The Glorious Lover A Divine Poem, Upon the Adorable Mystery of Sinners Redemption. By B. K. [i.e. Benjamin Keach] |
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| II. | CHAP. II. |
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 | CHAP. II. The Glorious Lover |  |
CHAP. II.
Shewing the evil of Sin, and how compar'd.
Hail, precious Soul! once glorious, noble born,
But now debas'd, defil'd, in garments torn;
Nay, naked quite, yet mindst it not at all;
Thy wounds do stink, and Vipers in them crawl.
So many sins of which thou guilty art,
So many Serpents cleave unto thy heart.
What's Sin? is't not a frightful Cockatrice?
No Serpent like the Serpent called Vice.
And dost thou love to play with such a thing?
Ah fool! take heed, view, view its poisonous sting.
Brute Beasts by Natur's instinct are aware
Of the gilt bait and sence-beguiling snare,
Though it seems ne'r so sweet, or ne'r so fair.
And art thou such a fool to hug a Snake,
And in thy breast such great provision make,
That it may harbour there both day and night?
Ah! Couldst thou see, or hadst a little sight,
'Twould soon appear a very loath'd delight.
No evil like the evil called Sin,
Which thou dost love, which thou tak'st pleasure in.
But now debas'd, defil'd, in garments torn;
Nay, naked quite, yet mindst it not at all;
Thy wounds do stink, and Vipers in them crawl.
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So many Serpents cleave unto thy heart.
What's Sin? is't not a frightful Cockatrice?
No Serpent like the Serpent called Vice.
And dost thou love to play with such a thing?
Ah fool! take heed, view, view its poisonous sting.
Brute Beasts by Natur's instinct are aware
Of the gilt bait and sence-beguiling snare,
Though it seems ne'r so sweet, or ne'r so fair.
And art thou such a fool to hug a Snake,
And in thy breast such great provision make,
That it may harbour there both day and night?
Ah! Couldst thou see, or hadst a little sight,
'Twould soon appear a very loath'd delight.
No evil like the evil called Sin,
Which thou dost love, which thou tak'st pleasure in.
For what is Sin, is't not a deadly evil,
The filthy spawn and off-spring of the Devil?
And is thy mind on folly wholly bent?
What, love the Devils odious excrement!
Shall that which is the superfluity
Of naughtiness, be lovely in thine Eye?
What, dost thou value Christ, and all he hath
Not worth vain joys and pleasures on the Earth?
Has he so much esteemed thee? and must
Thou value him less than a cursed Lust?
Dost thou more good in that foul Brat espy,
Than is in all the glorious Trinitie?
That which men judge is best, they strive to chuse,
Things of the smallest value they refuse.
O wretched Soul! what thoughts dost thou retain
Of thy dear Lord and blessed Soveraign?
Come, view thy choice, see how deprav'd thou art
In judgment, will, affection, thy whole heart
Is so corrupt, defiled, and impure,
Thou canst not Christ, nor Godliness indure.
The filthy spawn and off-spring of the Devil?
And is thy mind on folly wholly bent?
What, love the Devils odious excrement!
Shall that which is the superfluity
Of naughtiness, be lovely in thine Eye?
What, dost thou value Christ, and all he hath
Not worth vain joys and pleasures on the Earth?
Has he so much esteemed thee? and must
Thou value him less than a cursed Lust?
Dost thou more good in that foul Brat espy,
Than is in all the glorious Trinitie?
That which men judge is best, they strive to chuse,
Things of the smallest value they refuse.
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Of thy dear Lord and blessed Soveraign?
Come, view thy choice, see how deprav'd thou art
In judgment, will, affection, thy whole heart
Is so corrupt, defiled, and impure,
Thou canst not Christ, nor Godliness indure.
Again, what's Sin? is't not a trait'rous Foe,
A Traytor unto God, and Rebel too?
It first of all against him took up Arms,
And made his Angels fall by its false charms.
Nought is so contrary to God as that,
Nor more the perfect object of his hate.
The Devil was God's Creature, good at first;
'Twas sin that made him hateful and accurst.
Sin ne'r was good, its essence is impure;
Evil at first, so now, so will indure.
And darest thou, O Soul, conceal this Foe?
