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. |
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| VIII. |
| II. |
| I. |
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| III. |
| IV. | CHAP. IV. |
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| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | CHAP. IV. The Glorious Lover |  |
CHAP. IV.
Shewing how the Conscience of the Sinner comes to be effectually awakened; together with the effects thereof.
This being said with bowels of Affection,
Tho often mixt with gall of sharp detection,
Her former stubbornness being all laid o'pe,
Yet this, nor that, nor nothing, gave much hope
He should prevail, which put him in a maze,
And did his voice and spirits higher raise.
He still went on with sweet commiseration,
Yet was his pity mixt with some small passion,
And to this purpose did this good man speak,
Not knowing how his last farewel to take.
Theologue.
Tho often mixt with gall of sharp detection,
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Yet this, nor that, nor nothing, gave much hope
He should prevail, which put him in a maze,
And did his voice and spirits higher raise.
He still went on with sweet commiseration,
Yet was his pity mixt with some small passion,
And to this purpose did this good man speak,
Not knowing how his last farewel to take.
Poor stupified Soul! Alas! alas!
What is the cause? whence doth it come to pass
Thou art so sensless? why dost thou despise
All those Soul-melting tears, those sighs and crys?
What, is thy heart more harder than the Rocks,
That thou canst bear these oft repeated knocks,
And never break at all? O strange! O strange!
Thy heart, poor Soul, is't harder than a stone,
That feeble drops of water fall upon,
And makes impression. What, shall stones relent,
And yield themselves, and as it were consent
These frequent droppings should impression make;
And showers move thee not? Awake, awake,
Before the dreadful Message I impart,
Shall rouse thy hard and sin-congealed heart.
Thy night comes on, thy Sun's a going down,
Thy seeming favourites begin to frown.
So all thy pleasures with their wanton charms
Are flying from thee Death spreads forth his Arms,
To take thee hence unto another place:
Canst thou, poor wretch, this ghastly King imbrace?
What will become of all thy wealth and pleasure?
Behold (alas) Death's come to make a seisure
Upon thy poor deceived Soul this night!
Then all thy joys, and empty vain delight
Will vanish like the smoke, and thou shalt be
Cast into Prison for Eternitie;
Where thou shalt evermore bewail thy loss,
In changing Gold for that, that's worse than dross.
Shall Beauty, Wealth, or Honour make thee yield?
Much more that Wisdom wherewith Christ is fill'd.
Shall Love and Patience be so ill rewarded
By thee, by whom he should be most regarded?
And sensual Objects harbour'd in thy heart?
Then wilt thou hear what further I'le impart?
Soul, now thou must be anathematiz'd;
And when Christ comes, how wilt thou be surpriz'd?
For those that love not Jesus, are accurst,
And when he doth appear, for ever must
That fearful doom and sentence then receive.
O may the thoughts of this cause thee to cleave
To him with speed, before this day is gone.
I'le now break off, adieu, this think upon:
Poor drousy wretch, let sin no more deceive thee,
Give me thine Answer now before I leave thee.
O may these Soul-confounding terrors break,
Thy stony-heart, and make thy Conscience speak!
What is the cause? whence doth it come to pass
Thou art so sensless? why dost thou despise
All those Soul-melting tears, those sighs and crys?
What, is thy heart more harder than the Rocks,
That thou canst bear these oft repeated knocks,
And never break at all? O strange! O strange!
Thy heart, poor Soul, is't harder than a stone,
That feeble drops of water fall upon,
And makes impression. What, shall stones relent,
And yield themselves, and as it were consent
These frequent droppings should impression make;
And showers move thee not? Awake, awake,
Before the dreadful Message I impart,
Shall rouse thy hard and sin-congealed heart.
Thy night comes on, thy Sun's a going down,
Thy seeming favourites begin to frown.
So all thy pleasures with their wanton charms
Are flying from thee Death spreads forth his Arms,
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Canst thou, poor wretch, this ghastly King imbrace?
What will become of all thy wealth and pleasure?
Behold (alas) Death's come to make a seisure
Upon thy poor deceived Soul this night!
Then all thy joys, and empty vain delight
Will vanish like the smoke, and thou shalt be
Cast into Prison for Eternitie;
Where thou shalt evermore bewail thy loss,
In changing Gold for that, that's worse than dross.
Shall Beauty, Wealth, or Honour make thee yield?
Much more that Wisdom wherewith Christ is fill'd.
Shall Love and Patience be so ill rewarded
By thee, by whom he should be most regarded?
