo free, In tears to you, in fire to me. SILEX SCINTILLANS. PART I. Regeneration. WARD, and (till in bonds, one day I Hole abroad ; It was high-fpring, and all the way Primrofed, and hung with fhade ; Yet was it froft within ; And furly wind Blafted my infant buds, and finne Like clouds ecclipfed my mind. 2. Storm'd thus ; I ftraight perceived my fpring Meere ftage and fhow, My walke a monftrous, mountain'd thing, Rough-call with rocks and (how ; And as a Pilgrim's Eye, Far from reliefe, Meafures the melancholy fkye, Then drops, and rains for griefe, 3- So figh'd I upwards ftill ; at laft, 'Twixt fleps and falls^ I reach'd the pinacle, where plac'd 22 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, I found a paire of fcales ; I took them up, and layd In th' one late paines ; The other fmoake and pleafures weigh'd, But prov'd the heavier graines. 4- With that fome cryed, Away ; ftraight I ObeyM, and led Full Eaft, a faire, frefh field could fpy ; Some call'd it Jacob's Bed ; A virgin foile, which no Rude feet ere trod ; Where, fince He ftept there, only go Prophets and friends of God. 5- Here I repos'd ; but fcarce well fet A grove defcryed Of {lately height, whofe branches met And mixt on every fide ; I entred, and, once in, (Amaz'd to fee't,) Found all was chang'd, and a new fpring Did all my fenfes greet. 6. The unthrift Sunne fhot vitall gold A thoufand peeces, And heaven its azure did unfold, Chequer'd with fnowie fleeces. The aire was all in fpice, And every bufh A garland wore ; thus fed my Eyes, But all the Eare lay hufh. OR SACRED FOEMS. 7- Only a little Fountain lent Some ufe for Eares, And on the dumbe ihades language fpent, The mufick of her teares ; I drew her neare, and found The Ciflerne full Of divers (tones, fome bright and round, Others ill-fhap'd and dull. 8. The firft (pray marke,) as quick as light Danc'd through the floud ; But th' lait, more heavy than the night, Nail'd to the centre flood ; I wonder'd much, but tyr'd At laft with thought, My reftlefs Eye, that ftill defir'd, As ftrange an objecl: brought. 9- It was a banke of flowers, where I defcried (Though 'twas mid-day,) Some faft afleepe, others broad-eyed And taking in the ray ; Here muling long I heard A rufhing wind, Which ftill increas'd, but whence it ftirr'd, No where I could not find. 10. I turn'd me round, and to each fhade Difpatch'd an Eye, To fee if any leafe had made Leaft motion or reply ; 23 24 SILEX SCINTILLANS, But while I, liflning, fought My mind to eafe By knowing, where 'twas, or where not, It whifper'd ; Where I pleafe. Lord, then faid I, On me one breathy And let me dye before my death ! Cant. cap. 4. ver. 17. A rife, O North, and come thou South-wind ; and blow upon my garden, that the fpices thereof may flow out. Death. A Dialogue. Soule. -IS a fad Land, that in one day Hath duli'd thee thus, when death mall freeze Thy bloud to Ice, and thou mull flay Tenant for Yeares and Centuries ; How wilt thou brook't ? — Body. I cannot tell; But if all fence wings not with thee, And fomething ftill be left the dead, Tie wifh my Curtaines off, to free Me from fo darke and fad a bed ; A neft of nights, a gloomie fphere, Where fhadowes thicken, and the Cloud Sits on the Sun's brow all the yeare, And nothing moves without a fhrowd. OR SACRED POEMS. 25 Soule. 'Tis fo : but as thou faweft that night Wee traveled in, our firft attempts Were dull and blind, but Cuftome ftraight Our fears and falls brought to contempt. Then, when the ghaftly twelve was paft, We breath'd (till for a blufhing Eaft, And bad the lazie Sunne make hafte, And on fure hopes, though long, did feafl. But when we faw the Clouds to crack, And in thofe cranies light appear'd, We thought the day then was not flack, And pleas'd our felves with what wee feared. Juft fo it is in death. But thou Shalt in thy mother's bofome fleepe, Whilft I each minute grone to know How neere Redemption creepes. Then fhall wee meet to mixe again, and met, 'Tis lafh good-night; our Sunne fhall never fet. Job, cap. 10. ver. 21, 22. Before I goe whence I Jball not returne, even to the land of darknejfe and the Jhadow of death ; A Land of darknejfe, as darknejfe itfelfe ; and oj the Jhadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darknejfe. 26 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Refurredtion and Immortality : Heb. cap. 10. ver. 20. By that new, and living way, which he hath pre- pared for us, through the veile, which is his Jlejh. Body. I. FT have I feen, when that renewing breath That binds and loofens death Infpir'd a quickning power through the dead Creatures abed, Some drowfie filk-worme creepe From that long fleepe, And in weake, infant hummings chime, and knell About her filent cell. Until at laft, full with the vitall ray, She wing'd away, And, proud with life and fence, Heaven's rich Expence, Efteem'd (vaine things !) of two whole Elements As meane, and fpan-extents. Shall I then thinke fuch providence will be LeiTe friend to me ? Or that he can endure to be unjufl Who keeps his Covenant even with our dull. Sou/e. 2. Poore querulous hand full ! was't for this I taught thee all that is ? OR SACRED POEMS. 27 Unbowel'd nature, fhew'd thee her recruits, And change of Tints, And how of death we make A meere miftake; For no thing can to Nothing fall, but Hill Incorporates by fkill, And then returns, and from the wombe of things Such treafure brings, As Pbenix-Wkz renew'th Both life, and youth ; For a preferving fpirit doth flill pafTe Untainted through this Marie, Which doth refolve, produce, and ripen all That to it fall; Nor are thofe births, which we Thus fufFering fee, Deftroy'd at all ; But when time's refllefs wave Their fubftance doth deprave, And the more noble EJfence finds his houfe Sickly and loofe, He, ever young, doth wing Unto that fpring, And four re of fpirits, where he takes his lot, Till time no more mall rot His paflive Cottage ; which (though laid aflde,) Like fome fpruce Bride, Shall one day rife, and, cloath'd with ihining light, All pure and bright, Re-marry to the foule, for 'tis mofl plaine Thou only fal'fl to be refln'd againe. 3- Then I that here faw darkly in a glafle But mills and fhadows pafTe, 28 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, And, by their owne weake Shin%, did fearch the fprings And Courfe of things, Shall with inlightned rayes Pierce all their wayes ; And as thou faw'ft, I in a thought could goe To heav'n or Earth below, To reade fome Starre, or Minrall, and in State There often fate ; So fhalt thou then with me, Both wing'd and free, Rove in that mighty and eternall light, Where no rude made, or night Shall dare approach us ; we shall there no more Watch liars, or pore Through melancholly clouds, and fay, Would it were Day ! One everlafling Saboth there fliall runne Without SucceJJion, and without a Sunne. Dan. cap. 12. ver. 13. But goe thou thy way untill the end be : for thou Jhalt reft, and ft and up in thy lot at the end of the dayes. Day of Judgement. HEN through the North a fire mall rum And rowle into the Eaft, And like a fine torrent brum And fweepe up South and Weft, — When all mail ftreame and lighten round, And with furprizing flames OR SACRED POEMS. 29 Both liars and Elements confound, And quite blot out their names, — When thou malt fpend thy facred flore Of thunders in that heate, And low as ere they lay before Thy fix-dayes' buildings beate,— When like a fcrowle the heavens mall pafle And vanifh cleane away, And nought mull Hand of that vail fpace Which held up night and day,— When one lowd blafl mail rend the deepe, And from the wombe of earth Summon up all that are afleepe Unto a fecond birth, — When thou malt make the Clouds thy feate, And in the open aire The Quick and dead, both fmall and great, Mufl to thy barre repaire ; O then it will be all too late To fay, Whatjballldo? Repentance there is out of date, And fo is mercy too. Prepare, prepare me then, O God ; And let me now begin To feele my loving Father's Rod Killing the man of iinne. Give me, O give me CrofTes here, Still more afflictions lend ; 3 o SILEX SCINTILLANS, That pill, though bitter, is moil deare That brings health in the end. Lord, God ! I beg nor friends, nor wealth, But pray againft them both ; Three things I'de have, my foule's chief health, And one of thefe femes loath, A living Faith, a Heart of flefh, The World an Enemie ; This laft will keepe the firft two frefh, And bring me where I'de be* I Pet. 4. 7. Now the end of all things is at hand; be you therefore fober, and watching in prayer, Religion. Y God, when I walke in thofe groves And leaves thy Spirit doth ftill fan, I fee in each fhade that the^e growes An Angell talking with a man. Under a Juniper fome houfe, Or the coole Mirtle*s canopie, Others beneath an Oake's green boughs, Or at fome fountain e's bubling Eye. Here Jacob dreames, and wreftles ; there Elias by a Raven is fed, Another time by th' Angell, where He brings him water with his bread. OR SACRED POEMS. 31 In Abraham's Tent the winged guelts (O how familiar then was heaven !) Eate, drinke, difcourfe, lit downe, and reft Until the coole and fhady Even. Nay thou thy felfe, my God, in fire, Whirle-winds, and Clouds, and the foft voice, Speak'lt there fo much, that I admire We have no Conference in thefe daies. Is the truce broke ? or 'caufe we have A Mediatour now with thee, Doft thou therefore old Treaties wave, And by appeales from him decree ? Or is't fo, as fome green heads fay, That now all miracles mull ceafe ? Though thou -hall promis'd they Ihould ftay, The tokens of the Church and peace. No, no ; Religion is a Spring, That from fome fecret, golden Mine Derives her birth, and thence doth bring Cordials in every drop, and Wine. But in her long, and hidden Courfe, In paffing through the Earth's darke veines, Growes ftill from better unto worfe, And both her tafte and colour Haines ; Then drilling on learnes to encreafe Falfe E echoes and confufed founds* And unawares doth often feize On veines of Sulphur under ground ; 32 SILEX SCINTILLANS, So poifon'd breaks forth in fome Clime, And at firft fight doth many pleafe ; But drunk, is puddle or meere ilime, And 'Head of Phifick, a difeafe. Juft fuch a tainted fink we have, Like that Samaritan's dead well ; Nor muft we for the Kernell crave Becaufe moft voices like the JhelL Heale then thefe waters, Lord ; or bring thy flock, Since thefe are troubled, to the fpringing rock ; Looke downe, great Matter of the feaft ; O fhine, And turn once more our Water into Wine ! Cant. cap. 4. ver. 12. My fifter, my fpoufe, is as a garden inclofed, as a fpring Jhut up, and a fountain fe ale d up. The Search. elS now cleare day : I fee a Rofe Bud in the bright Eaft, and difclofe The Pilgrim-Sunne ; all night have I Spent in a roving Extafie To find my Saviour ; I have been As far as Betblem, and have feen His Inne and Cradle ; being there I met the Wife- Men, afkt them where He might be found, or what flarre can Now point him out, grown up a Man ? OR SACRED POEMS. 33 To Egypt hence I fled, ran o're All her parcht bofome to Nile's fhore, Her yearly nurfe; came back, enquir'd Amongll the Doclors, and delir'd To fee the Temple, but was mown A little dull, and for the Town A heap of ames, where fome fed A fmall bright fparkle was abed, Which would one day (beneath the pole), Awake, and then refine the whole. Tyr'd here, I came to Sychar ; thence To Jacob's well, bequeathed Jince Unto his fonnes, where often they In thofe calme, golden evenings lay Watring their flocks, and having fpent Thofe white dayes, drove home to the tent Their well-fleeced traine ; And here (O fate !) I lit, where once my Saviour fate. The angry Spring in bubbles fwell'd, Which broke in fighes Hill, as they fill'd, And whifper'd, Jefus had been there, But Jacobs children would not heare. Loath hence to part, at lafl I rife But with the fountain in mine Eyes, And here a frelh fearch is decreed ; He mull be found where he did bleed. I walke the garden, and there fee Idaas of his Agonie, And moving anguifhments, that fet His blefb face in a bloudy fweat; I climbed the Hill, perus'd the CrofTe, Hung with my gaine, and his great lolfe : Never did tree beare fruit like this, Balfam of foules, the bodye's blifle. D 34 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, But, O his grave ! where I faw lent (For he had none,) a Monument, An undefil'd, a new-hew'd one, But there was not the Corner-ftone. Sure then, faid I, my Quell is vaine, Hee'll not be found where he was flaine ; So mild a Lamb can never be 'Midft fo much bloud and crueltie. I'll to the wildernefs, and can Find beails more mercifull than man ; He liv'd there fafe, 'twas his retreat From the fierce Jew, and Herod's heat ; And forty dayes with Hood the fell And high temptations of hell ; With Seraphins there talked he, His father's flaming miniftrie ; He heav'nd their walks, and with his eyes Made thofe wild (hades a Paradife. Thus was the defert fanclified To be the refuge of his bride. He thither then ; fee, It is day ! The Sun's broke through to guide my way. But as I urg'd thus, and writ down What pleafures mould my Journey crown, What filent paths, what fhades, and cells, Faire virgin -flowers, and hallo w'd Wells I mould rove in, and reft my head Where my deare Lord did often tread, Sugring all dangers with fuccefTe, Methought I heard one Tinging thus ; Leave, leave thy gadding thoughts ; who pores OR SACRED POEMS. 35 and fpies Still out of Doores, defcries Within them nought. 2. The fkinne and fhell of things, though faire, are not Thy wifh, nor Pray'r, but got By meere Defpaire of wings. 3- To rack old Elements, or Dull ; and fay, Sure here he mull needs Hay, Is not the way, nor jufl. Search well another world ; who fludies this, Travels in Clouds, feekes Manna where none is. Adls,'cap. 17. ver. 27, 28. That they Jbould feeke the Lord, if haply they might feel after him y and finde him, though he be not far off from every one of us, for in him we live, and move, and have our being. 2,6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Ifaacs Marriage. Gen. cap. 24. ver. 63. And Ifaac went out to pray in the field at the Even- tide, and he lift up his eyes, and Jaw, and be- hold, the Camels were coming, RAYING ! and to be married ! It was rare, But now 'tis monftrous ; and that pious care, Though of ourfelves, is fo much out of date, That to renew't were to degenerate. But thou a chofen facrifice wert given, And offer'd up fo early unto heaven, Thy flames could not be out ; Religion was Ray'd into thee like beames into a glalTe ; Where, as thou grewft, it multiply'd, and fhin'd The facred Conflellation of thy mind. But being for a bride, prayer was fuch A decryed courfe, fure it prevaiPd not much. Had' ft ne'r an Oath, nor Complement ? thou wert An odde, dull futor ; hadft thou but the art Of thefe our dayes, thou couldft have coyn'd thee twenty New fev'rall oathes, and complements too plenty. O fad and wild excefle ! and happy thofe White dayes, that durfl no impious mirth expofe : When Confcience by lewd ufe had not loft fenfe, Nor bold-fac'd cuftome banifh'd Innocence ! Thou hadft no pompous traine, nor Antick crowd Of young, gay fwearers, with their needlefs, lowd OR SACRED POEMS. 37 Retinue; All was here fmooth as thy bride, And calme like her, or that mild Evening-tide. Yet hadft thou nobler guefts : Angels did wind, And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind ; Thefe fetch'd thee home thy bride, and all the way Advis'd thy fervant what to do and fay ; Thefe taught him at the Well, and thither brought The chafte and lovely object of thy thought. But here was ne'r a complement, not one Spruce, fupple cringe, or ftudy'd look put on. All was plaine, modefl truth: Nor did fhe come In Rowles and Curies, mincing and ftately dumbe ; But in a Virgin's native blufh and fears Frefh as thofe rofes, which the day-fpring wears. O fweet, divine fimplicity ! O grace Beyond a curled lock, or painted face ! A Pitcher too fhe had, nor thought it much To carry that, which fome would fcorn to touch ; With which in mild, chafte language ihe did wooe To draw him drinke, and for his Camels too. And now thou knewft her comming, it was time To get thee wings on, and devoutly climbe Unto thy God ; for Marriage of all ftates Makes moft unhappy, or moil fortunates. This brought thee forth, where now thou didft un- drefs Thy foul, and with new pinions refrefh Her wearied wings, which, fo reftor'd, did flye Above the ftars, a track unknown and high ; And in her piercing flight perfum'd the ayre, Scatt'ring the Myrrbe and Incenfe of thy pray'r. So from Labai-ro? s* Well fome fpicie cloud, * A ivel in the South Country where Jacob dwelt, betiveene Cadefh, &f Bered j Heb. the wel of him that Iivetb andfeeth me. 38 SILEX SCINT1LLANS, Woo'd by the Sun, fwels up to be his fhrowd, And from her moift wombe weeps a fragrant fhowre, Which, fcatter'd in a thoufand pearls, each flowre And herb partakes ; where having flood awhile, And fomething cool'd the parch' d and thirflie Ifle, The thankfull Earth unlocks her felfe, and blends A thoufand odours, which, all mixt, fhe fends Up in one cloud, and fo returnes the ikies That dew they lent, a breathing facrifice. Thus foar'd thy foul, who, though young, didft inherit Together with his bloud thy father's fpirit, Whofe active zeal and tried faith were to thee Familiar ever fince thy Infancie. Others were tym'd and train'd up to't, but thou Didft thy fwift years in piety out-grow. Age made them rev'rend and a fnowie head, But thou wert fo, e're time his fnow could fhed. Then who would truly limne thee out muft paint Firfl a young Patriarch, then a marry* d Saint. The Brittifti Church. *H ! he is fled ! And while thefe here their mifts and fba- dowes hatch, My glorious Head Doth on thofe hills of Myrrhe and Incenfe watch. Hafle, hafle, my dear ! The Souldiers here Call in their lotts againe. That feamleffe coat, OR SACRED POEMS. 39 The Iewes touch'd not, Thefe dare divide and ftain. 2. O get thee wings ! Or if as yet, until thefe clouds depart, And the day fprings, Thou think'ft it good to tarry where thou art, Write in thy bookes, My raviih'd looks, Slain flock, and pillag'd fleeces ; And hafte thee fo, As a young Roe Upon the mounts of fpices. O Rofa Campi! O Lilium Conv allium I quomodo nunc fa 51 a es pabulum Apr or urn! The Lampe. pIS dead night round about : Horrour doth creepe And move on with the fhades ; liars nod and fleepe, And through the dark aire fpin a firie thread, Such as doth gild the lazie glow-worm's bed. Yet burn'ft thou here a full day, while I fpend My reft in cares, and to the dark world lend Thefe flames, as thou doft thine tome; I watch That houre, which mull thy life and mine difpatch But ftill thou doeft out-goe me, I can fee Met in thy flames all acts of piety ; 4 o SILEX SCINTILLANS, Thy light, is Charity ; Thy heat, is Zeale / And thy afpiring, active fires reveale Devotion ftill on wing ; Then, thou doft weepe Still as thou burn'ft, and the warme droppings creepe To meafure out thy length, as if thou'dft know What llock, and how much time were left thee now ; Nor doft thou fpend one teare in vain, for ftill As thou difTolv'ft to them, and they diftill, They're ftor'd up in the focket, where they lye, When all is fpent, thy laft and fure fupply : And fuch is true repentance ; ev'ry breath Wee fpend in ilghes is treafure after death. Only one point efcapes thee ; That thy Oile Is ftill out with thy flame, and fo both faile ; But whenfoe're I'm out, both fhal be in, And where thou mad'ft an end, there I'll begin. Mark, cap. 13. ver. 35. Watch you therefore, for you know not when the mafter of the houfe cometh, at Even, or at Mid-night, or at the Cock-crowing, or in the Morning. Man's fall and Recovery. gg ARE WELL, you Everlafting hills ! I'm caft Here under clouds, where ftormes and temped s blaft This fully'd flowre, Robb'd of your calme ; nor can I ever make, Tranfplanted thus, one leafe of his t' awake; But ev'ry houre He fleepes and droops ; and in this drowfie Hate OR SACRED POEMS. 41 Leaves me a flave to paffions and my fate, Befides I've loft A traine of lights, which in thofe Sun-mine dayes Were my fure guides ; and only with me ftayes, Unto my coft, One fullen beame, whofe charge is to difpenfe More punifhment than knowledge to my fenfe. Two thoufand yeares I fojourn'd thus. At laft Jejhururfs King Thofe famous tables did from Sinai bring. Thefe fwell'd my feares, Guilts, trefpaiTes, and all this Inward Awe ; For iinne tooke ftrength and vigour from the Law. Yet have I found A plenteous way, (thanks to that Holy One !) To cancell all that e're was writ in itone. 1 His faving wound Wept bloud that broke this Adamant, and gave To iinners Confidence, life to the grave. This makes me fpan My fathers' journeys, and in one faire ftep O're all their pilgrimage and labours leap. For God, made man, Reduc'd th' extent of works of faith ; fo made Of their Red Sea a Spring : I warn, they wade. Rom. cap. 5. ver. 19. As by the offence of one, the fault came on all men to condemnation s So by the Righteoufnefs of one, the benefit abounded towards all men to the Jujlification of life. 42 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, The Showre. =£J>WAS fo ; I faw thy birth. That drowfie Lake ^^^^ From her faint bofome breath'd thee, the difeafe Of her lick waters, and infectious Eafe. But now at even, Too grofTe for Heaven, Thou fall'ft in teares, and weep'ft for thy millake. 2. Ah ! it is fo with me ; oft have I preft Heaven with a lazie breath ; but fruitles this Pierc'd not ; Love only can with quick acceife Unlock the way, When all elfe ftray, The fmoke and exhalations of the brelt. 3- Yet if, as thou doeft melt, and, with thy traine Of drops, make foft the Earth, my eyes could weep O're my hard heart, that's bound up and afleep, Perhaps at laft, Some fuch fhowres pari:, My God would give a Sun-mine after raine. OR SACRED POEMS. 43 Diftradlion. KNIT me, that am crumbled dull : the he ape Is all difpers'd and cheape ; Give for a handfull but a thought, And it is bought. Hadft thou Made me a flarre, a pearle, or a rain-bow, The beames I then had fhot My light had lefTend not ; But now I find myfelfe the leiTe the more I grow. The world Is full of voices ; Man is call'd, and hurl'd By each ; he anfwers all, Knows ev'ry note and call ; Hence ftill Frefh dotage tempts, or old ufurps his will. Yet hadfl thou dipt my wings, when coffin'd in This quicken'd malTe of finne, And faved that light, which freely thou Didft then bellow, I feare I Ihould have fpurn'd, and faid thou didft forbeare, Or that thy llore was lefle ; But now lince thou didft blelTe So much, I grieve, my God ! that thou hall made me fuch. I grieve? O, yes ! thou know'ft I doe ; come, and relieve, 44 SILEX SCINTILLANS, And tame and keepe downe with thy light, Dull that would rife and dimme my light ! Left left alone too long Amid ft the noife and throng, OpprefTed I, Striving to lave the whole, by parcells dye. The Purfuite. | ORD ! what a bufie reftlefs thing Haft thou made man ! Each day and houre he is on wing, Re lis not a fpan. Then having loft the Sunne and light, By clouds furpriz'd, He keepes a Commerce in the night With aire difguis'd. Hadft thou given to this active dull A Hate untir'd, The loft Sonne had not left the hulke, Nor home deflr'd. That was thy fecret, and it is Thy mercy too ; For when all failes to bring to blilfe, Then this mull doe. Ah ! Lord ! and what a Purchafe will that be, To take us fick, that found would not take thee ! OR SACRED POEMS, 45 Mount of Olives. WEETE, facred hill ! on whofe fair brow My Saviour fate, fhall I allow Language to love And idolize fome fhade or grove. Neglecting thee ? fuch ill-plac'd wit, Conceit, or call it what you pleafe, Is the braine's fit, And meere difeafe. 2. Cotfwold and Cooper's both have met With learned fwaines, and eccho yet Their pipes, and wit ; But thou fleep'ft in a deepe neglect, Untouch'd by any ; and what need The fheep bleat thee a filly Lay, That heard'ft both reed And fheepward play ? 3- Yet if Poets mind thee well, They fhall find thou art their hill, And fountaine too : Their Lord with thee had moll to doe ; He wept once, walked whole nights on thee ; And from thence (his fufierings ended,) Unto glorie Was attended. 