Nay, hide him in thy house, and also show
Such deared love to him, as to delight
In his base company both day and night?
Nay, sport and play, and merry be with him;
What Gods dos hate and loath, dost thou esteem?
Dost not, O Soul, deserve for this to die?
What greater crime, what greater enmity
Canst thou be guilty of, or canst thou show,
Than thus to harbour God's most traitrous Foe?
The chiefest room he can always command,
Whilst my dear Master at thy door must stand,
And can't one look, nor one sweet smile obtain,
Who is thy Saviour, and thy Soveraign.
A Traytor unto God, and Rebel too?
It first of all against him took up Arms,
And made his Angels fall by its false charms.
Nought is so contrary to God as that,
Nor more the perfect object of his hate.
The Devil was God's Creature, good at first;
'Twas sin that made him hateful and accurst.
Sin ne'r was good, its essence is impure;
Evil at first, so now, so will indure.
And darest thou, O Soul, conceal this Foe?
Nay, hide him in thy house, and also show
Such deared love to him, as to delight
In his base company both day and night?
Nay, sport and play, and merry be with him;
What Gods dos hate and loath, dost thou esteem?
Dost not, O Soul, deserve for this to die?
What greater crime, what greater enmity
Canst thou be guilty of, or canst thou show,
Than thus to harbour God's most traitrous Foe?
The chiefest room he can always command,
Whilst my dear Master at thy door must stand,
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Who is thy Saviour, and thy Soveraign.
What's Sin? a thing that's worser than the Devil.
Sin made him so, sin is a thing so evil,
'Tis worse than Hell, it dug that horrid pit,
'Tis sin that casts all Sinners into it.
No lake of Fire, no Tophet had there bin
For souls of Men nor Devils, but through sin:
'Tis that which lays them there heap upon heap,
Sin was the cause 'twas made so large and deep.
Sin is the fuel that augments Hell-fire;
Wer't not for sin, Hell-flames would soon expire.
And wilt thou dandle sin still on thy knee?
Wilt make a mock of it? wilt jolly be?
Wilt sin and say, alas! I am in sport?
Ah! see thy folly, ere thou pay'st dear for 't.
Is sin God's foe? and is it so to thee?
Then part with sin, break that affinitie:
Dissolve the knot with speed, do thy endeavour;
Which will destroy thee otherwise for ever.
Sin made him so, sin is a thing so evil,
'Tis worse than Hell, it dug that horrid pit,
'Tis sin that casts all Sinners into it.
No lake of Fire, no Tophet had there bin
For souls of Men nor Devils, but through sin:
'Tis that which lays them there heap upon heap,
Sin was the cause 'twas made so large and deep.
Sin is the fuel that augments Hell-fire;
Wer't not for sin, Hell-flames would soon expire.
And wilt thou dandle sin still on thy knee?
Wilt make a mock of it? wilt jolly be?
Wilt sin and say, alas! I am in sport?
Ah! see thy folly, ere thou pay'st dear for 't.
Is sin God's foe? and is it so to thee?
Then part with sin, break that affinitie:
Dissolve the knot with speed, do thy endeavour;
Which will destroy thee otherwise for ever.
Nay, what is Sin? it is a Leprosy:
When Scripture so compares it, may not I
Call it a sickness, or a loathsom sore,
That quite covers the Soul, and spreads all o're,
Like to an Ulcer, or infectious Biles,
That do corrupt, that poisons and defiles
The Soul afflicted, and all others too
That dwell with him, or have with him to do?
Oh how do men fly from the Pestilence?
And wilt not thou learn wisdom Soul from thence?
Sin is a plague that kills eternally
All souls of men, unless they swiftly fly
To Jesus Christ, no Med'cine will do good,
Nor heal this plague, but this Physicians Blood.
What blindness is there then in thy base heart?
'Tis not the plague, th' Physician must depart:
Thou shutst the door, wilt not let him come in,
Whose purpose is to heal the plague of sin.
When Scripture so compares it, may not I
Call it a sickness, or a loathsom sore,
That quite covers the Soul, and spreads all o're,
Like to an Ulcer, or infectious Biles,
That do corrupt, that poisons and defiles
The Soul afflicted, and all others too
That dwell with him, or have with him to do?