And sensual Objects harbour'd in thy heart?
Then wilt thou hear what further I'le impart?
Soul, now thou must be anathematiz'd;
And when Christ comes, how wilt thou be surpriz'd?
For those that love not Jesus, are accurst,
And when he doth appear, for ever must
That fearful doom and sentence then receive.
O may the thoughts of this cause thee to cleave
To him with speed, before this day is gone.
I'le now break off, adieu, this think upon:
Poor drousy wretch, let sin no more deceive thee,
Give me thine Answer now before I leave thee.
O may these Soul-confounding terrors break,
Thy stony-heart, and make thy Conscience speak!
Eternal God, do thou thy Spirit send,
'Tis he which must the Soul in pieces rend.
The work's too hard for weakness. Alas! I
Shall not prevail, if help thou dost deny.
Speak to her heart, set home the Word with Pow'r.
Shall this be the good day, the happy hour?
Her Conscience touch, O wound her, let her see
What 'tis to be a Captive unto thee.
Open her Eyes, blest Spirit, thou canst do it.
Sad is her state; O come, and let her know it.
Let not my pains nor labour quite be lost:
For dear she has my Master, Jesus, cost.
Thou canst effectually change her bad mind,
Which unto sensual Objects is inclin'd.
O shed and scatter precious Love abroad,
And unto her some of that grace afford.
Moral persuasions barely ne're will bring
The Soul to love and like our Heav'nly King.
But I'le return and speak yet one word more
Unto her Conscience, e're I do give o're.
'Tis he which must the Soul in pieces rend.
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Shall not prevail, if help thou dost deny.
Speak to her heart, set home the Word with Pow'r.
Shall this be the good day, the happy hour?
Her Conscience touch, O wound her, let her see
What 'tis to be a Captive unto thee.
Open her Eyes, blest Spirit, thou canst do it.
Sad is her state; O come, and let her know it.
Let not my pains nor labour quite be lost:
For dear she has my Master, Jesus, cost.
Thou canst effectually change her bad mind,
Which unto sensual Objects is inclin'd.
O shed and scatter precious Love abroad,
And unto her some of that grace afford.
Moral persuasions barely ne're will bring
The Soul to love and like our Heav'nly King.
But I'le return and speak yet one word more
Unto her Conscience, e're I do give o're.
Speak Conscience, if alive! thou us'd to keep
A faithful watch: what art thou now asleep?
Hath she not slighted Christ, like unto those
That him reject, and cleave unto his Foes?
What dost thou say? speak, I adjure thee, rouse!
Conscience, I speak to thee, shake off thy drouse;
Gripe this deluded Soul, who puts her trust
In those that seek her Life, 'tis thou that must
Stop her vain course: what, shall the Sinner die
When Conscience, God's Vicegerent, is so nigh,
And gives not one sad sigh, nor groan, nor cry?
Strange! what's befallen thee? art lost, or fled,
Who shouldst the tidings bring that all are dead?
Like Job's last Messenger, thou shouldst declare,
How all the faculties corrupted are.
Wilt thou betray that trust repos'd in thee,
And lose thy regal Right and Soveraignty?
Wilt thou connive and wink at such a crime,
Or fault which she commits? O no, 'tis time
Now to awake, and fiercely her reprove.
What, hate that Prince whom she pretends to love?
Immediately the Spirit sweetly spake,
And touch'd her heart, and Conscience did awake.
A faithful watch: what art thou now asleep?
Hath she not slighted Christ, like unto those
That him reject, and cleave unto his Foes?
What dost thou say? speak, I adjure thee, rouse!
Conscience, I speak to thee, shake off thy drouse;
Gripe this deluded Soul, who puts her trust
In those that seek her Life, 'tis thou that must
Stop her vain course: what, shall the Sinner die
When Conscience, God's Vicegerent, is so nigh,
And gives not one sad sigh, nor groan, nor cry?
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Who shouldst the tidings bring that all are dead?
Like Job's last Messenger, thou shouldst declare,
How all the faculties corrupted are.
Wilt thou betray that trust repos'd in thee,
And lose thy regal Right and Soveraignty?
Wilt thou connive and wink at such a crime,
Or fault which she commits? O no, 'tis time
Now to awake, and fiercely her reprove.
What, hate that Prince whom she pretends to love?
Immediately the Spirit sweetly spake,
And touch'd her heart, and Conscience did awake.
Conscience.
What Soul-amazing voice is this I hear?
