Divine raptvres or piety in poesie Digested Into a Queint Diversity of sacred fancies. Composed by Tho. Iordan |
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Christs Resurrection.
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 | Divine raptvres or piety in poesie |  |
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Christs Resurrection.
Come
Rise my heart, thy Master's risen,
Why slug'st thou in thy grave?
Dost thou not know he broke the prison?
Thou art no more a slave.
Why slug'st thou in thy grave?
Dost thou not know he broke the prison?
Thou art no more a slave.
He rowled of the sealed stone
That once so pondrous lay,
And left the watchmen all alone
And bravely scapt away.
That once so pondrous lay,
And left the watchmen all alone
And bravely scapt away.
When flesh, the world, and Satan too
Wont suffer thee to quatch,
Learne of thy Master what to doe
And cozen all the watch.
Wont suffer thee to quatch,
Learne of thy Master what to doe
And cozen all the watch.
Let not these clogging earthly things
Make thee (poore soule) forsake him,
Goe, ask of Faith, she'le lend thee wings,
Haste, fly, and overtake him.
Make thee (poore soule) forsake him,
Goe, ask of Faith, she'le lend thee wings,
Haste, fly, and overtake him.
But harke my soule, I'le tell thee where
Thy Master sits in state:
Goe knocke at heavens dore, for there
He entred in of late.
Thy Master sits in state:
Goe knocke at heavens dore, for there
He entred in of late.
If Peter now had kept the key
Thou mightst get in with ease,
But Iustice onely beares the sway
And lets in whom shee please.
Thou mightst get in with ease,
But Iustice onely beares the sway
And lets in whom shee please.
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Shee's wondrous sterne and suffers not
A passenger to enter,
Without thy Masters ticket got
Thou mayst not touch her Center.
A passenger to enter,
Without thy Masters ticket got
Thou mayst not touch her Center.
But come my soule, let me advise,
What needst thou to implore
The Saints for ayde? I know where lies
For thee a private doore.
What needst thou to implore
The Saints for ayde? I know where lies
For thee a private doore.
Dost not remember since the pride
Of base perfidious men
Did thrust thy Master through the side
(Wert not thou wounded then.)
Of base perfidious men
Did thrust thy Master through the side
(Wert not thou wounded then.)
When Iustice is so sterne that thou
Vnto a straight art driven,
(Come hearke and I will tell thee now)
Creepe through that wound to heaven.
Vnto a straight art driven,
(Come hearke and I will tell thee now)
Creepe through that wound to heaven.
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