46 SILEX SCINTILLANS, 4- Being there, this fpacious ball Is but his narrow footftoole all ; And what we thinke Unfearchable, now with one winke He doth comprife. But in this aire When he did flay to beare our 111 And Sinne, this Hill Was then his Chaire* The Incarnation and Paffion. ORD ! when thou didft thyfelfe undreffe, Laying by thy robes of glory, To make us more thou would ft be lefle, And becam'ft a wofull ftory. To put on clouds inftead of light* And cloath the morning-ftarre with duft, Was a tranflation of fuch height As, but in thee, was ne'r expreft. Brave wormes and earth ! that thus could have A God enclos'd within your cell, Your Maker pent up in a grave, Life lockt in death, heav'n in a fhelL Ah, my deare Lord ! what couldft thou fpye In this impure, rebellious clay, That made thee thus refolve to dye For thofe that kill thee every day ? OR SACRED POEMS. 47 O what ftrange wonders could thee move To flight thy precious bloud and breath ? Sure it was Love, my Lord ; for Love Is only ftronger far than death ! The Call. OME, my heart ! come, my head, In fighes, and teares ! 'Tis now, fince you have laine thus dead, Some twenty years. Awake, awake, Some pitty take Upon your felves ! Who never wake to grone nor weepe, Shall be fentenc'd for their fleepe. 2. Doe but fee your fad eftate, How many fands Have left us, while we careles fate With folded hands; What flock of nights., Of dayes, and yeares, In filent flights Stole by our eares ; How ill have we our felves beftow'd, Whofe funs are all fet in a cloud ! 3- Yet, come, and let's perufe them all ; And, as we paffe, 48 SILEX SCINTILLANS, What fins on every minute fall Score on the glafTe ; Then weigh and rate Their heavy Hate, Untill The glafle with teares you fill ; That done, we ihall be fafe and good : Thofe beafls w r ere cleane that chew'd the cud. f [Early Death.] HOU that know'ft for whom I mourne, And why thefe teares appeare, That keep'ft account till he returne Of all his duft left here ; As eafily thou mightft prevent, As now produce, thefe teares, And adde unto that day he went A faire fupply of yeares. But 'twas my flnne that forc'd thy hand To cull this Prim-rofe out, That, by thy early choice forewarn'd, My foule might looke about. O what a vanity is man ! How like the eye's quick winke His cottage failes, whofe narrow fpan Begins even at the brink ! Nine months thy hands are fafhioning us, And many yeares alas ! E're we can lifp, or ought difcufTe Concerning thee, muft paffe ; Yet have I knowne thy flighteft things, A Feather, or a Shelly OR SACRED POEMS. 49 A Stick, or Rod, which fome chance brings, The beft of us excell. Yea, I have knowne thefe fhreds outlaft A faire-compadled frame, And for one Twenty we have paft Almoft outlive our name. Thus haft thou plac'd in man's outfide Death to the common eye, That heaven within him might abide, And clofe eternitie. Hence youth and folly, man's firft fliame, Are put unto the flaughter, And ferious thoughts begin to tame The wife man's madnefs, Laughter. Dull, wretched wormes ! that would not keepe Within our firft faire bed, But out of Paradife muft creepe, For ev'ry foote to tread ! Yet had our Pilgrimage bin free, And fmooth without a thorne, Pleafures had foil'd Eternitie, And Tares had choakt the Come. Thus by the CroiTe, Salvation runnes ; Affliction is a mother, Whofe painfull throes yield many fons, Each fairer than the other. A filent Teare can pierce thy throne, When lowd Joyes want a wing ; And fweeter aires ftreame from a grone, Than any arted firing. Thus, Lord, I fee my gaine is great, My loffe but little to it ; Yet fomething more I muft intreate, And only thou canft doe it. 5 o SILEX SCINTILLANS, O let me, like him, know my End, And be as glad to find it ; And whatfoe'r thou malt commend, Still let thy fervant mind it. Then make my foule white as his owne, My faith as pure and iteddy, And deck me, Lord, with the fame Crowne Thou hast crownd him already ! Vanity of Spirit. |UITE fpent with thoughts I left my Cell, and lay Where a fhrill fpring tun'd to the early day. I beg'd here long, and gron'd to know Who gave the clouds fo brave a bow, Who bent the fpheres, and circled in Corruption with this glorious Ring ; What is his name, and how I might Defcry fome part of his great light. I fummon'd nature ; pierc'd through all her ftore ; Broke up fome feales, which none had touch'd before; Her worn be, her bofome, and her head, Where all her fecrets lay abed, I rifled quite, and having paft Through all the creatures, came at laft To fearch myfelfe, where I did find Traces and founds of a ftrange kind. Here of this mighty fpring I found fome rills, With ecchoes beaten from th' eternall hills. Weake beames and fires flafh'd to my fight, OR SACRED POEMS. Like a young Eaft, or Moone-fhine Night, Which fhew'd me in a nook call by A peece of much antiquity, With Hieroglyphicks quite difmembred, And broken letters fcarce remembred. I tooke them up, and (much joy'd,) went about T' unite thofe peeces, hoping to find out The my fiery ; but this neer done, That little light I had was gone. It griev'd me much. At lafl, faid I, Since in thefe veyls my ecclips^d Eye May not approach thee, (for at night Who can have commerce with the light ?) Fie difapparell, and to buy But one half glaunce moft gladly dye. The Retreate. ^APPY thofe early dayes, when I Shin'd in my Angell-infancy ! Before I underftood this place Appointed for my fecond race, Or taught my foul to fancy ought fiut a white, celeftiall thought ; When yet I had not walkt above A mile or two from my firft Love, And looking back, at that fhort fpace, Could fee a glimpfe of his bright face ; When on fome gilded Cloud or Flowre My gazing foul would dwell an houre, 52 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, And in thofe weaker glories fpy Some fhadows of eternity ; Before I taught my tongue to wound My confcience with a finfull found, Or had the black art to difpence A fev'rall finne to ev'ry fence, But felt through all this flefhly dreffe Bright Jhootes of everlaftingneffe. O how I long to travell back, And tread again that ancient track ! That I might once more reach that plaine, Where flrft I left my glorious traine ; From whence th' inlightned fpirit fees That fhady City of Palme trees. But ah ! my foul with too much flay Is drunk, and ftaggers in the way ! Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward fteps would move ; And, when this duft falls to the urn, In that ftate I came, return. f [Abfence.] ^§OME, come ! what doe I here ? Since he is gone, ^ Each day is grown a dozen year, And each houre one. Come, come ! Cut off the fum By thefe foil'd tears ! (Which only thou Know'ft to be true,) Dayes are my feares. OR SACRED POEMS. 53 2 There's not a wind can ftir, Or beam pafTe by, But ftrait I think, though far, Thy hand is nigh. Come, come ! Strike thefe lips dumb : This reftlefs breath, That foiles thy name, Will ne'r be tame, Untill in death. 3- Perhaps fome think a tombe No houfe of ftore, But a dark and feal'd up wombe, Which ne'r breeds more. Come, come ! Such thoughts benum ; But I would be With him I weep A-bed, and fleep To wake in thee. f Midnight, HEN to my Eyes, Whilft deep deep others catches, Thine hoft of fpyes, The Starres, fhine in their watches, I doe furvey Each bufie ray, 54 SILEX SC1NTILLANS, And how they work and wind, And wifli each beame My foul doth ftream With the like ardour fhin'd. What Emanations, Quick Vibrations, And bright Stirs are there ! What thin Ejections, Cold Affedions, And flow Motions here ! 2. Thy heav'ns, fome fay, Are a firie- liquid light, Which, mingling aye, Streames and flames thus to the light. Come then, my God ! Shine on this Bloud And Water in one beame ; And thou fhalt fee, Kindled by thee, Both liquors burne and ftreame. O what bright quicknefs, Active brightnefs, And celeftiall flowes, Will follow after, On that water Which thy Spirit blowes ! Matth. cap. 3. ver. 11. / indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but he that commeth after me> is mightier than I ; whofe Jhooes I am not worthy to beare ; he Jh all bap- tize you with the Holy Ghoft, and with fire. OR SACRED POEMS. 55 f Content. EACE, peace ! I know 'twas brave ; But this coarfe fleece I fhelter in, is flave To no fuch peece. When I am gone, I fhall no wardrobes leave To friend or fonne, But what their own homes weave. 2. Such, though not proud nor full, May make them weep, And mourn to fee the wooll Outlaft the fheep ; Poore, pious weare ! Hadft thou bin rich, or fine, Perhaps that teare Had mourn'd thy lolfe, not mine. 3- Why then thefe curl'd, puffed points, Or a laced ftory ? Death lets all out of joint, And fcornes their glory. Some Love a Rofe In hand, fome in the fkin ; But, croffe to thofe, I would have mine within. 56 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, f [Stars.] OY of my life while left me here ! And (till my Love ! How in thy abfence thou doft fleere Me from above ! A life well led This truth commends ; With quick or dead It never ends. 2. Stars are of mighty ufe. The night Is dark, and long ; The Rode foul ; and where one goes right, Six may go wrong. One twinkling ray, Shot o'er fome cloud, May clear much way, And guide a croud. 3- God's Saints are mining lights : who flays Here long mull paife O're dark hills, fwift flreames, and fleep ways As fmooth as glafle ; But thefe all night, Like Candles, fhed Their beams, and light Us into Bed, 4- They are indeed our Pillar-fires, Seen as we go ; OR SACRED POEMS. S 7 They are that Citie's fhining fpires We travell to. A fwordlike gleame Kept man for fin Firft Out: this beame Will guide him In. The Storm. SEE the ufe ; and know my bloud Is not a Sea, But a fhallow, bounded floud, Though red as he ; Yet have I flows as ftrong as his, And boyling ftremes that rave With the fame curling force, and hifTe As doth the mountained wave. 2. But when his waters billow thus, Dark florins and wind Incite them to that fierce difcufTe, Elfe not inclin'd. Thus the enlarg'd, inraged air Uncalmes thefe to a floud ; But Hill the weather that's moil fair Breeds tempefts in my bloud. 3- Lord, round me then with weeping clouds, And let my mind In quick blafts figh beneath thofe fhrouds, A fpirit-wind ; 5 8 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, So fhall that ftorme purge this Reclufe Which finfull eafe made foul, And wind and water, to thy ufe, Both wajh and wing my foul. The Morning- watch. JOYES ! Infinite Sweetnefs ! with what flowres And Ihoots of glory my foul breakes and buds ! All the long houres Of night and reft, Through the frill fhrouds Of fleep and clouds, This Dew fell on my breaft ; O how it Blouds, And Spirits all my Earth ! Heark ! In what Rings And Hymning Circulations the quick world Awakes and lings ! The riling winds, And falling fprings, Birds, hearts, all things Adore him in their kinds. Thus all is hurl'd In facred Hymnes and Order, the great Chime And Symphony of nature. Prayer is The world in tune, A fpirit-voyce, And vocall joyes, Whofe Eccho is heav'ns bliffe. O let me climbe OR SACRED POEMS. 59 When I lye down. The pious foul by night Is like a clouded ftarre, whofe beames, though faid To fhed their light Under fome cloud, Yet are above, And fhine and move Beyond that miftie fhrowd. So in my Bed, That curtain'd grave, though fleep, like afhes, hide My lamp and life, both mall in thee abide. The Evening-watch. A Dialogue. Body. AREWELU ! I goe to fleep ; but, when The day-ftar fprings, Tie wake agen. Soul. Goe, fleep in peace ; and when thou ]ytik Unnumber'd in thy duft, when all this frame Is but one dramme, and what thou now defcrieft In fev'rall parts fhall want a name, Then may his peace be with thee, and each dull Writ in his book, who ne'r betray'd man's truft. Body. Amen ! but hark, e'er we two ftray, How many hours do ft think 'till day ? Soui. Ah! go; thou'rt weak, and fleepie. Heav'n 60 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Is a plain watch, and, without figures, winds All ages up ; who drew this circle, even He fils it ; dayes and hours are Blinds. Yet this take with thee. The laft gafp of time Is thy firffc breath, and man's eternall Prime. % [Bereavement.] ^ SILENCE and Health of dayes! 'tis now, Ap§\?l Since thou art gone, ^ JS Twelve hundred houres, and not a brow But clouds hang on. As he that in fome cave's thick damp, Lockt from the light, Fixeth a folitary lamp, To brave the night, And, walking from his Sun, when paft That glim'ring ray, Cuts through the heavy mills in hafte Back to his day ; So o'er fled minutes I retreat Unto that hour, Which fhew'd thee laft, but did defeat Thy light and pow'r. I fearch and rack my foul to fee Thofe beams again ; But nothing but the fnuff to me Appeareth plain. That, dark and dead, fleeps in its known And common urn ; But thofe, fled to their Maker's throne, There mine and burn. OR SACRED POEMS. 61 O could I track them ! but fouls mult Track one the other ; And now the Spirit, not the dull, Mull be thy brother. Yet I have one Pearle, by whofe light All things I fee ; And in the heart of Earth and night Find Heaven and thee. Church-Service. r^^LEST be the God of Harmony and Love ! The God above ! And holy Dove ! Whofe interceding, fpirituall grones Make refllefs mones For dull and Hones ; For dull in every part, But a hard, ilonie heart. 2. O how in this thy Quire of Souls I Hand, Propt by thy hand, A heap of fand Which bulie thoughts, like winds, would fcatter quite^ And put to flight, But for thy might ; Thy hand alone doth tame Thofe blalls, and knit my frame ; 3- So that both Hones, and dull, and all of me Jointly agree To cry to thee ; 62 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, And in this Mufick, by thy Martyrs' bloud Seal'd and made good, Prefent, O God, The eccho of thefe flones ; My fighes, and grones ! Buriall. THOU ! the firft fruits of the dead, And their dark bed, When I am call into that deep And fenfelefs fleep, The wages of my finne, O then, Thou great Preferver of all men, Watch o're that loofe And empty houfe, Which I fometime liv'd in ! 2. It is in truth a ruin'd peece, Not worth thy eyes ; And fcarce a room, but wind and rain Beat through and flain The feats, and cells within ; Yet thou, Led by thy Love, would ft- (loop thus low, And in this cott, All filth, and fpott, Didfl with thy fervant inne. OR SACRED POEMS. 63 3- And nothing can, I hourely fee, Drive thee from me. Thou art the fame, faithfull and juft, In life or dull. Though then, thus crumm'd, I llray In blafls, Or exhalations, and wails Beyond all eyes, Yet thy love fpies That change, and knows thy Clay. 4- The world's thy boxe : how then, there toll, Can I be loll ? But the delay is all ; Tyme now Is old and flow ; His wings are dull and lickly. Yet he Thy fervant is, and waits on thee. Cutt then the fumme, Lord, halte, Lord, come, O come, Lord Jefus, quickly ! Rom. cap. 8. ver. 23. And not only they, but our f elves alfo, which have the firft fruits of the fpirit, even wee our f elves gr one within our felves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body. 64 SILEX SCINT1LLANS, Chearfulnefs. ORD, with what courage and delight I doe each thing, When thy leaf! breath fuftaines my wing ! I mine and move Like thofe above, And, with much gladneiTe Quitting fadneife, Make me faire dayes of every night. 2. Affliction thus meere pleafure is ; And hap what will, If thou be in't, 'tis welcome ftill. But fince thy rayes In funnie dayes Thou doft thus lend, And freely fpend, Ah ! what lhail I return for this ? 3- O that I were all Soul ! that thou Would ft make each part Of this poor finfull frame pure heart ! Then would I drown My lingle one ; And to thy praife A Concert raife Of Hallelujahs here below. OR SACRED POEMS. 65 f [Diftance.] gURE, there's a tye of Bodyes! and as they DHTolve with it to Clay, Love languifheth, and memory doth ruft, O'r-caft with that cold dull ; For things thus centered, without Beames or Aflion, Nor give, nor take Contagion; And man is fuch a Mary gold, thefe fled, That fhuts and hangs the head. 2. Abfents within the Line confpire, and Senje Things diftant doth unite ; Herbs fleep unto the Eaft, and fome fowles thence Watch the returns of light. But hearts are not fo kind : falfe, fhort delights Tell us the world is brave, And wrap us in Imaginary flights, Wide of a faithfull grave. 3- Thus Lazarus was carried out of town ; For 'tis our foe's chief art, By diftance all good objects firft to drown, And then befiege the heart. But I will be my own Deaths-head ; and though The flatt'rer fay, / live, Becaufe Incertainties we cannot know, Be fure not to believe. 66 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Peace. *Y Soul, there is a Countrie Afar beyond the ftars, Ss Where Hands a winged Sentrie All fkilfull in the wars. There, above noife and danger, Sweet peace fits, crownM with fmiles, And One born in a manger Commands the beauteous files. He is thy gracious friend And (O my Soul awake !) Did in pure love defcend, To die here for thy fake. If thou canft get but thither, There growes the flowre of peace, The rofe that cannot wither, Thy fortrefTe, and thy eafe. Leave then thy foolifh ranges ; For none can thee fecure, But One, who never changes, Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure. The Paffion. MY chief good ! My dear, dear God ! S When thy bleft bloud Did iiTue forth, forc'd by the Rod, OR SACRED POEMS. 67 What pain didft Thou Feel in each blow ! How didft Thou weep, And thy felf fteep In thy own precious, faving teares ! What cruell fmart Did teare thy heart ! How didft Thou grone it In the fpirit, O Thou, whom my foul loves and feares ! 2. Moft bleffed Vine ! Whofe juice fo good I feel as Wine, But thy faire branches felt as bloud, How wert thou preft To be my feaft ! In what deep anguifh Didft thou languifh ! What fprings of Sweat and bloud did drown thee ! How in one path Did the full wrath Of thy great Father Crowd and gather, Doubling thy griefs, when none would own thee ! 3- How did the weight Of all our finnes, And death unite To wrench and rack thy blefied limbes ! How pale and bloudie Lookt thy Body ! 68 S1LEX SCINTILLANS, How bruis'd and broke, With every ilroke ! How meek, and patient was thy fpirit ! How didil thou cry, And grone on high " Father forgive, And let them live ! I dye to make my foes inherit ! " 4- blelTed Lamb ! That took'fl my linne, That took'fl my fhame, How fhall thy dull thy praifes ling ? 1 would I were One hearty teare ! One conllant fpring ! Then would I bring Thee two fmall mites, and be at flrife Which fhould moll vie, My heart, or eye, Teaching my years In fmiles and tears To weep, to ling, thy Death, my Life. Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 19. Etenim res create exerto capite obfervantes ex- peflant revelationem Filiorum Dei. ND do they fo ? have they a Senfe Of ought but Influence ? Can they their heads lift, and expect, And grone too ? why th' Eleft, OR SACRED POEMS. 6 9 Can do no more : my volumes faid They were all dull, and dead ; They judg'd them fenfleffe, and their ftate Wholly inanimate. Go, go ; Seal up thy looks, And burn thy books. 2. I would I were a Hone, or tree, Or flowre by pedigree, Or fome poor high-way herb, or Spring To flow, or bird to ling ! Then fhould I, tyed to one fure ftate, All day expect my date. But I am fadly loofe, and ftray, A giddy blaft each way; O let me not thus range ! Thou canft not change. 3- Sometimes I fit with thee, and tarry An hour or fo, then vary. Thy other Creatures in this Scene Thee only aym and mean ; Some rife to feek thee, and with heads Erect peep from their beds ; Others, whofe birth is in the tomb, And cannot quit the womb, Sigh there, and grone for thee, Their liberty. 4- O let not me do leffe ! fhall they Watch, while I fleep or play ? 7 o SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Shall I thy mercies Hill abufe With fancies, friends, or newes ? O brook it not ! thy bloud is mine, And my foul mould be thine ; O brook it not ! why wilt thou flop After whole fhowres one drop ? Sure, thou wilt joy to fee Thy fheep with thee. The Relapfe. ^Y God, how gracious art thou ! I had flipt Almoft to hell, And, on the verge of that dark, dreadful pit, Did hear them yell ; But O thy love ! thy rich, almighty love, That fav'd my foul, And checkt their furie, when I faw them move, And heard them howl ! my fole Comfort, take no more thefe wayes, This hideous path, And I will mend my own without delayes : Ceafe thou thy wrath ! 1 have deferv'd a thick, Egyptian damp, Dark as my deeds, Should mift within me, and put out that lamp Thy fpirit feeds ; A darting Confcience full of ftabs and fears ; No fhade but Tewgh, Sullen and fad Ecclipfes, cloud ie fpheres, Thefe are my due. OR SACRED POEMS. 71 Bat he that with his bloud, (a price too deere,) My fcores did pay, Bid me, by vertue from him, chalenge here The brighter!: day ; Sweet, downie thoughts, Toft Z//y-fhades, calm Joyes full and true, [flreams, Frefh, fpicie mornings, and eternal beams, — Thefe are his due. The Refolve. HAVE confider'd it ; and rind A longer flay Is but excus'd neglect. To mind One path, and ftray Into another, or to none, Cannot be love ; When mail that traveller come home, That will not move ? If thou would'ft thither, linger not, Catch at the place ; Tell youth and beauty they muil rot, They're but a Cafe i Loofe, parcell'd hearts will freeze : the Sun With fcatter'd locks Scarce warms, but by contraction Can heat the rocks. Call in thy Powers ; run on, and reach Home with the light ; Be there, before the fhadows ftretch, And /pan up night. Follow the Cry no more : there is 72 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, An ancient way- All ftrewed with flowres and happinefs, And frefh as May ; There turn, and turn no more. Let wits, Smile at fair eies, Or lips ; but who there weeping fits, Hath got the Prize. The Match. I EAR friend ! whofe holy, ever-living lines Have done much good To many, and have checkt my blood, My fierce, wild blood, that ftill heaves and inclines, But is ftill tam'd By thofe bright fires which thee inflam'd ; Here I joyn hands, and thruft my flubborn heart Into thy Deed, There from no Duties to be freed, And if hereafter y outh ox folly thwart And claim their fhare, Here I renounce the pois'nous ware. II. ACCEPT, dread Lord, the poore Oblation ; It is but poore ; Yet through thy mercies may be more. O thou ! that canft not wifh my foul's damnation, Afford me life, And fave me from all inward ftrife ! OR SACRED POEMS. 73 Two Lifes I hold from thee, my gracious Lord, Both cofl thee dear ; For one, I am thy Tenant here ; The other, the true life, in the next world And endlefs is, O let me Hill mind that in this I To thee therefore my Thoughts, Words, Aclions I do refign ; Thy will in all be done, not mine. Settle my houfe, and fhut out all diffractions That may unknit My heart, and thee planted in it ; Lord Jefu / thou didfl bow thy bleffed head Upon a tree, O do as much, now unto me ! O hear, and heal thy fervant ! Lord, flrike dead All lulls in me, Who onely wifh life to ferve thee ! Suffer no more this dull to overflow And drown my eies ; But feal, or pin them to thy fkies. And let this grain, which here in tears I fow, (Though dead and feck, Through thy lucre afe grow new and quick. Rules and Leflbns. ? HEN firfl thy Eies unveil, give thy foul leave To do the like ; our Bodies but forerun The Spirit's duty. True hearts fpread and heave Unto their God, as flow'rs do to the Sun. 74 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Give him thy firft thoughts then ; fo fhalt thou keep Him company all day, and in him fleep. Yet never fleep the Sun up. Prayer fhou'd Dawn with the day. There are fet, awful hours Twixt heaven and us. The Manna was not good After Sun-rifing; far-day fullies flowres. Rife to prevent the Sun ; lleep doth fins glut, And heaven's gate opens when this world's is fhut. Walk with thy fellow- creatures : note the hujh And whifpers amongft them. There's not a Springy Or Leafe but hath his Morning-hymn. Each Bujh And Oak doth know / AM. Canft thou not fing ? O leave thy Cares, and follies ! go this way ; And thou art fure to profper all the day. Serve God before the world ; let him not go, Until thou haft a blefling ; then reiigne The whole unto him ; and remember who Prevail'd by wreftling ere the Sun did Jhine. Poure Oyle upon the ft ones ; weep for thy fin ; Then journey on, and have an eie to heav'n. Mornings are Myfteries ; the firft world's Youth, Man's Refurrefiion and the future's Bud Shro vvd in their births : The Crown of life, light, truth Is ftil'd their ftarre, the ft one, and hidden food. Three bleftings wait upon them, two of which Should move. They make us holy, happy, rich. When the world's up, and ev'ry fwarm abroad, Keep thou thy temper ; mix not with each Clay ; Difpatch necemties ; life hath a load Which muft be carri'd on, and fafely may. OR SACRED POEMS. 