Distressed Sion Relieved Or, The Garment of Praise for the Spirit of Heaviness. Wherein are Discovered the Grand Causes of the Churches Trouble and Misery under the late Dismal Dispensation. With a Compleat History of, and Lamentation for those Renowned Worthies that fell in England by Popish Rage and Cruelty, from the Year 1680 to 1688. Together with an Account of the late Admirable and Stupendious Providence which hath wrought such a sudden and Wonderful Deliverance for this Nation, and Gods Sion therein. Humbly Dedicated to their Present Majesties. By Benjamin Keach |
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A Poem written by Mr. Stephen Colledge a while before he was sent to Oxford, where he Suffered Death, Aug. 31. 1681. |
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 | Distressed Sion Relieved |  |
A Poem written by Mr. Stephen Colledge a while before he was sent to Oxford, where he Suffered Death, Aug. 31. 1681.
Wrongful Imprisonment
Hurts not the Innocent.
Hurts not the Innocent.
What if I am into a Prison cast,
By Hellish Combinations am betray'd?
My Soul is free although my Body's fast:
Let them repent that have this evil laid,
And of Eternal vengeance be afraid;
Though Racks and Gibbets can my Body kill,
My God is with me, and I fear no ill.
By Hellish Combinations am betray'd?
My Soul is free although my Body's fast:
Let them repent that have this evil laid,
And of Eternal vengeance be afraid;
Though Racks and Gibbets can my Body kill,
My God is with me, and I fear no ill.
11
What boots the clamours of the giddy Throng?
What Antidote's against a poysonous Breath?
What Fence is there against a Lying Tongue,
Sharpen'd by Hell to wound a man to Death?
Snakes, Vipers, Adders do lurk underneath:
Say what you will, or never speak at all,
Our very Prayers such Wretches Treason call.
What Antidote's against a poysonous Breath?
What Fence is there against a Lying Tongue,
Sharpen'd by Hell to wound a man to Death?
Snakes, Vipers, Adders do lurk underneath:
Say what you will, or never speak at all,
Our very Prayers such Wretches Treason call.
But Walls and Bars cannot a Prison make,
The Free-born Soul enjoys its Liberty;
These clods of Earth it may incaptivate,
Whilst Heavenly Minds are conversant on high,
Ranging the Fields of Blest Eternity:
So let this Bird sing sweetly in my Breast,
My Conscience clear, a Rush for all the rest.
The Free-born Soul enjoys its Liberty;
These clods of Earth it may incaptivate,
Whilst Heavenly Minds are conversant on high,
Ranging the Fields of Blest Eternity:
So let this Bird sing sweetly in my Breast,
My Conscience clear, a Rush for all the rest.
What I have done I did with good intent,
To serve my King, my Countrey, and the Laws;
Against the bloody Papists I was bent,
Cost what it will I'le ne're repent my Cause,
Nor do I fear their Hell-devouring Jaws;
A Protestant I am, and such I'le dye,
Maugre all Deaths, and Popish Cruelty.
To serve my King, my Countrey, and the Laws;
Against the bloody Papists I was bent,
Cost what it will I'le ne're repent my Cause,
Nor do I fear their Hell-devouring Jaws;
A Protestant I am, and such I'le dye,
Maugre all Deaths, and Popish Cruelty.
But what need I these Protestations make,
Actions speak men far better than their words.
Whate're I suffer's for my Countrey's sake,
Not 'cause I had a Gun, or Horse, or Sword;
Or that my Heart did Treason e're afford;
No, 'tis not me (alone) they do intend,
But thousands more, to gain their cursed End.
Actions speak men far better than their words.
Whate're I suffer's for my Countrey's sake,
Not 'cause I had a Gun, or Horse, or Sword;
Or that my Heart did Treason e're afford;
No, 'tis not me (alone) they do intend,
But thousands more, to gain their cursed End.
12
And sure of this the World's so well aware,
That here 'tis needless more for me to say,
I must conclude, no time have I to spare,
My winged hours do fly too fast away,
My (work) Repentance must I not delay,
I'le add my Prayers to God for England's good
And if he please will Seal them with my Blood.
That here 'tis needless more for me to say,
I must conclude, no time have I to spare,
My winged hours do fly too fast away,
My (work) Repentance must I not delay,
I'le add my Prayers to God for England's good
And if he please will Seal them with my Blood.
O Blessed God destroy this black design
Of Popish Consults! it's in thee we trust;
Our Eyes are on thee, help, O Lord, in time.
Thou God of Truth, most Merciful and Just,
Do thou defend us, or we perish must;
Save England, Lord, from Popish Cruelty,
My Countrey bless, Thy will be done on me.
Of Popish Consults! it's in thee we trust;
Our Eyes are on thee, help, O Lord, in time.
Thou God of Truth, most Merciful and Just,
Do thou defend us, or we perish must;
Save England, Lord, from Popish Cruelty,
My Countrey bless, Thy will be done on me.
Mans Life's a Voyage through a Sea of tears,
If he would gain the Haven of his Rest;
His sighs must fill the Sails whilst some Men Steers.
When Storms arise let each man do his best,
And cast the Anchor of his hopes (opprest)
Till Time or Death shall bring us to that Shore
Where Time nor Death shall never be no more.
If he would gain the Haven of his Rest;
His sighs must fill the Sails whilst some Men Steers.
When Storms arise let each man do his best,
And cast the Anchor of his hopes (opprest)
Till Time or Death shall bring us to that Shore
Where Time nor Death shall never be no more.
Laus Deo. Amen
From my Prison in the Tower, August 15, 1681. Stephen Colledge
| Distressed Sion Relieved | |