The Glorious Lover A Divine Poem, Upon the Adorable Mystery of Sinners Redemption. By B. K. [i.e. Benjamin Keach] |
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| I. | CHAP. I. |
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 | CHAP. I. The Glorious Lover |  |
CHAP. I.
Shewing how Christ renews his Suit again and again, which is done either by the ministration of the Gospel, or by his various Providences, and yet the Soul refuses to receive him.
Thus have you heard a Sacred Story told,
Fill'd full of Wonders, Wonders, which unfold
Such depths of Wisdom, depths of Grace and Love.
Which none can comprehend, it is above
The reach of men; no knowledg is so high
That can conceive of it; nay, Angels pry
Into this thing, this Myst'ry is so deep,
It all the glorious Seraphims doth keep
In holy admiration, they'r amaz'd
To see how all the Attributes are rais'd
In equal Glory, and do sweetly shine
In their own proper Sphere, alike divine.
Here by diviner Art you all may find
What was in our great God's eternal mind,
Before the Earth's foundation long was laid,
Or e're bright Sol his glorious beams display'd,
Respecting Man, whom he foresaw would fall,
And bring his Soul thereby into sad thral:
Here may you with much ease and joy espy
The great result of the blest Trinity.
In that eternal Council held above,
About the Soul, the object of Christ's Love.
Here also, here's a proof of true affection,
And how to love from hence let's take direction.
Who ever had or shew'd such love as he,
Who for his Love was nailed to the Tree?
Fill'd full of Wonders, Wonders, which unfold
Such depths of Wisdom, depths of Grace and Love.
Which none can comprehend, it is above
The reach of men; no knowledg is so high
That can conceive of it; nay, Angels pry
Into this thing, this Myst'ry is so deep,
It all the glorious Seraphims doth keep
In holy admiration, they'r amaz'd
To see how all the Attributes are rais'd
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In their own proper Sphere, alike divine.
Here by diviner Art you all may find
What was in our great God's eternal mind,
Before the Earth's foundation long was laid,
Or e're bright Sol his glorious beams display'd,
Respecting Man, whom he foresaw would fall,
And bring his Soul thereby into sad thral:
Here may you with much ease and joy espy
The great result of the blest Trinity.
In that eternal Council held above,
About the Soul, the object of Christ's Love.
Here also, here's a proof of true affection,
And how to love from hence let's take direction.
Who ever had or shew'd such love as he,
Who for his Love was nailed to the Tree?
But, hark! some do enquire, they long to hear
What is become of th' Soul he loves so dear?
Lo, from the Grave he's come, he looks about,
He searches every place to find her out.
What, is she fled! and where? in what strange Isle
Of clouds and darkness lurks she all this while?
What is become of th' Soul he loves so dear?
Lo, from the Grave he's come, he looks about,
He searches every place to find her out.
What, is she fled! and where? in what strange Isle
Of clouds and darkness lurks she all this while?
Good Reader, urge me not, I'le let thee hear
That which may melt thy Soul into a tear.
Excuse my Pen for what its lines shall speak.
Such Marble hearts as cannot melt, must break.
To leave off here, I'm sure it is not fit,
Nor would I write what you would have unwrit.
But since it doth upon the Soul reflect,
It matters not how much we do detect
The folly which doth in the Sinner lie,
When Soveraign Grace exalted is thereby.
My Heart and Pen seem both to be at strife,
To paint unkindness forth unto the life.
Wilt Thou, who dost the Muses aid, afford
Divine assistance, that each pow'rful word
May rend a heart at least, and every line
Turn Kingdoms and whole Nations into brine
Of their own tears? teach me, O Lord, the skil
T' extract the spirit of grief, O let my Quil,
Like Moses Rod, make Adamants to fly,
That tears may gush like Rivers from each eye.
How can it once be thought that such a Friend,
Who loveth thus, doth thus his love commend,
And in such sort so strangely condescend,
Should when all's done by her contemned be,
Though he's most high, and she of base degree?
The grand design, the end and reason why
This Prince from Heaven came, was scourg'd, did die,
Was to redeem the Soul, and so endeavour
To get her love, and marry her for ever,
As is before declar'd. But will you hear
How things are carry'd, how they manag'd are?
