'As by the offence of one the fault came on all men to condemnation; so by the righteousness of one, the benefit abounded towards all men to the justification of life.'—ROM. v. 18.
1 'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsy lakeFrom her faint bosom breathed thee, the diseaseOf her sick waters, and infectious ease.But now at even,Too gross for heaven,Thou fall'st in tears, and weep'st for thy mistake.
2 Ah! it is so with me; oft have I pressedHeaven with a lazy breath; but fruitless thisPierced not; love only can with quick accessUnlock the way,When all else stray,The smoke and exhalations of the breast.
3 Yet if, as thou dost melt, and, with thy trainOf drops, make soft the earth, my eyes could weepO'er my hard heart, that's bound up and asleep,Perhaps at last,Some such showers past,My God would give a sunshine after rain.
1 O thou! the first-fruits of the dead,And their dark bed,When I am cast into that deepAnd senseless sleep,The wages of my sin,O then,Thou great Preserver of all men,Watch o'er that looseAnd empty house,Which I sometime lived in!
2 It is in truth a ruined piece,Not worth thy eyes;And scarce a room, but wind and rainBeat through and stainThe seats and cells within;Yet thou,Led by thy love, wouldst stoop thus low,And in this cot,All filth and spot,Didst with thy servant inn.
3 And nothing can, I hourly see,Drive thee from me.Thou art the same, faithful and just,In life or dust.Though then, thus crumbed, I strayIn blasts,Or exhalations, and wastes,Beyond all eyes,Yet thy love spiesThat change, and knows thy clay.
4 The world's thy box: how then, there tossed,Can I be lost?But the delay is all; Time nowIs old and slow;His wings are dull and sickly.Yet heThy servant is, and waits on thee.Cut then the sum,Lord, haste, Lord, come,O come, Lord Jesus, quickly!
'And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first-fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.'—ROM. viii. 23.
1 Lord, with what courage and delightI do each thing,When thy least breath sustains my wing!I shine and moveLike those above,And, with much gladnessQuitting sadness,Make me fair days of every night.
2 Affliction thus mere pleasure is;And hap what will,If thou be in't,'tis welcome still.But since thy raysIn sunny daysThou dost thus lend,And freely spend,Ah! what shall I return for this?
3 Oh that I were all soul! that thouWouldst make each partOf this poor sinful frame pure heart!Then would I drownMy single one;And to thy praiseA concert raiseOf hallelujahs here below.
1 O my chief good!My dear, dear God!When thy blest bloodDid issue forth, forced by the rod,What pain didst thouFeel in each blow!How didst thou weep,And thyself steepIn thy own precious, saving tears!What cruel smartDid tear thy heart!How didst thou groan itIn the spirit,O thou whom my soul loves and fears!
2 Most blessed Vine!Whose juice so goodI feel as wine,But thy fair branches felt as blood,How wert thou pressedTo be my feast!In what deep anguishDidst thou languish!What springs of sweat and blood did drown thee!How in one pathDid the full wrathOf thy great FatherCrowd and gather,Doubling thy griefs, when none would own thee!
3 How did the weightOf all our sins,And death uniteTo wrench and rack thy blessed limbs!How pale and bloodyLooked thy body!How bruised and broke,With every stroke!How meek and patient was thy spirit!How didst thou cry,And groan on high,'Father, forgive,And let them live!I die to make my foes inherit!'
4 O blessed Lamb!That took'st my sin,That took'st my shame,How shall thy dust thy praises sing?I would I wereOne hearty tear!One constant spring!Then would I bringThee two small mites, and be at strifeWhich should most vie,My heart or eye,Teaching my yearsIn smiles and tearsTo weep, to sing, thy death, my life.
1 When first thy eyes unvail, give thy soul leaveTo do the like; our bodies but forerunThe spirit's duty. True hearts spread and heaveUnto their God, as flowers do to the sun.Give him thy first thoughts then; so shalt thou keepHim company all day, and in him sleep.
2 Yet never sleep the sun up. Prayer shouldDawn with the day. There are set, awful hours'Twixt Heaven and us. The manna was not goodAfter sun-rising; far-day sullies flowers.Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut,And heaven's gate opens when this world's is shut.
3 Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hushAnd whispers amongst them. There's not a springOr leaf but hath his morning-hymn. Each bushAnd oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not sing?Oh, leave thy cares and follies! go this way,And thou art sure to prosper all the day.
4 Serve God before the world; let him not goUntil thou hast a blessing; then resignThe whole unto him, and remember whoPrevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine;Pour oil upon the stones; weep for thy sin;Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.
5 Mornings are mysteries; the first world's youth,Man's resurrection and the future's budShroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truthIs styled their star, the stone, and hidden food.Three blessings wait upon them, two of whichShould move. They make us holy, happy, rich.
6 When the world's up, and every swarm abroad,Keep thou thy temper; mix not with each clay;Despatch necessities; life hath a loadWhich must be carried on, and safely may.Yet keep those cares without thee, let the heartBe God's alone, and choose the better part.
7 Through all thy actions, counsels, and discourse,Let mildness and religion guide thee out;If truth be thine, what needs a brutish force?But what's not good and just ne'er go about.Wrong not thy conscience for a rotten stick;That gain is dreadful which makes spirits sick.
8 To God, thy country, and thy friend be true;If priest and people change, keep thou thy ground.Who sells religion is a Judas Jew;And, oaths once broke, the soul cannot be sound.The perjurer's a devil let loose: what canTie up his hands that dares mock God and man?
9 Seek not the same steps with the crowd; stick thouTo thy sure trot; a constant, humble mindIs both his own joy, and his Maker's too;Let folly dust it on, or lag behind.A sweet self-privacy in a right soulOutruns the earth, and lines the utmost pole.
