The Glorious Lover A Divine Poem, Upon the Adorable Mystery of Sinners Redemption. By B. K. [i.e. Benjamin Keach] |
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CHAP. VII. The Glorious Lover | ||
CHAP. VII.
Christ's Love Epitomiz'd; the Old-man wounded; Will made willing: shewing also the nature of the Soul's Espousal to Christ.
If all that hath been said yet will not move thee
To close with Christ, I once again will prove thee,
By making of a brief or short collection
Of his sweet Love and wonderful Affection;
And then I trust thou wilt with sacred Vows
Contract thy self to him, become his Spouse;
Whose left hand's full of Treasure, in his right
Are Honours great, and Pleasures infinite.
To close with Christ, I once again will prove thee,
By making of a brief or short collection
Of his sweet Love and wonderful Affection;
And then I trust thou wilt with sacred Vows
Contract thy self to him, become his Spouse;
Whose left hand's full of Treasure, in his right
Are Honours great, and Pleasures infinite.
A Prince (you know) dispos'd to make Election
Of a Consort, before he'l place Affection,
Will first enquire if the Virgin be
In Person, Parts, Estate, or Pedigree
Equal unto himself: but if in case
She be of low descent, of Parents base,
Compar'd with his; or not so noble born,
Or has debas'd her self, or is forlorn;
He thinks it is below him once to place,
Or fix his love on her, he fears disgrace:
But if the Lady chance to equalize him,
She's not so much oblig'd to love or prize him
'Yond common bounds, because, saith she, I am
No whit inferiour unto him; my name
Records the noble stock from whence I came.
But if a Prince should chance to set his love
Upon a person that has nought to move
So great a Lord to make that choice, then she
Amazed, yields with all humilitie;
Can do no less than humbly give consent,
Yield up her self with great astonishment:
But she who doth reject such love, is acted
Like one bereav'd of sense, nay quite distracted.
Misguided Soul! and is not this the case?
What worth's in thee to him? O! vile, and base!
Instead of love, deservest to be hated,
Since from thy God thou hast degenerated,
And yet the blessed Jesus don't despise thee,
But from thy loathsom dunghil fain would raise thee.
But to proceed, I now will give to thee
Of Christ's sweet Love a short Epitome.
Of a Consort, before he'l place Affection,
Will first enquire if the Virgin be
In Person, Parts, Estate, or Pedigree
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She be of low descent, of Parents base,
Compar'd with his; or not so noble born,
Or has debas'd her self, or is forlorn;
He thinks it is below him once to place,
Or fix his love on her, he fears disgrace:
But if the Lady chance to equalize him,
She's not so much oblig'd to love or prize him
'Yond common bounds, because, saith she, I am
No whit inferiour unto him; my name
Records the noble stock from whence I came.
But if a Prince should chance to set his love
Upon a person that has nought to move
So great a Lord to make that choice, then she
Amazed, yields with all humilitie;
Can do no less than humbly give consent,
Yield up her self with great astonishment:
But she who doth reject such love, is acted
Like one bereav'd of sense, nay quite distracted.
Misguided Soul! and is not this the case?
What worth's in thee to him? O! vile, and base!
Instead of love, deservest to be hated,
Since from thy God thou hast degenerated,
And yet the blessed Jesus don't despise thee,
But from thy loathsom dunghil fain would raise thee.
But to proceed, I now will give to thee
Of Christ's sweet Love a short Epitome.
1.
'Tis a first-love, as soon as he past-by,And saw thee in thy blood, he cast his Eye
Whilst thou in that sad gore didst weltring lie.
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Before the fabrick of this World mas made.
2.
It is attracting Love, its nature's such,'Tis like the Loadstone; hadst thou once a touch,
'Twould make thy Iron-heart with speed to move,
Nay, cleave to him in bonds of purest Love.
3.
'Tis a free Love, there's nought at all in theeWhich can deserve his favour, yet does he
Not grutch thee his dear Love, although so great,
The glorious King of Kings does oft intreat
Those Souls to his imbraces, who contemn
His proffer'd grace, and still love shews to them.
4.
'Tis 'bounding Love, like Nilus, overflowsAll banks and bounds, his Grace no limit knows.
5.
'Tis a delighting Love, there's nought more sweet;She found it so who washt his precious feet.
He takes delight and sweet complacency
In those he loves, his heart affects his Eye.
He resteth in his love; and who can turn
His heart away, or damp those flames that burn
In his dear breast? none ever lov'd as he,
Who for his Spouse was nailed to the Tree.