The time is come, you'l find, by what ensues
That this great Lord his Suit a-fresh renews.
When Sacred Love runs thus with greatest force,
What pity is't ought should disturb its course?
How can the Soul refuse to entertain
A Lover, which for her with shame was slain?
But stop again, my Muse, thou must give o're,
The Prince is come, lo he is at her door.
That which may melt thy Soul into a tear.
Excuse my Pen for what its lines shall speak.
Such Marble hearts as cannot melt, must break.
To leave off here, I'm sure it is not fit,
Nor would I write what you would have unwrit.
But since it doth upon the Soul reflect,
It matters not how much we do detect
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When Soveraign Grace exalted is thereby.
My Heart and Pen seem both to be at strife,
To paint unkindness forth unto the life.
Wilt Thou, who dost the Muses aid, afford
Divine assistance, that each pow'rful word
May rend a heart at least, and every line
Turn Kingdoms and whole Nations into brine
Of their own tears? teach me, O Lord, the skil
T' extract the spirit of grief, O let my Quil,
Like Moses Rod, make Adamants to fly,
That tears may gush like Rivers from each eye.
How can it once be thought that such a Friend,
Who loveth thus, doth thus his love commend,
And in such sort so strangely condescend,
Should when all's done by her contemned be,
Though he's most high, and she of base degree?
The grand design, the end and reason why
This Prince from Heaven came, was scourg'd, did die,
Was to redeem the Soul, and so endeavour
To get her love, and marry her for ever,
As is before declar'd. But will you hear
How things are carry'd, how they manag'd are?
The time is come, you'l find, by what ensues
That this great Lord his Suit a-fresh renews.
When Sacred Love runs thus with greatest force,
What pity is't ought should disturb its course?
How can the Soul refuse to entertain
A Lover, which for her with shame was slain?
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The Prince is come, lo he is at her door.
Most precious Soul! I now am come again,
Behold 'tis I, who for thee have been slain.
How is't with thee, hast thou not heard the news,
What for thy sake I suffer'd by the Jews?
That through a Sea of blood, and sorrows great,
I now am come with bowels to intreat
Thee to embrace the offer I present.
And, first of all, with tears do thou repent
That ever thou hast entertained Sin,
That has to me so very bitter bin.
Soul.
Repent! This is a melancholly strain;
It suits with such whose lives are fill'd with pain,
And guilty are of some notorious crime,
Whose glass is near run out, whose precious time
Draws to an end; 'tis good for such indeed
To look about them, and repent with speed:
But thus 'tis not with me, I know no sorrow
I'le wave that work, I'le wave it till to morrow;
To morrow, I mean, till some fitter season:
I see no cause, alas, I know no reason
To hark to thoughts that may disturb my peace,
When joys abound, and sweat delights increase.
Repent! of what strange kind of voice shall I
Amazed stand, yet can no danger spy.
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No reason why! Ah Soul, art still so blind,
Wounded from head to foot, and canst thou find
No ground of grief, no cause to lay to heart
Thy horrid guilt, nor yet the bitter smart
Which I indur'd for thee, to prevent
Severer Wrath, severer punishment,
And dost not savour this sweet word, Repent?
'Tis well there's room, a call, a season fit;
There's thousand Souls who are denied it.
Dar'st, dar'st adventure still to live in Sin?
What, crucifie thy dying Lord agin!
Were not my pangs sufficient? must I bleed
Afresh? O must thy sinful pleasures feed
Upon my torments? and augment the story
Of the sad passion of the Lord of Glory?
Is there no pity in thee? what, no remorse
Within thy breast? Seek, seek a firm divorce
Betwixt thy self and Sin; do thy endeavour
To break that league, depart, depart for ever.
Did I not suffer to dissolve the knot
Between thee and all Lust? and wilt thou not
Regard me now, but entertain my Foe?
What, cruel unto me, and thy self too!
I prethee, Soul, bethink thy self, and yield,
And let thy Lovers for my sake be kill'd;
Ah, let them die, who if they live, will be
Thy death at last, who have bin death to me.
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Those joys are sweet, which do delight my heart;
Ah! how can I and sinful Objects part?