10 To all that seek thee bear an open heart;Make not thy breast a labyrinth or trap;If trials come, this will make good thy part,For honesty is safe, come what can hap;It is the good man's feast, the prince of flowers,Which thrives in storms, and smells best after showers.
11 Seal not thy eyes up from the poor, but giveProportion to their merits, and thy purse;Thou may'st in rags a mighty prince relieve,Who, when thy sins call for't, can fence a curse.Thou shalt not lose one mite. Though waters stray,The bread we cast returns in fraughts one day.
12 Spend not an hour so as to weep another,For tears are not thine own; if thou giv'st words,Dash not with them thy friend, nor Heaven; oh, smotherA viperous thought; some syllables are swords.Unbitted tongues are in their penance double;They shame their owners, and their hearers trouble.
13 Injure not modest blood, while spirits riseIn judgment against lewdness; that's base witThat voids but filth and stench. Hast thou no prizeBut sickness or infection? stifle it.Who makes his jest of sins, must be at least,If not a very devil, worse than beast.
14 Yet fly no friend, if he be such indeed;But meet to quench his longings, and thy thirst;Allow your joys, religion: that done, speed,And bring the same man back thou wert at first.Who so returns not, cannot pray aright,But shuts his door, and leaves God out all night.
15 To heighten thy devotions, and keep lowAll mutinous thoughts, what business e'er thou hast,Observe God in his works; here fountains flow,Birds sing, beasts feed, fish leap, and the earth stands fast;Above are restless motions, running lights,Vast circling azure, giddy clouds, days, nights.
16 When seasons change, then lay before thine eyesHis wondrous method; mark the various scenesIn heaven; hail, thunder, rainbows, snow, and ice,Calms, tempests, light, and darkness, by his means;Thou canst not miss his praise; each tree, herb, flowerAre shadows of his wisdom and his power.
17 To meals when thou dost come, give him the praiseWhose arm supplied thee; take what may suffice,And then be thankful; oh, admire his waysWho fills the world's unemptied granaries!A thankless feeder is a thief, his feastA very robbery, and himself no guest.
18 High-noon thus past, thy time decays; provideThee other thoughts; away with friends and mirth;The sun now stoops, and hastes his beams to hideUnder the dark and melancholy earth.All but preludes thy end. Thou art the manWhose rise, height, and descent is but a span.
19 Yet, set as he doth, and 'tis well. Have allThy beams home with thee: trim thy lamp, buy oil,And then set forth; who is thus dressed, the fallFurthers his glory, and gives death the foil.Man is a summer's day; whose youth and fireCool to a glorious evening, and expire.
20 When night comes, list[1] thy deeds; make plain the way'Twixt heaven and thee; block it not with delays;But perfect all before thou sleep'st; then say'There's one sun more strung on my bead of days.'What's good score up for joy; the bad, well scanned,Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand.
21 Thy accounts thus made, spend in the grave one hourBefore thy time; be not a stranger there,Where thou may'st sleep whole ages; life's poor flowerLasts not a night sometimes. Bad spirits fearThis conversation; but the good man liesEntombed many days before he dies.
22 Being laid, and dressed for sleep, close not thy eyesUp with thy curtains; give thy soul the wingIn some good thoughts; so, when the day shall rise,And thou unrak'st thy fire, those sparks will bringNew flames; besides where these lodge, vain heats mournAnd die; that bush where God is shall not burn.
23 When thy nap's over, stir thy fire, and rakeIn that dead age; one beam i' the dark outviesTwo in the day; then from the damps and acheOf night shut up thy leaves; be chaste; God priesThrough thickest nights; though then the sun be far,Do thou the works of day, and rise a star.
24 Briefly, do as thou wouldst be done unto,Love God, and love thy neighbour; watch and pray.These are the words and works of life; this do,And live; who doth not thus, hath lost heaven's way.Oh, lose it not! look up, wilt change those lightsFor chains of darkness and eternal nights?
[1] 'List:' weigh.
Lord, since thou didst in this vile clayThat sacred ray,Thy Spirit, plant, quickening the wholeWith that one grain's infused wealth,My forward flesh crept on, and subtly stoleBoth growth and power; checking the healthAnd heat of thine. That little gateAnd narrow way, by which to theeThe passage is, he termed a grateAnd entrance to captivity;Thy laws but nets, where some small birds,And those but seldom too, were caught;Thy promises but empty words,Which none but children heard or taught.This I believed: and though a friendCame oft from far, and whispered, No;Yet, that not sorting to my end,I wholly listened to my foe.Wherefore, pierced through with grief, my sad,Seduced soul sighs up to thee;To thee, who with true light art clad,And seest all things just as they be.Look from thy throne upon this rollOf heavy sins, my high transgressions,Which I confess with all my soul;My God, accept of my confession!It was last day,Touched with the guilt of my own way,I sat alone, and taking up,The bitter cup,Through all thy fair and various store,Sought out what might outvie my score.The blades of grass thy creatures feeding;The trees, their leaves; the flowers, their seeding;The dust, of which I am a part;The stones, much softer than my heart;The drops of rain, the sighs of wind,The stars, to which I am stark blind;The dew thy herbs drink up by night,The beams they warm them at i' the light;All that have signature or lifeI summoned to decide this strife;And lest I should lack for arrears,A spring ran by, I told her tears;But when these came unto the scale,My sins alone outweighed them all.O my dear God! my life, my love!Most blessed Lamb! and mildest Dove!Forgive your penitent offender,And no more his sins remember;Scatter these shades of death, and giveLight to my soul, that it may live;Cut me not off for my transgressions,Wilful rebellions, and suppressions;But give them in those streams a partWhose spring is in my Saviour's heart.Lord, I confess the heinous score,And pray I may do so no more;Though then all sinners I exceed,Oh, think on this, thy Son did bleed!Oh, call to mind his wounds, his woes,His agony, and bloody throes;Then look on all that thou hast made,And mark how they do fail and fade;The heavens themselves, though fair and bright,Are dark and unclean in thy sight;How then, with thee, can man be holy,Who dost thine angels charge with folly?Oh, what am I, that I should breedFigs on a thorn, flowers on a weed?I am the gourd of sin and sorrow,Growing o'er night, and gone to-morrow.In all this round of life and deathNothing's more vile than is my breath;Profaneness on my tongue doth rest,Defects and darkness in my breast;Pollutions all my body wed,And even my soul to thee is dead;Only in him, on whom I feast,Both soul and body are well dressed;His pure perfection quits all score,And fills the boxes of his poor;He is the centre of long life and light;I am but finite, he is infinite.Oh, let thy justice then in him confine,And through his merits make thy mercy mine!
