Fons Lachrymarum or a fountain of tears: From whence doth flow Englands Complaint, Jeremiahs Lamentations paraphras'd with Divine Meditations and an elegy Upon that Son of Valor Sir Charles Lucas. Written by John Quarles |
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Chap. III.
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Chap. III.
Fons Lachrymarum |  |
Chap. III.
Contents.
1 The faithful bewail their calamities: 22 by the mercies of God they nourish their hopes 37 They acknowledg Gods justice. 55 They pray for deliverance, 64 and vengeance {on} their enemies.
'Tis I have seen affliction by the rod,
Th'impetuous anger of the wrathful God.
He with a pitchy darkness mask'd my sight,
And hath not cloth'd me with the robes of light.
He turn'd his hand against me all the day,
He broke my bones, and made my flesh decay.
His lab'ring fury hath built up a wall
Against me, and surrounded me with gall.
In dungeon places he me set, like those
Which in their graves have had a long repose.
And he hath made my toilsom chains to be
Heavy; He hedg'd me from my libertie.
And when I shout and cry, he will not hear,
But makes my pray'r a stranger to his ear.
He hath inclosed me with stones that stay
My hasty steps, he hath incurv'd my way.
And as a lurking Bear, observes my paces,
Or as a Lion in the secret places.
He turn'd me from my ways, disturb'd my state,
Pull'd me in pieces, made me desolate.
He bent his Bow, and made my trembling heart
The aim'd-at object of his fatal dart.
He caus'd his quivered guests t'inforce my veins,
And take a large possession in my reins.
{He} was my people's laughing stock, their song
Was tuned to my mischief all day long.
He fill'd me full of bitterness and woe,
And made me drunk with nauseous wormwood too.
He brake my teeth with gravel stones, and he
With heaps of ashes hath involved me.
Banish'd my Soul from Peace, prosperity
Is quite relapsed from my memory.
I said my strength, my very hope is even
Wasted and perish'd from the Lord of Heav'n.
Ponder my woes and my afflictions all,
Remember both the honey and the gall
These things do still in my remembrance rest,
And ah, my Soul is humbled in my brest!
This I recal to my swift-roving mind,
Therefore I hope, and hoping, hope to find.
Th'impetuous anger of the wrathful God.
He with a pitchy darkness mask'd my sight,
And hath not cloth'd me with the robes of light.
He turn'd his hand against me all the day,
He broke my bones, and made my flesh decay.
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Against me, and surrounded me with gall.
In dungeon places he me set, like those
Which in their graves have had a long repose.
And he hath made my toilsom chains to be
Heavy; He hedg'd me from my libertie.
And when I shout and cry, he will not hear,
But makes my pray'r a stranger to his ear.
He hath inclosed me with stones that stay
My hasty steps, he hath incurv'd my way.
And as a lurking Bear, observes my paces,
Or as a Lion in the secret places.
He turn'd me from my ways, disturb'd my state,
Pull'd me in pieces, made me desolate.
He bent his Bow, and made my trembling heart
The aim'd-at object of his fatal dart.
He caus'd his quivered guests t'inforce my veins,
And take a large possession in my reins.
{He} was my people's laughing stock, their song
Was tuned to my mischief all day long.
He fill'd me full of bitterness and woe,
And made me drunk with nauseous wormwood too.
He brake my teeth with gravel stones, and he
With heaps of ashes hath involved me.
Banish'd my Soul from Peace, prosperity
Is quite relapsed from my memory.
I said my strength, my very hope is even
Wasted and perish'd from the Lord of Heav'n.
Ponder my woes and my afflictions all,
Remember both the honey and the gall
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And ah, my Soul is humbled in my brest!
This I recal to my swift-roving mind,
Therefore I hope, and hoping, hope to find.
It is the mercy of the Lord we sail
So safe; for his compassions never fail.
They're every morning new, thy faithfulness
Is great, and greater then I can express.
The Lord's my portion, saith my Soul; and I
Will therefore hope unto Eternity.
And that just Soul, which dayly shall attend
Upon the Lord, shall never want a friend.
'Tis good that man should hope and wait upon
Th'Almighties pleasure and salvation.
'Tis good for man to exercise the truth,
And bear the yoke of his offending youth:
He sits alone, and silently makes known,
He bears no other burthen than his own.
His humbled mouth salutes the dusty ground,
As if some hopes of mercy may be found.
He's fill'd with shame, he willingly invites
T'a second stroke the hand of him that smites.
For they that strive and really endeavor,
God will not leave, nor cast them off for ever.
He will have pity, though he sends a grief;
In multitudes of mercy lies relief.
He doth not punish, nor augment the smart
Of sinners children with a willing heart.
His feet take no delight to crush to death
Th'offending pris'ners of th'inferior earth.