Must gainful Lusts, and those which honour's yield,
At once be put to th' Sword? And those be kill'd
Which so much pleasure unto me afford?
How can it be? alas, it is too hard:
The thoughts of it's a perfect death to me;
Lord, say no more, I cannot yield to thee.
Jesus.
Ah! Didst thou know, poor Soul, what 'tis to sin,
And how my Soul for it has tortur'd bin,
Thou wouldst revenged be on it, I'm sure,
And a divorcement speedily procure.
Or, didst thou know what grief it is to me
To be contemned and despis'd by thee;
Such churlish Answers wouldst thou not return
To him, whose soul in fervent love do's burn
To thee, poor wretch, and only for thy good,
'Tis that I seek, and sought with tears of blood.
Once more I ask thy love, I cannot leave thee,
Until my everlasting Arms receive thee.
Soul.
If I may have those pleasures which delight me,
Whose amorous glances sweetly do invite me
To love them dear, who stollen have my heart,
I am contented thou shouldst have some part
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And I resolve to take some part of it.
Jesus.
Ungrateful Soul! did I not wholly give
My self for thee? and shall I now receive
A piece of thine, nay but a little part,
That have deserved more than a whole heart:
'Tis all the heart, or none; do'st think it fit
Sin and the Devil should have part of it?
Would any Lover such strange love receive,
To be contented that his Spouse should have,
Some other Suiters, and to them should cleave?
What sayst, deceived Soul? why standst thou mute?
Disclose thy inward thoughts, and grant my Suit.
O speak! or, if thy doubtful mind be bent
To silence, let that silence be consent.
If thou wilt grant me that whole heart of thine;
We'l exchange hearts, I'le give thee all of mine.
She look'd about, she mus'd, she paus'd a while,
Whilst he on her cast forth an Heav'nly smile;
Sweet rays of Glory glanced from his Eye,
Enough to ravish all the standers-by;
So great a lustre from his garments shone,
It dazl'd all weak eyes to look upon.
Like as the Sun his glorious beams displays,
Dispersing every way his sparkling rays,
When in his strength & splendor bright doth shine,
So glister'd forth his Glory all Divine.
Ne're such a beauty carnal eyes beheld.
Ah! one sweet sight of him has wholly fill'd
The greatest Soul that liv'd, and there is still
Enough in him millions of Hearts to fill.
And none but Him alone can satisfie
The Soul of Man, the Soul-enlightned eye.
But stay and hear the Answer which is given
By the deceived Soul. O let the Heaven
And Earth astonish'd stand, whilst stubborn she
Deny'd his Suit, will not persuaded be
To o'pe her door, who longs to enter in,
To fill her Soul with joy, destroy her sin.
Soul.
Whilst he on her cast forth an Heav'nly smile;
Sweet rays of Glory glanced from his Eye,
Enough to ravish all the standers-by;
So great a lustre from his garments shone,
It dazl'd all weak eyes to look upon.
Like as the Sun his glorious beams displays,
Dispersing every way his sparkling rays,
When in his strength & splendor bright doth shine,
So glister'd forth his Glory all Divine.
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Ah! one sweet sight of him has wholly fill'd
The greatest Soul that liv'd, and there is still
Enough in him millions of Hearts to fill.
And none but Him alone can satisfie
The Soul of Man, the Soul-enlightned eye.
But stay and hear the Answer which is given
By the deceived Soul. O let the Heaven
And Earth astonish'd stand, whilst stubborn she
Deny'd his Suit, will not persuaded be
To o'pe her door, who longs to enter in,
To fill her Soul with joy, destroy her sin.
Strange 'tis to me such beauty should be there!
What, so amazing glorious, none so fair!
When I no loveliness in him can see
The World, and outward pleasures, seem to me
More rare and spriteful, far the better choice;
Such things I like: but for this Lover's voice,
His Face and Favour I ca'nt so esteem,
Nor can I leave all things for love of him.
Therefore be gone, and cease thy suit; for I
Have fixt my mind elswhere, my heart and eye
Is set on that which outward eyes can see.
Lord, let me not be troubl'd more with thee.
O stay, my Muse! reach me an Iron Pen,
T' engrave this on the marble hearts of men.