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And wilt not thou learn wisdom Soul from thence?
Sin is a plague that kills eternally
All souls of men, unless they swiftly fly
To Jesus Christ, no Med'cine will do good,
Nor heal this plague, but this Physicians Blood.
What blindness is there then in thy base heart?
'Tis not the plague, th' Physician must depart:
Thou shutst the door, wilt not let him come in,
Whose purpose is to heal the plague of sin.
Nay, what is sin? 'tis poison in a Cup,
That's gilt without, and men do drink it up
Most earnestly, with joy, and much delight,
Being pleasant to the carnal appetite.
Sin's sweet to him whose soul is out of taste,
But long, alas, its sweetness will not last.
Sin's sweet to th' flesh that dos it dearly love,
But to the Spirit it dos poison prove.
Hast, hast thou suck'd this deadly poison in,
And dost not see thy vital parts begin
To swell? art poison'd, Soul, look, look about
To get an Antidote to work it out,
Before it is too late. The poison's strong,
Don't stay a day, twelve hours is too long.
One dram of Grace mixt with repenting tears,
The grace of perfect love, that casts out fears,
Mixt with that Faith, which kills all unbelief,
Took down with speed, will ease thee of thy grief,
Will purge thy soul, and work by vomit well,
And all vile dregs of venom 'twil expel.
Unless thou vomit up each dreg, be sure
No hope of life; one sin will Death procure
Unto thy soul. Repentance is not right,
Till sin, nay, every sin's forsaken quite.
Not only left, but, as a poisonous Cup,
They greatly loath what e're they vomit up.
No evil like the evil called Sin,
Which thou dost love, which thou tak'st pleasure in.
That's gilt without, and men do drink it up
Most earnestly, with joy, and much delight,
Being pleasant to the carnal appetite.
Sin's sweet to him whose soul is out of taste,
But long, alas, its sweetness will not last.
Sin's sweet to th' flesh that dos it dearly love,
But to the Spirit it dos poison prove.
Hast, hast thou suck'd this deadly poison in,
And dost not see thy vital parts begin
To swell? art poison'd, Soul, look, look about
To get an Antidote to work it out,
Before it is too late. The poison's strong,
Don't stay a day, twelve hours is too long.
One dram of Grace mixt with repenting tears,
The grace of perfect love, that casts out fears,
Mixt with that Faith, which kills all unbelief,
Took down with speed, will ease thee of thy grief,
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And all vile dregs of venom 'twil expel.
Unless thou vomit up each dreg, be sure
No hope of life; one sin will Death procure
Unto thy soul. Repentance is not right,
Till sin, nay, every sin's forsaken quite.
Not only left, but, as a poisonous Cup,
They greatly loath what e're they vomit up.
No evil like the evil called Sin,
Which thou dost love, which thou tak'st pleasure in.
Again, what's sin? it is an horrid Thief,
Or a Deceiver; nay, it is the chief
Or grandest Cheater too that e're was known,
He has rob'd thousands; nay, there is but one
That lives, or e're has liv'd, but rob'd have bin
By this great Thief, by this Deceiver, SIN.
No petty Padder, his ambitious Eye
Doth search about, he subtilly does spy
Into the place where all the Jewels lie.
The first he seizes is the Jewel Time.
He likely robs each Soul of all their prime
And chiefest days, which mercy doth afford,
Which should be dedicated to the Lord.
And more then this, not one good thing they have,
But them of it does this curst Thief deceive.
Sweet Gospel Grace, nay and the Gospel too,
And all that glory which they also do
Confer on us, Souls are deceiv'd hereby,
And yet they know it not, they don't espy
The way it works, it's done so secretly.
Sin robs the soul of its sweet Jewel Peace,
And in its room do's grief and anguish place.
Who ever doth this grievous loss sustain,
Can't have it made up unto him again
By Treasures of all Kingdoms here on Earth,
No valuing it, no knowing of its worth.
Another thing this Thief has in his Eye,
And lays his Fingers on, then by and by
Doth bear away, it is the Jewel, Soul,
A loss which mortals ever shall condole.
