The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont :: :: University of Virginia Library

Heavn bless mine Eys! What do I see
Behinde me there?
And can this be
A Life! & Mine! where every Year
Is but a Circle fraught
With nought
But frothie Emptines, or what
Is vainer farr then that,
Earth-groveling Thoughts, fond Wishes, foolish Fears,
Foule Sloth, proud Wilfulnes, distrustfull Cares.

2

And what's that sweet & pretious Band
Of heavnly Things
Which by it stand?
What's He who spreads his ready Wings
A downie Shield to be
For Me
And my unworthy Life? Alas
Those are the Powers of Grace;
And this, my everwatchful Guardian, whoe
Strove, not to let me mine own Self undoe.

332

3

O me! their blessed Sight confounds
My guilty breast,
Bycause those Wounds
Of Love & Life I did resist
By which sweetcruel They
To slay
That sinful Death did strongly strive
Which in my Soule did live.
And now the sweeter are their Looks, the more
Floods of Dismay upon my Heart they poure.

4

And have I liv'd for this, that I
At length should be
Frighted with my
Own Life's strange Looks! O pittie Me
All yee who ever felt
What Guilt
Can do, when all its hideous Dread
In stern array is spred
Before a trembling Soule, which doth perceive
How all her Life long She did never Live.

5

How shall I do to look i' th' face
This dawning Year,
Who careless was
Of those in which Heavns Love did spare
My dareing Impudence.
O whence
Shall I snatch Comfort, who so long
On Patience heaped wrong!
On thy deer Patience, JESU, which hath fought
With all the Sinns vile I against it brought.

333

6

Whence, but from Thee, sweet King of Grace
Who never yet
Hid'st thy milde Face
From any which Thou sawest wett
With penitent floods? Yf Thou
Wilt now
But with thy Beams of Mercie shine
On this dead Heart of mine,
With holy Vigour 'twill at length revive,
And I again, this year at least, shall live.

7

O give Me leave to think, that thy
Blest Will alone
Did dignify
Me with that mighty Function
In which Thou didst instate
Of late
Thy worthless Worm: And shall thy Priest
Go Sacrifice the rest
Of his (how pretious) Time at any shrine,
O most deserving JESU, but at thine?

8

Forbid it most almighty Lord,
Upon whose great
Authentik Word
All Wonders give attendance! Let
Me either live to Thee;
Or see
No more unprofitable days:
For what, what have the ways
And works of Darknes, & infernal Night
To do with pure & sin-upbrayding Light?