Let Sinners look within, then let them read
Themselves ungrateful, blind, and dark indeed.
Would not each Soul conclude this Creature were
Besides her self, or else deserv'd to bear
The great'st contempt, and pity'd be by none,
That bids such a dear Lover to be gone?
How oft has he by precious motives try'd
The Soul from sin and evil to divide,
And make her too obdurat heart relent,
And take such ways as Wisdom do's invent?
His Passions, Sighs and Tears are ready still,
As the officious agents of his Will,
To work her to a sence of her estate:
But she's (alas) so dark and desperate,
That his sweet voice, of so divine a strain,
So moving, mov'd her, but seems all in vain.
He sighs for her, he knows her sad distress,
He asks her love, but still without success.
Ah Sinners! view your rocky hearts, and then
Smite on your breasts, lament, and read agen.
The glorious Lord his love's so strange, so great,
He knows not how to think of a retreat.
His soul is griev'd, yet takes not her denial,
But makes a new Essay, another Trial.
Jesus.
T' engrave this on the marble hearts of men.
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Themselves ungrateful, blind, and dark indeed.
Would not each Soul conclude this Creature were
Besides her self, or else deserv'd to bear
The great'st contempt, and pity'd be by none,
That bids such a dear Lover to be gone?
How oft has he by precious motives try'd
The Soul from sin and evil to divide,
And make her too obdurat heart relent,
And take such ways as Wisdom do's invent?
His Passions, Sighs and Tears are ready still,
As the officious agents of his Will,
To work her to a sence of her estate:
But she's (alas) so dark and desperate,
That his sweet voice, of so divine a strain,
So moving, mov'd her, but seems all in vain.
He sighs for her, he knows her sad distress,
He asks her love, but still without success.
Ah Sinners! view your rocky hearts, and then
Smite on your breasts, lament, and read agen.
The glorious Lord his love's so strange, so great,
He knows not how to think of a retreat.
His soul is griev'd, yet takes not her denial,
But makes a new Essay, another Trial.
Did, did I love thee from Eternity?
And my celestial Kingdom leave for thee?
Did I Man's humane nature freely take?
Did I my bed in a poor Manger make?
Did I engage the cruel'st of all Foes?
Did I from men and Devils meet with blows?
Did I such kind of tortures undergoe
Which men nor Angels can't conceive or know?
Did Wrath pursue, and Justice fall on me?
And did I bear it all for love to thee?
Ah! did I sweat great drops of Sacred Blood,
Until the ground was sprinkled where I stood?
And were my feet and hands nail'd to the Tree,
Whilst my dear Father hid his Face from me?
Have I with joy, delight, and chearful heart
Indur'd all this excessive pain and smart,
And out of precious love to thee I bore?
And must I still be kept out of thy door?
And my celestial Kingdom leave for thee?
Did I Man's humane nature freely take?
Did I my bed in a poor Manger make?
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Did I from men and Devils meet with blows?
Did I such kind of tortures undergoe
Which men nor Angels can't conceive or know?
Did Wrath pursue, and Justice fall on me?
And did I bear it all for love to thee?
Ah! did I sweat great drops of Sacred Blood,
Until the ground was sprinkled where I stood?
And were my feet and hands nail'd to the Tree,
Whilst my dear Father hid his Face from me?
Have I with joy, delight, and chearful heart
Indur'd all this excessive pain and smart,
And out of precious love to thee I bore?
And must I still be kept out of thy door?
Shall, shall I leave thee then, and take my flight
Into some foreign Land, and let the Night
Of dismal darkness be thy lot for ever,
Where direful Wrath all graceless souls do sever
From all sweet shines of my Eternal Face,
That thou mayst there bewail with shame thy case?
When shades of frightful darkness thee do cover,
Thou wilt condole the loss of such a Lover;
Must I be gone, must I my farewel take
And leave thee to thy self? my heart doth ake
To think upon thy state, when I do leave thee;
Far rather would I have these Arms receive thee.
What, slight a Saviour thus, a Friend indeed,
An early Friend, a Friend, who chose to bleed
For thee, and in thy stead, that so thereby
He might enjoy thee to Eternitie!
Farewel, false Soul, I bid thee now adieu;
Take what will follow, dread what will insue.