For had a man ten thousand worlds to lose:
The loss of them far better had he chose,
Than lose his soul, why would you think it strange?
What shall a man for's soul give in exchange?
There's one rich Jewel more, and 'tis the chief
That is aim'd at by Satan and this Thief,
Ah! 'tis a thing more worth than all the rest:
How, how can then the value be exprest?
It is a precious Stone that shines so bright,
It doth the heart of the great God delight.
He loves it dear, 'tis that his eye's upon,
And nought he prizes like this precious Stone.
This Stone, poor Soul, he offers unto thee,
What sayst thou to't, canst thou no beauty see,
No worth in that which God accounts so rare?
Strange 'tis! shall I the cause of it declare?
Sin blinds thine eyes, and dos beguile thee so,
Thou for a Pepple lets this Jewel go.
This stone (know thou) is the Pearl of great price,
Let not this base Deceiver thee entice
To slight dear JESUS: wilt be such a fool,
To lose thy time, thy Christ, peace, and thy soul?
Be thou more wise, and more considerate,
Thou dost, alas, thy pleasures over-rate.
Let's go to th' ballance, prethee, Soul, let's weigh
The Pearl of price; make hast, and quickly lay
Into the scales, the flesh, and loads of pleasure;
For honour, all the acts of mighty Cesar,
And cast whole mines in too, whole mines of treasure!
Add world to world, then heap a thousand more,
And throw them in, if thou canst find such store;
And see which ballance of them is too light;
Lo it is done, and thine's such under-weight,
It seems as if thy scale was empty quite.
Let's take the Pearl out, and then lets put in
An airy bubble; now let's weigh agin.
See, see, fond Soul, thy scale aloft dos fly,
There's nothing in't, 'tis less than vanity.
What folly was't to make the first compare?
What weigh the world with Christ! no need is there
To run that parallel, thou now mayst find
Thy self deceiv'd, thou labour'st for the wind.
For sin's compos'd of nought save subtil wiles,
It fawn's and flatters, and betrays by smiles.
It's like a Panther, or a Crocodil,
It seems to love, and promises no ill;
It hides its sting, seems harmless, as the Dove,
It hugs the Soul, it hates, when vow's tru'st love.
It plays the Tyrant most by gilded pills,
It secretly insnares the Soul it kills.
Sin's promises they all deceitful be,
Does promise wealth, but pay us poverty:
Does promise honour, but dos pay us shame;
And quite bereaves a man of his good name.
Does promise pleasure, but does pay us sorrow;
Does promise Life to day, pays Death to morrow.
No evil like to th' evil called Sin,
Which thou dost love, which thou tak'st pleasure in.
Or a Deceiver; nay, it is the chief
Or grandest Cheater too that e're was known,
He has rob'd thousands; nay, there is but one
That lives, or e're has liv'd, but rob'd have bin
By this great Thief, by this Deceiver, SIN.
No petty Padder, his ambitious Eye
Doth search about, he subtilly does spy
Into the place where all the Jewels lie.
The first he seizes is the Jewel Time.
He likely robs each Soul of all their prime
And chiefest days, which mercy doth afford,
Which should be dedicated to the Lord.
And more then this, not one good thing they have,
But them of it does this curst Thief deceive.
Sweet Gospel Grace, nay and the Gospel too,
And all that glory which they also do
Confer on us, Souls are deceiv'd hereby,
And yet they know it not, they don't espy
The way it works, it's done so secretly.
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And in its room do's grief and anguish place.
Who ever doth this grievous loss sustain,
Can't have it made up unto him again
By Treasures of all Kingdoms here on Earth,
No valuing it, no knowing of its worth.
Another thing this Thief has in his Eye,
And lays his Fingers on, then by and by
Doth bear away, it is the Jewel, Soul,
A loss which mortals ever shall condole.
For had a man ten thousand worlds to lose:
The loss of them far better had he chose,
Than lose his soul, why would you think it strange?
What shall a man for's soul give in exchange?
There's one rich Jewel more, and 'tis the chief
That is aim'd at by Satan and this Thief,
Ah! 'tis a thing more worth than all the rest:
How, how can then the value be exprest?
It is a precious Stone that shines so bright,
It doth the heart of the great God delight.