75 Yet keep thofe cares without thee, let the heart Be God's alone, and choofe the better part. Through all thy ABions, Counfels, and Difcourfe> Let Mildnefs and Religion guide thee out; If truth be thine, what needs a brutifh force ? But what's not good andjuft ne'er go about. Wrong not thy Confcience for a rotten flick ; That gain is dreadful, which makes fpirits fick. To God, thy countrie, and thy friend be true ; If Prieft and People change, keep thou thy ground. Who fels Religion, is a Judas Jew ; And, oathes once broke, the foul cannot be found. The perjurer's a devil let loofe : what can Tie up his hands, that dares mock God and man ? Seek not the fame Heps with the Crowd ; flick thou To thy fure trot; a conflant, humble mind Is both his own Joy, and his Maker's too ; Let folly dufl it on, or lag behind. A fweet felf-privacy in a right foul Out-runs the earth, and lines the utmofl pole. To all that feek thee bear an open heart ; Make not thy breafl a Labyrinth or Trap y If tryals come, this wil make good thy part, For honefly is fafe, come wha tcan hap ; It is the good man's/^/, the prince of flowres, Which thrives in ftorms, and fmels befl after Jbowres. Seal not thy Eyes up from the poor, but give Proportion to their Merits, and thy Purfe j 76 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Thou may'fl in rags a mighty Prince relieve, Who, when thy fins call for't, can fence a Curfe. Thou fhalt not lofe one mite. Though waters flray, The Bread we call returns in fraughts one day. Spend not an hour fo as to weep another, For tears are not thine own ; If thou giv'fl words, Dafh not with them thy friend* nor Heaven s O fmother A viperous thought ; fome Syllables are Swords. Unbitted tongues are in their penance double ; They fhame their owners, and their hearers trouble. Injure not modeil bloud, while fpirits rife In judgement againfl lewdnefs ; that's bafe wit, That voyds but filth and flench. Hall thou no prize But fichnefs or infection? ftifle it. Who makes his jefl of fins, mull be at leafl If not a very devill, worfe than Beaft. Yet fly no friend, if he be fuch indeed ; But meet to quench his Longings , and thy Thirft ; Allow your Joyes, Religion : that done, fpeed, And bring the fame man back, thou wert at firft. Who fo returns not, cannot pray aright, But fruits his door, and leaves God out all night. To heighten thy Devotions, and keep low All mutinous thoughts, what bufines e'r thou hall, Obferve God in his works ; here fountains flow, Birds fing, Beafls feed, Fijh leap, and th' Earth Hands fail ; Above are reflles Motions, running Lights, Vail circling Azure, giddy Clouds, days, nights. OR SACRED POEMS. 77 When Seafons change, then lay before thine eys His wondrous Method ; mark the various Scenes Inheav'n ; Hail, Thunder, Rain-bows, Snow, a'nd Ice, Calmes, Tempefts, Light, and Darknes, by his means ; Thou canft not mifle his Praife ; each tree, herb, flowre Are fhadows of his wifedome, and his pow'r. Tomeales when thou doeft come/give him the praife Whofe Arm fupply'd thee ; take what may fuffice, And then be thankful ; O admire His ways Who fills the world's unempty'd granaries ! A thanklefs feeder is a Theif, his feaft A very Robbery, and himfelf no gueft. High-noon thus paft, thy time decays ; provide Thee other thoughts : away with friends and mirth ; The Sun now Hoops, and haftes his beams to hide Under the dark and melancholy Earth. All but preludes thy End. Thou art the man Whofe Rife, bight, and Defcent, is but a fpan. Yet, fet as he doth, and 'tis well. Have all Thy Beams home with thee: trim thy Lamp, buy Oyl, And then fet forth; who is thus dreft, the Fall Furthers his glory, and gives death the foyl. Man is a Summer's day ; whofe youth and fire Cool to a glorious Evening, and expire. When night comes, lift thy deeds ; make plain the way 'Twixt heaven and thee ; block it not with delays ; But perfect all before thou ileep'ft ; then fay There' s one Sun more firung on my Bead of days. What's good fcore up for Joy ; the bad, well fcann'd* Warn off with tears, and get thy Mafter's hand. 78 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Thy Accounts thus made,fpend in the grave one houre Before thy time ; be not a ftranger there, Where thou may'ft fleep whole ages ; Life's poor flow 'r Lafts not a night fometimes. Bad fpirits fear This converfation ; But the good man lyes Intombed many days before he dyes. Being laid, and dreft for fleep, clofe not thy Eyes Up with thy curtains ; give thy foul the wing In fome good thoughts ; fo, when the day fhall rife, And thou unrakft thy fire, thole /parks will bring New flames ; befides where thefe lodge, vain heats mourn And die ; that Bujh, where God is, fhall not burn. When thy Nap's over, ftir thy fire, and rake In that dead age ; one beam i'th' dark outvies Two in the day ; then from the Damps and Ake Of night fhut up thy leaves ; be Chafle ; God prys Through thicker!: nights ; though then the Sun be far, Do thou the works of Day, and rife a Star. Briefly, Doe as thou would' ft be done unto, Love God, and love thy Neighbour; Watch, and Pray. Thefe are the Words, and Works of life ; This do, And live ; who doth not thus, hath loft Heaven's way. O lofe it not ! look up, wilt Change thofe Lights For Chains of Darknes and Eternal Nights ? OR SACRED POEMS. j 9 Corruption. JURE, It was fo. Man in thofe early days Was not all Hone and earth ; He fhin'd a little, and by thofe weak rays, Had fome glimpfe of his birth. He faw Heaven o'er his head, and knew from whence He came condemned hither, And, as flrfl Love draws ftrongeft, fo from hence His mind fure progrefs'd thither. Things here were ftrange unto him : fwet and till, All was a thorn or weed ; Nor did thofe laft, but, like himfelf, dyed ftill As foon as they did Seed ; They feem'd to quarrel with him ; for that Aft, That fell'd him, foyl'd them all; He drew the Curfe upon the world, and crackt The whole frame with his fall. This made him long for home, as loath to ftay With murmurers and foes ; He fighed for Eden, and would often fay Ah ! what bright days were thofe ! Nor was Heav'n cold unto him ; for each day The vally, or the mountain Afforded vifits, and ftill Paradife lay In fome green made or fountain. Angels lay Leiger here ; each bum, and cell, Each oke and high-way knew them : Walk but the fields, or fit down at fome well, And he was fure to view them. 80 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Almighty Love ! where art thou now ? mad man Sits down, and freezeth on : He raves, and fwears to ftir nor fire nor fan, But bids the thread be fpun. I fee, thy curtains are clofe-drawn ; thy Bow Looks dim too in the cloud ; Sin triumphs frill, and man is funk below The center, and his fhrowd. All's in deep fleep and night ; thick darknefs lyes And hatcheth o'er thy people — But hark ! what trumpet's that, what angel cries J rife I Thruft in thy fickle ! I Holy Scriptures. " ELCOME, dear book, Soul's joy and food ! The feaft Of Spirits : Heav'n extracted lyes in thee. Thou art life's Charter, The Dove's spotlefs neft Where fouls are hatch'd unto Eternitie. In thee the hidden flone, the Manna lies ; Thou art the great Elixir rare and choice ; The Key that opens to all Myfteries, The Word in Characters, God in the Voice. O that I had deep cut in my hard heart Each line in thee ! Then would I plead in groans Of my Lord's penning, and by fweeteft Art Return upon himfelf the Lazv 9 and Stones, Read here, my faults are thine. This Book and I Will tell thee fo ; Sweet Saviour thou didft dye ! OR SACRED POEMS. 81 Unprofitablenes. 2 OW rich, O Lord, how frefh thy vifits are ! 'Twas but juft now my bleak leaves hope- lefs hung Sullyed with duft and mud ; Each fnarling blaft fhot through me, and did ihear Their Youth and Beauty ; cold fhowres nipt and wrung Their fpicinefs and bloud. But fince thou didft in one fweet glance furvey Their fad decays, I flourifh, and once more Breathe all perfumes and ipice ; I fmell a dew like Myrrh, and all the day Wear in my bofome a full Sun ; fuch ftore Hath one beame from thy eyes. But, ah, my God ! what fruit haft thou of this r What one poor leaf did ever I let fall To wait upon thy wreath ? Thus thou all day a thanklefs weed doll drefs, And when th' haft done, a ftench or fog is all The odour I bequeath. Chrift's Nativity. H|WAKE, glad heart ! get up and ring ! It is the Birth-day of thy King, Awake ! awake ! The Sundoth make G 82 SILEX SC1NTILLANS, Light from his locks, and, all the way Breathing Perfumes, doth fpice the day 2. Awake, awake ! heark how th' wood rings ; Winds whifper, and the bufie fprings A Concert make ; Awake ! awake ! Man is their high-prieft, and ihould rife To offer up the facriiice. 3- I would I were fome bird, or ftar, Fluttering in woods, or lifted far Above this Inne And rode of fin ! Then either ftar or bird Ihould be Shining or finging {till to thee. 4- I would I had in my beft part Fit roomes for thee ! or that my heart Were fo clean as Thy manger was ! But I am all filth, and obfcene ; Yet, if thou wilt, thou canft make clean. 5- Sweet Jefu! will then. Let no more This Leper haunt and foyl thy door ! Cure him, eafe him, O releafe him ! And let once more, by myftick birth, The Lord of life be born in earth. OR SACRED POEMS. S3 H II. OW kind is Heav'n to man ! If here One finner doth amend, Strait there is Joy, and ev'ry iphere In muiick doth contend. And fhall we then no voices lift ? Are Mercy and Salvation Not worth our thanks ? Is Life a gift Of no more acceptation ? Shall He that did come down from thence, And here for us was flain, Shall He be now caff, off? no fenfe Of all his woes remain ? Can neither Love nor Sufferings bind? Are we all ftone and earth ? Neither his bloudy paffions mind, Nor one day blelTe his birth? Alas, my God ! Thy birth, now, here, Mull not be numbred in the year.* The Check. 'EACE, peace ! I blufh to hear thee; when thou art A dufty ftory, A fpeechlefle heap, and in the midft my heart * The Puritans abolijhed the celebration of Cbriftmas. 84 SILEX SCINTILLANS, In the fame livery dreft Lyes tame as all the reft ; When fix years thence digg'd up, fome youthful! Eye Seeks there for fymmetry, But finding none, fhall leave thee to the wind, Or the next foot to cruih, Scatt'ring thy kind And humble duft, — tell then, dear flefh, Where is thy glory ? 2. As he, that in the midft of day expects The hideous night, Sleeps not, but making offiloth and neglects, Works with the Sun, and iets. Paying the day its debts ; That for repofe and darknefs bound, he might Reft from the fears i'th' night ; So mould we too. All things teach us to die, And point us out the way; While we pafTe by, And mind it not ; play not away Thy glimpfe of light. 3- View thy fore-runners. Creatures, giv'n to be Thy youth's Companions, Take their leave, and die ; birds, beafts, each tree All that have growth or breath Have one large language, Death! O then play not ! but ftrive to Him, who can Make thefe fad fhades pure Sun, Turning their mifts to beams, their damps to day ; OR SACRED POEMS. S5 Whofe pow'r doth To excell As to make Clay A Spirit, and true glory dwell In dull and Hones. 4- Heark, how he doth invite thee ! with what voice Of love and forrow He begs and calls ! O, that in thefe thy days Thou knew'it but thy own good ! Shall not the crys of bloud, Of God's own bloud, awake thee ? He bids beware Of drunknes, furfeits, care; But thou fleep'ft on ; where's now thy proteftation, Thy lines, thy love ? Away ! Redeem the day; The day that gives no obfervation Perhaps to morrow. Diforder and Frailty. "HEN firft thou didft even from the grave And womb of darknefs becken out ^ My brutiih foul, and to thy Have Becam'il thy felf both guide and fcout ; Even from that hour Thou got'ft my heart ; and though here toft By winds, and bit with froft, I pine and {hrink, Breaking the link 'Twixt thee and me ; and oftimes creep Into th' old filence, and dead fleep, 86 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Quitting thy way All the long day ; Yet, fure, my God ! I love thee mo ft. Alas, Thy Love! 2. I threaten Heaven, and from my cell Of clay and frailty break and bud, Touch'd by thy fire and breath ; thy bloud Too is my dew, and fpringing well. But while I grow And ftretch to thee, ayming at all Thy ftars and fpangled hall, Each fly doth tafte Poyfon, and blaft My yielding leaves ; fometimes a fhowr Beats them quite off; and in an hour Not one poor moot, But the bare root Hid under ground furvives the fall. Alas, frail Weed ! 3- Thus like fome fleeping exhalation, Which, wak'd by heat and beams, makes up Unto that comforter, the Sun, And foars, and fhines, but ere we fup And walk two fteps, Cool'd by the damps of night, defcends, And, whence it fprung, there ends, Doth my weak fire Pine, and retire ; And, after all my height of flames, In fickly expirations tames, OR SACRED POEMS. 87 Leaving me dead On my firft bed, Untill thy Sun again afcends. Poor, falling Star! 4 \ O, yes ! but give wings to my fire ; And hatch my foul, untill it fly Up where thou art, amongfl thy tire Of liars, above infirmity ; Let not perverfe And foolifh thoughts adde to my bill Of forward Sins, and kill That feed, which thou In me didfl fow ; But dreife, and water with thy grace, Together with the feed, the place ; And, for his fake Who died to flake His life for mine, tune to thy will My heart, my verfe. Hofea, cap. 6. ver. 4. O Ephraim what Jhall I do unto thee ? O Judah how Jhall I intreat thee P for thy goodnefs is as a morning Cloud, and as the early Dew it goeth away. Idle Verfe. O, go, queint folies, fugred fin, Shadow no more my door! I will no longer cobwebs fpin ; I'm too much on the fcore. 88 SILEX SCINTILLANS, For fince amidft my youth and night My great preferver fmiles, We'll make a match, my only light, And joyn againll their wiles. Blind, defp'rate^Y/, that ftudy how To drefle and trim our fhame, That gild rank poyfon, and allow Vice in a fairer name ; The Purles of youthfull bloud and bowles, Luft in the robes of love, The idle tafk of feav'rifh fouls Sick with a fcarf or glove ; Let it fuffice my warmer days Simper'd and fhin'd on you ; Twill not my Cypreffe with your Bays Or Rofes with my Yewgh. Go, go, feek out fome greener thing ; It fnows and freezeth here ; Let Nightingales attend the fpring ; Winter is all my year. Son-dayes. BRIGHT fliadows of true Reft ! fome moots ofbliffe; Heaven once a week; The next world's gladnefs preporTeft in this ; A day to feek OR SACRED POEMS. 89 Eternity in time ; the Heps by which We climb above all ages ; Lamps that light Man through his heap of dark days ; and the rich, And full redemption of the whole week's flight ! 2. The Pulleys unto headlong man ; time's bower ; The narrow way ; Tranfplanted Paradife ; God's walking houre ; The cool o'th' day ! The creature's Jubile ; God's parle with dull ; Heaven here ; man on thofe hills of myrrh and flowres ; Angels defcending ; the Returns of Truft ; A Gleam of Glory after iix-days-ihowres ! 3- The Churche's love-feafts ; Time's Prerogative, And Intereft Deducted from the whole ; The combs, and hive, And home of reft. The milky way chalkt out with Suns, a clue That guides through erring hours ; and in full ftory A tafte of Heav'n on earth ; the pledge and cue Of a full feaft ; and the out-courts of glory. Repentance. ORD, iince thou didft in this vile clay That facred ray, Thy Spirit, plant, quickning the whole With that one grain's infufed wealth, 9 o SILEX SCINTILLANS, My forward flefh crept on, and fubtly Hole Both growth and power; checking the health And heat of thine. That little gate And narrow way, by which to thee The pafTage is, He term'd a grate And entrance to Captivitie : Thy Laws but nets, where fome fmall birds, And thofe but feldome too, were caught, Thy Promifes but empty words Which none but children heard, or taught. This I believed : and though a friend Came oft from far, and whifper'd, No ; Yet, that not forting to my end, I wholy liflen'd to my foe. Wherefore, pierc'd through with grief, my fad, Seduced foul iighs up to thee ; To thee, who with true light art clad, And feeft all things juft as they be. Look from thy throne upon this roll Of heavy fins, my high tranfgreffions, Which I confefle with all my foul ; My God, accept of my confeflion ! It was lafl day, TouchM with the guilt of my own way, I fate alone, and taking up The bitter cup, Through all thy fair and various flore, Sought out what might outvie my fcore. The blades of graffe thy creatures feeding ; The trees, their leafs ; the flowres, their feeding ; The dull, of which I am a part ; The flones much fofter than my heart ; The drops of rain, the fighs of wind, The liars, to which I am ilark blind ; OR SACRED POEMS. 91 The dew thy herbs drink up by night, The beams they warm them at i'th' light ; All that have fignature or life I fummon'd to decide this ftrife ; And left I mould lack for arrears, A fpring ran by, I told her tears ; But when thefe came unto the fcale, My fins alone outweigh'd them all. O my dear God ! my life, my love ! Moll bleffed Lamb ! and mildeft Dove ! Forgive your penitent offender, And no more his lins remember ; Scatter thefe fhades of death, and give Light to my foul, that it may live ; Cut me not off for my tranfgreffions, Wilful rebellions, and fuppreflions ; But give them in thofe ilreams a part Whofe fpring is in my Saviour's heart. Lord, I confeiTe the heynous fcore, And pray, I may do fo no more ; Though then all finners I exceed ; O think on this ; Thy Son did bleed! O call to mind his Wounds, his Woes, His Agony, and Bloudie Throes ; Then look on all that thou haft made, And mark how they do fail and fade ; The heavens themfelves, though fair and bright, Are dark and unclean in thy fight ; How then, with thee, can man be holy, Who doeft thine Angels charge with folly ? what am I, that I mould breed Figs on a thorne, flowres on a weed ? 1 am the gourd of fin and forrow, Growing o'er night, and gone to morrow. gz SILEX SCINTILLANS, In all this round of life and death Nothing's more vile than is my breath ; Profanenes on my tongue doth reft, Defects and darknefs in my breft; Pollutions all my body wed, And even my foul to thee is dead ; Only in him, on whom I feaft, Both foul and body are well dreft ; His pure perfection quits all fcore, And fills the boxes of his poor ; He is the Center of long life and light; I am but finite, He is Infinite. O let thy J uft ice then in him confine ; And through his merits make thy mercy mine ? The Burial of an Infant. ^g|gLEST Infant Bud, whofe BlofTome-life lPlP)T§ ^^ on ty ^ 00 ^ a b° ut > an d fall, ier^fe Wearyed out in a harmlefs ftrife Of tears, and milk, the food of all ! Sweetly didft thou expire : thy foul Flew home unftain'd by his new kin ; For ere thou knew'ft how to be foul, Death wean'd thee from the world and fin. Softly reft all thy Virgin-Crums ! Lapt in the fweets of thy young breath, Expecting till thy Saviour comes To dreife them, and unfwadle death. OR SACRED POEMS. 93 Faith. |r RIGHT and bleft beame ! whofe ftrong projection, Equall to all, Reacheth as well things of dejection, As th' high and tall ; How hath my God by raying thee Inlarg'd his fpoufe, And of a private familie Made open houfe ! All may be now co-heirs ; no noife Of Bond or Free Can interdict us from thofe Joys That wait on thee. The Law and Ceremonies made A glorious night, Where ftars, and clouds, both light and made, Had equal right ; But, as in nature, when the day Breaks, night adjourns, Stars (hut up fhop, mifts pack away, And the moon mourns ; So, when the Sun of Righteoufnefs Did once appear, That fcene was chang'd, and a new dreiTe Left for us here ; Veiles became ufeles, Altars fell, Fires fmoking die ; And all that facred pomp, and fhell Of things did flie. I 94 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Then did He fhine forth, whofe fad fall, And bitter fights Were figur'd in thofe myftical, And cloudie Rites ; And as i'th 5 natural Sun, thefe three, Light, motion, heat, So are now Faith, Hope, Charity Through him Compleat ; Faith fpans up blifie ; what fin and death Puts us quite from, Left we fhould run for't out of breath, Faith brings us home ; So that I need no more, but fay / do believe, And my moft loving Lord ftraitway Doth anfwer, Live! The Dawning. H ! what time wilt thou come ? when mall that crie The Bridegroome^s comming! fill the fky ? Shall it in the evening run When our words and works are done ? Or will thy all-furprizing light Break at midnight, When either fleep, or fome dark pleafure PofTerTeth mad man without meafure ? Or fhall thefe early, fragrant hours Unlock thy bowres ? And with their blufh of light defcry OR SACRED POEMS. 95 Thy locks crown'd with eternitie ? Indeed, it is the only time That with thy glory doth beft chime ; All now are ftirring, ev'ry field Full hymns doth yield ; The whole Creation fhakes off night, And for thy fhadow looks the light; Stars now vanifh without number, Sleepie planets fet and flumber, The purfie clouds difband and fcatter, All expecl fome fudden matter ; Not one beam triumphs, but from far That morning-ftar. O at what time foever thou, Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow, And, with thy Angels in the van, Defcend to judge poor carelefs man, Grant, I may not like puddle lie In a corrupt fecuritie, Where, if a traveller water crave, He finds it dead, and in a grave. But as this reftlefs, vocal fpring All day and night doth run, and fing, And though here born, yet is acquainted Elfewhere, and flowing keeps untainted ; So let me all my bufie age In thy free fervices ingage ; And though (while here) of force I mufl Have commerce fomtimes with poor duft, And in my flefh, though vile and low, As this doth in her channel flow, Yet let my courfe, my aym, my love, And chief acquaintance be above ; 96 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, So when that day and hour fhall come, In which thy felf will be the Sun, Thou'lt find me dreft and on my way, Watching the break of thy great day. Admiffion. rr OW fhrill are filent tears ? when fin got head And all my bowels turn'd To bralle and iron, when my flock lay dead, And all my powers mourn'd; Then did thefe drops, (for marble fweats, And rocks have tears,) As rain here at our windows beats, Chide in thine ears ; 2. No quiet couldft thou have : nor didft thou wink, And let thy begger lie, But ere my eies could overflow their brink Didft to each drop reply. Bowels of Love ! at what low rate, And flight a price Doft thou relieve us at thy gate, And ftill our cries ! 3- Wee are thy infants, and fuck thee ; if thou But hide, or turn thy face, Becaufe where thou art yet we cannot go, We fend tears to the place. OR SACRED POEMS. 97 Thefe find thee out, and, though our fins Drove thee away, Yet with thy love that abfence wins Us double pay. 4- O give me then a thankful heart ! a heart After thy own, not mine ; So after thine, that all and ev'ry part Of mine may wait on thine ; O hear ! yet not my tears alone, Hear now a floud, A floud that drowns both tears and grones ; My Saviour's bloud. Praife. SING of Comforts ! King of life ! Thou haft cheer'd me ; And when fears and doubts were rife, Thou haft cleer'd me ! Not a nook in all my breaft But thou fiirftit; Not a thought, that breaks my reft, But thou kill'ftit; Wherefore with my utmoft ftrength I will praife thee, And as thou giv'ft line and length I will raife thee ; Day and night, not once a day, I will blefTe thee ; H 98 SILEX SC1NTILLJNS, And my foul in new array I will dreffe thee ; Not one minute in the year But I'll mind thee ; As my feal and bracelet here I will bind thee ; In thy word, as if in heaven, I will reft me ; And thy promife 'till made even There fhall feaft me. Then thy fayings all my life There fhall pleafe me, And thy bloudy wounds and ftrife, They will eafe me ; With thy grones my daily breath I will meafure, And my life hid in thy death I will treafure. Though then thou art Paft thought of heart All perfect fulnefs, And canft no whit Acceffe admit From duft and dulnefs ; Yet to thy name, As not the fame With thy bright E {fence, Our foul clay hands OR SACRED POEMS. 