6.
It is a Victor's Love; he'l wound and killAll Enemies who do oppose his Will;
Where he lays Siege, he'l make the Soul to yield,
By love he overcomes and wins the Field;
His Captive (Soul) thou certainly must be:
His love is such, 'twill have the Victorie.
7.
It is abiding and Eternal Love,'Twill last as long as he; nought can remove
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And for whose sake alone he chose to die.
The love which did appear to Saints of old,
Did graciously this glorious Truth unfold.
I with an everlasting Love, saith he,
Have set my heart upon (or loved) thee,
And therefore I have drawn thee unto me.
Know he who thus doth his sweet love commend
To his dear Saints, loves them unto the end.
8.
'Tis a great Love, most powerful and strong;Hence 'tis he thinks each hour and minute long,
Till he imbrace thee in his Sacred Arms,
Where he'l secure thee from all the harms
And dangers great, by Men or hellish charms.
Fathers, although they love their Children dear,
Yet never did from them such love appear.
David lov'd Absolom, yet gives consent,
Nay he himself decrees his banishment.
A Mother may forget her sucking Child,
As some have done, although of nature mild,
Yet forc'd by famine, cruelly have shed
Their Childrens bloud, and of their flesh have fed:
But Ah! his Love's so free, so strong, so great,
He gives his bloud to drink, his flesh for meat
Unto the Soul; and those who it receive,
Shall never die, and none but such can live.
9.
His Love is matchless, 'tis without compare,
Who neither flesh, nor bloud, nor life did spare.
The love of Women, which the World esteems
Most strong in sweet affection; their love seems
An empty shadow, and not worth regard,
When with his Sacred Love it is compar'd.
The Husbands, Wives, and Fathers may abound,
Yet no such love as Christ's was ever found.
Abraham and Isaac both lov'd their Wives,
Yet neither of them sacrific'd their lives.
Jonathan's love to David did exceed
The love of Women; 'twas a Love indeed!
But what was Jonathan's great love to this?
Ah! less than nothing, when compar'd to his.
Christ's love exceeds all natural Love as far
As bright Aurora doth the smallest Star.
But Oh! in vain do we compare his Love
With any thing below; no, 'tis above
Comparison, 'tis so immense, so great,
We cannot find it out: though Man's conceit
Is larger than expression; though profound,
Yet Man's conception never yet could sound
The depth of Love's unfathomable bliss,
So great, so deep, so bottomless it is.
Betwixt his Love and ours, the disproportion
Is like one drop of Water to the Ocean.
Or as the smallest dust that's fiercely driven,
To the whole Globe; or like as Earth's to Heaven
The Sun for clearness with his splendent face,
The Moon for swiftness in her Zodiack Race;
The Sands for number, and the Heaven for height
The Seas for depth, the ponderous earth for weight
Yet with more certainty, and with less doubt
Be weigh'd and measur'd, than Christ's love found out.
O depth! O heigth! O breadth! O wonderous length
Of this great Love! O uncompared strength
Of true affections! Love that is Divine!
What's natural love; Lord, when compar'd to thine?
Such a redundancy of Love is found,
Whoever dives into these depths is drown'd.
Ten thousand Seas, ten thousand times told o're,
Add to these Seas ten times as many more,
Let all these Seas become one deep Abyss,
They'd all come short in depth compar'd to this.
The Moral, Natural, nor the Spiritual Man,
With all their Understanding, never can
Find out the Nature of Christ's Love! alas,
It doth all Knowledg 'nfinitely surpass.
O may these Depths & Heigths have pow'r to move
On thee, till thou art swallowed up in Love.
That, that which cannot comprehended be
By Men nor Angels, may comprehend thee;
And thou being fill'd with it, may'st sweetly lie
In depths of Love unto Eternitie.
Who neither flesh, nor bloud, nor life did spare.
The love of Women, which the World esteems
Most strong in sweet affection; their love seems
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When with his Sacred Love it is compar'd.
The Husbands, Wives, and Fathers may abound,
Yet no such love as Christ's was ever found.
Abraham and Isaac both lov'd their Wives,
Yet neither of them sacrific'd their lives.
Jonathan's love to David did exceed
The love of Women; 'twas a Love indeed!
But what was Jonathan's great love to this?
Ah! less than nothing, when compar'd to his.
Christ's love exceeds all natural Love as far
As bright Aurora doth the smallest Star.