What Heav'n-rending Thunder fills mine Ear?
Awake, why do I sleep? can Conscience nod,
That keeps a watch betwixt the Soul and God?
If so, yet when Heav'ns voice cryes out amain,
That will awake and make me rouse again.
I have most basely (Sir) corrupted bin,
By Satan and that poisonous Evil, SIN.
A Register I kept, but then alas
It has so fallen out, so come to pass,
That I unfaithful was: for always when
I should have set down scores, I set down ten;
Nay, to their party so entic'd have bin,
That I have often winked at her sin.
And when my Office was for to accuse,
'Twas to wrong ends, her Light I did abuse.
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May pass the Soul without intelligence.
Sir, Strange it is, it puts me in a muse,
As one amaz'd to see the Soul refuse
To hearken to your voice, which constantly,
Like pointed Darts, against her breast doth fly.
I'le take up Arms, and fight for Jesus now,
And make her bend to him, if I know how.
I now declare my self, though for a season
I silence kept, to hear what Goodman Reason
Could find to say, whereby he might excuse her,
But he's most blind, and surely doth abuse her.
I know her byass'd Judgment will conjecture
She's not oblig'd to hearken to that Lecture
She lately heard, although it was Divine,
Her will and judgment doth with Hell combine
To work her ruin; do you what you can,
Till Judgments rectifi'd, and the Old man
Be put to death, she'l be rebellious still,
Yield to her lusts, and please her vicious will.
Theologue.
Doth Conscience yield? Blest day! I'le try again,
With hope of a full Conquest to obtain.
Good service may'st thou do, act well thy part:
Whilst the great King doth thus besiege the heart;
Keep thou a narrow watch, look well about,
Observe who doth come in, and who goes out.
In one thing am I glad, I know from hence
I shall by thee have true intelligence.
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Thou know'st her thought, hearst all the words she says.
Apollyon Prince of Darkness.
Apollyon, that degraded Seraphim,
And Grand-sire of that Hell-bred Monster, Sin,
No sooner did of these late tidings hear,
How Conscience was awakened, but in fear
Presently calls a Council to advise
Which way they might the Soul by craft surprize,
And hinder her from being crowned Queen.
Which to prevent, successful have we been,
Saith he, till now, but I am in great doubt
Much longer we shall hardly hold it out.
The Preacher doth his business follow so,
I am afraid of some great overthrow.
Satan.
Dread Prince! fear not, we yet possession have,
And want no skill. Can't subtilty deceive?
Can't strength subdue? besides, she's in our chain;
Though one links broke, we'l fasten it again.
And if grave Judgment will with us abide,
Conscience will not be able to decide
The diff'rences, nor right dicision make;
No matter then which side the fool doth take.
But since, my Lord, I see what grieves your mind,
No safety shall these Gospel-Preachers find:
Our Vassals we'l prepare with Hellish rage,
Them to extirpate, and drive off the stage.
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I do approve of that last Counsel given;
Let not a place nor corner under Heaven
Be found for those our int'rest dare oppose,
Or once attempt to move the Soul to close
With him whom we account our mortal Foe,
Satan, for this I bless and thank thee too.
The brave design which we have now in hand,
Will soon effect this thing in every Land.
That Enterprise let us pursue with care,
But mind us well how things more inward are.
To Judgment look, left he from us should run;
If once his Eyes are ope, we're all undone.
Soul.
Lord, what sad gripes and lashes no I feel?
My courage fails, and resolutions reel.
Strange thoughts disturb my mind, no rest, alas,
Can heart or eyes obtain; whole nights do pass,
Whole weeks and months, and nought can I possess
But horror great, sad grief, and weariness.
What's my condition now? who'le shew to me
My present state and future misery?
Hark, what's within, a very frightful noise,
It mars my hopes, imbitters all my joys.
My morn's ore-cast, my fair day proveth foul,
My Conscience terrifies, and makes me howl:
Lash after lash, and blows succeeding blows,
He's void of mercy, and no pity shows,
Here ends my joy, and here begins my woes.
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I know not where to fix, nor what to do.
My unresolv'd resolves do greatly vary,
This way one while, and then the quite contrary.
Who is't will counsel give? to whom must I
Go for some ease in this perplexity?
My Conscience says I wickedly have acted,
Not breaking the vile contract I've contracted
With those sweet Lovers which my sensual heart
So long a time has lov'd, how shall we part?
Must I be forc'd, by Conscience to imbrace
One whom I cannot love? 'tis a hard case.
