University of Virginia Library

Strange times my Masters, what unusual sight
Hath terrify'd you to this sudden flight?
Still full of jealousies and fears, no hope
Of a re-settlement; ah give not scope
Too much to your own fancies, but incline
To bend your hearts to what is more Divine:
But stay, perhaps ye'ave lately had a sight
Of your own sins, and that has caus'd this flight;
Then fly untill your eyes of faith have found
The Grand Physician that must make you sound;
Fly, till your wings are tyr'd, fly night and day,
Mount in your flight, and in your flying, pray;
Pray till the fervent heat of true bred zeal
Shall melt your wings, your melting will reveal
Your penitency, and Repentance brings
A good Embassage from the King of Kings
Faith is the souls Embassador, and prayer
The Embasie; the Hosts of heav'n prepare
His entertainment, Sun, and Moon, and Stars
Are the swift Laquies that fore-run his Wars;
Thus whilst in hostile manner he appears,
Judgment beats up the Drum for Volunteers:
What shall we do (dear Country-men) our crimes
Are so out-ragious, that the vvorst of times
Is our expectance; let's contrive, and think
What's best to do, for we are at the brink
Of speedy ruine, and our senseless Land
Is crush'd in pieces by an Iron hand,
An Iron hand of Justice, and 'tis vain
T'oppose, except by faith; nay we shall gain
More blows by opposition than (I'm sure)
'Tis possible for nature to endure,
For what is nature in her greatest povver
But vveakness, and that vveakness, every hour
Subject to sad mutations, humane skill
Like Josiah's Sun, goes backvvard, or stands still;
Alas, vve are like Bull-rushes, inclin'd
To shake vvith every feeble blast of vvind,
We have no perminancy, every minit
Brings a most sudden alteration in it;
For vvhat is man if rightly understood,
But a poor fabrick, cemented vvith blood,
Daub'd o're vvith flesh, vvhich one poor shovver of rain
Washes avvay; thus momentary, vain
Is silly man, a perfect Coin of sorrovv,
Receiv'd to day, and paid avvay to morrovv;
Although at first he vvas a noble Coine,
Stampt vvith that image vvhich vvas all Divine,
Yet by his own endeavours he defac'd
Himself, and by his fall so much disgrac'd
His frail and weak posterity, that time
Can not obliterate so foul a Crime,
Till mercy, when observing the persute;
Of vengeance, brings us a most blest recruit,
Which on a sudden turn'd the scale, and then
From miserable, we grew happy, men;
Happy in our Redeemer who thought good
By shedding his, to stop our guilty blood,
He by his sufferings did our woes obtrude;
If this be mercy, where's our gratitude?
Nor is his goodness tyr'd, he still remains
Our Mediator; for our former staines
Are so apparent, that the best of art
Cannot give ease to a tormented heart;
And if our sins do more and more abound,
Judgment at last will be with vengeance Crown'd;
What shall we do? what art, what skilful hand
Can give a prescript to a sinful Land?
To whom shall we address our selves? our skills
Are made imperfect by our stubborn wills;
Our wills are so antartick to what's good,
That we are lost except we make a flood,
A swelling flood, with water from our eyes,
That we may float above our miseries;
There is an Ark of safety to be found
Which we must either fly unto, or drownd;
Let's make a flood with our repentant tears,
That Noahs Ark may save us from our fears;
There let us rest untill our Dove appear
And bring us tydings that the Land is clear?
We may lament and wofully bewail
Our miseries; oh let's not tire, and fail
In our repentance, but to ease our grief
(In multitudes of mercy lies relief)
Let's fly to heav'n upon the wings of zeal,
And in an humble manner there reveal
The sorrows of our hearts; when we begin
To swim in sorrow, we shall sink from sin:

Oh let the language of a hearty Verse,
Beloved Country-men, take root, and pierce
Your stubborn hearts, I write not out of Pride
But out of zeal; I swell not with the tide
Of a Vain-glorious scribler, but desire
By zeal-hot Verse to set your hearts on fire:
But you may say, and what you say, is true,
That your Advisor is as bad as you:
I do confess it with unfained lips;
But what's the Sun the worse for his eclipse?