Ah! what time wilt thou come? when shall that cry,'The Bridegroom's coming!' fill the skyl?Shall it in the evening runWhen our words and works are done?Or will thy all-surprising lightBreak at midnight,When either sleep or some dark pleasurePossesseth mad man without measure?Or shall these early, fragrant hoursUnlock thy bowers,And with their blush of light descryThy locks crowned with eternity?Indeed, it is the only timeThat with thy glory doth best chime;All now are stirring, every fieldFull hymns doth yield;The whole creation shakes off night,And for thy shadow looks the light;Stars now vanish without number,Sleepy planets set and slumber,The pursy clouds disband and scatter,All expect some sudden matter;Not one beam triumphs, but from farThat morning-star.
Oh, at what time soever thou,Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow,And, with thy angels in the van,Descend to judge poor careless man,Grant I may not like puddle lieIn a corrupt security,Where, if a traveller water crave,He finds it dead, and in a grave.But as this restless, vocal springAll day and night doth run and sing,And though here born, yet is acquaintedElsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted;So let me all my busy ageIn thy free services engage;And though, while here, of force I mustHave commerce sometimes with poor dust,And in my flesh, though vile and low,As this doth in her channel flow,Yet let my course, my aim, my love,And chief acquaintance be above;So when that day and hour shall comeIn which thyself will be the Sun,Thou'lt find me dressed and on my way,Watching the break of thy great day.
1 How is man parcelled out! how every hourShows him himself, or something he should see!This late, long heat may his instruction be;And tempests have more in them than a shower.
When nature on her bosom sawHer infants die,And all her flowers withered to straw,Her breasts grown dry;She made the earth, their nurse and tomb,Sigh to the sky,Till to those sighs, fetched from her womb,Rain did reply;So in the midst of all her fearsAnd faint requests,Her earnest sighs procured her tearsAnd filled her breasts.
2 Oh that man could do so! that he would hearThe world read to him! all the vast expenseIn the creation shed and slaved to sense,Makes up but lectures for his eye and ear.
3 Sure mighty Love, foreseeing the descentOf this poor creature, by a gracious artHid in these low things snares to gain his heart,And laid surprises in each element.
4 All things here show him heaven; waters that fallChide and fly up; mists of corruptest foamQuit their first beds and mount; trees, herbs, flowers, allStrive upwards still, and point him the way home.
5 How do they cast off grossness? only earthAnd man, like Issachar, in loads delight,Water's refined to motion, air to light,Fire to all three,[1] but man hath no such mirth.
6 Plants in the root with earth do most comply,Their leaves with water and humidity,The flowers to air draw near and subtilty,And seeds a kindred fire have with the sky.
7 All have their keys and set ascents; but manThough he knows these, and hath more of his own,Sleeps at the ladder's foot; alas! what canThese new discoveries do, except they drown?
8 Thus, grovelling in the shade and darkness, heSinks to a dead oblivion; and though allHe sees, like pyramids, shoot from this ball,And lessening still, grow up invisibly,
9 Yet hugs he still his dirt; the stuff he wears,And painted trimming, takes down both his eyes;Heaven hath less beauty than the dust he spies,And money better music than the spheres.
10 Life's but a blast; he knows it; what? shall strawAnd bulrush-fetters temper his short hour?Must he nor sip nor sing? grows ne'er a flowerTo crown his temples? shall dreams be his law?
11 O foolish man! how hast thou lost thy sight?How is it that the sun to thee aloneIs grown thick darkness, and thy bread a stone?Hath flesh no softness now? mid-day no light?
12 Lord! thou didst put a soul here. If I mustBe broke again, for flints will give no fireWithout a steel, oh, let thy power clearThy gift once more, and grind this flint to dust!
[1] 'All three:' light, motion, heat
1 I saw eternity the other night,Like a great ring of pure and endless light,All calm, as it was bright;And round beneath it, time, in hours, days, years,Driven by the spheres,Like a vast shadow moved, in which the worldAnd all her train were hurled.The doting lover in his quaintest strainDid there complain;Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights,Wit's sour delights;With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure,Yet his dear treasure,All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pourUpon a flower.
2 The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe,Like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow,He did nor stay, nor go;Condemning thoughts, like sad eclipses, scowlUpon his soul,And clouds of crying witnesses withoutPursued him with one shout.Yet digged the mole, and, lest his ways be found,Worked under ground,Where he did clutch his prey. But one did seeThat policy.Churches and altars fed him; perjuriesWere gnats and flies;It rained about him blood and tears; but heDrank them as free.
3 The fearful miser on a heap of rustSat pining all his life there, did scarce trustHis own hands with the dust,Yet would not place one piece above, but livesIn fear of thieves.Thousands there were as frantic as himself,And hugged each one his pelf;The downright epicure placed heaven in sense,And scorned pretence;While others, slipped into a wide excess,Said little less;The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave,Who think them brave,And poor, despised truth sat counting byTheir victory.