Yet have I cause to love him dearly too;
But how shall I for him let others go?
Depraved Judgment.
Poor silly Soul! and is thy choice so hard?
In two extreams can thy weak thoughts reward
Two so unequal, with the like respect?
Know'st thou not which to slight, which to affect?
Submit to me, 'tis Judgment must advise,
In this great case take heed and be thou wise.
Fix where thou wilt, thy doubt-depending cause
Can ne'r expect a Verdict 'twixt two Laws
Which differ, and are opposit in kind,
Yet a fit medium I'le attempt to find
To ease thy sad, and sore perplexed mind.
Divert those thoughts by some rare Speculations,
And vanquish all these dolesome cogitations.
Look, look abroad, and view the world, pray mark
The Wise and Prudent, and the Courtly Spark.
Will they direct thee so, such counsel give
That thou an Hermits life on Earth shouldst live?
What, marry one that in possession hath
Not one small house, or foot of Land on Earth;
When Wealth, and Honour, Dignity and Power
Are offer'd to thee, as a present Dower?
Thou may'st be deckt with Bracelets rich and rare,
And live on Earth free from perplexing care;
If thou dost look about and take advice,
And suffer Men nor Conscience to entice,
Or thee allure, such a choice to make,
Those joys to leave, and utterly forsake;
Which most men do, nay all accounted wife
Pursue amain, esteem, and highly prize:
But if thou hast a thought to change thy state,
Be wise and stay; don't holy Writ relate,
He that believes, doth not make hast: O why
Shouldst thou have thoughts to mind it presently?
Come, pause a while, be not so hot, alas
By inconsiderateness it comes to pass,
So many Souls are spoil'd and ruined,
Be wary then, not rashly be misled.
In two extreams can thy weak thoughts reward
Two so unequal, with the like respect?
Know'st thou not which to slight, which to affect?
Submit to me, 'tis Judgment must advise,
In this great case take heed and be thou wise.
Fix where thou wilt, thy doubt-depending cause
Can ne'r expect a Verdict 'twixt two Laws
Which differ, and are opposit in kind,
Yet a fit medium I'le attempt to find
To ease thy sad, and sore perplexed mind.
Divert those thoughts by some rare Speculations,
And vanquish all these dolesome cogitations.
Look, look abroad, and view the world, pray mark
The Wise and Prudent, and the Courtly Spark.
198
That thou an Hermits life on Earth shouldst live?
What, marry one that in possession hath
Not one small house, or foot of Land on Earth;
When Wealth, and Honour, Dignity and Power
Are offer'd to thee, as a present Dower?
Thou may'st be deckt with Bracelets rich and rare,
And live on Earth free from perplexing care;
If thou dost look about and take advice,
And suffer Men nor Conscience to entice,
Or thee allure, such a choice to make,
Those joys to leave, and utterly forsake;
Which most men do, nay all accounted wife
Pursue amain, esteem, and highly prize:
But if thou hast a thought to change thy state,
Be wise and stay; don't holy Writ relate,
He that believes, doth not make hast: O why
Shouldst thou have thoughts to mind it presently?
Come, pause a while, be not so hot, alas
By inconsiderateness it comes to pass,
So many Souls are spoil'd and ruined,
Be wary then, not rashly be misled.
Nay, furthermore, I'le speak to thee again,
Thou mayst love him, and yet mayst thou retain
Respect and love to other Objects too.
Love thy God well, but why shouldst thou let go
This world, with all the precious joys therein?
But don't mistake, thou must leave off thy sin;
For Holiness I must tell thee is right,
And very pleasant in Jehovah's sight:
But know, O Soul, yet over and above,
Thy Soveraign Lord and Prince hath set his love
So much upon thee, that his gracious Eye
Will overlook thy smaller vanitie.
Ne'r doubt but thou shalt have his favour still,
Though in some things thou satisfie thy will.
Dost think that he who came down from above,
And dy'd for thee, will ever quite remove
His dear affection from thee, or e're hate,
And leave the Soul he bought at such a rate?
It is enough, and happy wilt thou be,
If thou escap'st all gross impurity.
Thou mayst love him, and yet mayst thou retain
Respect and love to other Objects too.
Love thy God well, but why shouldst thou let go
This world, with all the precious joys therein?
But don't mistake, thou must leave off thy sin;
For Holiness I must tell thee is right,
And very pleasant in Jehovah's sight:
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Thy Soveraign Lord and Prince hath set his love
So much upon thee, that his gracious Eye
Will overlook thy smaller vanitie.
