Self-Conflict or, The powerful Motions between the Flesh & Spirit. Represented In the Person and upon the occasion of Joseph, when By Potiphar's Wife He was enticed to Adultery. A Divine Poem, Written originally in Low-Dutch, by Jacob Catts ... and from thence Translated |
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| The Concluding DAYRY-EMBLEM,
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 | Self-Conflict |  |
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The Concluding DAYRY-EMBLEM,
Discovering the Mystery and Nature of this Religious Self-Conflict.
This Churn behold without and inwardly,
As with thy bodies, so the Spirits eye;
And thus whilst thou reflectest on this thing,
Instructing matter it to thee shall bring.
Without 'tis still, within is uproar loud,
Like hollow drums, exciting battle proud,
When now two Armies in a Champain large,
Each others force prepared stand to charge.
The tumults cause is from two differing things,
Each other charging with enforced flings,
Within the Vessel. The insipid stream
Flows in the fat amongst the thicker Cream.
Hence the fray rises, where these each would smother;
Now one gets uppermost, and then the other.
The Cream's now under, then the tastless Whay,
Holding in doubt whose the victorious day
At length shall be; till after tedious fight,
The well-wrought Cream doth by degrees unite;
And now of hue become like tryed gold,
As in prevailing hands the Palm doth hold.
But though it floats above, it must abide
The dabblings of the Whay on every side.
Until a higher hand doth down convey
That wherewithal it bears it thence away.
Then in pure water throughly cleanseth it,
Preserves with salt, and into vessels fit
Includes, and lastly crowns. Where this regard,
Who overcomes so shall obtain reward.
As with thy bodies, so the Spirits eye;
And thus whilst thou reflectest on this thing,
Instructing matter it to thee shall bring.
Without 'tis still, within is uproar loud,
Like hollow drums, exciting battle proud,
When now two Armies in a Champain large,
Each others force prepared stand to charge.
109
Each other charging with enforced flings,
Within the Vessel. The insipid stream
Flows in the fat amongst the thicker Cream.
Hence the fray rises, where these each would smother;
Now one gets uppermost, and then the other.
The Cream's now under, then the tastless Whay,
Holding in doubt whose the victorious day
At length shall be; till after tedious fight,
The well-wrought Cream doth by degrees unite;
And now of hue become like tryed gold,
As in prevailing hands the Palm doth hold.
But though it floats above, it must abide
The dabblings of the Whay on every side.
Until a higher hand doth down convey
That wherewithal it bears it thence away.
Then in pure water throughly cleanseth it,
Preserves with salt, and into vessels fit
Includes, and lastly crowns. Where this regard,
Who overcomes so shall obtain reward.
He who this discord 'twixt the Cream and Whay,
With profit now desires to overlay,
By an approved Limbeck let him bring
A noble matter from this trifling thing.
The Vessel here is Man, therein the Broyl
Presents the War 'twixt thoughts both good and vile.
The Cream's the Spirit; Whay doth Lust intend.
With restless spight each other these offend.
Awake, dull Saint, learn what's within thy heart:
The Spirit's not alone, nor th'flesh apart:
Their powers are mixed, as together grown;
Both in thee are as interwove in one.
Much like the glimmering Dawn, that goes before
The ruddy day, which doth mans cares restore,
Discov'ring neither Darkness, nor yet Light,
Not Day, not Night alone, but Day and Night.
Or like refulgent White with Negro hue,
Nor white nor black, but gray, betwixt the two.
Or like cold streams, which when to boyling thrown,
Is neither hot nor cold, but lukewarm grown.
Well, lo, the war begins it goes to blows.
Each his All brings his Op'nent to oppose,
Fill'd with fix'd hate. The Flesh embattel'd draws
Incorrigible youth, lusts 'nslaving Laws,
Sports void of bounds, and Deeds of guilty Night,
As Drunkenness and all obscene delight.
Base worldly pleasures, Envy, and what's worse,
Lyes, treacherous Fraud, and filthy tongue discourse.
The Spirit calmly comes begirt with Prayer,
With Gods pure word, with words that season'd are,
With penitence, Humillty, true Love,
Hope, conqu'ring Faith, and th'innocence o'th' dove.