4 Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,And sing and weep, soared up into the ring;But most would use no wing.'O fools,' said I,'thus to prefer dark nightBefore true light!To live in grots and caves, and hate the dayBecause it shows the way,The way, which from this dead and dark abodeLeads up to God,A way where you might tread the sun, and beMore bright than he!'But, as I did their madness so discuss,One whispered thus,'This ring the bridegroom did for none provide,But for his bride.'
'All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lusts thereof; but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever.'—1 JOHN ii. 16, 17.
1 Fair, ordered lights, whose motion without noiseResembles those true joys,Whose spring is on that hill where you do grow,And we here taste sometimes below.
2 With what exact obedience do you move,Now beneath, and now above!And in your vast progressions overlookThe darkest night and closest nook!
3 Some nights I see you in the gladsome east,Some others near the west,And when I cannot see, yet do you shine,And beat about your endless line.
4 Silence and light and watchfulness with youAttend and wind the clue;No sleep nor sloth assails you, but poor manStill either sleeps, or slips his span.
5 He gropes beneath here, and with restless care,First makes, then hugs a snare;Adores dead dust, sets heart on corn and grass,But seldom doth make heaven his glass.
6 Music and mirth, if there be music here,Take up and tune his ear;These things are kin to him, and must be had;Who kneels, or sighs a life, is mad.
7 Perhaps some nights he'll watch with you, and peepWhen it were best to sleep;Dares know effects, and judge them long before,When the herb he treads knows much, much more.
8 But seeks he your obedience, order, light,Your calm and well-trained flight?Where, though the glory differ in each star,Yet is there peace still and no war.
9 Since placed by him, who calls you by your names,And fixed there all your flames,Without command you never acted ought,And then you in your courses fought.
10 But here, commissioned by a black self-will,The sons the father kill,The children chase the mother, and would healThe wounds they give by crying zeal.
11 Then cast her blood and tears upon thy book,Where they for fashion look;And, like that lamb, which had the dragon's voice,Seem mild, but are known by their noise.
12 Thus by our lusts disordered into wars,Our guides prove wandering stars,Which for these mists and black days were reserved,What time we from our first love swerved.
13 Yet oh, for his sake who sits now by theeAll crowned with victory,So guide us through this darkness, that we mayBe more and more in love with day!
14 Settle and fix our hearts, that we may moveIn order, peace, and love;And, taught obedience by thy whole creation,Become an humble, holy nation!
15 Give to thy spouse her perfect and pure dress,Beauty and holiness;And so repair these rents, that men may seeAnd say, 'Where God is, all agree.'
Lord, bind me up, and let me lieA prisoner to my liberty,If such a state at all can beAs an impris'ment serving thee;The wind, though gathered in thy fist,Yet doth it blow still where it list,And yet shouldst thou let go thy hold,Those gusts might quarrel and grow bold.
As waters here, headlong and loose,The lower grounds still chase and choose,Where spreading ail the way they seekAnd search out every hole and creek;So my spilt thoughts, winding from thee,Take the down-road to vanity,Where they all stray, and strive which shallFind out the first and steepest fall.I cheer their flow, giving supplyTo what's already grown too high,And having thus performed that part,Feed on those vomits of my heart.I break the fence my own hands madeThen lay that trespass in the shade;Some fig-leaves still I do devise,As if thou hadst not ears nor eyes.Excess of friends, of words, and wineTake up my day, while thou dost shineAll unregarded, and thy bookHath not so much as one poor look.If thou steal in amidst the mirthAnd kindly tell me, I am earth,I shut thee out, and let that slip;Such music spoils good fellowship.Thus wretched I and most unkind,Exclude my dear God from my mind,Exclude him thence, who of that cellWould make a court, should he there dwell.He goes, he yields; and troubled soreHis Holy Spirit grieves therefore;The mighty God, the eternal KingDoth grieve for dust, and dust doth sing.But I go on, haste to divestMyself of reason, till oppressedAnd buried in my surfeits, IProve my own shame and misery.Next day I call and cry for theeWho shouldst not then come near to me;But now it is thy servant's pleasure,Thou must and dost give him his measure.Thou dost, thou com'st, and in a showerOf healing sweets thyself dost pourInto my wounds; and now thy grace(I know it well) fills all the place;I sit with thee by this new light,And for that hour thou'rt my delight;No man can more the world despise,Or thy great mercies better prize.I school my eyes, and strictly dwellWithin the circle of my cell;That calm and silence are my joys,Which to thy peace are but mere noise.At length I feel my head to ache,My fingers itch, and burn to takeSome new employment, I beginTo swell and foam and fret within:'The age, the present times are notTo snudge in and embrace a cot;Action and blood now get the game,Disdain treads on the peaceful name;Who sits at home too bears a loadGreater than those that gad abroad.'Thus do I make thy gifts given meThe only quarrellers with thee;I'd loose those knots thy hands did tie,Then would go travel, fight, or die.Thousands of wild and waste infusionsLike waves beat on my resolutions;As flames about their fuel run,And work and wind till all be done,So my fierce soul bustles about,And never rests till all be out.Thus wilded by a peevish heart,Which in thy music bears no part,I storm at thee, calling my peaceA lethargy, and mere disease;Nay those bright beams shot from thy eyesTo calm me in these mutinies,I style mere tempers, which take placeAt some set times, but are thy grace.
Such is man's life, and such is mine,The worst of men, and yet still thine,Still thine, thou know'st, and if not so,Then give me over to my foe.Yet since as easy 'tis for theeTo make man good as bid him be,And with one glance, could he that gain,To look him out of all his pain,Oh, send me from thy holy hillSo much of strength as may fulfilAll thy delights, whate'er they be,And sacred institutes in me!Open my rocky heart, and fillIt with obedience to thy will;Then seal it up, that as none see,So none may enter there but thee.