He loves it dear, 'tis that his eye's upon,
And nought he prizes like this precious Stone.
This Stone, poor Soul, he offers unto thee,
What sayst thou to't, canst thou no beauty see,
No worth in that which God accounts so rare?
Strange 'tis! shall I the cause of it declare?
Sin blinds thine eyes, and dos beguile thee so,
Thou for a Pepple lets this Jewel go.
This stone (know thou) is the Pearl of great price,
Let not this base Deceiver thee entice
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To lose thy time, thy Christ, peace, and thy soul?
Be thou more wise, and more considerate,
Thou dost, alas, thy pleasures over-rate.
Let's go to th' ballance, prethee, Soul, let's weigh
The Pearl of price; make hast, and quickly lay
Into the scales, the flesh, and loads of pleasure;
For honour, all the acts of mighty Cesar,
And cast whole mines in too, whole mines of treasure!
Add world to world, then heap a thousand more,
And throw them in, if thou canst find such store;
And see which ballance of them is too light;
Lo it is done, and thine's such under-weight,
It seems as if thy scale was empty quite.
Let's take the Pearl out, and then lets put in
An airy bubble; now let's weigh agin.
See, see, fond Soul, thy scale aloft dos fly,
There's nothing in't, 'tis less than vanity.
What folly was't to make the first compare?
What weigh the world with Christ! no need is there
To run that parallel, thou now mayst find
Thy self deceiv'd, thou labour'st for the wind.
For sin's compos'd of nought save subtil wiles,
It fawn's and flatters, and betrays by smiles.
It's like a Panther, or a Crocodil,
It seems to love, and promises no ill;
It hides its sting, seems harmless, as the Dove,
It hugs the Soul, it hates, when vow's tru'st love.
It plays the Tyrant most by gilded pills,
It secretly insnares the Soul it kills.
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Does promise wealth, but pay us poverty:
Does promise honour, but dos pay us shame;
And quite bereaves a man of his good name.
Does promise pleasure, but does pay us sorrow;
Does promise Life to day, pays Death to morrow.
No evil like to th' evil called Sin,
Which thou dost love, which thou tak'st pleasure in.
Again, what's Sin? a second Dalilah,
Which in the bosom lies, does tempt and draw
The Soul to yield unto its cursed ways,
And resteth not until it quite betrays
It's Life into the proud Philistines hands,
Who take and bind it with base churlish bands;
Nay, and most cruelly puts out its eyes,
Makes it grind in their Mill. Devils devise
All this, and more then this, when they do get
The poor deluded Soul into their net.
Which in the bosom lies, does tempt and draw
The Soul to yield unto its cursed ways,
And resteth not until it quite betrays
It's Life into the proud Philistines hands,
Who take and bind it with base churlish bands;
Nay, and most cruelly puts out its eyes,
Makes it grind in their Mill. Devils devise
All this, and more then this, when they do get
The poor deluded Soul into their net.
Lastly, what's Sin? read thou the former Part
Of this small Book, O view the bitter smart
Thy Saviour bore, it pierc'd his very heart.
Think thou upon his bloudy Agony,
'Tis that opes best its hellish mysterie,
And shews the venom which in it dos lie.
No evil like the evil called Sin,
Which thou dost love, and tak'st such pleasure in.
Had evil man's fool-hardiness extended
No further than himself, and there had ended,
'Twere not so much, but O! I do espy
Another is much injured thereby,
Ten thousand times more excellent in worth:
For the great God, who form'd the Heav'n & Earth,
Doth look upon himself as wrong'd thereby,
For he that sins, doth little less than fly
I'th very face of his blest Majesty.
And when the Son of Glory hither came,
O how was he exposed unto shame!
It brought his Sacred Person in disgrace,
When Sinners vile spat in his Heavn'ly face.
They taunt him with base terms; and being bound
They scourged him; he bled: but the worst wound
Was in his Soul, occasioned by Sin;
And thou thereby woundst him most sore agin.
O wilt thou paddle in the pure stream
Of precious Bloud! contemn it! O extream
And hideous Monster! dost thou hug the Knife
Which wounded him, yea took away his Life,
And will let out thy blood, though now it be
Delighted in, and loved much by thee?