99 At thy commands Bring praife and incenfe ; If then, dread Lord, When to thy board Thy wretch comes begging, He hath a flowre, Or, to his pow'r, Some fuch poor OfF'ring; When thou haft made Thy begger glad, And fill'd his bofome, Let him, though poor, Strow at thy door That one poor bloflbme. Dreffing. THOU that loveft a pure and whiten'd foul ! | That feedft among the Lillies, 'till the day Break, and the fhadows flee ! touch with one coal My frozen heart ! and with thy fecret key Open my defolate rooms ; my gloomie breft With thy cleer fire refine, burning to dull: Thefe dark confufions that within me neft, And foyl thy Temple with a finful ruft. Thou holy, harmlefs, undehTd High-prieft ! The perfect, full oblation for all fin, Whofe glorious conqueft nothing can refill, But even in babes doeft triumph ftill and win ; ioo SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Give to thy wretched one Thy myfticall Communion, That, abfent, he may fee, Live, die, and rife with thee ; Let him fo follow here, that in the end He may take thee, as thou doll him intend. Give him thy private feal, Earneft, and fign. Thy gifts fo deal That thefe forerunners here May make the future cleer. Whatever thou doft bid let faith make good, Bread for thy body, and Wine for thy blood. Give him, with pitty, love, Two flowres that grew with thee above ; Love that fhall not admit Anger for one fhort fit; And pitty of fuch a divine extent, That may thy members, more than mine, refent. Give me, my God ! thy grace, The beams and brightnefs of thy face ; That never like a bead I take thy facred feaft, Or the dread myfteries of thy bleft bloud Ufe, with like cuftome, as my kitchin food. Some fit to thee, and eat Thy body as their common meat ; O let not me do fo ! Poor duft fhould ly ftill low ; Then kneel, my foul and body, kneel and bow ; If Saints and Angels fall down, much more thou. OR SACRED POEMS. 101 Eafter-day. pHOU, whofe fad heart and weeping head lyes low, Whofe cloudy breft cold damps invade, Who never feel'ft the fun, nor fmooth'il thy brow, But fitt'ft oppreffed in the made, Awake ! awake ! And in his Refurre&ion partake, Who on this day, that thou might'ft rife as He, Rofe up, and cancell'd two deaths due to thee. Awake ! awake ! and, like the fun, difperfe All mills that would ufurp this day ; Where are thy Palmes, thy branches, and thy verfe r Hofanna i heark ! why doeft thou flay ? Arife ! arife ! And with his healing bloud anoint thine eyes, Thy inward eyes ; his bloud will cure thy mind, Whofe fpittle only could reftore the blind. Eafter Hymn. EATH and darknefs get you packing, j' Nothing now to man is lacking ; All your triumphs now are ended, And what Adam marr'd is mended ; Graves are beds now for the weary, Death a nap, to wake more merry ; ioz SILEX SC INTILLJNS, Youth now, fall of pious duty, Seeks in thee for perfect beauty ; The weak and aged, tir'd with length Of daies, from thee look for new ftrength ; And infants with thy pangs conteft As pleafant, as if with the breft. Then, unto Him, who thus hath thrown Even to contempt thy kingdome down, And by His blood did us advance Unto His own Inheritance, To Him be glory, power, praife, From this, unto the laft of daies ! The Holy Communion. 'ELCOME fweet, facred feaft ! welcome life! Dead I was, and deep in trouble ; But grace and blemngs came with thee fo rife, That they have quicken'd even drie Hubble. Thus foules their bodies animate, And thus at firfl when things were rude, Dark, void, and crude, They by thy Word their beauty had and date ; All were by thee, And ftill mull: be ; Nothing that is, or lives, But hath his quicknings, and reprieves, As thy hand opes or fhuts ; Healings, and cuts, Darknefs and day-light, life and death OR SACRED POEMS. 103 Are but meer leaves turn'd by thy breath. Spirits without thee die, And blacknefs fits On the divineft wits, As on the Sun ecclipfes lie. But that great darknefs at thy death, When the veyl broke with thy lafl breath, Did make us fee The way to thee ; And now by thefe fure, facred ties, After thy blood Our fov'rain good, Had clear'd our eies, And given us fight ; Thou dofl unto thy felf betroth Our fouls and bodies both, In everlafting light. Was't not enough that thou hadft payd the price, And given us eies When we had none, but thou muft alfo take Us by the hand, And keep us ftill awake, When we would fleep, Or from thee creep, Who without thee cannot Hand ? Was't not enough to lofe thy breath And blood by an accurfed death, But thou muft alfo leave To us, that did bereave Thee of them both, thefe feals, the means That mould both cleanfe And keep us fo, 104 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Who wrought thy wo ? O rofe of Sharon ! O the Lilly Of the valley ! How art thou now, thy flock to keep, Become both food, and Sbepbeard to thy fheep ! Pfalm 121. P to thofe bright and gladfome hills, Whence flowes my weal and mirth, I look, and figh for Him, who fills Unfeen both heaven and earth. He is alone my help and hope, That I mall not be moved; His watchful eye is ever ope, And guardeth his beloved ; The glorious God is my fole flay, He is my fun and fhade ; The cold by night, the heat by day ; Neither fhall me invade. He keeps me from the fpite of foes ; Doth all their plots controul ; And is a fhield, not reckoning thofe, Unto my very foul. Whether abroad, amidft the crowd, Or elfe within my door, He is my pillar and my cloud, Now and for evermore. OR SACRED POEMS. 105 Affliction. EACE, peace. It is not fo. Thou doft mifcall Thy phyfick ; pills that change Thy fick Acceffions into fetled health ; This is the great Elixir that turns gall To wine and fweetnefs, poverty to wealth, And brings man home, when he doth range. Did not He, who ordain'd the day, Ordain night too ? And in the greater world difplay What in the leffer He would do ? All flefh is clay, thou know'ft ; and but that God Doth ufe his rod, And by a fruitfull change of frofls and fhowres Cherifh and bind thy pow'rs, Thou wouldft to weeds and thirties quite difperfe, And be more wild than is thy verfe. Sicknefs is wholfome, and crofTes are but curbs To check the mule, unruly man ; They are heaven's hufbandry, the famous fan, Purging the floor which chaff diflurbs. Were all the year one conftant Sun-ihine, wee Should have no flowres ; All would be drought and leannefs ; not a tree Would make us bowres. Beauty confifts in colours ; and that's bell Which is not fixt, but flies and flowes. The fettled Red is dull, and whites that reft Something of ficknefs would difclofe. Viciflitude plaies all the game ; io6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Nothing that ftirrs, Or hath a name, But waits upon this wheel ; Kingdomes too have their phyfick, and for fteel Exchange their peace and furrs. Thus doth God key diforder'd man, which none elfe can ; Tuning his breft to rife or fall ; And by a facred, need full art, Like firings, ftretch ev'ry part Making the whole moft muficall. The Tempeft. if OW is man parcell'd out ! how every hour Shews him himfelf, or fomething he mould fee! This late, long heat may his inflruction be ; And tempefts have more in them than a fhowr. When nature on her bofome Jaw Her Infants die, And all her flowres withered to ft raw, Her breft s grown dry ; She ?nade the Earth, their nurfe £ff tomb, Sigh to the Jky, 'Till to tbofe Jighes, fetch' d from her womb, Rain did reply j So in the midft of all her fears And faint requefts, Her earneft fighes procurd her tears And fir d her brefts. OR SACRED POEMS. 107 O that man could do fo ! that he would hear The world read to him ! all the vail expence In the Creation ihed and ilav'd to fence, Makes up but lectures for his eie and ear. Sure Mighty Love, forefeeing the defcent Of this poor creature, by a gracious art Hid in thefe low things fnares to gain his heart, And layd furprizes in each element. All things here ihew him heaven ; waters that fall Chide and fly up ; mifts of corrupter!: foam Quit their firil beds and mount ; trees, herbs, flowres, all Strive upwards ilill, and point him the way home. How do they call off groiThefs ? only Earth And Man, like IJfachar, in lodes delight, Water's refin'd to Motion, Aire to Light, Fire to all* three, but man hath no fuch mirth. Plants in the root with Earth do moll comply, Their Leafs with water and humiditie, The Flowres to air draw neer and fubtiltie, And Seeds a kindred fire have with the iky. All have their keyes and fet afcents ; but man Though he knows thefe, and hath more of his own, Sleeps at the ladder's foot ; alas ! what can Thefe new difcoveries do, except they drown ? Thus, groveling in the ihade and darknefs, he Sinks to a dead oblivion ; and though all Light, Motion, Heat, io8 SILEX SCINTILLANS, He fees, like Pyramids, fhoot from this ball, And, lefFning ftill, grow up inviilbly, Yet hugs he ftill his durt ; The fluff e he wears, And painted trimming takes down both hiseies; Heaven hath lefs beauty than the duft he fpies, And money better mufick than the Spheres, Life's but a blaft ; he knows it ; what ? fhall ftraw And bul-rufh-fetters temper his fhort hour ? Muft he nor fip nor fing ? grows ne'r a flowr To crown his temples ? fhall dreams be his law ? O foolifh man ! how haft tnou loft thy light ? How is it that the Sun to thee alone Is grown thick darknefs, and thy bread a ftone? Hath fleih no foftnefs now ? mid-day no light ? Lord ! thou didft put a foul here. If I muft Be broke again, for flints will give no fire Without a fteel, O let thy power cleer Thy gift once more, and grind this flint to duft ! Retirement. ? HO on yon throne of azure fits, Keeping clofe houfe ^ Above the morning-ftarre, Whofe meaner fhowes And outward utenfils thefe glories are, That mine and ihare Part of his manfion ; He one day, When I went quite aftray, OR SACRED POEMS. 109 Out of meer love, By his mild Dove, Did fhew me home, and put me in the way. 2. Let it fuffice at length thy fits And lulls, faid he, Have had their wifh and way ; Preffe not to be Still thy own foe and mine ; for to this day I did delay, And would not fee, but chofe to wink ; Nay, at the very brink And edge of all, When thou wouldll fall, My love-twifk held thee up, my unfeen link. 3- I know thee well ; for I have fram'd, And hate thee not; Thy fpirit too is mine; I know thy lot, Extent, and end, for my hands drew the line Affigned thine ; If then thou would'fl unto my feat, 'Tis not th' applaufe and feat Of dull and clay Leads to that way, But from thofe follies a refolv'd retreat. 4- Now here below, where yet untam'd Thou doll thus rove, I have a houfe, as well As there above ; no SILEX SCINTILLANS, In it my Name and Honour both do dwell And (hall untill I make all new ; there nothing['s] gay In perfumes or array ; Dull lies with dull, And hath but juft The fame refpedl and room with ev'ry clay. 5- A faithfull fchool, where thou maill fee. In herald rie Of Hones and fpeechlefs earth, Thy true defcent ; Where dead men preach, who can turn feafts and mirth To funerals and Lent. There duft, that out of doors might fill Thy eies, and blind thee Hill, Is fall afleep. Up then, and keep Within thofe doors, my doors. Doll hear? / will. Love, and Difcipline. \f-INCE in a land not barren Hill, ' Becaufe thou doll thy grace diftill, My lot is fain, blefl be thy will ! And iince thefe biting frofts but kill Some tares in me which choke or fpill That feed thou fow'fl, blefl be thy fkill ! OR SACRED POEMS. in Bleft be thy dew, and bleft thy froft, And happy I to be fo croft, And cur'd by crofTes at thy coft. The dew doth cheer what is diftreft, The frofts ill weeds nip and moleft, In both thou work'ft unto the beft. Thus while thy fev'rall mercies plot, And work on me, now cold now hot, The work goes on, and flacketh not ; For as thy hand the weather fleers, So thrive I beft 'twixt joyes and tears, And all the year have fome grean ears. The Pilgrimage. S travel] ours when the twilight's come, And in the fky the ftars appear, The paft daies accidents do fumme With, Thus wee Jaw there, and thus here. Then Jacob-like lodge in a place, A place, and no more, is fet down, Where till the day reftore the race They reft and dream homes of their own. So for this night I linger here, And, full of toffings to and fro, Expect ftill when thou wilt appear, That I may get me up, and go. ii2 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, I long and grone and grieve for thee, For thee my words, my tears do gufh ; O that I were but where I fee ! Is all the note within my bufh. As birds robb'd of their native w T ood, Although their diet may be fine, Yet neither fing, nor like their food, But with the thought of home do pine ; So do I mourn, and hang my head; And though thou doft me fullnes give, Yet look I for far better bread, Becaufe by this man cannot live. O feed me then ! and fince I may Have yet more days, more nights to count, So ftrengthen me, Lord, all the way, That I may travel to thy Mount. Heb. cap. n. ver. 13. And they confejjed, that they were ftrangers and pilgrims on the earth. The Law and the Gofpel. \ ORD, when thou didft on Sinai pitch, And fhine from Paran, when a firie Law, Pronounc'd with thunder and thy threats, did thaw Thy people's hearts, when all thy weeds w T ere rich, And inaccemble for light, Terrour, and might; — OR SACRED POEMS. 113 How did poor flefh, which after thou didft weare, Then faint and fear ! Thy chqfen flock, like leafs in a high wind, Whifper'd obedience, and their heads inclin'd. 2. But now iince we to Sion came, And through thy bloud thy glory fee, With filial confidence we touch ev'n thee ; And where the other Mount, all clad in flame And threatning clouds, would not fo much As 'bide the touch, We climb up this, and have too all the way Thy hand our Hay ; Nay, thoutak'ft ours, and, which full comfort brings, Thy Dove too bears us on her facred wings. 3- Yet fince man is a very brute, And, after all thy acts of grace, doth kick, Slighting that health thou gav'ft when he was rick, Be not difpleas'd, if I, who have a fute To thee each houre, beg at thy door For this one more ; plant in me thy Gofpel, and thy Law / Both Faith and Awe ; So twift them in my heart, that ever there 1 may as well as Love, find too thy Fear ! 4- Let me not fpill, but drink thy bloud ; I Not break thy fence, and by a black excefs i Force down a juft curfe, when thy hands would blefs ; Let me not fcatter and defpife my food, ii4 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Or nail thofe bleffed limbs again Which bore my pain. So fhall thy mercies flow : for while I fear, I know thou'lt bear, But mould thy mild injunction nothing move me, I would both think and judge I did not love thee. John, cap. 14. ver. 15. If ye love me> keep my commandments. The World. SAW Eternity the other night, Like a great Ring of pure and endlefs light, All calm, as it was bright ; And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years, Driv'n by the fpheres, Like a vaft fhadow mov'd, in which the world And all her train were hurl'd. The doting Lover in his queinteft ftrain Did there complain ; Neer him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, Wit's four delights ; With gloves, and knots the filly fnares of pleafure, Yet his dear Treafure, All fcatter'd lay, while he his eyes did pour Upon a flowr. 2. The darkfome Statefman, hung with weights and woe, Like a thick midnight-fog, mov'd there fo flow, He did nor flay, nor go ; Condemning thoughts, like fad Ecclipfes, fcowl OR SACRED POEMS. 115 Upon his foul, And clouds of crying witnefles without Purfued him with one fhout. Yetdigg'd the Mole, and, left his ways be found, Workt under ground, Where he did clutch his prey. But one did fee That policie. Churches and altars fed him ; Perjuries Were gnats and flies ; It rain'd about him bloud and tears ; but he Drank them as free. 3. The fearfull mifer on a heap of ruft Sate pining all his life there, did fcarce truft His own hands with the duft, Yet would not place one peece above, but lives In feare of theeves. Thoufands there were as frantick as himfelf, And hugg'd each one his pelf; The down-right epicure plac'd heav'n in fenfe, And fcorn'd pretence ; While others, flipt into a wide excelTe, Said little lefle ; The weaker fort flight, triviall wares inflave, Who think them brave, And poor, defpifed truth fate counting by Their victory. 4- Yet fome, who all this while did weep and fing, And fing and weep, foar'd up into the Rings But moft would ufe no wing. " O fools," faid I, ** thus to prefer dark night u6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Before true light! To live in grots and caves, and hate the day Becaufe it fhews the way, The way, which from this dead and dark abode Leads up to God, A way where you might tread the Sun, and be More bright than he !" But, as I did their madnes fo difcufTe, One whifper'd thus, This Ring the Bride-groome did for none provide, But for bis Bride. John i ft Ep. cap. 2. ver. 16, 17. All that is in the world, the luft of the flejh, the luft of the eye, and the pride of life, is not of the Fa- ther, but is of the world. And the world pajfeth away, and the lufts thereof V but he that doth the will of God abideth for ever. The Mutinie. Ti EARY of this fame clay and ftraw, I laid Me down to breathe, and calling in my heart The after-burthens and griefs yet to come, The heavy fum So fhook my breft, that, fick and fore difmai'd, My thoughts, like water, which fome ftone doth ftart, Did quit their troubled channel, and retire Unto the banks, where, ftorming at thofe bounds, They murmur'd fore ; But I, who felt them boyl OR SACRED POEMS. 117 And knew their coyl, Turning to him, who made poor fand to tire And tame proud waves, If yet thefe barren grounds And thirftie brick mult be, faid I, My tafke and deftinie, 2. Let me fo ftrive and ftruggle with thy foes, (Not thine alone, but mine too,) that when all Their arts and force are built unto the height, That Babel-weight May prove thy glory, and their fhame ; fo clofe And knit me to thee, that though in this vale Of fin and death I fojourn, yet one eie May look to Thee, to Thee the Finifher And Author of my faith ; fo fhew me home, That all this foam And frothie noife, which up and down doth flie, May find no lodging in mine eie or eare ; O feal them up ! that thefe may flie Like other tempefls by. 3- Not but I know thou haft a fhorter cut To bring me home, than through a wildernes, A fea, or fands and ferpents ; yet fince thou, As thy words fhow, Though in this defart I were wholly fhut, Canft light and lead me there with fuch redrefs That no decay fhal touch me ; O be pleas'd To fix my fteps ; and whatfoever path Thy facred and eternall will decreed For thy bruis'd reed, O give it full obedience, that fo feiz'd Of all I have, I may nor move thy wrath n8 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Nor grieve thy Dove, but foft and mild Both live and die thy Child. Revel, cap. 2. ver. 17. To him that overcometh will I give to eate of the hidden Manna ; a?id I will give him a white Jione, and in the ftone a new name written, which no man knoweth,faving he that receiveth it. The Conftellatiorte P AIR, ordered lights, whofe motion without noife Refembles thole true joys, Whofe ipring is on that hill where you do grow, And we here tafle fometimes below. With what exa£l obedience do you move, Now beneath, and now above ! And in your vail progreffions overlook The darkeil night and clofeft nook ! Some nights I fee you in the gladfome Eaft, Some others near the Weft, And when I cannot fee, yet do you mine, And beat about your endles line. Silence and light and watchfulnes with you Attend and wind the clue ; No fleep nor floth aflailes you, but poor man Still either fleeps, or flips his fpan. OR SACRED POEMS. 119 He gropes beneath here, and with relllefs care, Firfl makes, then hugs a mare ; Adores dead dull, fets heart on corne and grafs, But feldom doth make heav'n his glafs. Mufick and mirth, if there be mufick here, Take up and tune his year ; Thefe things are kin to him, and muft be had ; Who kneels, or fighs a life, is mad. Perhaps fome nights he'll watch with you, and peep When it were bell to ileep ; Dares know effects, and judge them long before, When th' herb he treads knows much, much more. But feeks he your Obedience , Order, Light, Your calm and wel-train'd flight ? Where, though the glory differ in each liar, Yet is there peace Hill and no war. Since plac'd by Him, who calls you by your names, And fixt there all your flames, Without command you never acted ought, And then you in your courfes fought. But here, commiffion'd by a black felf-will, The fons the father kill, The children chafe the mother, and would heal The wounds they give by crying zeale. Then call her bloud and tears upon thy book, Where they for fafhion look ; And, like that Lamb, which had the Dragon's voice, Seem mild, but are known by their noife. izo SILEX SCINTILLANS, Thus by our lulls diforder'd into wars Our guides prove wandring liars, Which for thefe mifls and black days were referv'd, What time we from our firfl love fwerv'd. Yet O, for his fake who fits now by thee All crown'd with victory, So guide us through this darknes, that we may Be more and more in love with day ! Settle and fix our hearts, that we may move In order, peace, and love ; And, taught obedience by thy whole creation, Become an humble, holy nation ! Give to thy fpoufe her perfect and pure drefs, Beauty and holinefs ; And fo repair thefe rents, that men may fee And fay, Where God is, all agree. The Shepheards. WEET, harmlefs livers ! on whofe holy leifure Waits Innocence and Pleafure, Whofe leaders to thofe paltures and cleer fprings Were Patriarchs, Saints, and Kings ; How happend it that in the dead of night You only faw true light, While Paleftine was fall afleep, and lay Without one thought of day ? Was it becaufe thofe firll and blelfed fwains Were pilgrims on thofe plains, OR SACRED POEMS. 121 When they receiv'd the promife, for which now 'Twas there firft mown to you ? 'Tis true, he loves that dull whereon they go That ferve him here below, And therefore might for memory of thofe His love there firft difclofe ; But wretched Salem once his love, mull now No voice nor virion know, Her ilately piles with all their height and pride Now languifhed and died, And Betblem's humble cotts above them ftept, While all her feers ilept ; Her cedar, iirr, hew'd Hones, and gold were all Polluted through their fall, And thofe once facred manfions were now Meer emptinefs and fhow. This made the Angel call at reeds and thatch, Yet where the fhepheards watch, And God's own lodging, though he could not lack, To be a common Rack 5 No coftly pride, no foft-cloath'd luxurie, In thofe thin eels could lie ; Each ftirring wind and ilorm blew through their cots, Which never harbour'd plots ; Only content and love and humble joys Lived there without all noife ; Perhaps fome harmlefs cares for the next day Did in their bofomes play, As where to lead their fheep, what filent nook, What fprings or (hades to look ; But that was all ; and now with gladfome care They for the town prepare ; They leave their flock, and in a bufie talk All towards Beth I em walk 122 SILEX SCINTILLANS, To fee their foul's great Shepheard, who was come, To bring all ftraglers home ; Where now they find him out, and, taught before, That Lamb of God adore, That Lamb whofe daies great Kings and Prophets And long'd to fee, but mifs'd. [wifh'd The firft light they beheld was bright and gay, And turn'd their night to day ; But to this later light they faw in him, Their day was dark and dim. Mifery. ORD, bind me up, and let me lye A Pris'ner to my libertie, If such a ftate at all can be As an impris'ment ferving thee ; The wind, though gather'd in thy fift, Yet doth it blow ftill where it lift, And yet ihouldft thou let go thy hold Thofe gulls might quarrel and grow bold. As waters here, headlong and loofe, The lower grounds ftill chafe and choofe, Where fpreading all the way they feek And fearch out every hole and creek ; So my fpilt thoughts, winding from thee, Take the down-rode to vanitie, Where they all ftray and ftrive, which fhall Find out the firft and fteepeft fall. I cheer their flow, giving fupply To what's already grown too high, And having thus perform'd that part Feed on thofe vomits of my heart. OR SACRED POEMS. 