Grief, sorrows, sickness and a troubled mind,
Will thee pursue, until thou com'st to find
A changed heart; and vengeance do's allot
Ruin to those thou lov'st, who love thee not.
I'le kill them all who have insnar'd thy heart,
Before from thee for ever I depart.
Ah! how my Soul with a tempestuous tide
Of tears is overwhelm'd, whilst I'm deny'd
My Suit by thee! my passions overflow
To see thee slight me, and my passion too:
What, tread me underfoot! whilst vanity,
And worldly joys, are Jewels in thine eye!
As if best good, and sweet'st content lay hid
In that gay fruit, which is alone forbid.
Into some foreign Land, and let the Night
Of dismal darkness be thy lot for ever,
Where direful Wrath all graceless souls do sever
From all sweet shines of my Eternal Face,
That thou mayst there bewail with shame thy case?
When shades of frightful darkness thee do cover,
Thou wilt condole the loss of such a Lover;
Must I be gone, must I my farewel take
And leave thee to thy self? my heart doth ake
To think upon thy state, when I do leave thee;
Far rather would I have these Arms receive thee.
What, slight a Saviour thus, a Friend indeed,
An early Friend, a Friend, who chose to bleed
For thee, and in thy stead, that so thereby
He might enjoy thee to Eternitie!
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Take what will follow, dread what will insue.
Grief, sorrows, sickness and a troubled mind,
Will thee pursue, until thou com'st to find
A changed heart; and vengeance do's allot
Ruin to those thou lov'st, who love thee not.
I'le kill them all who have insnar'd thy heart,
Before from thee for ever I depart.
Ah! how my Soul with a tempestuous tide
Of tears is overwhelm'd, whilst I'm deny'd
My Suit by thee! my passions overflow
To see thee slight me, and my passion too:
What, tread me underfoot! whilst vanity,
And worldly joys, are Jewels in thine eye!
As if best good, and sweet'st content lay hid
In that gay fruit, which is alone forbid.
He woo's, the Soul says no; he still replies;
He sweetly sues, she wickedly denies.
He woos afresh, she answers with disdain,
I cannot love, but he intreats again.
At last he leaves her, and his Suit adjourns;
He views the Soul, and griev'd, away returns:
He bids farewel, and yet he bids it so,
As if he knew not how to take her No.
He bids farewel, but 'tis as if delay
Did promise better farewels, than his stay.
He now withdraws, but 'tis with a design
His absence might her heart the more incline
To th' love and liking of him, or to see
What by some other means perform'd may be.
As Lovers often times by rules of Art
Devise new ways to gain upon the heart
Of such they love, to bring them to their bow;
Like things sometimes doth Jesus also do.
T' incline the Sinners heart, he hides his face,
And brings them into a distressed case.
He lays them on sick beds, for to discover
The worth and need of such a Sacred Lover.
Poor Sinners, ponder well what you do read,
And mind those thoughts which woo you to take heed
How you neglect & slight the day of Grace,
Or to base lusts and vain delights give place.
Now sickness comes, & Death begins to fright her,
And 'tis no marvel if the Lord do slight her.
Her drousy Conscience also now awakes;
Alas, she startl'd much, she weeps, she quakes,
She crys out for a Christ, but non's in sight,
And all her other Lovers fail her quite.
She yields, she loves, but with a servile heart,
When other Lovers slight her and depart.
She loves thee not, Lord Christ, for what thou art,
But what thou hast: and should she spared be,
She'd shew her love to Sin, more than to thee.
He sweetly sues, she wickedly denies.
He woos afresh, she answers with disdain,
I cannot love, but he intreats again.
At last he leaves her, and his Suit adjourns;
He views the Soul, and griev'd, away returns:
He bids farewel, and yet he bids it so,
As if he knew not how to take her No.
He bids farewel, but 'tis as if delay
Did promise better farewels, than his stay.
He now withdraws, but 'tis with a design
His absence might her heart the more incline
To th' love and liking of him, or to see
What by some other means perform'd may be.
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Devise new ways to gain upon the heart
Of such they love, to bring them to their bow;
Like things sometimes doth Jesus also do.
T' incline the Sinners heart, he hides his face,
And brings them into a distressed case.