The heav'nly luminaries suffer pain
By their ecclipses, yet do shine again;
Never could any day be yet so proud
To say it was not darken'd by some Cloud;
And shall proud mortals dare presume to crave
A priv'ledge to go dancing to their Grave;
Would they find heav'n on earth? no, heav'n is higher
Though often seated in a low desire;
Is not heav'n humble, when tis often found
So zealously inclin'd to kiss the Ground?
Does not his heav'nly influences make
The grass to spring for the poor Creatures sake?
Prayer is Angelick food, shall mortals be
Hard-hearted, and so starve that Hirarchie?
No, let our zealous Charities abound,
And then our labours shall be freely Crown'd
With everlasting glory, and our peace
Never be waining, but shall still encrease,
Encrease, with so much plenty, that the earth
Shall groan in labour with a swelling birth,
Whilst satisfied mortals all shall sing
Anthems of peace to their mellifluous King;
And all, this all, is but the least of all,
It is a blest Eternity that shall
Crown us at last with everlasting bliss;
Now tell me Reader what thou thinkst of this,
Tell me what thinkst thou, wouldst thou not be quiet
And well content, to have such lasting diet?
Nay, when th'ast eat thy fill, it shall be said
Th'art freely welcome, and thy reck'ning paid;
Be not so much a Clown after all this cost
To go away, and not say, Thank thee Host;
Observe the thirsty fovvls that never sup
His plenty, but they gratefully look up;
Observe the very beasts how oft they gaze
Up to the Heav'ns, and lowing, give him praise;
Observe each creature in his several kind,
As if by Nature they were all inclin'd
To give him thanks, do in a several tone
As tw're express their gratitude, and own
His liberality; whilst thankless men
Looks down-ward on the earth, and now, and then
Sends forth a sigh or two, which often fly
Rather from nature than Divinity;
Then how can we expect that daily burn
In our own flames, Astrea will return?
How can we hope that heav'n will Crown our dayes
With happiness, except we give him praise?
Shall we live still in darkness, when we may
Injoy the blessing of a glorious day?
Shall we be still contriving how to be
The sole infringers of our libertie?
Poor silly mortals! how do we contrive
As 'twere to bury our own selves a live?
How sensless are we, that we neither look
Abroad, nor home, but like a Land forsook,
We fall into dispair, nor do we make
Our moans to heav'n or hardly pity take
Upon our selves; so stupid are vve grovvn,
That vve are like a City turn'd to stone;
Our zeal is lost; our Charity is fled,
Our health is vanish'd, and our faith is dead;
Our love is turn'd to envy, and our praise
To chattering Nonsense, and our spreading Bayes
To heaps of Nettles; thus, thus have vve lost
Our former happiness, and heaven his cost;
Thus, thus, most obstinately all have run
Against the rocks, and vvilfully undone
Our stubborn selves; vvhat hopes can vve derive
From our imperious sins, that vve shall thrive
In grace, that spreading mercy may incline
To do us good, and take us from the brine
Of our ovvn Crimes; oh grievous is his end,
That lives, and sadly dies, vvithout a Friend;
Oh sea of sorrovvs! oh tumultuous care!
What shall vve do, to vvhom shall vve repair?
We run from place to place, and are unkind;
Never regarding those vve leave behind;
Should heav'n deal so by us, what were we then
But as w'areworst of sinners, worst of men;
What can we call our own? all things were sent
In mercy; and in grace they must be spent,
Oh grief to speak it! was there ever known
A fitter oppertunity to own
And use his blessings? know vvhat is not us'd
In times of Charity is but abus'd;
'Tis like the Israelites Manna if not spent
It will corrupt, and he that freely sent
Expects a free return; the poor mans hand
Is his Exchequer; do not doubtful stand
But pay in freely; and ye shall be blest
With more then double, double interest;
And then your praise shall be recorded thus,
That Dives now's turn'd good to Lazarus:
Then shall the poor mans prayers and widdows eyes
Prevail, and keep you from those miseries
Which may ensue; oh let not the advice
Of a poor sinner turn your hearts to ice;
But rather melt your souls into a flood
Of Love; remember whose most precious blood
Stream'd freely forth on purpose to relieve
The poor; it was their sorrows made him grieve;
It was his grief that made our sorrows cease,
It was his bloody war procur'd our peace;
It was his glory made our darkness shine,
It was his Vinegar that prov'd our Wine;
It vvas his stripes that made us truly sound;
It vvas the Balsome of his bleeding vvound,
That eas'd our pain; oh here! oh here's the Cure!