Ne'r doubt but thou shalt have his favour still,
Though in some things thou satisfie thy will.
Dost think that he who came down from above,
And dy'd for thee, will ever quite remove
His dear affection from thee, or e're hate,
And leave the Soul he bought at such a rate?
It is enough, and happy wilt thou be,
If thou escap'st all gross impurity.
Thus the base heart be'ng inflam'd by the Devil,
Undoes the Soul. No Enemy's more evil
Than that curst Foe we harbour in our breast,
Which all enlighten'd ones have oft exprest.
Corrupted Judgment blindly would inform her,
Christ having dy'd, her sins can never harm her.
Alas, saith Reason, do not all men sin?
Nay, more than this, the very best have bin
To blame in many things, and yet esteem'd
As righteous ones, and as the Lord's redeem'd?
If famous Men of old offenders were,
What needst thou be so nice, what needst thou fear?
The glorious King is filled with compassion;
Besides he sees in thee great reformation:
Thy love to sinful lusts is but in part
To what it was, and thou must know thou art
Plac'd in this world, and therefore must comply
In some respects with smaller vanity.
When Reason to the vicious Will gives ear,
How can the Understanding then be clear?
When vile Affection thus corrupteth Reason,
All works and thoughts are turn'd to perfect Treason.
O see how blind poor Souls by Nature are,
How vain their thoughts, how ready to insnare
Themselves are they with false Imaginations,
With earthly toys and idle speculations.
To learn and understand all humane Arts
Most apt they are, they'l magnifie their parts;
How very quick and dext'rous are they when
They talk of things that appertain to men?
But things of God are quite above their sphere,
Can't them discern, nor do they love to hear
Of God, or Christ, they count that man a fool
That daily goes to learn at Jesus's School.
Unto the blindness of the natural mind
Add this besides, most evident you'l find
It doth resist the Truth, 'twill not receive it;
Nay 'tis incredulous, 'twill not believe it.
Apt to believe false tales, and stories vain;
Nay, like to Eve, 'twill quickly entertain
Suggestions of the cursed Prince o'th Night,
But what God says, seems evil in their sight.
Nay, more than all, this treach'rous faculty
Is so deprav'd, St. Paul doth plain descry
Much enmity to God therein to lie.
Unto God's Law it will not subject be;
For in the mind is great malignity.
But I must not the Reader here detain;
Because that our old Friend is come again.
Undoes the Soul. No Enemy's more evil
Than that curst Foe we harbour in our breast,
Which all enlighten'd ones have oft exprest.
Corrupted Judgment blindly would inform her,
Christ having dy'd, her sins can never harm her.
Alas, saith Reason, do not all men sin?
Nay, more than this, the very best have bin
To blame in many things, and yet esteem'd
As righteous ones, and as the Lord's redeem'd?
If famous Men of old offenders were,
What needst thou be so nice, what needst thou fear?
The glorious King is filled with compassion;
Besides he sees in thee great reformation:
Thy love to sinful lusts is but in part
To what it was, and thou must know thou art
Plac'd in this world, and therefore must comply
In some respects with smaller vanity.
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How can the Understanding then be clear?
When vile Affection thus corrupteth Reason,
All works and thoughts are turn'd to perfect Treason.
O see how blind poor Souls by Nature are,
How vain their thoughts, how ready to insnare
Themselves are they with false Imaginations,
With earthly toys and idle speculations.
To learn and understand all humane Arts
Most apt they are, they'l magnifie their parts;
How very quick and dext'rous are they when
They talk of things that appertain to men?
But things of God are quite above their sphere,
Can't them discern, nor do they love to hear
Of God, or Christ, they count that man a fool
That daily goes to learn at Jesus's School.
Unto the blindness of the natural mind
Add this besides, most evident you'l find
It doth resist the Truth, 'twill not receive it;
Nay 'tis incredulous, 'twill not believe it.
Apt to believe false tales, and stories vain;
Nay, like to Eve, 'twill quickly entertain
Suggestions of the cursed Prince o'th Night,
But what God says, seems evil in their sight.
Nay, more than all, this treach'rous faculty
Is so deprav'd, St. Paul doth plain descry
Much enmity to God therein to lie.
Unto God's Law it will not subject be;
For in the mind is great malignity.
But I must not the Reader here detain;
Because that our old Friend is come again.
| CHAP. IV. The Glorious Lover | |