Oh, hear, my God! hear him, whose bloodSpeaks more and better for my good!Oh, let my cry come to thy throne!My cry not poured with tears alone,(For tears alone are often foul,)But with the blood of all my soul;With spirit-sighs, and earnest groans,Faithful and most repenting moans,With these I cry, and crying pine,Till thou both mend, and make me thine.
When first I saw true beauty, and thy joys,Active as light, and calm without all noise,Shined on my soul, I felt through all my powersSuch a rich air of sweets, as evening showers,Fanned by a gentle gale, convey, and breatheOn some parched bank, crowned with a flowery wreath;Odours, and myrrh, and balm in one rich floodO'erran my heart, and spirited my blood;My thoughts did swim in comforts, and mine eyeConfessed, 'The world did only paint and lie.'And where before I did no safe course steer,But wandered under tempests all the year;Went bleak and bare in body as in mind,And was blown through by every storm and wind,I am so warmed now by this glance on me,That 'midst all storms I feel a ray of thee.So have I known some beauteous passage riseIn sudden flowers and arbours to my eyes,And in the depth and dead of winter bringTo my cold thoughts a lively sense of spring.
Thus fed by thee, who dost all beings nourish,My withered leaves again look green and flourish;I shine and shelter underneath thy wing,Where, sick with love, I strive thy name to sing;Thy glorious name! which grant I may so do,That these may be thy praise, and my joy too!
Lord Jesus! with what sweetness and delights,Sure, holy hopes, high joys, and quickening flights,Dost thou feed thine! O thou! the hand that liftsTo him who gives all good and perfect gifts,Thy glorious, bright ascension, though removedSo many ages from me, is so provedAnd by thy Spirit sealed to me, that IFeel me a sharer in thy victory!I soar and riseUp to the skies,Leaving the world their day;And in my flightFor the true lightGo seeking all the way;I greet thy sepulchre, salute thy grave,That blest enclosure, where the angels gaveThe first glad tidings of thy early light,And resurrection from the earth and night,I see that morning in thy convert's[1] tears,Fresh as the dew, which but this dawning wears.I smell her spices; and her ointment yieldsAs rich a scent as the now primrosed fields.The day-star smiles, and light with the deceasedNow shines in all the chambers of the east.What stirs, what posting intercourse and mirthOf saints and angels glorify the earth?What sighs, what whispers, busy stops and stays,Private and holy talk, fill all the ways?They pass as at the last great day, and runIn their white robes to seek the risen Sun;I see them, hear them, mark their haste, and moveAmongst them, with them, winged with faith and love.Thy forty days' more secret commerce hereAfter thy death and funeral, so clearAnd indisputable, shows to my sightAs the sun doth, which to those days gave light.I walk the fields of Bethany, which shineAll now as fresh as Eden, and as fine.Such was the bright world on the first seventh day,Before man brought forth sin, and sin decay;When like a virgin clad in flowers and greenThe pure earth sat, and the fair woods had seenNo frost, but flourished in that youthful vestWith which their great Creator had them dressed:When heaven above them shined like molten glass,While all the planets did unclouded pass;And springs, like dissolved pearls, their streams did pour,Ne'er marred with floods, nor angered with a shower.With these fair thoughts I move in this fair place,And the last steps of my mild Master trace.I see him leading out his chosen trainAll sad with tears, which like warm summer rainIn silent drops steal from their holy eyes,Fixed lately on the cross, now on the skies.And now, eternal Jesus! thou dost heaveThy blessed hands to bless those thou dost leave.The cloud doth now receive thee, and their sightHaving lost thee, behold two men in white!Two and no more: 'What two attest is true,'Was thine own answer to the stubborn Jew.Come then, thou faithful Witness! come, dear Lord,Upon the clouds again to judge this world!
[1] 'Thy convert:' St Mary Magdalene.
1 Father of lights! what sunny seed,What glance of day hast thou confinedInto this bird? To all the breedThis busy ray thou hast assigned;Their magnetism works all night,And dreams of paradise and light.
2 Their eyes watch for the morning hue,Their little grain-expelling nightSo shines and sings, as if it knewThe path unto the house of light.It seems their candle, howe'er done,Was tinned and lighted at the sun.
3 If such a tincture, such a touch,So firm a longing can empower,Shall thy own image think it muchTo watch for thy appearing hour?If a mere blast so fill the sail,Shall not the breath of God prevail?
4 O thou immortal light and heat!Whose hand so shines through all this frame,That by the beauty of the seat,We plainly see who made the same,Seeing thy seed abides in me,Dwell thou in it, and I in thee!
5 To sleep without thee is to die;Yea,'tis a death partakes of hell:For where thou dost not close the eyeIt never opens, I can tell.In such a dark, Egyptian border,The shades of death dwell, and disorder.
6 If joys, and hopes, and earnest throes,And hearts, whose pulse beats still for light,Are given to birds; who, but thee, knowsA love-sick soul's exalted flight?Can souls be tracked by any eyeBut his, who gave them wings to fly?
7 Only this veil which thou hast broke,And must be broken yet in me,This veil, I say, is all the cloakAnd cloud which shadows me from thee.This veil thy full-eyed love denies,And only gleams and fractions spies.
8 Oh, take it off! make no delay;But brush me with thy light, that IMay shine unto a perfect day,And warm me at thy glorious eye!Oh, take it off! or till it flee,Though with no lily, stay with me!