Of this small Book, O view the bitter smart
Thy Saviour bore, it pierc'd his very heart.
Think thou upon his bloudy Agony,
'Tis that opes best its hellish mysterie,
And shews the venom which in it dos lie.
No evil like the evil called Sin,
Which thou dost love, and tak'st such pleasure in.
Had evil man's fool-hardiness extended
No further than himself, and there had ended,
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Another is much injured thereby,
Ten thousand times more excellent in worth:
For the great God, who form'd the Heav'n & Earth,
Doth look upon himself as wrong'd thereby,
For he that sins, doth little less than fly
I'th very face of his blest Majesty.
And when the Son of Glory hither came,
O how was he exposed unto shame!
It brought his Sacred Person in disgrace,
When Sinners vile spat in his Heavn'ly face.
They taunt him with base terms; and being bound
They scourged him; he bled: but the worst wound
Was in his Soul, occasioned by Sin;
And thou thereby woundst him most sore agin.
O wilt thou paddle in the pure stream
Of precious Bloud! contemn it! O extream
And hideous Monster! dost thou hug the Knife
Which wounded him, yea took away his Life,
And will let out thy blood, though now it be
Delighted in, and loved much by thee?
Of Wonders strange, and Prodigies that are
Amazing unto all who of them hear,
None can come nigh, or be compar'd to this,
A Prodigie of Prodigies it is.
Of Love and Lover, ne'r the like was known,
Nor was the like Ingratitude e're shown.
The one doth love beyond all admiration,
And suffer'd things beyond humane relation.
And he a King, but she a filthy brute,
A beggar vile, and yet denies his Suit!
Amazing unto all who of them hear,
None can come nigh, or be compar'd to this,
A Prodigie of Prodigies it is.
Of Love and Lover, ne'r the like was known,
Nor was the like Ingratitude e're shown.
The one doth love beyond all admiration,
And suffer'd things beyond humane relation.
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A beggar vile, and yet denies his Suit!
Question.
From whence is it? O why will she not closeWith this great Lord? how can she still oppose
His oft-repeated proffers? how, not yet!
Yield unto him? pray what's the cause of it?
Answer.
'Tis not in her own power to dispose
Her self in marriage: also here are those
Who dwell with her, and her Relations be,
Who spoil the match, or the affinitie,
Which otherwise in all appearance might
Be throughly made with Jesus Prince of Light.
Her self in marriage: also here are those
Who dwell with her, and her Relations be,
Who spoil the match, or the affinitie,
Which otherwise in all appearance might
Be throughly made with Jesus Prince of Light.
Two proud Relations loftily stand off,
Who urge her to reject him with a scoff.
The one is Will, a very churlish piece,
Who all along for Sin and Satan is.
The other's Judgment, once most grave and wise,
But now with Will both cursed Enemies;
To God and Christ true Piety oppose,
And lead the Soul with evil ways to close.
'Tis they who must dispose of her, if she
E're yield to Christ his dearest Spouse to be.
But Sin has so by craft corrupted them,
And drawn them to its party, they contemn
This glorious Lover, and will not consent
The Soul should yield to him, or should repent,
And so break off with other Lovers, who
She yet doth love, and loth is to for-go.
Besides them, in her house doth also dwell
An Enemy call'd Old-man, known full well
To be a grand and horrid Instrument,
To keep the Soul from granting her consent.
O! he's the cause of all the inward strife,
And hates the thoughts she should become his Wife.
And will prevent it, if he can find out
Meet ways and means to bring the same about.
Nay such a Foe this Old-man is indeed,
That till he's slain by th' Spirit, or does bleed,
Or weakned in his power, ne'r will she
With the Lord Christ firmly united be.
Slight wounds wo'nt do, he must be slain out-right,
Such is his rage, his subtilty and spite
Against this happy match; till he's near dead,
It cannot be in truth accomplished.
Therefore expect to hear of his black doom,
Before the sweet espousal Day doth come.
Who urge her to reject him with a scoff.
The one is Will, a very churlish piece,
Who all along for Sin and Satan is.
The other's Judgment, once most grave and wise,
But now with Will both cursed Enemies;
To God and Christ true Piety oppose,
And lead the Soul with evil ways to close.