The Combat's hot, where we may safely say,
It seems that Flesh and Spirit now display
Th'effects of fiercest hatred, as if so
They the Souls powers would straitway overthrow.
Until at last the strugling Spirit's found,
Though after many dangers, many a wound,
Far more divinely beautiful and bright,
And more puissant than before the fight:
Yet not without all blemish; since the mind
That yet possesses which to lusts inclin'd,
Whereby in fight, since though it keeps the field,
'Tis oft compell'd to secret lust to yield.
Until the Lord his hand doth down convey,
And him from Earth by Death doth take away,
Translates into a Throne, purges from dross,
And glorifies, whereby he gains by loss.
Thrice happy he, (this firmly let's believe)
This Good who through Gods Spirit doth perceive.
Thrice blessed is that Soul, who in this night,
This upright war upholds, maintains this fight.
Immortal praise, a Crown of great regard,
Prepared is for such a Souls reward,
Yet of pure mercy, our best works are sin;
What we enjoy doth from his grace begin,
For his Sons sake: the Lamb for us once slain,
Provides, that onely they that Bliss shall gain,
In whom the work of grace is found begun,
And to whom God aton'd is through the Son.
Eternal Power, one God in Persons Three,
With profit now desires to overlay,
By an approved Limbeck let him bring
A noble matter from this trifling thing.
The Vessel here is Man, therein the Broyl
Presents the War 'twixt thoughts both good and vile.
The Cream's the Spirit; Whay doth Lust intend.
With restless spight each other these offend.
Awake, dull Saint, learn what's within thy heart:
The Spirit's not alone, nor th'flesh apart:
Their powers are mixed, as together grown;
Both in thee are as interwove in one.
Much like the glimmering Dawn, that goes before
The ruddy day, which doth mans cares restore,
110
Not Day, not Night alone, but Day and Night.
Or like refulgent White with Negro hue,
Nor white nor black, but gray, betwixt the two.
Or like cold streams, which when to boyling thrown,
Is neither hot nor cold, but lukewarm grown.
Well, lo, the war begins it goes to blows.
Each his All brings his Op'nent to oppose,
Fill'd with fix'd hate. The Flesh embattel'd draws
Incorrigible youth, lusts 'nslaving Laws,
Sports void of bounds, and Deeds of guilty Night,
As Drunkenness and all obscene delight.
Base worldly pleasures, Envy, and what's worse,
Lyes, treacherous Fraud, and filthy tongue discourse.
The Spirit calmly comes begirt with Prayer,
With Gods pure word, with words that season'd are,
With penitence, Humillty, true Love,
Hope, conqu'ring Faith, and th'innocence o'th' dove.
The Combat's hot, where we may safely say,
It seems that Flesh and Spirit now display
Th'effects of fiercest hatred, as if so
They the Souls powers would straitway overthrow.
Until at last the strugling Spirit's found,
Though after many dangers, many a wound,
Far more divinely beautiful and bright,
And more puissant than before the fight:
Yet not without all blemish; since the mind
That yet possesses which to lusts inclin'd,
Whereby in fight, since though it keeps the field,
'Tis oft compell'd to secret lust to yield.
Until the Lord his hand doth down convey,
And him from Earth by Death doth take away,
Translates into a Throne, purges from dross,
And glorifies, whereby he gains by loss.
111
This Good who through Gods Spirit doth perceive.
Thrice blessed is that Soul, who in this night,
This upright war upholds, maintains this fight.
Immortal praise, a Crown of great regard,
Prepared is for such a Souls reward,
Yet of pure mercy, our best works are sin;
What we enjoy doth from his grace begin,
For his Sons sake: the Lamb for us once slain,
Provides, that onely they that Bliss shall gain,
In whom the work of grace is found begun,
And to whom God aton'd is through the Son.
Blest who art in thy self 'above things that be;
Whence all things flow, with strength my mind possess,
When Devil, World and Flesh my Soul oppress:
Against these so instruct me to contend,
That I may reach that glory in the end,
Which for thy Saints in Heaven thou dost keep,
'Till in dark Graves their Flesh and Griefs shall sleep.
| Self-Conflict | |