To turn away mans right, (his heart abhors)
Before the face of their superiors.
And to subvert a man in his just cause,
The Lord approveth not, 'tis not his Laws.
So safe; for his compassions never fail.
They're every morning new, thy faithfulness
Is great, and greater then I can express.
The Lord's my portion, saith my Soul; and I
Will therefore hope unto Eternity.
And that just Soul, which dayly shall attend
Upon the Lord, shall never want a friend.
'Tis good that man should hope and wait upon
Th'Almighties pleasure and salvation.
'Tis good for man to exercise the truth,
And bear the yoke of his offending youth:
He sits alone, and silently makes known,
He bears no other burthen than his own.
His humbled mouth salutes the dusty ground,
As if some hopes of mercy may be found.
He's fill'd with shame, he willingly invites
T'a second stroke the hand of him that smites.
For they that strive and really endeavor,
God will not leave, nor cast them off for ever.
He will have pity, though he sends a grief;
In multitudes of mercy lies relief.
He doth not punish, nor augment the smart
Of sinners children with a willing heart.
His feet take no delight to crush to death
Th'offending pris'ners of th'inferior earth.
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Before the face of their superiors.
And to subvert a man in his just cause,
The Lord approveth not, 'tis not his Laws.
And who is he whose spend-thrift tongue dare say,
This thing shall come to pass, when Heav'n says nay?
Out of the mouth of him that's God indeed
There doth not evil, but known good proceed.
Why doth a living man with grumbling thoughts
Complain as one that's punish'd for his faults?
Let's search, let's try our ways, let's turn again
To God, and he will turn away our pain.
And let our hands b'extended with our souls
To Heav'ns Star-chamber, where our God controuls.
We have rebelliously transgrest, and thou,
Thou hast not pard'ned with a cheerful brow.
Thine anger hath o'reshadowed us, thou hast
Slain without pity, we thy anger taste.
Th'ast vail'd thy self with clouds, which will not let
Our pray'rs pass thorough to discharge our debt.
And as th'off-scouring thou O Lord hast made us
Amongst those factious people that betray'd us.
Our greedy enemies have op'ned wide
Their mouths against us, and our pains deride.
Fear, like a snare, incloses us about,
And desolation will not keep without.
Mine eyes run down like hasty floods of water,
For the destruction of my peoples Daughter.
Mine eyes are full, and tears do stream upon
My cheeks without an intermission:
Till Heav'n look'd down on my enriver'd face
And view'd my weeping from his holy place.
Mine eyes affect my pining heart with pity,
Because of all the Daughters of my City.
And causless (like a frighted bird that flies)
I still am chased by my enemies.
They have destroy'd me in the dungeon, nay
They cast a stone upon me where I lay.
Th'imperious waves mounted above my head,
And then I cry'd, Alas, Alas, I'm dead.
This thing shall come to pass, when Heav'n says nay?
Out of the mouth of him that's God indeed
There doth not evil, but known good proceed.
Why doth a living man with grumbling thoughts
Complain as one that's punish'd for his faults?
Let's search, let's try our ways, let's turn again
To God, and he will turn away our pain.
And let our hands b'extended with our souls
To Heav'ns Star-chamber, where our God controuls.
We have rebelliously transgrest, and thou,
Thou hast not pard'ned with a cheerful brow.
Thine anger hath o'reshadowed us, thou hast
Slain without pity, we thy anger taste.
Th'ast vail'd thy self with clouds, which will not let
Our pray'rs pass thorough to discharge our debt.
And as th'off-scouring thou O Lord hast made us
Amongst those factious people that betray'd us.
Our greedy enemies have op'ned wide
Their mouths against us, and our pains deride.
Fear, like a snare, incloses us about,
And desolation will not keep without.
Mine eyes run down like hasty floods of water,
For the destruction of my peoples Daughter.
Mine eyes are full, and tears do stream upon
My cheeks without an intermission:
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And view'd my weeping from his holy place.
Mine eyes affect my pining heart with pity,
Because of all the Daughters of my City.
And causless (like a frighted bird that flies)
I still am chased by my enemies.
They have destroy'd me in the dungeon, nay
They cast a stone upon me where I lay.
Th'imperious waves mounted above my head,
And then I cry'd, Alas, Alas, I'm dead.
I call'd upon thy name (O Lord;) my voyce
Out of the dungeon made a dreadful noise.
Th'ast heard my cries, Oh let thy ears not lie
Hid from the breathing of my doleful cry.
And in that day when I on thee did call,
Thou cam'st, and bid me never fear at all.
And when my soul (O Lord) was fill'd with strife
Thou didst both plead my cause, and save my life.
And thou hast plainly seen my wrong'd estate;
Judg thou my cause, be thou my advocate.