1 Dear friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade,As I have yours long since. This plant you seeSo pressed and bowed, before sin did degradeBoth you and it, had equal liberty
2 With other trees; but now, shut from the breathAnd air of Eden, like a malcontentIt thrives nowhere. This makes these weights, like deathAnd sin, hang at him; for the more he's bent
3 The more he grows. Celestial natures stillAspire for home. This Solomon of old,By flowers, and carvings, and mysterious skillOf wings, and cherubims, and palms, foretold.
4 This is the life which, hid above with ChristIn God, doth always (hidden) multiply,And spring, and grow, a tree ne'er to be priced,A tree whose fruit is immortality.
5 Here spirits that have run their race, and fought,And won the fight, and have not feared the frownsNor loved the smiles of greatness, but have wroughtTheir Master's will, meet to receive their crowns.
6 Here is the patience of the saints: this treeIs watered by their tears, as flowers are fedWith dew by night; but One you cannot seeSits here, and numbers all the tears they shed.
7 Here is their faith too, which if you will keepWhen we two part, I will a journey makeTo pluck a garland hence while you do sleep,And weave it for your head against you wake.
1 Thou, who dost flow and flourish here below,To whom a falling star and nine days' glory,Or some frail beauty, makes the bravest show,Hark, and make use of this ensuing story.
When first my youthful, sinful ageGrew master of my ways,Appointing error for my page,And darkness for my days;I flung away, and with full cryOf wild affections, ridIn post for pleasures, bent to tryAll gamesters that would bid.I played with fire, did counsel spurn,Made life my common stake;But never thought that fire would burn,Or that a soul could ache.Glorious deceptions, gilded mists,False joys, fantastic flights,Pieces of sackcloth with silk lists,These were my prime delights.I sought choice bowers, haunted the spring,Culled flowers and made me posies;Gave my fond humours their full wing,And crowned my head with roses.But at the height of this careerI met with a dead man,Who, noting well my vain abear,Thus unto me began:'Desist, fond fool, be not undone;What thou hast cut to-dayWill fade at night, and with this sunQuite vanish and decay.'
2 Flowers gathered in this world, die here; if thouWouldst have a wreath that fades not, let them grow,And grow for thee. Who spares them here, shall findA garland, where comes neither rain nor wind.
Jesus, my life! how shall I truly love thee!Oh that thy Spirit would so strongly move me,That thou wert pleased to shed thy grace so farAs to make man all pure love, flesh a star!A star that would ne'er set, but ever rise,So rise and run, as to outrun these skies,These narrow skies (narrow to me) that bar,So bar me in, that I am still at war,At constant war with them. Oh, come, and rendOr bow the heavens! Lord, bow them and descend,And at thy presence make these mountains flow,These mountains of cold ice in me! Thou artRefining fire; oh, then, refine my heart,My foul, foul heart! Thou art immortal heat;Heat motion gives; then warm it, till it beat;So beat for thee, till thou in mercy hear;So hear, that thou must open; open toA sinful wretch, a wretch that caused thy woe;Thy woe, who caused his weal; so far his wealThat thou forgott'st thine own, for thou didst sealMine with thy blood, thy blood which makes thee mine,Mine ever, ever; and me ever thine.
1 Up, O my soul, and bless the Lord! O God,My God, how great, how very great art thou!Honour and majesty have their abodeWith thee, and crown thy brow.
2 Thou cloth'st thyself with light as with a robe,And the high, glorious heavens thy mighty handDoth spread like curtains round about this globeOf air, and sea, and land.
3 The beams of thy bright chambers thou dost layIn the deep waters, which no eye can find;The clouds thy chariots are, and thy pathwayThe wings of the swift wind.
4 In thy celestial, gladsome messagesDespatched to holy souls, sick with desireAnd love of thee, each willing angel isThy minister in fire.
5 Thy arm unmoveable for ever laidAnd founded the firm earth; then with the deepAs with a vail thou hidd'st it; thy floods playedAbove the mountains steep.
6 At thy rebuke they fled, at the known voiceOf their Lord's thunder they retired apace:Some up the mountains passed by secret ways,Some downwards to their place.
7 For thou to them a bound hast set, a boundWhich, though but sand, keeps in and curbs whole seas:There all their fury, foam, and hideous sound,Must languish and decrease.
8 And as thy care bounds these, so thy rich loveDoth broach the earth; and lesser brooks lets forth,Which run from hills to valleys, and improveTheir pleasure and their worth.
9 These to the beasts of every field give drink;There the wild asses swallow the cool spring:And birds amongst the branches on their brinkTheir dwellings have, and sing.
10 Thou from thy upper springs above, from thoseChambers of rain, where heaven's large bottles lie,Dost water the parched hills, whose breaches close,Healed by the showers from high.
11 Grass for the cattle, and herbs for man's useThou mak'st to grow; these, blessed by thee, the earthBrings forth, with wine, oil, bread; all which infuseTo man's heart strength and mirth.
12 Thou giv'st the trees their greenness, even to thoseCedars in Lebanon, in whose thick boughsThe birds their nests build; though the stork doth chooseThe fir-trees for her house.
13 To the wild goats the high hills serve for folds,The rocks give conies a retiring place:Above them the cool moon her known course holds,And the sun runs his race.
14 Thou makest darkness, and then comes the night,In whose thick shades and silence each wild beastCreeps forth, and, pinched for food, with scent and sightHunts in an eager quest.
15 The lion's whelps, impatient of delay,Roar in the covert of the woods, and seekTheir meat from thee, who dost appoint the prey,And feed'st them all the week.
16 This past, the sun shines on the earth; and theyRetire into their dens; man goes abroadUnto his work, and at the close of dayReturns home with his load.
17 O Lord my God, how many and how rareAre thy great works! In wisdom hast thou madeThem all; and this the earth, and every bladeOf grass we tread declare.
18 So doth the deep and wide sea, wherein areInnumerable creeping things, both smallAnd great; there ships go, and the shipmen's fear,The comely, spacious whale.