'Tis they who must dispose of her, if she
E're yield to Christ his dearest Spouse to be.
But Sin has so by craft corrupted them,
And drawn them to its party, they contemn
This glorious Lover, and will not consent
The Soul should yield to him, or should repent,
And so break off with other Lovers, who
She yet doth love, and loth is to for-go.
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An Enemy call'd Old-man, known full well
To be a grand and horrid Instrument,
To keep the Soul from granting her consent.
O! he's the cause of all the inward strife,
And hates the thoughts she should become his Wife.
And will prevent it, if he can find out
Meet ways and means to bring the same about.
Nay such a Foe this Old-man is indeed,
That till he's slain by th' Spirit, or does bleed,
Or weakned in his power, ne'r will she
With the Lord Christ firmly united be.
Slight wounds wo'nt do, he must be slain out-right,
Such is his rage, his subtilty and spite
Against this happy match; till he's near dead,
It cannot be in truth accomplished.
Therefore expect to hear of his black doom,
Before the sweet espousal Day doth come.
There's also yet another Inmate, I
Perceive dwells in her house (which by and by
You'l hear much of) who all her secrets knows,
And can her very inward thoughts disclose,
His name is Conscience, whose Power's so great,
That in her house he hath a Regal Seat.
These three Allies by Old-man so corrupted,
Have all along the business interrupted,
They naturally are opposite to Grace,
And are far more inclined to give place
To sensual Objects, and the Prince o'th Night,
And so betray the Soul, for want of light,
Into their hands, of whom you heard before,
Who secretly design for ever-more
To take away her life, and quite undo her,
Whilst flatteringly they promise peace unto her;
The Soul's deprav'd and captivated so,
It chuses Evil, and lets Jesus go,
The chiefest good, and takes the chiefest evil,
Being by nature acted by the Devil.
This well consider'd, may the cause discover
Why she denies to entertain this Lover.
The Soul is dead, and cannot see, nor hear,
'Tis sensless as a stone; a stone can bear
The greatest weight, and neither break, nor melt:
Souls dead to God, ne'r love-sick passions felt
Unto this day; nor can they love, until
They are convinc'd of sin and all the ill
They have committed 'gainst his holy Will.
Being sensible hereof, then with strong cryes
They fly to God for salve to o'pe their Eys;
The Eys affect the Heart, when thou canst see
Christ will be dear, and not till then to thee.
The Conscience first is always wrought upon,
Which never is effectually done,
But by the Spirits Pow'r and operation,
Which sets it equally against transgression.
But lest I should be tedious, I'le forbear,
Craving attention to what follows here.
Perceive dwells in her house (which by and by
You'l hear much of) who all her secrets knows,
And can her very inward thoughts disclose,
His name is Conscience, whose Power's so great,
That in her house he hath a Regal Seat.
These three Allies by Old-man so corrupted,
Have all along the business interrupted,
They naturally are opposite to Grace,
And are far more inclined to give place
To sensual Objects, and the Prince o'th Night,
And so betray the Soul, for want of light,
174
Who secretly design for ever-more
To take away her life, and quite undo her,
Whilst flatteringly they promise peace unto her;
The Soul's deprav'd and captivated so,
It chuses Evil, and lets Jesus go,
The chiefest good, and takes the chiefest evil,
Being by nature acted by the Devil.
This well consider'd, may the cause discover
Why she denies to entertain this Lover.
The Soul is dead, and cannot see, nor hear,
'Tis sensless as a stone; a stone can bear
The greatest weight, and neither break, nor melt:
Souls dead to God, ne'r love-sick passions felt
Unto this day; nor can they love, until
They are convinc'd of sin and all the ill
They have committed 'gainst his holy Will.
Being sensible hereof, then with strong cryes
They fly to God for salve to o'pe their Eys;
The Eys affect the Heart, when thou canst see
Christ will be dear, and not till then to thee.
The Conscience first is always wrought upon,
Which never is effectually done,
But by the Spirits Pow'r and operation,
Which sets it equally against transgression.
But lest I should be tedious, I'le forbear,
Craving attention to what follows here.
| CHAP. II. The Glorious Lover | |