Divine Fancies :: :: University of Virginia Library

The word is out: Poore Abr'am must be gon;
Must take his Isaak; take his onely Son;
The Son of his Affection; him, from whom,
From whose blest loynes so many Kings must come:
Ev'n him must Abr'am slay, Abr'am must rise,
And offer Isaac a burnt Sacrifice.
God scornes the Offals of our faint desires;
He gives the best, and hee the best requires.
Abr'am forbeares to question; thinks not good
To reason, to advise with Flesh and Blood;

Begs not young Isaacks life, nor goes about
T'object the Law of Murther; makes no doubt:
He rises, rises early; leads his Son;
Hasts where this holy Slaughter must be done:
Where God bids Goe; that very Breath's a Warrant;
We must not linger there: Haste crownes the Arrant.
His Servants must no further: They must stay;
Private Devotion claimes a private way:
They must abide with th' Asse, whilst th'aged Syre
In t'one hand takes the knife; in t'other, Fire:
The sacred Wood of Offring must be pil'd
On the young shoulders of th'obedient Childe:
O here mine eye must spend a teare, to see
Thee beare that Wood, great God, that, since, bore Thee:
Mistrustles Isaac seeing the wood, the fire,
The sacrificing Knife, begins t'enquire,
But where's the Sacred Lamb, that must be slaine?
Resolved Abra'm lest the flesh should gaine
Too much of Nature) sayes not, Thou my Son
Art he; but, The Almighty will provide us One:
Where God commands, 'tis not enough t'effect,
But we must baulk th'occasion of neglect.
The faithfull Abra'm now erects an Alter;
Orders the wood: what tongue can chuse but falter,
To tell the rest? He layes his hand upon
His wondring Isaac; binds his only Son;
He layes him downe; vnsheath's his Priestly knife;
Vp-heaves his arme, to take his Isaacks life:
True Faith is active: Covets to proceed
From thought to action; and from will to deed:
Before the strengthned stroke had time to fall,
A Sudden voyce from Heav'n cryes hold; Recall

Thy threatning Arme, and sheath thy holy Knife,
Thy Faith has answer'd for thy Isaac's life;
Touch not the Childe; thy Faith is throughly showne,
That has not spar'd thine owne, thine only Son:
How easie is our God, and liberall, who
Counts it as don, what we have will to doe!