123 I break the fence my own hands made, Then lay that trefpafTe in the made ; Some fig-leafs ftil I do devife, As if thou hadft nor ears nor eyes. ExcefTe of friends, of words, and wine Take up my day, while thou doft mine All unregarded, and thy book Hath not fo much as one poor look. If thou Ileal in amidft the mirth And kindly tell me, / am Earth, I fhut thee out, and let that flip ; Such mufick fpoils good fellowfhip. Thus wretched I and moll: unkind, Exclude my dear God from my mind, Exclude him thence, who of that cell Would make a court, fhould he there dwell. He goes, He yields ; and troubled fore His Holy Spirit grieves therefore ; The mighty God, th' eternal King Doth grieve for duft, and dull doth ling. But I go on, hafle to diveft My felf of reafon, till oppreft And buried in my furfeits I Prove my own fhame and miferie. Next day I call and cry for thee Who mould ft not then come neer to me ; But now it is thy fervant's pleafure Thou muft and doft give him his meafure. Thou doft, thou com'ft, and in a fhower Of healing fweets thy felf doft pour Into my wounds ; and now thy grace (I know it well,) fills all the place ; I fit with thee by this new light, And for that hour thou'rt my delight ; 124 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, No man can more the world defpife, Or thy great mercies better prize. I fchool my eyes, and flridlly dwell Within the circle of my cell ; That calm and filence are my joys, Which to thy peace are but meer noife. At length I feel my head to ake, My fingers itch, and burn to take Some new imployment, I begin To fwell and foame and fret within. " The Age, the prefent times are not " To fnudge in, and embrace a cot j " Aclion and bloud now get the game, " Difdein treads on the peaceful name ; " Who Jits at home too bears a hade " Greater than thofe that gad abroad" Thus do I make thy gifts giv'n me The only quarrellers with thee ; I'd loofe thofe knots thy hands did tie, Then would go travel, fight, or die. Thoufands of wild and wafte infuiions Like waves beat on my refolutions ; As flames about their fuel run, And work and wind till all be done, So my fierce foul bullies about, And never refts till all be out. Thus wilded by a peevifh heart, Which in thy mufick bears no part, I ilorm at thee, calling my peace A Lethargy, and meer difeafe ; Nay thofe bright beams mot from thy eyes To calm me in thefe mutinies, I ftile meer tempers, which take place At fome fet times, but are thy grace. OR SACRED POEMS. 125 Such is man's life, and fuch is mine, The worft of men, and yet ftill thine, Still thine, thou know'ft, and if not fo, Then give me over to my foe. Yet fince as eafie 'tis for thee To make man good as bid him be, And with one glaunce, could he that gain, To look him out of all his pain, O fend me from thy holy hill So much of flrength, as may fulfil All thy delights, whate'er they be, And facred inflitutes in me ! Open my rockie heart, and fill It with obedience to thy will ; Then feal it up, that as none fee, So none may enter there but Thee. O hear, my God ! hear Him, whofe bloud Speaks more and better for my good ! O let my crie come to thy throne ! My crie not pour'd with tears alone, (For tears alone are often foul,) But with the bloud of all my foul; With fpirit-lighs, and earneft grones, Faithful and moll repenting mones, With thefe I crie, and crying pine, Till thou both mend, and make me thine. The Sap. OME, faplefs bloffom, creep not ftill on earth Forgetting thy firft birth ! 'Tis not from dull; or if fo, why doll thou Thus call and thirft for dew ? iz6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, It tends not thither ; if it doth, why then This growth and flretch for heav'n ? Thy root fucks but difeafes ; worms there feat, And claim it for their meat. Who plac'd thee here did fomething then infufe, Which now can tell thee news. There is beyond the liars an hill of myrrh, From which fome drops fall here ; On it the Prince of Salem fits, who deals To thee thy fecret meals ; There is thy country, and He is the way, And hath withal the key. Yet hVd He here fometime, and bore for thee A world of miferie, For thee, who in the firfl man's loyns didfl fall From that hill to this vale ; And had not he fo done, it is moll true Two deaths had been thy due ; But going hence, and knowing well what woes Might his friends difcompofe, To fhew what flrange love He had to our good, He gave his facred Bloud, By will our fap and cordial ; now in this Lies fuch a heav'n of blifs, That who but truly tailes it, no decay Can touch him any way. Such fecret life and vertue in it lies, It will exalt, and rife, And a&uate fuch fpirits as are fhed, Or ready to be dead ; And bring new too. Get then this fap, and get Good flore of it, but let The veflel where you put it be for fure To all your pow'r moil pure ; OR SACRED POEMS. 127 There is at all times, though fhut up, in you A powerful, rare dew, Which only grief and love extract ; with this Be fure, and never mifs, To warn your velTel well : Then humbly take This balm for fouls that ake ; And one who drank it thus affures that you Shal find a joy fo true, Such perfect Eafe, and fuch a lively fenfe Of grace againfl all fins, That you'll confefs the comfort fuch, as even Brings to, and comes from, Heaven. Mount of Olives. 'HEN firft I faw true beauty, and thy joys, Active as light, and calm without all noife, Shin'd on my foul, I felt through all my pow'rs Such a rich air of fweets, as evening fhowrs Fan'd by a gentle gale convey, and breathe On fome parch'd bank,crown'd with a flourie wreath; Odors, and myrrh, and balm in one rich floud O'er- ran my heart, and fpirited my bloud ; My thoughts did fwim in comforts, and mine eie Confeft, The world did only paint and lie. And where before I did no fafe courfe fteer, But wander'd under tempefts all the year ; Went bleak and bare in body as in mind, And was blow'n through by every ftorm and wind, 128 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, I am fo warm'd now by this glance on me, That midft all ftorms I feel a ray of thee. So have I known fome beauteous Paifage rife In fuddain flowres and arbours to my eies, And in the depth and dead of winter bring To my cold thoughts a lively fenfe of fpring, Thus fed by thee, who doft all beings nourifh, My wither'd leafs again look green and flouriih ; I mine and fhelter underneath thy wing, Where lick with love I ftrive thy name to ling ; Thy glorious name ! which grant I may fo do, That thefe may be thy Praife> and my Joy too ! Man. SIGHING the Itedfaftnefs and ftate Of fome mean things which here below refide, Where birds like watchful clocks the noifelefs date And intercourfe of times divide, Where bees at night get home and hive, and flowrs, Early as well as late, Rife with the fun, and fet in the fame bowrs ; 2. I would, faid I, my God would give The ftaidnefs of thefe things to man ! for thefe To His divine appointments ever cleave, And no new bufinefs breaks their peace ; The birds nor fow nor reap, yet fup and dine, The flowres without clothes live, Yet Solomon was never dreil fo fine. OR SJCRED POEMS. 129 3- Man hath ftill either toyes or care ; He hath no root, nor to one place is ty'd, But ever reftlefs and irregular About this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but fcarce knows where ; He fayes it is fo far, That he hath quite forgot how to go there. 4- He. knocks at all doors, ftrays and roams ; Nay hath not fo much wit as fome ftones have, Which in the darker!: nights point to their homes By fome hid fenfe their Maker gave ; Man is the fhuttle, to whofe winding quell And pafTage through thefe looms God order'd motion, but ordain'd no reft. f [The Hidden Flower.] WALKT the other day, to fpend my hour, Into a field, Where I fometimes had feen the foil to yield A gallant flowre ; But Winter now had ruffled all the bowre And curious ftore I knew there heretofore. 2. Yet I, whofe fearch lov'd not to peep and peer F th' face of things, K 130 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Thought with my felf, there might be other fprings Befides this here, Which, like cold friends, fees us but once a year ; And fo the flowre Might have fome other bowre. 3- Then taking up what I could neerefl fpie, I digg'd about That place where I had feen him to grow out ; And by and by I faw the warm Reclufe alone to lie, Where frefh and green He lived of us unfeen. 4- Many a queflion intricate and rare Did I there flrow ; But all I could extort was, that he now Did there repair Such lofTes as befel him in this air, And would ere long Come forth moll fair and young. 5- This paft, I threw the clothes quite o'er his head ; And flung with fear Of my own frailty dropt down many a tear Upon his bed ; Then lighing whifper'd, Happy are the dead! What peace doth now Rock him ajleep below ! 6. And yet, how few believe fuch dottrine fprings From a poor root, OR SACRED POEMS. 131 Which all the Winter deeps here under foot, And hath no wings To raife it to the truth and light of things ; But is ftil trod By ev'ry wandring clod. 7- O Thou ! whofe Spirit did at firft inflame And warm the dead, And by a facred incubation fed With life this frame, Which once had neither being, forme, nor name ; Grant I may fo Thy iteps track here below, That in thefe mafques and fhadows I may fee Thy facred way ; And by thofe hid afcents climb to that day, Which breaks from Thee, Who art in all things, though invifibly ! Shew me thy peace, Thy mercy, love, and eafe ! 9- And from this care, where dreams and forrows raign, Lead me above, Where Light, Joy, Leifure, and true comforts move Without all pain ; There, hid in thee, fhew me his life again, At whofe dumbe urn Thus all the year I mourn ! i 3 2 SILEX SCINTILLJNS. Begging. |f ING of Mercy, King of Love, In whom I live, in whom I move, Perfect what thou haft begun, Let no night put out this Sun. Grant I may, my chief defire, Long for thee, to thee afpire. Let my youth, my bloom of dayes Be my comfort, and thy praife ; That hereafter, when I look O'er the fullyed, linful book, I may find thy hand therein Wiping out my fhame and fin. O ! it is thy only art To reduce a ftubborn heart ; And fince thine is vidlorie, Strongholds ihould belong to thee Lord, then take it, leave it not Unto my difpofe or lot ; But fince I would not have it mine, O my God, let it be thine ! Jude, ver. 24, 25. Now unto him that is able to keep us from falling, and to prefent us faultlefs before the prefence of his glory with exceeding joy. To the only wife God, our Saviour, be glory, and majefty, dominion and power, now and ever, Amen. End of the First Part. SILEX SCINTILLANS. PART II. Afcenfion-day. ?ORD JESUS ! with what fweetnefs and delights, §ure, holy hopes, high joys, and quickning flights, Doft thou feed thine ! O thou ! the hand that lifts To Him who gives all good and perfeft gifts, Thy glorious, bright Afcenfion, though remov'd So many ages from me, is fo prov'd And by thy Spirit feal'd to me, that I Feel me a (harer in thy vidiory ! I foar and rife Up to the ikies, Leaving the world their day; And in my flight For the true light Go feeking all the way ; I greet thy Sepulchre, falute thy Grave, That bleft inclofure, where the Angels gave The firft glad tidings of thy early light, And refurre6tion from the earth and night. I fee that morning in thy Convert's* tears, Frefh as the dew, which but this dawning wears. * St. Mary Magdalene. i 3 4 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, I fmell her fpices ; and her ointment yields, As rich a fcent as the now primros'd -fields. The day-flar fmiles, and light with the deceafl Now mines in all the chambers of the Eafl. What flirs, what polling intercourfe and mirth Of Saints and Angels gloriiie the earth ? What fighs, what whifpers, bufie Hops and flays ; Private and holy talk fill all the ways ? They pafs as at the lafl great day, and run In their white robes to feek the rifen Sun ; I fee them, hear them, mark their hafle, and move Amongfl them, with them, wing'd with faith and love. Thy forty days more fecret commerce here After thy death and funeral, fo clear And indifputable, fhews to my fight As the Sun doth, which to thofe days gave light. I walk the fields of Bethany, which fhine All now as frefh as Eden, and as fine. Such was the bright world on the firfl feventh day, Before man brought forth fin, and fin decay ; When like a Virgin clad in flowers and green The pure earth fat, and the fair woods had feen No frofl, but flourifh'd in that youthful veft, With which their great Creator had them drefl : When Heav'n above them fhin'd like molten glafs, While all the planets did unclouded pafs ; And fprings, like difTolv'd pearls, their flreams did pour, Ne'er marr'd with floods, nor angered with a fhowre. With thefe fair thoughts I move in this fair place, And the lafl fleps of my milde Mailer trace. I fee Him leading out his chofen train All fad with tears, which like warm fummer rain In filent drops fleal from their holy eyes, Fix'd lately on the Crofs, now on the Ikies. OR SACRED POEMS. 135 And now, eternal Jefus ! thou doft heave Thy bleffed hands to blefs thofe thou doll leave. The cloud doth now receive thee, and their ftght Having loft thee, behold two men in white ! Two and no more : what two atteft is true, Was thine own anfwer to the ftubborn Jew. Come then, thou faithful witnefs ! come, dear Lord, Upon the clouds again to judge this world ! Afcenfion-Hymn. |UST and clay, Man's antient wear, Here you muft flay, But I elfewhere ! Souls fojourn here, but may not reft; Who will afcend muft be undreft. And yet fome, That know to die Before death come, Walk to the fkie Even in this life ; but all fuch can Leave behinde them the old Man. If a ftar Should leave the fphasre, She muft firft mar Her flaming wear, And after fall, for in her drefs Of glory, fhe cannot tranfgrefs. 136 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Man of old Within the line Of Eden could Like the Sun fhine, All naked, innocent, and bright, And intimate with Heav'n, as light ; But fince he That brightnefs foil'd, His garments be All dark and fpoil'd, And here are left as nothing worth, Till the Refiner's fire breaks forth. Then comes He Whofe mighty light Made his cloathes be Like Heav'n all bright ; The Fuller, whofe pure blood did flow, To make ftain'd man more white than fnow. Hee alone And none elfe can Bring bone to bone And rebuild man ; And by his all-fubduing might Make clay afcend more quick than light. % [Departed Friends.] HEY are all gone into the world of light ! And I alone fit lingring here ! Their very memory is fair and bright, And my fad thoughts doth clear. OR SACRED POEMS. 137 It glows and glitters in my cloudy breft Like itars upon fome gloomy grove, Or thofe faint beams in which this hill is drefl After the Sun's remove. I fee them walking in an air of glory, Whofe light doth trample on my days ; My days, which are at bell but dull and hoary, Meer glimmering and decays. O holy Hope ! and high Humility ! High as the Heavens above ! Thefe are your walks, and you have fhew'd them me To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous death ; the Jewel of the Jufl ! Shining no where but in the dark ; What myfleries do lie beyond thy dull, Could man outlook that mark ! He that hath found fome fledg'd bird's nefl may know At firfl fight if the bird be flown ; But what fair dell or grove he rings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as Angels in fome brighter dreams Call to the foul when man doth fleep, So fome flrange thoughts tranfcend our wonted theams, And into glory peep. If a flar were confin'd into a tomb, Her captive flames mull needs burn there ; But when the hand that lockt her up gives room, She'll fhine through all the fphaere. 138 SILEX SCINTILLANS, O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under thee ! Refume thy fpirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty ! Either difperfe thefe mills, which blot and fill My perfpedtive ftill as they pafs ; Or elfe remove me hence unto that hill, Where I fhall need no glafs. White Sunday. ELLCOME, white day ! a thoufand Suns, i Though feen at once, were black to thee ! For after their light darknefs comes ; But thine mines to eternity. Thofe flames, which on the Apoftles rufh'd At this great feaft, and in a tyre Of cloven Tongues their heads all brufh'd, And crown'd them with prophetic fire, — Can thefe new lights be like to thofe, Thefe lights of Serpents like the Dove ? Thou had ft no gall ev'n for thy foes, And thy two wings were Grief and Love. Though then fome boaft that fire each day, And on ChrirVs coat pin all their ihreds ; Not fparing openly to fay, His candle fhines upon their heads ; Yet while fome rays of that great light Shine here below within thy Book, OR SACRED POEMS. 139 They never fhall fo blinde my fight But I will know which way to look. For though thou doeft that great light lock, And by this lefler commerce keep : Yet by thefe glances of the flock I can difcern wolves from the fheep. Not but that I have wilhes too, And pray, Tbefe laft may he as fir ft, Or better ; but thou long ago Haft faid, Thefe laft Jbould be the worft* Befides, thy method with thy own, Thy own dear people, pens our times ; Our ftories are in theirs fet down, And penalties fpread to our crimes. Again, if worft and worft implies A State that no redrefs admits, Then from thy Crofs unto thefe days The rule without exception fits. And yet, as in night's gloomy page One filent liar may interline ; So in this laft and lewdeft age Thy antient love on fome may mine. For though we hourly breathe decays, And our beft note and higheft eafe Is but meer changing of the keys, And a confumption that doth pleafe ; Yet thou the great eternal Rock Whofe height above all ages fhines, Ho SILEX SCINTILLANS, Art ftill the fame, and canft unlock Thy waters to a foul that pines. Since then thou art the fame this day And ever as thou wert of old, And nothing doth thy love allay, But our heart's dead and finful cold ; As thou long fince wert pleas'd to buy Our drown'd eftate, taking the Curfe Upon thy felf, fo to deftroy The knots we tyed upon thy purfe, So let thy grace now make the way Even for thy love ; for by that means We, who are nothing but foul clay, Shall be fine gold which thou didft cleanfe. O come ! refine us with thy fire ! Refine us ! we are at a lofs. Let not thy liars for Balaam's hire DiiTolve into the common drofs ! The Proffer. rSfgjE (till, black Parafites, Flutter no more ; Were it flill winter, as it was before, You'd make no flights ; But now the dew and fun have warm'd my bowres, You flie and flock to fuck the flowers. But you would honey make : Thefe buds will wither, OR SACRED POEMS. 141 And what you now extracl, in harder weather Will ferve to take ; Wife hufbands will, you fay, their wants prevent, Who do not fo too late repent. O poyfonous, fubtile fowls ! The flyes of hell, That buz in every ear, and blow on fouls, Until they fmell, And rot, defcend not here, nor think to flay ! I've read, who 'twas drove you away. Think you thefe longing eyes, Though lick and fpent, And almoft famiih'd, ever will confent To leave thofe ikies, That glafs of fouls and fpirits, where well drefl They fhine in white, like ftars, and reft. Shall my fhort hour, my inch, My one poor fand, And crum of life now ready to difband, Revolt and flinch ; And having born the burthen all the day, Now caft at night my crown away ? No, No ; I am not he ; Go feek elfewhere ! I fkill not your fine tinfel, and falfe hair, Your forcery, And fmooth feducements : Fie not fluff my flory With your poor commonwealth and glory. There are that will fow tares And fcatter death 1 42 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Amongft the quick, felling their fouls and breath For any wares ; But when thy Matter comes, they'll finde and fee, There's a reward for them and thee. Then keep the antient way ! Spit out their phlegm, And fill thy brefl with home ; think on thy dream : A calm, bright day ! A land of flowers and fpices ! the word given. Ifthefe be fair, O what is Heaven! Cock-crowing. ATHER of lights ! what funnie feed, What glance of day haft thou confin'd Into this bird ? To all the breed This bufie ray thou haft amgn'd ; Their magnetifme works all night, And dreams of Paradife and light. Their eyes watch for the morning-hue, Their little grain expelling night So fhines and lings, as if it knew The path unto the houfe of light. It feems their candle, howe'r done, Was tinn'd and lighted at the funne. If fuch a tincture, fuch a touch, So firm a longing can impowre, Shall thy own image think it much To watch for thy appearing hour ? OR SACRED POEMS. 143 »If a meer blafl fo fill the fail, Shall not the breath of God prevail ? O thou immortall light and heat ! Whofe hand fo fhines through all this frame, That by the beauty of the feat, We plainly fee who made the fame. Seeing thy feed abides in me, Dwell thou in it, and I in thee ! To fleep without thee is to die ; Yea, 'tis a death partakes of hell : For where thou dolt not clofe the eye It never opens, I can tell. In fuch a dark, ^Egyptian border, The fhades of death dwell and diforder. If joyes, and hopes, and earnefl throes, And hearts, whofe Pulfe beats flill for light, Are given to birds ; who, but thee, knows A love-lick foul's exalted flight ? Can fouls be track'd by any eye But his, who gave them wings to flie ? Onely this veyle which thou hail broke, And mull be broken yet in me, This veyle, I fay, is all the cloke, And cloud which Ihadows me from thee. This veyle thy full-ey'd love denies, And onely gleams and fractions fpies. O take it ofF ! make no delay ; But brum me with thy light, that I May mine unto a perfect day, And warme me at thy glorious Eye ! O take it off! or till it flee, Though with no lilie, flay with me ! 144 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, The Starre. HAT ever 'tis, whofe beauty here below Attracts thee thus, and makes thee ftream and flow, And wind and curie, and wink and fmile, Shifting thy gate and guile, Though thy clofe commerce nought at all imbarrs My prefent fearch, for eagles eye not ftarrs ; And ftill the lefTer by the beft And higheft good is bleft ; Yet, feeing ail things that fubfift and be Have their commiffions from Divinitie, And teach us duty, I will fee What man may learn from thee. Firft, I am fure, the Subject fo refpecled Is well-difpofed ; for bodies, once infected, Deprav'd, or dead, can have with thee No hold, nor fympathie. Next, there's in it a reftlefs, pure defire And longing for thy bright and vitall fire, Defire that never will be quench'd, Nor can be writh'd nor wrench'd. Thefe are the magnets, which fo flrongly move And work all night upon thy light and love ; OR SACRED POEMS. 145 As beauteous fhapes, we know not why, Command and guide the eye. For where defire, celeftiall, pure defire, Hath taken root, and grows, and doth not tire, There God a commerce Hates, and fheds His fecret on their heads. This is the heart he craves ; and whofo will But give it him, and grudge not, he fhall feel That God is true, as herbs unfeen Put on their youth and green. The Palm-tree. EARE friend, fit down, and bear awhile I this fhade, As I have yours long fince. This plant, you fee So prefl and bow'd, before fin did degrade Both you and it, had equall liberty With other trees ; but now fhut from the breath And air of Eden y like a male-content It thrives no where. This makes thefe weights, like death And fin, hang at him ; for the more he's bent The more he grows. Celeftial natures Hill Afpire for home. This Solomon of old By flowers and carvings and myfterious fkill Of Wings, and Cherubims, and Palms foretold. L 146 SILEX SCINTILLANS, This is the life which, hid above with Chrift In God, doth always (hidden) multiply, And fpring, and grow, a tree ne'r to be priced, A tree, whofe fruit is immortality. Here fpirits that have run their race, and fought, And won the fight, and have not feared the frowns Nor lov'd the fmiles of greatnefs, but have wrought Their Mailer's will, meet to receive their crowns. Here is the patience of the faints : this tree Is watered by their tears, as flowers are fed With dew by night ; but One you cannot fee Sits here, and numbers all the tears they fried. Here is their faith too, which if you will keep When we two part, I will a journey make To pluck a garland hence while you do fleep, And weave it for your head againft you wake. Joy- p-^e^E dumb, coarfe meafures; jar no more ; to There is no difcord but your harmony, Falfe, jugling founds ; a grone well dreft, where care Moves in difguife, and fighs afflict the air. Sorrows in white ; griefs tun'd ; a fugerd dofis Of wormwood, and a death's-head crown'd with rofes. He weighs not your forc'd accents, who can have A lefTon plaid him by a winde or wave. OR SACRED POEMS. 