But vvhere's the thanks? 'tvvas he that did endure
But vve that sinn'd; oh love exceeding measure,
His pain vvas the fore-runner of our pleasure;
His stripes has made us whole, what need we more
But thankes? accept it Lord, 'tis all our store;
'Tis a thin gratitude, thou art Divine,
Oh therefore turn our water into Wine;
And when dear Lord thy mercy is about
Such works of wonders, turn our insides out;
Oh heal our Leprosie of sin, and then
We'l boast that we are more then perfect men;
Thou that canst Cure the blind, the deaf, the lame,
In healing us wilt get a double fame;
For we are more then deaf, or lame, or blind,
Therefore (oh Lord) be unto us more kind,
For we have cripple consciences; each heart
Of ours is dead; oh raise them by thy art;
And let our eyes make such a sea of tears,
That we may walk upon it without fears;
And when thy judgment brings us to the brink,
Oh let's remember Peter did not sink;
And when thy Cock of mercy, Lord, shall Crow
Let's turn about and weep away our woe,
And let's remember but the Cripples touch
And then oh Lord we'l throw away our Crutch;
Oh let's remember but the blind mans sight,
And we shall come from darkness into light;
Oh let's prepare our hearts and then vve may
Instead of running from thy Judgments stay;
And staying may most happily imbrace
The vvelcome glory of thy spreading grace,
That so our faculties may all combine,
To give thee praise that makes our visage shine;
Then shall we live in a most prosperous peace
Our Corn, and Oil, shall ever more encrease;
Want, then shall be a stranger, to our Land,
And lib'ral mercy take off Judgments brand;
Then every one with freedom shall encline
T' injoy the fruitful Fig-tree and the Vine:
Thus mercy shall appear unto our Land,
And lead in welcome blessings by the hand:
Then shall our joyes encrease as 'twas of old
The Wolf and Lamb shall Cabbin in one fold;
Religion shall increase and bless our dayes
With sound Divinity; immortal praise
Shall fly to him whose mercy was so free
To own us in our great extremity:
Judge Reader, judge with what a pleasing eye,
The patient looks to see his Doctor by;
The Gally slave that tuggs the painful Oare
Rejoyceth when he seeth a pleasant shoare;
And shall not we that wander in our crimes
Rejoyce to see illuminated times;
And let us (say whose lives are but a span)
With double admiration, What is man!
Lord what is man that thou art so inclin'd
To have him seated alwayes in thy mind?
And shall we not return our thanks with prayer
That alwayes makes our miseries, his care;
Shall we whose sins do more and more increase
Deny, if we repent, a proffer'd peace?
Shall we that have a long time been at warrs
Deny to put a period to our jarrs?
Shall we whose sad calamities increase
Deny to say thrice welcome, welcome Peace?
And shall not vve (incompas'd vvith a throng
Of mercies) let Hosanna be our song?
Shall we be silent, and contented be
To eat the fruit, and not applaud the Tree?
Oh let not such ingratitude be laid
Unto our charge; oh let it not be said,
That we in times of mercy can be mute,
And kill the tree that gives us pleasant fruit;
Oh let us not, like sucking Children, bite
Our Nurses Nipple, let us not delight
In youthful vanities; oh let's not cry
Because w'are fed, let not our delug'd eye
Find quiet rest untill our sins appear
Minute, like Atoms, in a day that's clear;
Oh let us, whilst it is to day, repent,
And understand that Judgments oft are sent
In tender mercy, zealous David found
Himself a King indeed when he was Crown'd
With his affliction; Patience is a Jemm;
Saul seeking Asses, found a Diadem;
Whilst others, oh I pity them! Ah lass,
Looking for Diadems do find an Ass;
Our ancient Records tell us planly how
An Ass spoke once, w'ave many do so now;
By which we fully may perceive, what then
Were Miracles, are common now, to men.