19 These all upon thee wait, that thou mayst feedThem in due season: what thou giv'st they take;Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need,And plenteous meals they make.
20 When thou dost hide thy face, (thy face which keepsAll things in being,) they consume and mourn:When thou withdraw'st their breath their vigour sleeps,And they to dust return.
21 Thou send'st thy Spirit forth, and they revive,The frozen earth's dead face thou dost renew.Thus thou thy glory through the world dost drive,And to thy works art true.
22 Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole stageIs moved and trembles, the hills melt and smokeWith thy least touch; lightnings and winds that rageAt thy rebuke are broke.
23 Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breathI will in songs to thy great name employThat gift of thine, and to my day of deathThou shalt be all my joy.
24 I'll spice my thoughts with thee, and from thy wordGather true comforts; but the wicked liverShall be consumed. O my soul, bless thy Lord!Yea, bless thou him for ever!
1 Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs,Many bright mornings, much dew, many showersPassed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings,Which now are dead, lodged in thy living bowers.
2 And still a new succession sings and flies;Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shootTowards the old and still-enduring skies,While the low violet thrives at their root.
3 But thou, beneath the sad and heavy lineOf death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark;Where not so much as dreams of light may shine,Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark.
4 And yet, as if some deep hate and dissent,Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee,Were still alive, thou dost great storms resent,Before they come, and know'st how near they be.
5 Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breathOf tempests can no more disturb thy ease;But this thy strange resentment after deathMeans only those who broke in life thy peace.
6 So murdered man, when lovely life is done,And his blood freezed, keeps in the centre stillSome secret sense, which makes the dead blood runAt his approach that did the body kill.
7 And is there any murderer worse than sin?Or any storms more foul than a lewd life?Or what resentient can work more withinThan true remorse, when with past sins at strife?
8 He that hath left life's vain joys and vain care,And truly hates to be detained on earth,Hath got an house where many mansions are,And keeps his soul unto eternal mirth.
9 But though thus dead unto the world, and ceasedFrom sin, he walks a narrow, private way;Yet grief and old wounds make him sore displeased,And all his life a rainy, weeping day.
10 For though he should forsake the world, and liveAs mere a stranger as men long since dead;Yet joy itself will make a right soul grieveTo think he should be so long vainly led.
11 But as shades set off light, so tears and grief,Though of themselves but a sad blubbered story,By showing the sin great, show the reliefFar greater, and so speak my Saviour's glory.
12 If my way lies through deserts and wild woods,Where all the land with scorching heat is cursed;Better the pools should flow with rain and floodsTo fill my bottle, than I die with thirst.
13 Blest showers they are, and streams sent from above;Begetting virgins where they use to flow;The trees of life no other waters love,Than upper springs, and none else make them grow.
14 But these chaste fountains flow not till we die.Some drops may fall before; but a clear springAnd ever running, till we leave to flingDirt in her way, will keep above the sky.
'He that is dead is freed from sin.'—ROM. vi. 7.
1 When the fair yearOf your Deliverer comes,And that long frost which now benumbsYour hearts shall thaw; when angels hereShall yet to man appear,And familiarly conferBeneath the oak and juniper;When the bright Dove,Which now these many, many springsHath kept above,Shall with spread wingsDescend, and living waters flowTo make dry dust, and dead trees grow;
2 Oh, then, that IMight live, and see the olive bearHer proper branches! which now lieScattered each where;And, without root and sap, decay;Cast by the husbandman away.And sure it is not far!For as your fast and foul decays,Forerunning the bright morning star,Did sadly note his healing raysWould shine elsewhere, since you were blind,And would be cross, when God was kind,—
3 So by all signsOur fulness too is now come in;And the same sun, which here declinesAnd sets, will few hours hence beginTo rise on you again, and lookTowards old Mamre and Eshcol's brook.For surely heWho loved the world so as to giveHis only Son to make it free,Whose Spirit too doth mourn and grieveTo see man lost, will for old loveFrom your dark hearts this veil remove.
4 Faith sojourned first on earth in you,You were the dear and chosen stock:The arm of God, glorious and true,Was first revealed to be your rock.
5 You were the eldest child, and whenYour stony hearts despised love,The youngest, even the Gentiles, then,Were cheered your jealousy to move.
6 Thus, righteous Father! dost thou dealWith brutish men; thy gifts go roundBy turns, and timely, and so healThe lost son by the newly found.
1 Come, drop your branches, strew the way,Plants of the day!Whom sufferings make most green and gay.The King of grief, the Man of sorrow,Weeping still like the wet morrow,Your shades and freshness comes to borrow.
2 Put on, put on your best array;Let the joyed road make holyday,And flowers, that into fields do stray,Or secret groves, keep the highway.
3 Trees, flowers, and herbs; birds, beasts, and stones,That since man fell expect with groansTo see the Lamb, come all at once,Lift up your heads and leave your moans;For here comes heWhose death will beMan's life, and your full liberty.
4 Hark! how the children shrill and high'Hosanna' cry;Their joys provoke the distant sky,Where thrones and seraphim reply;And their own angels shine and sing,In a bright ring:Such young, sweet mirthMakes heaven and earthJoin in a joyful symphony.
5 The harmless, young, and happy ass,(Seen long before[1] this came to pass,)Is in these joys a high partaker,Ordained and made to bear his Maker.
6 Dear Feast of Palms, of flowers and dew!Whose fruitful dawn sheds hopes and lights;Thy bright solemnities did shewThe third glad day through two sad nights.
7 I'll get me up before the sun,I'll cut me boughs off many a tree,And all alone full early runTo gather flowers to welcome thee.
8 Then, like the palm, though wronged I'll bear,I will be still a child, still meekAs the poor ass which the proud jeer,And only my dear Jesus seek.