For thou hast seen their vengeance, thou dost see
Their deep imaginations against me.
Thou their reproach hast heard, and apprehended
What against me their busie thoughts intended.
Thou know'st the very lips of them that rose
Against me, and the malice of my foes.
Behold their sitting and their rising, I
Am all their musick, and their melody.
Out of the dungeon made a dreadful noise.
Th'ast heard my cries, Oh let thy ears not lie
Hid from the breathing of my doleful cry.
And in that day when I on thee did call,
Thou cam'st, and bid me never fear at all.
And when my soul (O Lord) was fill'd with strife
Thou didst both plead my cause, and save my life.
And thou hast plainly seen my wrong'd estate;
Judg thou my cause, be thou my advocate.
For thou hast seen their vengeance, thou dost see
Their deep imaginations against me.
Thou their reproach hast heard, and apprehended
What against me their busie thoughts intended.
Thou know'st the very lips of them that rose
Against me, and the malice of my foes.
Behold their sitting and their rising, I
Am all their musick, and their melody.
Render to them a recompence, O God,
And let them feel thy handy-work, thy rod.
Oh give them grief of heart; Oh let them burst
With dregs of sorrow, let them be accurst.
And let thy angry persecuting hand
Destroy, confound, and sweep them from the land.
And let them feel thy handy-work, thy rod.
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With dregs of sorrow, let them be accurst.
And let thy angry persecuting hand
Destroy, confound, and sweep them from the land.
Meditatio in Capitulum.
Come , come, my Soul, do not obnubilateThy self with smoaky pleasures, nor create
More vain delights to please thy toyish mind:
Be serious now; let pleasures be confin'd.
Th'Almighty's angry, and his angry Breath
Expresses nothing but resolved Death.
His wrath is kindled, and his furious hand
Threatens a ruine to a sinful Land.
His bow is bent; behold he stands prepar'd,
'Tis he, 'tis he, that will not be out-dar'd:
And should his roving messenger impart
A secret sorrow to thy private heart;
What then? Can all the balsams may be found
Recure so great, so terrible a wound?
No, no: Oh then let thy discerning eye
Be truly watchful; for discovery
Oft-times prevents a mischief: he's a stranger
To Heav'ns high Court, that thinks t'out-brave a danger
Behold (my soul) thou art inviron'd round
With troops of adversaries; heark, they sound
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And make thy sorrows but their laughing stock
Dost thou not hear them, how they shout and cry
As though they'd cleave th'unseparable sky?
Oh be not deaf: rouze up thy self, advance
Thy backward thoughts, sleep not in ignorance
Provoke not Heav'n too much: Oh do not still
Urge more and more his most unwilling will.
Observe but how unpleasantly his arm
Draws up his bow, as one that's loath to harm.
Me thinks I hear him say, Oh can ye tell!
Why will ye dye, ye house of Israel?
Me thinks I hear his never-ending breath
Breathe a disdain against a sinners death.
Me thinks I hear his grieved spirit say,
Ye that are weary, come, oh come away,
And lay your burthens on my back, and I
Will hear them all; I'le bear them willingly.
Why will ye dye? why will ye shut your eyes,
And thus run head-long after vanities?
Open your Adder ears, come and rejoyce
With me and mine; let my harmonious voyce
Invite you: Ah, what pleasures can accrew,
From shadows, to such substances as you?
Cast off the works of darkness; let true light
Expel those mists: Oh come when I invite.
What do ye mean? Oh, tell me, tell me why
Ye love to tumble in impurity?
Ah now my Soul! let admiration prove
That Heav'n's compos'd of nothing but of Love;
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(Rather then Mercy) claim a thousand darts.
Call home thy wandring thoughts, & let them all
(Like servants) be obedient to thy Call.
Examine them; the very best will show,
Thy best deserts are but an overthrow.
Review thy actions; see if they can yeeld
One grain of comfort: see if they can shield
Thy threatned state: The more men strive to smother
Their sins, the more one sin begets another.
Then fly, dull soul, to Heav'ns high Court, & there
Melt, melt, into an everlasting tear.
Attone thy God, let not thy tongue deny
The truth to him, when he shall ask thee, why,
Why hast thou done this wickedness! Confess,
'Tis thou hast sin'd, 'tis he that must depress
That head-increasing Hydra: Then shalt thou
Behold with what a voluntary brow
He'l entertain thee, and those joys impart
To thee, which wait upon a contrite heart.
He will have pity, though he sends a grief:
In multitudes of mercy lies relief.
The God of Love did never take delight
To mantle sinners with the clouds of night.
He's an indulgent Father, and his care
Is infinite, as all his mercies are.
Compose thy numerous thoughts, my Soul, and run:
Oh tell that Father, thou wilt be his Son.
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Chap. III.
Fons Lachrymarum | |