He lays them on sick beds, for to discover
The worth and need of such a Sacred Lover.
Poor Sinners, ponder well what you do read,
And mind those thoughts which woo you to take heed
How you neglect & slight the day of Grace,
Or to base lusts and vain delights give place.
Now sickness comes, & Death begins to fright her,
And 'tis no marvel if the Lord do slight her.
Her drousy Conscience also now awakes;
Alas, she startl'd much, she weeps, she quakes,
She crys out for a Christ, but non's in sight,
And all her other Lovers fail her quite.
She yields, she loves, but with a servile heart,
When other Lovers slight her and depart.
She loves thee not, Lord Christ, for what thou art,
But what thou hast: and should she spared be,
She'd shew her love to Sin, more than to thee.
No sooner the sad Soul her state laments,
But bowels mov'd in Jesus, he relents.
In her afflictions, he's afflicted too,
And can't be long e're he'l compassions shew.
He sent relief, he eas'd her of her pain,
And rais'd her up to former health again.
But as 'twas hinted, so it came to pass,
The wretched Soul proves vile as ere she was.
Affliction will not bring to Jesus's feet,
Unless great Pow'r do go along with it.
The Soul's like Phar'oh: crys when smitten sore;
Then, then for Christ, and O 'twill sin no more!
But when rais'd up, and has sweet health restor'd,
It cleavs to Sin afresh, forgets the Lord.
But the affections of the Prince of Peace
Abated not, but rather did increase.
His love and patience both alike shine forth,
To 'stonishment of all who live on Earth.
And that he might obtain the Soul at last,
His Servants call'd and sent away in hast
To recommend his love, and in his stead
To o'pe those precious Glories, which lie hid
To her and to all those who carnal be:
Alas! they ca'nt behold, they cannot see
Those high perfections which in Jesus are,
Nor can they think his beauty is so rare,
Exceeding all conception, all compare.
But bowels mov'd in Jesus, he relents.
In her afflictions, he's afflicted too,
And can't be long e're he'l compassions shew.
He sent relief, he eas'd her of her pain,
And rais'd her up to former health again.
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The wretched Soul proves vile as ere she was.
Affliction will not bring to Jesus's feet,
Unless great Pow'r do go along with it.
The Soul's like Phar'oh: crys when smitten sore;
Then, then for Christ, and O 'twill sin no more!
But when rais'd up, and has sweet health restor'd,
It cleavs to Sin afresh, forgets the Lord.
But the affections of the Prince of Peace
Abated not, but rather did increase.
His love and patience both alike shine forth,
To 'stonishment of all who live on Earth.
And that he might obtain the Soul at last,
His Servants call'd and sent away in hast
To recommend his love, and in his stead
To o'pe those precious Glories, which lie hid
To her and to all those who carnal be:
Alas! they ca'nt behold, they cannot see
Those high perfections which in Jesus are,
Nor can they think his beauty is so rare,
Exceeding all conception, all compare.
Dear Reader, prethee mark what here insues
Mind, mind the Arguments this man dos use
To move the Soul to tears of true contrition,
Fetch'd from Christ's love, and from her lost condition.
Mind, mind the Arguments this man dos use
To move the Soul to tears of true contrition,
Fetch'd from Christ's love, and from her lost condition.
Theologue.
By Jesus sent! by such a Prince as he!
Ah! 'tis a work too great, too high for me.
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Thou do'st imploy, thy secrets to disclose!
What! be a Spokesman for a Prince so great,
To represent his Love, and to entreat
Poor Sinners in his stead, to entertain
His Sacred Person! Lord, I'le try again
(Since thou command'st me forth) what may be done;
Thou bidst me go, my duty is to run.
Did Abraham's Servant readily comply
With his Command with great'st fidelity?
And shall I be unfaithful unto thee?
No, Lord, I will not; do but strengthen me,
Prosper my way, and let me have success,
That I with him thy Sacred Name may bless;
And how I shall I, poor nothing I, rejoice
To see the Soul, thy Spouse, thy Father's choice.
What next thy love's so sweet, Lord, unto me,
Than to bring in poor Sinners unto thee?
| CHAP. I. The Glorious Lover | |