147 Such numbers tell their days, whofe fpirits be Lull'd by thofe charmers to a lethargy. But as for thee, whofe faults long iince require More eyes than ftars ; whofe breath, could it afpire To equal winds, would prove too fhort : Thou hall Another mirth, a mirth, though overcaft With clouds and rain, yet full as calm and fine As thofe clear heights which above tempefts mine. Therefore while the various mowers Kill and cure the tender flowers, While the winds refrefh the year Now with clouds, now making clear, Be fure under pains of death To ply both thine eyes and breath. As leafs in bowers Whifper their hours, And hermit-wells Drop in their cells : So in fighs and unfeen tears Pafs thy folitary years, And going hence leave written on fome tree, Sighs make joy fure, and Jbaking faftens thee. The Favour. THY bright looks ! thy glance of love Shown, and but fhown, me from above ! Rare looks ! that can difpenfe fuch joy As without wooing wins the coy, And makes him mourn, and pine, and dye, Like a ftarv'd eaglet, for thine eye. 148 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Some kinde herbs here, though low and far, Watch for and know their loving liar. O let no liar compare with thee ! Nor any herb out-duty me ! So fhall my nights and mornings be Thy time to Ihine, and mine to fee. The Garland. 9 HOU, who doll flow and flourifh here below, 5 To whom a falling liar and nine dayes' glory, Or fome frail beauty makes the bravell Ihew, Hark, and make ufe of this enfuing llory. When firll my youthfull, linfull age Grew mailer of my wayes, Appointing errour for my page, And darknelfe for my dayes ; I flung away, and with full crie Of wild affections, rid In poll for pleafures, bent to trie All gamellers that would bid. I played with lire, did counfell fpurn, Made life my common Hake ; But never thought that fire would burn, Or that a foul could ake. Glorious deceptions, gilded mills, Falfe joyes, phantallick flights, Peeces of fackcloth with filk lifts, Thefe were my prime delights. I fought choice bowres, haunted the fpring, Cull'd flowres and made me pofies ; OR SJCRED POEMS. 149 Gave my fond humours their full wing, And crown'd my head with rofes. But at the height of this careire I met with a dead man, Who, noting well my vain abear, Thus unto me began : Deilft, fond fool, be not undone ; What thou haft cut to day Will fade at night, and with this fun Quite vanifh and decay. Flowres gathered in this world, die here ; if thou Would]} have a wreath that fades not, let them grow, And grow for thee. Who fp ares them here,Jh all find A garland, where comes neither rain, nor wind. Love-fick. j'ESUS, my life ! how fhall I truly love thee? O that thy Spirit would fo ftrongly move me: That thou wert pleafed to ftied thy grace fo fan- As to make man all pure love, flefh a ftar ! A ftar that would ne'r fet, but ever rife, So rife and run, as to out-run thefe ikies, Thefe narrow ikies (narrow to me) that barre, So barre me in, that I am ftill at warre, At conftant warre with them. O come, and rend Or bow the heavens ! Lord, bow them and defcend, And at thy prefence make thefe mountains flow, 150 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Thefe mountains of cold ice in me ! Thou art Refining fire, O then refine my heart, My foul, foul heart ! Thou art immortall heat ; Heat motion gives ; then warm it, till it beat ; So beat for thee, till thou in mercy hear ; So hear, that thou muft open ; open to A finfull wretch, a wretch that caus'd thy woe ; Thy woe, who caus'd his weal ; fo far his weal That thou forgott'ft thine own, for thou didft feal Mine with thy blood, thy blood which makes thee mine, Mine ever, ever ; and me ever thine. Trinity-Sunday. HOLY, blefTed, glorious three, Eternall witneiTes that be In heaven, One God in Trinitie ! As here on earth, when men with-flood The Spirit, Water and the Blood Made my Lord's Incarnation good : So let the anty-types in me Elected, bought, and feal'd for free, Be own'd, fav'd, fainted by you three ! OR SACRED POEMS. 151 Pfalme 104. P, O my foul, and bleffe the Lord ! O God, My God, how great, how very great art thou ! Honour and majefty have their abode With thee, and crown thy brow. Thou cloath'ft thy felf with light, as with a robe, And the high, glorious heav'ns thy mighty hand Doth fpread like curtains round about this globe Of air, and fea, and land. The beams of thy bright chambers thou doft lay In the deep waters, which no eye can find ; The clouds thy chariots are, and thy path-way The wings of the fwift wind. In thy celeftiall, gladfome melTages Difpatch'd to holy fouls, fick with defire And love of thee, each willing angel is Thy minifter in fire. Thy arm unmoveable for ever laid And founded the firm earth ; then with the deep As with a vail thou hidft it; thy floods plaid Above the mountains fleep. At thy rebuke they fled, at the known voice Of their Lord's thunder they retir'd apace : Some up the mountains paft by fecret ways, Some downwards to their place. 152 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, For thou to them a bound hall fet, a bound, Which, though but fand, keeps in and curbs whole feas : There all their fury, foame, and hideous found, Mull: languifh and decreafe And as thy care bounds thefe, fo thy rich love Doth broach the earth; and lefTer brooks lets forth, Which run from hills to valleys, and improve Their pleafure and their worth. Thefe to the beafts of every field give drink ; There the wilde afles fwallow the cool fpring : And birds amongft the branches on their brink Their dwellings have and fing. Thou from thy upper fprings above, from thofe Chambers of rain, where HeavVs large bottles lie, Doefr. water the parch'd hills, whofe breaches clofe, Heal'd by the mowers from high. Grafs for the cattel, and herbs for man's ufe Thou mak'ft to grow ; thefe, bleft by thee, the earth Brings forth, with wine, oyl, bread : all which infufe To man's heart ftrength and mirth. Thou giv'ft the trees their greennefs, ev n to thofe Cedars in Lebanon, in whofe thick boughs The birds their nefts build ; though the ftork doth The fir-trees for her houfe. [choofe To the wilde goats the high hills ferve for folds, The rocks give conies a retyring place : Above them the cool moon her known courfe holds, And the fun runs his race. OR SACRED POEMS. 153 Thou makeft darknefs, and them comes the night ; In whofe thick fhades and filence each wilde beafl Creeps forth, and, pinch'd for food, with fcent and fight Hunts in an eager quell. The lyon's whelps impatient of delay- Roar in the covert of the woods, and feek Their meat from thee, who doeft appoint the prey, And feed 'it them all the week. This paft ; the fun mines on the earth ; and they Retire into their dens ; Man goes abroad Unto his work, and at the clofe of day Returns home with his load. O Lord my God, how many and how rare Are thy great works ! In wifdom haft thou made Them all ; and this the earth, and every blade Of grafs we tread declare. So doth the deep and wide fea, wherein are Innumerable, creeping things, both fmall And great : there mips go, and the fhipmen's fear, The comely fpacious whale. Thefe all upon thee wait, that thou maift feed Them in due feafon : what thou giv'ft they take ; Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need, And plenteous meals they make. When thou doeft hide thy face (thy face which keeps All things in being) they confume and mourn : When thou with-draw'ft their breath their vigour fleeps, And they to duft return. 154 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Thou fend'ft thy Spirit forth, and they revive, The frozen earth's dead face thou doft renew. Thus thou thy glory through the world doft drive, And to thy works art true. Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole ftage Is mov'd and trembles, the hills melt and fmoke With thy leaft touch; lightnings and winds that rage At thy rebuke are broke. Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breath I will in fongs to thy great name imploy That gift of thine, and to my day of death Thou fhalt be all my joy. He fpice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word Gather true comforts ; but the wicked liver Shall be confum'd. O my foul, blefs thy Lord ! Yea, blefs thou him for ever ! The Bird. T?ITHER thou com'ft. The bufie wind all night Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing Thy pillow was. Many a fallen florin, For which coarfe man feems much the fitter born, Rain'd on thy bed And harmlefs head ; And now as frefh and chearfal as the light Thy little heart in early hymns doth fing Unto that Providence, whofe unfeen arm OR SACRED POEMS. 155 Curb'd them, and cloath'd thee well and warm. All things that be praife Him ; and had Their leiTon taught them when firft made. So hills and valleys into tinging break ; And though poor flones have neither fpeech nor tongue, While active winds and ilreams both run and fpeak, Yet ftones are deep in admiration. Thus Praife and Prayer here beneath the fun Make lefTer mornings, when the great are done. For each inclofed fpirit is a liar Inlightning his own little fphasre, Whofe light, though fetcht and borrowed from far, Both mornings makes and evenings there. But as thefe Birds of light make a land glad, Chirping their folemn matins on each tree : So in the fhades of night fome dark fowls be, Whofe heavy notes make all that hear them fad. The turtle then in palm-trees mourns, While owls and fatyrs howl ; The pleafant land to brimflone turns, And all her Ilreams grow foul. Brightnefs and mirth, and love and faith, all flye, Till the day-fpring breaks forth again from high. The Timber. URE thou didfl flourifh once ! and many fprings, Many bright mornings, much dew, many fhowers 156 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Paft ore thy head : many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And ftill a new fuccellion lings and flies ; Frefh groves grow up, and their green branches moot Towards the old and ftill enduring Ikies ; While the low violet thrives at their root. But thou beneath the fad and heavy line Of death doth wafte all fenfelefs, cold, and dark ; Where not To much as dreams of light may mine, Nor any thought of greennefs, leaf, or bark. And yet, as if fome deep hate and diffent, Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, Were ftill alive, thou doft great ftorms refent, Before they come, and know'ft how near they be. Elfe all at reft thou lyeft, and the fierce breath Of tempefts can no more difturb thy eafe ; But this thy ftrange refentment after death Means onely thofe who broke in life thy peace. So murthered man, when lovely life is done, And his blood freez'd, keeps in the center ftill Some fecret fenfe, w r hich makes the dead blood run At his approach that did the body kill. And is there any murth'rer worfe than fin ? Or any ftorms more foul than a lewd life ? Or what refentient can work more within, Than true remorfe, when with paft fins at ftrife ? He that hath left life's vain joys and vain care, And truly hates to be detain'd on earth, OR SACRED POEMS. 157 Hath got an houfe where many manfions are, And keeps his foul unto eternal mirth. But though thus dead unto the world, and ceas'd From fin, he walks a narrow, private way ; Yet grief and old wounds make him fore difpleas'd, And all his life a rainy, weeping day. For though he mould forfake the world, and live As meer a ftranger, as men long iince dead ; Yet joy itfelf will make a right foul grieve To think, he mould be fo long vainly led. But as fhades fet off light, fo tears and grief, Though of themfelves but a fad blubber'd ftory, By mewing the fin great, fhew the relief Far greater, and fo fpeak my Saviour's glory. If my way lies through deferts and wilde woods, Where all the land with fcorching heat is curft ; Better the pools fhould flow with rain and floods To fill my bottle than I die with thirft. Bleft (howers they are, and ftreams fent from above ; Begetting virgins where they ufe to flow ; The trees of life no other waters love, Than upper fprings, and none elfe make them grow. But thefe chafte fountains flow not till we dye. Some drops may fall before ; but a clear fpring And ever running, till we leave to fling Dirt in her way, will keep above the fkie. Rom. cap. 6. ver. 7. He that is dead y is freed from Jin. 158 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, The Jews. "HEN the fair year Of your Deliverer comes, And that long froft which now benums Your hearts fhall thaw ; when angels here Shall yet to man appear, And familiarly confer Beneath the oke and juniper ; When the bright Dove, Which now thefe many, many fprings Hath kept above, Shall with fpread wings Defcend, and living waters flow To make drie dull:, and dead trees grow ; O then that I Might live, and fee the olive bear Her proper branches ! which now lie Scattered each where; And, without root and fap, decay ; Call by the hufbandman away. And fure it is not far ! For as your fall and foul decays, Forerunning the bright morning ftar, Did fadly note His healing rayes Would fhine elfewhere, lince you were blind, And would be crofs, when God was kinde, — So by all figns Our fulnefs too is now come in ; And the fame fun, which here declines And fets, will few hours hence begin OR SACRED POEMS, 159 To rife on you again, and look Towards old Mamre and EJhcoVs brook. For furely he Who lov'd the world fo as to give His onely Son to make it free, Whofe Spirit too doth mourn and grieve To fee man loft, will for old love From your dark hearts this veil remove. Faith fojourn'd iirft on earth in you, You were the dear and chofen flock : The Arm of God, glorious and true, Was firft reveal'd to be your rock. You were the eldeft childe, and when Your ftony hearts defpifed love, The yomigeft, ev'n the Gentiles, then, Were chear'd your jealoufie to move. Thus, righteous Father ! doeft thou deal With brutifh men ; Thy gifts go round By turns, and timely, and fo heal The loll fon by the newly found. Begging. YE do not go 1 thou know'fl, I'll dye ! My Spring and Fall are in thy book ! Or, if thou goeft, do not deny To lend me, though from far, one look ! My fins long fince have made thee flrange, A very flranger unto me ; i6o S1LEX SCINTILLANS, No morning-meetings fince this change, Nor evening-walks have I with thee. Why is my God thus flow and cold, When I am molt, moll lick and fad? Well fare thofe blefled days of old, When thou didft hear the weeping Lad!* O do not thou do as I did, Do not defpife a love-fick heart ! What though fome clouds defiance bid, Thy Sun mull mine in every part. Though I have fpoil'd, O fpoil not thou ! Hate not thine own dear gift and token ! Poor birds ring beft, and prettieft mow, When their neft is fain and broken. Dear Lord ! reftore thy ancient peace, Thy quikning friendfhip, man's bright wealth! And if thou wilt not give me eafe From ficknefle, give my fpirit health ! Palm-Sunday. |$|OME, drop your branches, ftrow the way, Plants of the day! Whom fufferings make mod green and gay. • IJhmael OR SACRED POEMS. 161 The King of grief, the Man of forrow, Weeping ftill like the wet morrow, Your fhades and freihnefs comes to borrow. Put on, put on your beft array ; Let the joy'd road make holy-day, And flowers, that into fields do flray, Or fecret groves, keep the high- way. Trees, flowers, and herbs ; birds, beafts, and flones, That fince man fell expect with groans To fee the Lamb, come all at once, Lift up your heads and leave your moans ; For here comes he Whofe death will be Man's life, and your full liberty. Hark ! how the children flirill and high Hofanna cry ; Their joys provoke the diftant fkie, Where thrones and Seraphins reply ; And their own Angels fhine and ling, In a bright ring : Such yong, fweet mirth Makes heaven and earth Joyn in a joyful fy mphony. The harmlefs, yong, and happy Afs, (Seen long before* this came to pafs,) Is in thefe joys an high partaker, Ordain'd and made to bear his Maker. Dear feaft of Palms, of flowers and dew ! Whofe fruitful dawn fheds hopes and lights ; * Zechariah, chap. 9. ver. 9. M i6z SILEX SCINTILLANS, Thy bright folemnities did mew The third glad day through two fad nights. I'll get me up before the fun, I'll cut me boughs off many a tree, And all alone full early run To gather flowers to wellcome thee. Then like the Palm, though wronged I'll bear, I will be ftill a childe, Hill meek As the poor Afs which the proud jear, And onely my dear J ejus feek. If I lofe all, and mull endure The proverb'd griefs of holy Job, I care not, fo I may fecure But one green branch and a white robe. Jefus weeping. St. Luke, chap. 19. ver. 41. f LESSED, unhappy City ! dearly lov'd, But ftill unkinde ! Art this day nothing mov'd ? Art fenfelefs ftill ? O can'ft thou fleep When God himfelf for thee doth weep ? Stiff-necked Jews / your father's breed, That ferv'd the calf, not Abrdrri's feed, Had not the Babes Hofanna cryed, The ftones had fpoke what you denyed. Dear Jefus, weep on ! pour this latter Soul-quickning rain, this living water OR SACRED POEMS. 163 On their dead hearts ; but (O my fears !) They will drink blood that defpife tears. My dear, bright Lord ! my Morning-liar ! Shed this live-dew on fields which far From hence long for it ! fhed it there, Where the flarv'd earth groans for one tear ! This land, though with thy heart's bleft extract fed, Will nothing yield but thorns to wound thy head. The Daughter of Herodias. St. Matth. chap. 14. ver. 6, iffc. AIN, finful Art ! who firft did fit Thy lewd, loath'd Motions unto founds, And made grave Mujtque, like wilde wit, Erre in loofe airs beyond her bounds ; — What fires hath he heap'd on his head ! Since to his fins, as needs it mull, His Art adds Hill, though he be dead, New, frefh accounts of blood and lull. Leave then,* yong Sorcerefs ; the Ice Will thofe coy fpirits call alleep, Which teach thee now to pleafef his eyes Who doth thy lothfome mother keep. * Her name ivas Salome j in pajjing over a frozen river, the ice broke under her, and chopt off her head. \ Herod Antipas. 1 64 SILEX SCINTILLANS, But thou haft pleas'd (o well, he fwears, And gratifies thy fin with vows ; His ihamelefs lull in publick wears, And to thy foft arts ftrongly bows. Skilful Inchantrefs, and true bred ! Who out of evil can bring forth good ? Thy mother's nets in thee were ipred, She tempts to inceft, thou to blood. Jefus weeping. St. John, chap. n. ver. 35. |* Y dear, Almighty Lord ! why doft thou weep ? Why doft thou groan and groan again ? And with fuch deep, Repeated fighs thy kinde heart pain ? Since the fame facred breath, which thus Doth mourn for us, Can make man's dead and fcatter'd bones Unite, and raife up all that dyed at once ? O holy groans ! groans of the Dove ! O healing tears ! the tears of love ! Dew of the dead ! which makes duft move And fpring, how is't that you fo fadly grieve, Who can relieve ? Should not thy fighs refrain thy ftore Of tears, and not provoke to more ? OR SACRED POEMS. 165 Since two afftidrions may not raign In one at one time, as fome feign. Thofe blafts, which o'er our heads here ftray, If mowers then fall, will fhowers allay ; As thofe poor pilgrims oft have tryed, Who in this windy world abide. Dear Lord ! thou art all grief and love ; But which thou art moft, none can prove. Thou griev'ft, man mould himfelf undo, And lov'ft him, though he works thy wo. 'Twas not that vail, almighty meafure Which is requir'd to make up life, Though purchafed with thy heart's dear treafure, Did breed this ftrife Of grief and pity in thy breft, The throne where peace and power reft : But 'twas thy love that, without leave, Made thine eyes melt, and thy heart heave. For though death cannot fo undo What thou haft done, but though man too Should help to fpoil, thou canft reftore All better far than 'twas before. Yet thou fo full of pity art, Pity which overflows thy heart, That, though the cure of all man's harm Is nothing to thy glorious arm, Yet canft not thou that free cure do, But thou muft forrow for him too. Then farewell joys ! for while I live, My bufinefs here (hall be to grieve : A grief that fhall outfhine all joys i66 SILEX SCINT1LLANS, For mirth and life, yet without noife. A grief, whofe Jilent dew fhall breed Lilies and myrrhe, where the curs'd feed Did fometimes rule. A grief fo bright, 'Twill make the land of darknefs light ; And while too many fadly roam, Shall fend me fwan-like tinging home. Pfalm 7$. ver. 25. Whom have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon earthy that I dejire bejides thee. Providence. I ACRED and fecret hand ! By whofe affifting, fwift command The Angel fhewd that holy Well, Which freed poor Hagar from her fears, And turn'd to fmiles the begging tears Of yong, diflreffed IJhmaeL How in a myflick cloud Which doth thy ftrange fure mercies fhroud, Doeft thou convey man food and money, Unfeen by him till they arrive Juft at his mouth, that thanklefs hive, Which kills thy bees, and eats thy honey ! If I thy fervant be, Whofe fervice makes ev'n captives free, A flfli fhall all my tribute pay, OR SACRED POEMS. 167 The fwift-wing'd raven fhall bring me meat, And I, like flowers, fhall ftill go neat, As if I knew no month but May. I will not fear what man With all his plots and power can. Bags that wax old may plundered be ; But none can fequefter or let A ftate that with the fun doth fet, And comes next morning frefh as he. Poor birds this doctrine fing, And herbs which on dry hills do fpring, Or in the howling wildernefs Do know thy dewy morning hours, And watch all night for mills or fhowers, Then drink and praife thy bounteoufnefs. May he for ever dye Who trufts not thee, but wretchedly Hunts gold and wealth, and will not lend Thy fervice nor his foul one day ! May his crown, like his hopes, be clay ; And what he faves, may his foes fpend ! If all my portion here, The meafure given by thee each year, Were by my caullefs enemies Ufurp'd ; it never fhould me grieve, Who know how well thou canft relieve, Whofe hands are open as thine eyes. Great King of love and truth ! Who would'ft not hate my froward youth, 168 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, And wilt not leave me when grown old ; Gladly will I, like Pontick fheep, Unto my wormwood-diet keep, Since thou haft made thy Arm my fold. The Knot. BRIGHT Queen of Heaven ! God's Virgin Spoufe ! The glad world's blefTed maid ! Whofe beauty tyed life to thy houfe, And brought us faving ayd. Thou art the true Love-knot ; by thee God is made our allie ; And man's inferior EiTence He With His did dignifie. For coalefcent by that band We are His body grown, Nourifhed with favors from His hand Whom for our head we own. And fuch a Knot what arm dares loofe, What life, what death can fever ? Which us in Him, and Him in us, United keeps for ever. OR SACRED POEMS. 169 The Ornament. HE lucky world fhewd me one day Her gorgeous Mart and glittering ftore, Where with proud hafte the rich made way To buy, the poor came to adore. Serious they feem'd and bought up all The lateffc modes of pride and lull ; Although the firft mufl furely fall, And the laft is moll loathfome dull. But while each gay, alluring ware With idle hearts and bufie looks They viewd, (for idlenefs hath there Laid up all her archives and books), Quite through their proud and pompous file Blufhing, and in meek weeds array'd, With native looks which knew no guile, Came the fheep-keeping Syrian Maid. Whom ftrait the mining row all fac'd, Forc'd by her artlefs looks and drefs ; While one cryed out, we are difgrac'd ! For fhe is braveft, you confefs. i 7 o SILEX SC1NTILLJNS,, St. Mary Magdalen. EAR, beauteous Saint ! more white than day, When in his naked, pure array ; Frefher than morning-flowers which fhew As thou in tears doll, beft in dew. How art thou chang'd, how lively, fair, Pleafing, and innocent an air, Not tutor'd by thy glafs, but free, Native and pure, fhines now in thee ! But lince thy beauty doth ftill keep Bloomy and frefh, why doll thou weep ? This dufky ftate of fighs and tears Durfl: not look on thofe fmiling years, When Magdal-caffle was thy feat, Where all was fumptuous, rare and neat. Why lies this hair defpifed now Which once thy care and art did fhew ? Who then did drefs the much lov'd toy, In fpires, globes, angry curls and coy, Which with fkilPd negligence feem'd Ihed About thy curious, wilde, young head ? Why is this rich, this piftic nard Spilt, and the box quite broke and marr'd? What pretty fullennefs did hafte Thy eafie hands to do this wafte ? Why art thou humbled thus, and low As earth thy lovely head doit bow ? Dear foul ! thou knew'fl flowers here on earth At their Lord's foot-ftool have their birth ; Therefore thy wither'd felf in hafte Beneath his bleft feet thou didft caft, OR SACRED POEMS. 