9 If I lose all, and must endureThe proverbed griefs of holy Job,I care not, so I may secureBut one green branch and a white robe.
[1] Zechariah ix. 9.
1 Sacred and secret hand!By whose assisting, swift commandThe angel showed that holy wellWhich freed poor Hagar from her fears,And turned to smiles the begging tearsOf young, distressed Ishmael.
2 How, in a mystic cloud,Which doth thy strange, sure mercies shroud,Dost thou convey man food and money,Unseen by him till they arriveJust at his mouth, that thankless hive,Which kills thy bees, and eats thy honey!
3 If I thy servant be,Whose service makes even captives free,A fish shall all my tribute pay,The swift-winged raven shall bring me meat,And I, like flowers, shall still go neat,As if I knew no month but May.
4 I will not fear what manWith all his plots and power can.Bags that wax old may plundered be;But none can sequester or letA state that with the sun doth set,And comes next morning fresh as he.
5 Poor birds this doctrine sing,And herbs which on dry hills do spring,Or in the howling wildernessDo know thy dewy morning hours,And watch all night for mists or showers,Then drink and praise thy bounteousness.
6 May he for ever dieWho trusts not thee, but wretchedlyHunts gold and wealth, and will not lendThy service nor his soul one day!May his crown, like his hopes, be clay;And what he saves may his foes spend!
7 If all my portion here,The measure given by thee each year,Were by my causeless enemiesUsurped; it never should me grieve,Who know how well thou canst relieve,Whose hands are open as thine eyes.
8 Great King of love and truth!Who wouldst not hate my froward youth,And wilt not leave me when grown old,Gladly will I, like Pontic sheep,Unto my wormwood diet keep,Since thou hast made thy arm my fold.
Dear, beauteous saint! more white than day,When in his naked, pure array;Fresher than morning-flowers, which shew,As thou in tears dost, best in dew.How art thou changed, how lively, fair,Pleasing, and innocent an air,Not tutored by thy glass, but free,Native, and pure, shines now in thee!But since thy beauty doth still keepBloomy and fresh, why dost thou weep?This dusky state of sighs and tearsDurst not look on those smiling years,When Magdal-castle was thy seat,Where all was sumptuous, rare, and neat.Why lies this hair despised nowWhich once thy care and art did show?Who then did dress the much-loved toyIn spires, globes, angry curls and coy,Which with skilled negligence seemed shedAbout thy curious, wild, young head?Why is this rich, this pistic nardSpilt, and the box quite broke and marred?What pretty sullenness did hasteThy easy hands to do this waste?Why art thou humbled thus, and lowAs earth thy lovely head dost bow?Dear soul! thou knew'st flowers here on earthAt their Lord's footstool have their birth;Therefore thy withered self in hasteBeneath his blest feet thou didst cast,That at the root of this green treeThy great decays restored might be.Thy curious vanities, and rareOdorous ointments kept with care,And dearly bought, when thou didst seeThey could not cure nor comfort thee;Like a wise, early penitent,Thou sadly didst to him present,Whose interceding, meek, and calmBlood, is the world's all-healing balm.This, this divine restorativeCalled forth thy tears, which ran in liveAnd hasty drops, as if they had(Their Lord so near) sense to be glad.Learn, ladies, here the faithful cureMakes beauty lasting, fresh, and pure;Learn Mary's art of tears, and thenSay you have got the day from men.Cheap, mighty art! her art of love,Who loved much, and much more could move;Her art! whose memory must lastTill truth through all the world be passed;Till his abused, despised flameReturn to heaven, from whence it came,And send a fire down, that shall bringDestruction on his ruddy wing.Her art! whose pensive, weeping eyes,Were once sin's loose and tempting spies;But now are fixed stars, whose lightHelps such dark stragglers to their sight.
Self-boasting Pharisee! how blindA judge wert thou, and how unkind!It was impossible that thou,Who wert all false, shouldst true grief know.Is't just to judge her faithful tearsBy that foul rheum thy false eye wears?'This woman,' sayst thou, 'is a sinner!'And sat there none such at thy dinner?Go, leper, go! wash till thy fleshComes like a child's, spotless and fresh;He is still leprous that still paints:Who saint themselves, they are no saints.
Still young and fine! but what is still in viewWe slight as old and soiled, though fresh and new.How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eyeThy burnished, flaming arch did first descry!When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot,The youthful world's gray fathers in one knot,Did with intentive looks watch every hourFor thy new light, and trembled at each shower!When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair,Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air:Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and poursBalm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers.Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tieOf thy Lord's hand, the object[1] of his eye!When I behold thee, though my light be dim,Distant, and low, I can in thine see him,Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne,And minds the covenant 'twixt all and one.O foul, deceitful men! my God doth keepHis promise still, but we break ours and sleep.After the fall the first sin was in blood,And drunkenness quickly did succeed the flood;But since Christ died, (as if we did deviseTo lose him too, as well as paradise,)These two grand sins we join and act together,Though blood and drunkenness make but foul, foul weather.Water, though both heaven's windows and the deepFull forty days o'er the drowned world did weep,Could not reform us, and blood in despite,Yea, God's own blood, we tread upon and slight.So those bad daughters, which God saved from fire,While Sodom yet did smoke, lay with their sire.
Then, peaceful, signal bow, but in a cloudStill lodged, where all thy unseen arrows shroud;I will on thee as on a comet look,A comet, the sad world's ill-boding book;Thy light as luctual and stained with woesI'll judge, where penal flames sit mixed and close.For though some think thou shin'st but to restrainBold storms, and simply dost attend on rain;Yet I know well, and so our sins require,Thou dost but court cold rain, till rain turns fire.
[1] Genesis ix. 16.