171 That at the root of this green tree Thy great decays reftor'd might be. Thy curious vanities, and rare Odorous ointments kept with care, And dearly bought, when thou didft fee They could not cure nor comfort thee ; Like a wife, early Penitent, Thou fadly didft to him prefent, Whofe interceding, meek, and calm Blood, is the world's all-healing Balm. This, this Divine Reftorative Call'd forth thy tears, which ran in live And hafty drops, as if they had (Their Lord fo near) fenfe to be glad. Learn, Ladies, here the faithful cure Makes beauty lafting, freih and pure ; Learn Mary's art of tears, and then Say Tou have got the day from men. Cheap, mighty Art ! her Art of love, Who lov'd much, and much more could move ; Her Art ! whofe memory muft laft Till truth through all the world be paft ; Till his abus'd, defpifed flame Return to Heaven, from whence it came, And fend a fire down, that lhall bring Deftruclion on his ruddy wing. Her Art ! whofe penfive, weeping eyes, Were once fins loofe and tempting fpies ; But now are fixed ftars, whofe light Helps fuch dark ftraglers to their fight. Self-boafting Pharifee ! how blinde A judge wert thou, and how unkinde ! 172 SILEX SCINTILLANS, It was impoflible, that thou, Who wert all falfe fhould'ft true grief know. Is't juft to judge her faithful tears By that foul rheum thy falfe eye wears ? This Woman, fay 'ft thou, is a finner ! And fate there none fuch at thy dinner? Go Leper, go ! warn till thy flefh Comes like a childe's, fpotlefs and frelh ; He is ftill leprous that ftill paints : Who faint themfelves, they are no faints. The Rain-bow. ^§ TILL young and fine ! but what is ftill in view We flight as old and foiPd, though frefh and new. How bright wert thou, when Stem's admiring eye Thy burnifht, flaming Arch did firft defcry ! When Terab, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, The youthful world's gray fathers in one knot, Did with intentive looks watch every hour For thy new light, and trembled at each fhower ! When thou doll fhine darknefs looks white and fair, Forms turn to Mufick, clouds to fmiles and air : Rain gently fpends his honey-drops, and pours Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grafs and flowers. Bright pledge of peace and fun-fhine! the fure tye Of thy Lord's hand, the objeft* of His eye ! * Gen. chap. 9. *ver. 16. OR SACRED POEMS. 173 When I behold thee, though my light be dim, Diftant, and low, I can in thine fee Him, Who looks upon thee from His glorious throne, And mindes the Covenant 'twixt All and One. foul, deceitful men ! my God doth keep His promife ftill, but we break ours and ileep. After the Fall the fir ft fin was in Blood, And Drunkennefs quickly did fucceed the flood ; But fince Chrift dyed, (as if we did devife To lofe him too, as well as Paradife,) Thefe two grand fins we joyn and act together, Though blood and drunkenefs make but foul, foul weather. Water, though both Heaven's windows and the deep Full forty days o'r the drown'd world did weep, Could not reform us, and blood in defpight, Yea God's own blood, we tread upon and flight. So thofe bad daughters, which God fav'd from fire, While Sodom yet did fmoke lay with their fire. Then peaceful, fignal bow, but in a cloud Still lodged, where all thy unfeen arrows fhrowd ; 1 will on thee as on a Comet look, A Comet, the fad world's ill-boding book ; Thy light as ludlual and ftain'd with woes I'll judge, where penal flames fit mixt and clofe. For though fome think, thou fhin'ft but to reftrain Bold ftorms, and fimply doft attend on rain; Yet I know well, and fo our fins require, Thou doft but court cold rain, till Rain turns Fire. 174 SILEX SCINTILLJNS. The Seed growing fecretly. St. Mark, chap. 4. ver. 26. F this world's friends might fee but once What fome poor man may often feel, 0% Glory and gold and crowns and thrones, They would foon quit, and learn to kneel. My dew, my dew ! my early love, My foul's bright food, thy abfence kills ! Hover not long, eternal Dove ! Life without thee is loofe and fpills. Something I had, which long ago Did learn to fuck and rip and tafte ; But now grown lickly, fad and flow, Doth fret and wrangle, pine and wafte. O fpred thy facred wings, and ihake One living drop ! one drop life keeps ! If pious griefs Heaven's joys awake, O fill his bottle ! thy childe weeps ! Slowly and fadly doth he grow, And foon as left ihrinks back to ill ; O feed that life, which makes him blow And fpred and open to thy will ! For thy eternal, living wells None ftain'd or wither'd fhall come near : A frefh, immortal green there dwells, And fpotlefs white is all the wear. OR SACRED POEMS. 175 Dear, fecret Greennefs ! nurft below ! Tempefts and windes and winter-nights, Vex not, that but one fees thee grow, That One made all thefe leiTer lights. If thofe bright joys He fingly fheds On thee, were all met in one Crown, Both Sun and Stars would hide their heads ; And Moons, though full, would get them down. Let glory be their bait, whofe mindes Are all too high for a low cell : Though hawks can prey through ftorms and winds, The poor bee in her hive muft dwell. Glory, the croud's cheap tinfel, ftill To what moll takes them is a drudge ; And they too oft take good for ill, And thriving vice for vertue judge. What needs a confcience calm and bright Within itfelf an outward teft ? Who breaks his glafs to take more light, Makes way for ftorms into his reft. Then blefs thy fecret growth, nor catch At noife, but thrive unfeen and dumb ; I Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch, Till the white-winged Reapers come ! i 7 6 SILEX SCINTILLANS, % [Time's Book.] IS Time one day by me did pafs, Through a large dufky glafle He held, I chanc'd to look, And fpyed his curious Book Of pall days, where fad Heav'n did fried A mourning light upon the dead. Many difordered lives I faw, And foul records which thaw My kinde eyes flill, but in A fair, white page of thin And ev'n, fmooth lines, like the Sun's rays, Thy name was writ, and all thy days. O bright and happy Kalendar ! Where youth, mines like a liar All pearl'd with tears, and may Teach age the Holy way ; Where through thick pangs, high agonies, Faith into life breaks, and death dies. As fome meek night-piece which day quails, To candle-light unveils : So by one beamy line From thy bright lamp did mine In the fame page thy humble grave, Set with green herbs, glad hopes and brave. Here flept my thought's dear mark ! which dud Seem'd to devour like ruil ; But dull, I did obferve, OR SACRED POEMS. 177 By hiding doth preferve ; As we for long and fure recruits, Candy with fugar our choice fruits. O calm and facred bed, where lies In death's dark myfteries A beauty far more bright Than the noon's cloudlefs light; For whofe dry duft green branches bud, And robes are bleach'd in the Lamb's blood. Sleep, happy afhes ! blefTed fleep ! While haplefle I ftill weep ; Weep that I have out-liv'd My life, and unreliev'd Muft, foul-lefle fhadow, fo live on, Though life be dead, and my joys gone. % [Religion.] AIR and yong light ! my guide to holy Grief and foul-curing melancholy; Whom living here I did ftill fhun As fullen night- ravens do the fun, And led by my own foolim fire Wandred through darknefs, dens, and mire. How am I now in love with all That I term'd then meer bonds and thrall ! And to thy name, which ftill I keep, Like the furviving turtle weep ! O bitter curs'd delights of men ! Our foul's difeafes iirft, and then N 178 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Our body's ; poyfons that intreat With fatal fweetnefs, till we eat ; How artfully do you deftroy, That kill with fmiles and feeming joy ! If all the fubtilties of vice Stood bare before unpractic'd eyes, And every act ifhe doth commence Had writ down its fad confequence, Yet would not men grant their ill fate Lodged in thofe falfe looks, till too late, holy, happy, healthy heaven, Where all is pure, where all is even, Plain, harmlefs, faithful, fair, and bright, But what earth breaths againft thy light ! How bleft had men been, had their Sire Liv'd Hill in league with thy chafte fire ; Nor made life through her long defcents A Have to luftful elements ! 1 did once read in an old book, Soil'd with many a weeping look, That the feeds of foul for rows be The fin eft things that are to fee. So that fam'd fruit, which made all dye Seem'd fair unto the woman's eye. If thefe fupplanters in the made Of Paradife could make man fade, How in this world mould they deter This world, their fellow-murtherer ! And why then grieve we to be fent Home by our rlrit fair punifhment, Without addition to our woes And lingring wounds from weaker foes ; Since that doth quickly freedom win, For he that's dead is freed from fin P OR SACRED POEMS. 179 O that I were winged and free And quite undreft juft now with thee, Where freed fouls dwell by living fountains On everlafting, fpicy mountains ! Alas ! my God ! take home thy fheep; This world but laughs at thofe that weep. The Stone, Jojh. chap. 24. ver. 27. HAVE it now : But where to act that none mail know ; Where I mall have no caufe to fear An eye or ear, What man will mow ? If nights, and fhades, and fecret rooms, Silent as tombs, Will not conceal nor alfent to My dark defigns, what mall I do ? Man I can bribe, and woman will Confent to any gainful ill, But thefe dumb creatures are fo true, No gold nor gifts can them fubdue. Hedges have ears, faith the old footh, And evry bujh is fomething's booth / This cautious fools miflake, and fear Nothing but man when ambunYd there. But I, alas ! Was fho'wn one day in a ftrange glafs That bufie commerce kept between God and his creatures, though unfeen. 180 SILEX SCINTILLANS, They hear, fee, fpeak, And into loud difcoveries break, As loud as blood. Not that God needs Intelligence, whofe Spirit feeds All things with life, before whofe eye, Hell and all hearts flark naked lye. But he* that judgeth as he hears, He that accufeth none, fo fleers His righteous courfe, that though he knows All that man doth, conceals or mows, Yet will not he by his own light, Though both all-feeing and all right, Condemn men ; but will try them by A procefs, which ev'n man's own eye Mull needs acknowledge to be jufl. Hence fand and dufl Are fhak'd for witneiles, and flones, Which fome think dead, fhall all at once With one attefling voice detect Thofe fecret fins we leafl fufpec"l. For know, wilde men, that when you erre Each thing turns Scribe and Regiller, And, in obedience to his Lord, Doth your moil private fins record. The Law delivered to the Jews, Who promis'd much, but did refufe Performance, will for that fame deed Againfl them by & ft one proceed ; Whofe fubflance, though 'tis hard enough, Will prove their hearts more iliffand tuff. * John, chap. 5. ver. 30, 45. OR SACRED POEMS. 181 But now, fince God on himfelf took What all mankindc could never brook, If any (for He all invites) His eafie yoke rejects or flights, The Go/pel then, for 'tis His word, And not himfelf,* fhall judge the world, Will by loofe Duft that man arraign, As one than duft more vile and vain. The Dwelling-Place. St. John, chap. i. ver. 38, 39. "HAT happy, fecret fountain, Fair made, or mountain, Whofe undifcover'd virgin glory Boafts it this day, though not in ftory, Was then thy dwelling ? did fome cloud, Fix'd to a tent, defcend and fhrowd My diftreft Lord ? or did a ftar, Beckon'd by thee, though high and far, In fparkling fmiles hafte gladly down To lodge light and increafe her own ? My dear, dear God ! I do not know What lodged thee then, nor where, nor how ; But I am fure thou doft now come Oft to a narrow, homely room, Where thou too haft but the leaft part ; My God, I mean my finful heart. * 5. John, chap. 12. ver. 47, 48. i8z SILEX SCINTILLANS, The Men of War. S. Luke, chap. 23. ver. 11. \ F any have an ear, Saith holy John* then let him hear! He, that into captivity Leads others, Jhall a captive be. Who with the /word doth others kill, A /word Jhall his blood likezvife fpill. Here is the patience of the Saints, And the true faith which never faints. Were not thy word, dear Lord ! my light, How would I run to endlefs night, And perfecuting thee and thine, Enact for Saints myfelf and mine ! But now enlighten'd thus by thee, I dare not think fuch villany ; Nor for a temporal felf-end Succefsful wickednefs commend. For in this bright, inftruc~ling verfe Thy Saints are not the conquerors ; But patient, meek, and overcome Like thee, when fet at naught and dumb. Armies thou hall in Heaven, which fight And follow thee all cloath'd in white ; But here on earth, though thou hadfl need, Thou wouldlt no legions, but would ft bleed. The fword wherewith thou doft command Is in thy mouth, not in thy hand, * ReveL chap. 13. *w; 10. OR SACRED POEMS. 183 And all thy Saints do overcome By thy blood, and their Martyrdom. But feeing Soldiers long ago Did fpit on thee, and fmote thee too ; Crown'd thee with thorns, and bow'd the knee, Bat in contempt, as ftill we fee, Fie marvel not at ought they do, Becaufe they us'd my Saviour fo ; Since of my Lord they had their will, The fervant mufl not take it ill. Dear J ejus, give me patience here, And faith to fee my crown as near, And almofl reach'd, becaufe 'tis fure If I hold fail, and flight the Lure. Give me humility and peace, Contented thoughts, innoxious eafe, A fweet, revengelefs, quiet minde, And to my greatefl haters kinde. Give me, my God ! a heart as milde And plain, as when I was a childe. That when thy T'brone is fet, and all Thefe conquerors before it fall, I may be found preferv'd by thee Amongft that chofen company, Who by no blood here overcame But the blood of the blejfed Lamb. 184 SILEX SCINTILLANS, The Afs. St. Matt. chap. 21. HOU ! who didft place me in this bufie ftreet Of flefh and blood, where two ways meet : The one of goodnefs, peace, and life, The other of death, fin, and ftrife; Where frail vifibles rule the minde, And prefent things finde men moil kinde ; Where obfcure cares the mean defeat, And fplendid vice deflroys the great ; As thou didft fet no law for me, But that of perfect liberty, Which neither tyres, nor doth corrode, But is a Pillow, not a Load: So give me grace ever to reft, And build on it becaufe the beft ; Teach both mine eyes and feet to move Within thofe bounds fet by thy love ; Grant I may foft and lowly be, And minde thofe things I cannot fee ; Tye me to faith, though above reafon, Who queftion power, they fpeak treafon : Let me, thy Afs, be onely wife To carry, not fearch, myfteries. Who carries thee, is by thee led ; Who argues, follows his own head. To check bad motions, keep me ftill Amongft the dead, where thriving ill, OR SACRED POEMS. 185 Without his brags and conquefls lies, And truth, opprefl here, gets the prize. At all times, whatfoe'r I do Let me not fail to queftion, who Shares in the a£i, and puts me to't? And if not thou, let not me do't. Above all, make me love the poor, Thofe burthens to the rich man's door ; Let me admire thofe, and be kinde To low eflates and a low minde. If the world offers to me nought, That by thy book mull not be fought, Or, though it mould be lawful, may Prove not expedient for thy way, To fhun that peril let thy grace Prevail with me to fhun the place ; Let me be wife to pleafe thee flill, And let men call me what they will. When thus thy milde, inflrucling hand Findes thy poor foal at thy command, When he from wilde is become wife, And flights that moll, which men moll prize ; When all things here to thirties turn Pricking his lips, till he doth mourn And hang the head, fighing for thofe Paflures of life, where the Lamb goes : O then, jufl then ! break oruntye Thefe bonds, this fad captivity, This leaden flate, which men mifcal Being and life, but is dead thrall. And when, O God ! the Afs is free, In a flate known to none but thee, O let him by his Lord be led To living fprings, and there be fed, i86 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Where light, joy, health, and perfect peace Shut out all pain and each difeafe ; Where death and frailty are forgotten And bones rejoyce, which once were broken ! The Hidden Treafure. S. Matt. chap. 13. ver, 44. HAT can the man do that fucceedsthe King?* Even what was done before, and no new thing. Who fhews me but one grain offincere light? Falfe liars, and fire-drakes, and deceits of night, Set forth to fool and foil thee, do not boaft ; Such coal-flames fhew but kitchin-rooms at moft. And thofe I faw fearch'd through; yea thofe and all, That thefe three thoufand years time did let fall To blinde the eyes of lookers-back, and I Now all is done, finde all is vanity. Thofe fecret fearches which afflicl the wife, Paths that are hidden from the Vultures eyes, I faw at diftance, and where grows that fruit Which others onely grope for and difpute. The world's lov'd wifdom, for the world's friends think There is none elfe, did not the dreadful brink And precipice it leads to bid me flie, None could with more advantage ufe than I. Man's favourite fins, thofe tainting appetites, Which nature breeds, and fome fine clay invites, * Ecclejiaftes, chap. 2. ver. 12. OR SACRED POEMS. 187 With all their foft, kinde arts and eafie ftrains, Which ftrongly operate, though without pains, Did not a greater beauty rule mine eyes, None would more dote on, nor fo foon entice. But fince thefe fweets are fowre and poyfon'd here, Where the impure feeds flourifh all the year, And private tapers will but help to ftray Ev'n thofe, who by them would finde out the day, Pie feal my eyes up, and to thy commands Submit my wilde heart, and reftrain my hands ; I will do nothing, nothing know, nor fee But what thou bidft, and fhew'ft, and teacheft me. Look what thou gav'ft ; all that I do reilore, But for one thing, though purchas'd once before. Childe-hood. CANNOT reach it ; and my ftriving eye Dazles at it, as at eternity. Were now that Chronicle alive, Thofe white defigns which children drive, And the thoughts of each harmlefs hour, With their content too in my pow'r, Quickly would I make my path even, And by meer playing go to Heaven. Why mould men love A Wolf, more than a Lamb or Dove? Or choofe hell-fire and brimftone ftreams Before bright-ftars and God's own beams ? Who kiiTeth thorns will hurt his face, But flowers do both refrefh and grace ; 188 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, And fweetly living ( fie on men /) Are, when dead, medicinal then. If feeing much mould make flaid eyes, And long experience mould make wife ; Since all that age doth teach is ill, Why mould I not love childe-hood ftill ? Why, if I fee a rock or fhelf, Shall I from thence call down my felf, Or by complying with the world, From the fame precipice be hurl'd ? Thofe obfervations are but foul, Which make me wife to lofe my foul. And yet the Pratt ice worldlings call Bufinefs and weighty action all, Checking the poor childe for his play, But gravely call themfelves away. Dear, harmlefs age ! the fliort, fwift fpan Where weeping virtue parts with man ; Where love without lull dwells, and bends What way w r e pleafe without felf-ends. An age of myfleries ! which he Mull live twice that would God's face fee ; Which Angels guard, and with it play, Angels ! which foul men drive away. How do I fludy now, and fcan Thee more than ere I fludyed man, And onely fee through a long night Thy edges and thy bordering light ! O for thy center and mid-day ! For fure that is the narrow way! S5 fc OR SACRED POEMS. 189 The Night. S. John, chap. 3. ver. 2. HROUGH that pure Virgin-Jbrine, That facred vail drawn o'er thy glorious noon, That men might look and live, as glo-worms mine, And face the moon, Wife Nicodemus faw fuch light As made him know his God by night. Mod blefl believer he ! Who in that land of darknefs and blinde eyes Thy long expe&ed healing wings could fee, When thou didft rife ; And, what can never more be done, Did at mid-night fpeak with the Sun ! O who will tell me, where He found thee at that dead and filent hour ? What hallow'd folitary ground did bear So rare a flower ; Within whofe facred leafs did lie The fulnefs of the Deity ? No mercy-feat of gold, No dead and dufty cherub, nor carved flone, But his own living works, did my Lord hold And lodge alone ; 190 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Where trees and herbs did watch and peep And wonder, while the Jews did fleep. Dear night ! this world's defeat ; The ftop to bufie fools ; care's check and curb ; The day of fpirits ; my foul's calm retreat Which none difturb ! Chrift^s* progrefs, and his prayer time ; The hours to which high Heaven doth chime, God's filent, fearching flight ; When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all His locks are wet with the clear drops of night ; His Mill, loft call ; His knocking time ; the foul's dumb watch, When fpirits their fair kindred catch. Were all my loud, evil days Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent, Whofe peace but by fome Angel' *s wing or voice Is feldom rent ; Then I in Heaven all the long year Would keep, and never wander here. But living where the fun Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tyre Themfelves and others, I confent and run To ev'ry my re ; And by this world's ill guiding light, Erre more than I can do by night. There is in God, fome fay, A deep, but dazzling darknefs; as men here * S. Mark, chap. I. 35. S. Luke, chap, 21. 37. OR SACRED POEMS. 191 Say it is late and dufky, becaufe they See not all clear. O for that night ! where I in Him Might live invifible and dim ! Abels blood. 5^|S|?AD, purple well! whofe bubling eye f^SfrA Did firft againft a murth'rer cry ; **=zn£^ Whofe dreams (till vocal, Hill complain Of bloody Cain ; And now at evening are as red As in the morning when firft fhed. If fingle thou, Though fingle voices are but low, Could'ft fuch a fhrill and long cry rear As fpeaks ftill in thy Maker's ear, What thunders fhall thofe men arraign Who cannot count thofe they have flain, Who bath not in a fhallow flood, But in a deep, wide fea of blood ? A fea, whofe lowd waves cannot fleep, But deep ftill calleth upon deep : Whofe urgent found, like unto that Of many waters, beateth at The everlafting doors above, Where fouls behinde the altar move, And with one ftrong, inceffant cry Inquire How long? of the moil High ? Almighty Judge ! At whofe juft laws no juft men grudge ; i 9 2 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Whofe bleffed, fweet commands do pour Comforts, and joys, and hopes each hour On thofe that keep them ; O accept Of his vow'd heart, whom thou haft kept From bloody men ! and grant, I may That fworn memorial duly pay To thy bright arm, which was my light And leader through thick death and night ! Aye may that flood, That proudly fpilt and defpis'd blood, Speechlefs and calm as infants ileep ! Or if it watch, forgive and weep For thofe that fpilt it ! May no cries From the low earth to high Heaven rife, But what like his, whofe blood peace brings, Shall, when they rife, /peak better things Than AbePs doth ! may Abel be Still Angle heard, while thefe agree With his milde blood in voice and will, Who pray'd for thofe that did him kill ! Righteoufnefs. jgp AIR, folitary path ! whofe blefTed fhades The old, white Prophets planted flrft and dreft; Leaving for us, whofe goodnefs quickly fades, A fhelter all the way, and bowers to reft ; Who is the man that walks in thee ? who loves Heav'n's fecret folitude, thofe fair abodes, OR SACRED POEMS. 193 Where turtles build, and carelefe fparrows move, Without to morrow's evils and future loads? Who hath the upright heart, the fmgle eye, The clean, pure hand, which never medled pitch ? Who fees Invijibles, and doth comply With hidden treafures that make truly rich ? He that doth feek and love The things above, Whofe fpirit ever poor is, meek, and low ; Who fimple Hill and wife, Still homewards flies, Quick to advance, and to retreat moil flow. Whofe acls, words, and pretence, Have all one fenfe, One aim and end ; who walks not by his fight ; Whofe eyes are both put out, And gees about Guided by faith, not by exterior light. Who fpills no blood, nor fpreds Thorns in the beds Of the diftreft, hailing their overthrow'; Making the time they had Bitter and fad, Like chronic pains, which furely kill, though flow. Who knows earth nothing hath Worth love or wrath, But in his Hope and Rock is ever glad. Who feeks and follows peace, When with the eafe And health of confeience it is to be had. i 9 4 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Who bears his crofs with joy, And doth imploy His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes ; Who lends not to be paid, And gives full aid Without that bribe which ufurers impofe. Who never looks on man Fearful and wan, But firmly trufls in God ; the great man's meafure Though high and haughty mull Be ta'en in dull ; But the good man is God's peculiar treafure. Who doth thus, and doth not Thefe good deeds blot With bad, or with neglect ; and heaps not wrath By fecret filth, nor feeds Some fnake, or weeds, Cheating himfelf — That man walks in this path. Anguifh. Y God and King ! to thee I bow my knee ; I bow my troubled foul, and greet With my foul heart thy holy feet. Caft it, or tread it ! It mail do Even what thou wilt, and praife thee too. My God, could I weep blood, Gladly I would ; OR SACRED POEMS. 195 Or if thou wilt give me that art, Which through the eyes pours out the heart, I will exhauft it all, and make My felf all tears, a weeping lake. O ! 'tis an eaiie thing To write and ring ; But to write true, unfeigned verfe Is very hard ! O God, difperfe Thefe weights, and give my fpirit leave To act as well as to conceive ! O my God, hear my cry ; Or let me dye ! Tears. WHEN my God, my Glory, brings His white and holy train Unto thofe clear and living Springs Where comes no ftain ! Where all is light, and flowers, and fruit, And joy, and reft, Make me amongft them, 'tis my fuit! The laft one and the leaft. And when they all are fed, and have Drank of thy living ftream, Bid thy poor afs, with tears I crave, Drink after them. 196 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Thy love claims higheft thanks, my fin The loweft pitch : But if he pays, who loves much, then Thou haft made beggers rich. Jacob's Pillow and Pillar. SEE the Temple in thy Pillar reared, And that dread glory which thy children i^Mi feared, In milde, clear vifions, without a frown, Unto thy folitary felf is fhown. *Tis number makes a Schifm : throngs are rude, And God himfelf dyed by the multitude. This made him put on clouds, and fire, and fmoke; Hence He in thunder to thy ofF-fpring fpoke. The final], ftill voice at fome low cottage knocks, But a ftrong wind muft break thy lofty rocks. The fir ft true worfhip of the world's great King From private and felecled hearts did fpring ; But He moft willing to fave all mankinde, Inlarg'd that light, and to the bad was kinde. Hence Catholkk or Univerfal came A moft fair notion, but a very name. For this rich pearl, like fome more common ftone, When once made publique, is efteem'd by none, Man flights his Maker when familiar grown, And fets up laws to pull his honour down. This God forefaw : and when flain by the crowd, Under that ftately and myfterious cloud Which his death fcatter'd, He foretold the place i, OR SACRED POEMS. 197 And form to ferve Him in mould be true grace, And the meek heart ; not in a Mount, nor at Jerufalem, with blood of beads and fat. A heart is that dread place, that awfull cell, That fecret ark, where the milde Dove doth dwell, When the proud waters rage : when Heathens rule By God's permimon, and man turns a mule, This litle Gojben, in the midfl of night, And Satan's feat, in all her coafts hath light ; Yea Bethel RxvM have tithes, faith IfraeVs Hone, And vows and vifions, though her foes crye, None* Thus is the folemn temple funk agen Into a Pillar, and conceal'd from men. And glory be to his eternal Name, Who is contented that this holy flame Shall lodge in fuch a narrow pit, till He With His flrong arm turns our captivity ! But bleffed Jacob, though thy fad diftrefs Was juft the fame with ours, and nothing lefs ; For thou a brother, and blood-thirfty too, Didftflye,*whofe children wrought thy children's wo: Yet thou in all thy folitude and grief, On Hones didfl fleep, and found'll but cold relief; Thou from the Day-flar a long way didit Hand, And all that diftance was law and command. But we a healing fun by day and night, Have our fure Guardian, and our leading light. What thou didft hope for and believe we finde And feel, a friend moft ready, fure and kinde. Thy Pillow was but type and fhade at beft, But we the fubftance have, and on Him reft. * Obadiab, cbap, I. 10. Amos , chap. I. 11. 198 SILEX SCINTILLANS, The Agreement. WROTE it down. But one that faw And envyed that Record, did Jince Such a mill over my minde draw, It quite forgot that purpos'd glimpfe. I read it fadly oft, but ftill Simply believ'd 'twas not my Quill. At length my life's kinde Angel came, And with his bright and bufie wing Scatt'ring that cloud Ihewd me the flame, Which ftrait like morning- liars did ling, And mine, and point me to a place, Which all the year fees the fun's face. O beamy book ! O my mid-day, Exterminating fears and night ! The mount, whole white afcendents may Be in conjunction with true light ! My thoughts, when towards thee they move, Glitter and kindle with thy love. Thou art the oyl and the wine-houfe ; Thine are the prefent healing leaves, Blown from the tree of life to us By His breath whom my dead heart heaves. Each page of thine hath true life in't, And God's bright minde exprell in print. Moll modern books are blots on thee, Their dodrine chaff and windy fits, OR SACRED POEMS, 199 Darken'd along, as their fcribes be, With thofe foul ftorms, when they were writ ; While the man's zeal lays out and blends Onely felf-worfhip and felf-ends. Thou art the faithful, pearly rock, The hive of beamy, living lights, Ever the fame, whofe diffus'd flock Entire ftill wears out blackeft nights. Thy lines are rays the true Sun fheds ; Thy leaves are healing wings he fpreads. For until thou didft comfort me I had not one poor word to fay : Thick bufie clouds did multiply, And faid I was no childe of day ; They faid, my own hands did remove That candle given me from above. O God ! I know and do confefs My fins are great and ftill prevail, (Moft heynous fins and numberlefs !) But thy Companions cannot fail. If thy fure mercies can be broken, Then all is true my foes have fpoken. But while time runs, and after it Eternity which never ends, Quite through them both, ftill infinite, Thy Covenant by Chrift extends ; No fins of frailty, nor of youth, Can foil his merits, and thy truth. And this I hourly finde, for thou Doft ftill renew, and purge and heal : 200 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Thy care and love, which joyntly flow, New cordials, new cathartics deal. But were I once caft off by thee, I know, my God ! this would not be. Wherefore with tears, tears by thee fent, I beg my faith may never fail ! And when in death my fpeech is fpent, O let that filence then prevail ! O chafe in that cold calm my foes, And hear my heart's laft private throes ! So thou, who did ft the work begin, For /, till drawn, came not to thee>* Wilt finifh it, and by no fin Will thy free mercies hindred be. For which, O God, I onely can Blefs thee, and blame unthankful man. The Day of Judgement. Ig&j DAY of life, of light, of love! WM ^ ne one * v ^ a y dealt from above*! A day fo frefh, fo bright, fo brave, 'Twill mew us each forgotten grave, And make the dead, like flowers, arife Youthful and fair to fee new fkies. All other days, compar'd to thee, Are but light's weak minority ; They are but veils, and cyphers drawn Like clouds, before thy glorious dawn. * St. John, chap. 6. ver. 44. 65. OR SACRED POEMS. 201 O come ! arife ! mine ! do not ftay, Dearly lov'd day ! The fields are long fince white, and I With earneft groans for freedom cry; My fellow creatures too fay, Come / And ftones, though fpeechlefs, are not dumb. When fhall we hear that glorious voice Oflife and joys ? That voice, which to each fecret bed Of my Lord's dead, Shall bring true day, and make dull fee, The way to immortality ? When fhall thofe fir ft white Pilgrims rife, Whofe holy, happy hiftories, Becaufe they fleep fo long, fome men Count but the blots of a vain pen? Dear Lord ! make hafte ! Sin every day commits more wafte ; And thy old enemy, which knows His time is fhort, more raging grows. Nor moan I onely, though profufe, Thy creature's bondage and abufe; But what is higheft fin and fhame, The vile defpight done to thy name ; The forgeries, which impious wit And power force on Holy Writ, With all deteilable defigns, That may difhonor thofe pure lines. O God ! though mercy be in thee The greateft attribute we fee, And the molt needful for our fins ; Yet, when thy mercy nothing wins But meer difdain, let not man fay Thy arm doth Jleep ; but write this day 202 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Thy judging one : Defcend, defcend ! Make all things new, and without end ! Pfalm 65. ' ION'S true, glorious God ! on thee Praife waits in all humility. All flefh ihall unto thee repair, To thee, O thou that heareft prayer ! But finful words and works ftill fpread And over-run my heart and head ; Tranfgreffions make me foul each day ; O purge them, purge them all away ! Happy is he, whom thou wilt choofe To ferve thee in thy blelTed houfe ! Who in thy holy Temple dwells, And fill'd with joy thy goodnefs tells ! King of Salvation ! by ftrange things And terrible thy juftice brings Man to his duty. Thou alone Art the world's hope, and but thee, none. Sailors that flote on flowing feas Stand firm by thee, and have fure peace. Thou ftill'ft the loud waves, when moft wild, And mak'ft. the raging people mild. Thy arm did firil the mountains lay, And girds their rocky heads this day. The moil remote, who know not thee, At thy great works aftonifh'd be. The outgoings of the Even and Dawn, In Antiphones ling to thy Name : OR SACRED POEMS. 203 Thou vifit'ft the low earth, and then . Water'ft it for the fons of men ; Thy upper river, which abounds With fertil ftreams, makes rich all grounds ; And by thy mercies ftill fupplied The fower doth his bread provide. Thou water'ft every ridge of land, And fettleft with thy fecret hand The furrows of it ; then thy warm And opening mowers, reftrain'd from harm, Soften the mould, while all unfeen The blade grows up alive and green. The year is with thy goodnefs crown'd, And all thy paths drop fatnefs round ; They drop upon the wildernefs, For thou dolt even the defarts blefs, And hills [all] full of fpringing pride, „ Wear frefh adornments on each lide. The fruitful flocks fill every dale, And purling corn doth cloath the vale ; They ihout for joy, and joyntly fing, Glory to the eternal King ! The Throne. Revel, chap. 20. ver. 11. HEN with thefe eyes, clos'd now by thee, But then reftor'd, The great and white throne I mall fee Of my dread Lord ; And lowly kneeling, for the molt 204 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Still then mull kneel, Shall look on him, at whole high coll, Unfeen, fuch joys I feel. Whatever arguments or {kill Wife heads mall ufe, Tears onely and my blufhes frill I will produce. And (hould thofe fpeechlefs beggers fail, Which oft have won, Then taught by thee I will prevail, And fay, Thy will be done! Death. HOUGH fince thy firft fad entrance by Jufl AbePs blood, 'Tis now fix thoufand years well nigh, And ftill thy fovereignty holds good ; Yet by none art thou underflood. We talk and name thee with much eafe, As a tryed thing ; And every one can flight his leafe, As if it ended in a Spring, Which (hades and bowers doth rent-free bring. To thy dark land thefe heedlefs go. But there was One, Who fearch'd it quite through to and fro, And then, returning like the fun, Difcover'd ail that there is done. OR SACRED POEMS. 205 And fince His death we throughly fee All thy dark way ; Thy fhades but thin and narrow be, Which his firft looks will quickly fray : Mifts make but triumphs for the day. As harmlefs violets, which give Their virtues here For falves and fyrups while they live, Do after calmly difappear, And neither grieve, repine, nor fear: So dye his fervants ; and as fure Shall they revive. Then let not dull your eyes obfcure, But lift them up, where Hill alive, Though fled from you, their fpirits hive. The FeafL ^ COME away, Make no delay, Come while my heart is clean and fteddy ! While Faith and Grace Adorn the place, Making dull and afhes ready ! No blifs here lent Is permanent, Such triumphs poor flefh cannot merit; Short lips and fights Endear delights : Who feeks for more he would inherit. 206 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Come then, true bread, Quickning the dead, Whofe eater mall not, cannot dye ! Come, antedate On me that ftate, Which brings poor duft the victory. Aye victory, Which from thine eye Breaks as the day doth from the eaft, When the fpilt dew- Like tears doth fhew The fad world wept to be releaft. Spring up, O wine, And fpringing mine With fome glad meffage from his heart, Who did, when (lain, Thefe means ordain For me to have in Him a part ! Such a fure part In his bleft heart, The well where living waters fpring, That, with it fed, Poor dull, though dead, Shall rife again, and live, and fing. O drink and bread, Which ftrikes death dead, The food of man's immortal being ! Under veyls here Thou art my chear, Prefent and fure without my feeing. OR SACRED POEMS. 207 How doll thou flye And fearch and pry Through all my parts, and, like a quick And knowing lamp, Hunt out each damp, Whofe fhadow makes me fad or lick ! O what high joys ! The Turtle's voice And fongs I hear ! O quickning fhowers Of my Lord's blood, You make rocks bud, And crown dry hills with wells and flowers ! For this true eafe This healing peace, For this [ brief] tafte of living glory, My foul and all, Kneel down and fall, And ling his fad victorious ftory ! O thorny crown More foft than down ! O painful Crofs, my bed of reft ! O fpear, the key Opening the way ! O thy worft ftate, my onely belt ! O all thy griefs Are my reliefs, As all my fins thy forrows were ! And what can I, To this reply ? What, O God ! but a filent tear ? 208 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Some toil and fow That wealth may flow, And drefs this earth for next year's meat: But let me heed Why thou didft bleed, And what in the next world to eat. Revel, chap. 19. ver. 9. BleJJed are they which are called unto the mar- riage Supper of the Lamb! The Obfequies. jINCE dying for me, thou didft. crave no Than common pay, Some few true tears, and thofe fhed for My own ill way ; With a cheap, plain remembrance Hill Of thy fad death, Becaufe forgetfulnefs would kill Even life's own breath : I were mod foolifh and unkinde In my own fenie, Should I not ever bear in minde, If not thy mighty love, my own defenfe. Therefore thofe loofe delights and lulls, which here Men call good chear, I will, clofe girt and tyed, For mourning fack-cloth w : ear all mortified. Not but that mourners too can have Rich weeds and fhrouds ; For fome wore White ev'n in thy grave, OR SACRED POEMS. 209 And joy, like light, mines oft in clouds : But thou, who didft man's whole life earn, Doft fo invite and woo me ftill, That to be merry I want fkill, And time to learn. Befides, thofe kerchiefs fometimes fhed To make me brave, I cannot finde, but where thy head Was once laid for me in thy grave. Thy grave ! To which my thoughts fhall move Like bees in llorms unto their hive ; That from the murd'ring world's falfe love Thy death may keep my foul alive. The Water-fall. ITH what deep murmurs, through time's filent Health, Doll thy tranfparent, cool, and watry wealth Here flowing fall, And chide and call, As if his liquid, loofe retinue ftaid Lingring, and were of this fteep place afraid ; The common pafs, Where, clear as glafs, All mull defcend Not to an end, But quickned by this deep and rocky grave, Rife to a longer courfe more bright and brave. Dear ftream ! dear bank! where often I Have fate, and pleas'd my penfive eye ; p 210 SILEX SCINTILLANS, Why, fince each drop of thy quick flore Runs thither whence it flow'd before, Should poor fouls fear a fhade or night, Who came (fure) from a fea of light ? Or, fince thofe drops are all fent back So fure to thee that none doth lack, Why fhould frail rlefh doubt any more That what God takes He'll not reftore ? O ufeful element and clear ! My facred warn and cleanfer here ; My firfl conligner unto thofe Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes ! What fublime truths and wholefome themes Lodge in thy myflical, deep lb-earns ! Such as dull man can never finde, Unlefs that Spirit lead his minde, Which firfl upon thy face did move And hatch'd all with his quickning love. As this loud brook's inceflant fall In flreaming rings reflagnates all, Which reach by courfe the bank, and then Are no more feen : jufl fo pafs men. O my invifible eflate, My glorious liberty, flill late ! Thou art the channel my foul feeks, Not this with catara&s and creeks. OR SACRED POEMS. 211 Quicknefs. jg ALSE life ! a foil, and no more, when Wilt thou be gone? $ Thou foul deception of all men, That would not have the true come on ! Thou art a moon-like toil ; a blinde Self-pofmg Hate ; A dark conteft of waves and winde ; A meer tempeftuous debate. Life is a fix'd, difcerning light, A knowing joy ; No chance, or fit; but ever bright, And calm, and full, yet doth not cloy. 'Tis fuch a blifsful thing, that Hill Doth vivifie, And mine and fmile, and hath the ikill To pleafe without eternity. Thou art a toylfom mole, or lefs, A moving mill. But life is, what none can exprefs, A quicknefs, which my God hath kift. The Wreath. i^INCE I in llorms us'd moll to be, And feldom yielded flowers, How fhall I get a wreath for thee From thofe rude, barren hours ? 212 SILEX SCINTILLANS, The fofter dreffings of the Spring, Or Summer's later ftore, I will not for Thy temples bring, Which thorns, not rofes, wore. But a twin'd wreath of grief and praife, Praife foil'd with tears, and tears again Shining with joy, like dewy days, This day I bring for all thy pain ; Thy cauflefs pain ! and, fad as death, Which fadnefs breeds in the mod vain, (O not in vain !) now beg thy breath, Thy quickning breath, which gladly bears Through faddeft clouds to that glad place, Where cloudlefs quires fmg without tears, Sing thy juft praife, and fee thy face. The Queer. ^ TELL me whence that joy doth fpring, Whofe diet is divine and fair, Which wears heaven like a bridal ring, And tramples on doubts and defpair ? Whofe Eaflern traffique deals in bright And boundlefs empyrean themes, Mountains of fpice, day-ftars and light, Green trees of life, and living flreams ? Tell me, O tell, who did thee bring, And here without my knowledge plac'd ; Till thou didft grow and get a wing, A wing with eyes, and eyes that tafte ? OR SACRED POEMS. 213 Sure, Holynefs the magnet is, And Love the lure, that woos thee down : Which makes the high tranfcendent blifs Of knowing thee, To rarely known ! The Book. TERNAL God ! Maker of all That have liv'd here fince the man's fall ! The Rock of ages ! in whofe fhade They live unfeen, when here they fade ! Thou knew'ft this papyr, when it was Meer feed, and after that but grafs ; Before 'twas dreft or fpun, and when Made linen, who did wear it then : What were their lifes, their thoughts and deeds, Whether good corn, or fruitlefs weeds. Thou knew'ft this tree, when a green made Cover'd it, fince a cover made, And where it flourifh'd, grew, and fpread, As if it never mould be dead. Thou knew'ft this harmlefs beaft, when he Did live and feed by thy decree On each green thing ; then flept well fed Cloath'd with this Jkin, which now lies fpred A covering o're this aged book, Which makes me wifely weep, and look On my own duft ; meer dull it is, But not fo dry and clean as this. Thou knew'ft and faw'ft them all, and though Now fcatter'd thus, doft know them fo. 2i 4 SILEX SCINTILLANS, O knowing, glorious Spirit ! when Thou (halt reftore trees, beafts and men, When thou malt make all new again, Deftroying onely death and pain, Give him amongft thy works a place, Who in them lov'd and fought thy face ! To the Holy Bible. BOOK ! life's guide ! how mall we part ; And thou fo long feiz'd of my heart? Take this laft kifs ; and let me weep True thanks to thee before I fleep. Thou wert the firft put in my hand, When yet I could not underftand, And daily didft my yong eyes lead To letters, till I learnt to read. But as rafh youths, when once grown ftrong, Flye from their nurfes to the throng, Where they new conforts choofe, and flick To thofe till either hurt or fick ; So with that firft light gain'd from thee Ran I in chafe of vanity, Cryed drofs for gold, and never thought My firft cheap Book had all I fought. Long reign'd this vogue ; and thou cart by With meek, dumb looks didft woo mine eye, And oft left open would 'ft convey A fudden and moft fearching ray Into my foul, with whofe quick touch Refining ftill I ftrugled much. OR SACRED POEMS. 21s By this milde art of love at length Thou overcam'ft my finful ftrength, And having brought me home, didfl there Shew me that pearl I fought elfewhere. Gladnefs, and peace, and hope, and love, The fecret favors of the Dove ; Her quickning kindnefs, fmiles and kifTes, Exalted pleafures, crowning bliiTes, Fruition, union, glory, life Thou didfl lead to, and ftill all ftrife. Living, thou wert my foul's fure eafe, And dying mak'ft me go in peace : Thy next effefts no tongue can tell ; Farewel, O book of God ! farewel ! S. Luke, chap. 2. ver. 14. Glory be to God in the higheft, and on earth Peace, good will tozvards men. L'Envoy. THE new world's new-quickning Sun ! Ever the fame, and never done ! The leers of whofe facred light Shall all be dreft in mining white, And made conformable to his Immortal fhape, who wrought their blifs ; A rife, arife ! And like old cloaths fold up thefe ikies, This long worn veyl : then ihine and fpread Thy own bright felf over each head, And through thy creatures pierce and pafs, Till all becomes thy cloudlefs glafs, 216 SILEX SCINTILLJNS, Tranfparent as the pureft day And without blemifh or decay, Fixt by thy Spirit to a Hate For evermore immaculate ; A ftate fit for the fight of thy Immediate, pure, and unveil'd eye, A ftate agreeing with thy minde, A ftate thy birth and death defign'd : A ftate for which thy creatures all Travel and groan, and look and call. O feeing thou haft paid our fcore, Why mould the curfe reign any more ? But iince thy number is as yet Unfinifh'd, we mail gladly lit Till all be ready, that the train May fully fit thy glorious reign. Onely let not our haters brag Thy feamlefs coat is grown a rag, Or that thy truth was not here known, Becaufe we forc'd thy judgements down. Dry up their arms who vex thy Spoufe, And take the glory of thy houfe To deck their own ; then give thy faints That faithful zeal, which neither faints, Nor wildly burns, but meekly ftill Dares own the truth, and mew the ill. Fruftrate thofe cancerous, clofe arts, Which caufe folution in all parts, And ftrike them dumb, who for meer words Wound thy beloved more than fwords. Dear Lord, do this ! and then let grace Defcend, and hallow all the place ; Incline each hard heart to do good, And cement us with thy Son's blood ; OR SACRED POEMS. 217 That like true fheep, all in one fold We may be fed, and one minde hold. Give watchful fpirits to our guides ; For fin, like water, hourly glides By each man's door, and quickly will Turn in, if not obflrucled ftill. Therefore write in their hearts thy law, And let thefe long, fharp judgements awe Their very thoughts, that by their clear And holy lives mercy may here Sit regent yet, and bleffings flow As fall as perfecutions now. So mail we know in war and peace Thy fervice to be our fole eafe, With proftrate fouls adoring Thee, Who turn'd our fad captivity ! S. Clemens apud Bajil: Zti ©so? not avpioq 'lntr^s Xpt