But Oh! in vain do we compare his Love
With any thing below; no, 'tis above
Comparison, 'tis so immense, so great,
We cannot find it out: though Man's conceit
Is larger than expression; though profound,
Yet Man's conception never yet could sound
The depth of Love's unfathomable bliss,
So great, so deep, so bottomless it is.
Betwixt his Love and ours, the disproportion
Is like one drop of Water to the Ocean.
Or as the smallest dust that's fiercely driven,
To the whole Globe; or like as Earth's to Heaven
The Sun for clearness with his splendent face,
The Moon for swiftness in her Zodiack Race;
The Sands for number, and the Heaven for height
The Seas for depth, the ponderous earth for weight
Yet with more certainty, and with less doubt
Be weigh'd and measur'd, than Christ's love found out.
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Of this great Love! O uncompared strength
Of true affections! Love that is Divine!
What's natural love; Lord, when compar'd to thine?
Such a redundancy of Love is found,
Whoever dives into these depths is drown'd.
Ten thousand Seas, ten thousand times told o're,
Add to these Seas ten times as many more,
Let all these Seas become one deep Abyss,
They'd all come short in depth compar'd to this.
The Moral, Natural, nor the Spiritual Man,
With all their Understanding, never can
Find out the Nature of Christ's Love! alas,
It doth all Knowledg 'nfinitely surpass.
O may these Depths & Heigths have pow'r to move
On thee, till thou art swallowed up in Love.
That, that which cannot comprehended be
By Men nor Angels, may comprehend thee;
And thou being fill'd with it, may'st sweetly lie
In depths of Love unto Eternitie.
The Spir't with this let fly a piercing Dart,
Which wounded dreadfully her stubborn heart,
It pierc'd to th' very quick and made her smart.
Now, now she mourns, Ah! how she weeps, she crys,
And water runs like fountains from her Eys.
Now her whole Soul's dissolved into tears
By Love-sick passions; yet she's fill'd with fears,
Lest Christ should now with angry frown deny
To give her one sweet aspect of his Eye:
Because his love she had so long refus'd,
And wondrous patience shamefully abus'd.
Oh! now she spends whole days & nights in prayer,
She sighs and grieves, but can't see Christ appear.
The panting Hart ne'r long'd for Water-brooks
More than does she for some reviving looks
From the great Prince, the God of Love & Grace;
But he at present seems to hide his face.
Which wounded dreadfully her stubborn heart,
It pierc'd to th' very quick and made her smart.
Now, now she mourns, Ah! how she weeps, she crys,
And water runs like fountains from her Eys.
Now her whole Soul's dissolved into tears
By Love-sick passions; yet she's fill'd with fears,
Lest Christ should now with angry frown deny
To give her one sweet aspect of his Eye:
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And wondrous patience shamefully abus'd.
Oh! now she spends whole days & nights in prayer,
She sighs and grieves, but can't see Christ appear.
The panting Hart ne'r long'd for Water-brooks
More than does she for some reviving looks
From the great Prince, the God of Love & Grace;
But he at present seems to hide his face.
But stop, my Muse, hark how the Winds do roar,
All storms i'th Soul alas) are not yet o're.
No sooner did the Old-man cast his Eyes,
And view'd this change but in great wrath did rise
For to renew the War; he joins afresh
With scatter'd force of Will and Lusts of th' flesh,
To make what strength they can, with hellish spite.
The Devil's with these conquer'd pow'rs unite,
Arm'd with despair, and like to Lamps, wch make
The greatest blaze at going out, they take
Their blunt and broken Weapons in their hand,
Resolving Christ in her shall not command;
Nor she desert their cause, nor break her Vows
With Sin and Self, and so become Christ's Spouse.
But now, I find in vain they do resist:
True Grace is come, the Spirit doth assist.
Sin, World, the Flesh, nor Devil, can long stand
Before the Spirits strong and pow'rful hand.
See how the Spirit now doth search about
To find each Sin, and cursed Darling out.
Did you never behold in what dread sort
The wide-mouth'd Canon plays upon the Fort,
And how by whole-sail it doth batter down
The shattered walls of a besieged Town?
Even so the Spirit with his powerful Sword
Makes glorious slaughter, will no Truce afford,
Kills all before him, will no Quarter give,
Nor will he suffer any Lust to live.
The Strong-man, (Satan) quakes; good reason why;
A stronger's come, a stronger he doth spy
Is enter'd in—O therefore he's much pain'd;
All, all is gone, and he himself is chain'd.
The Old-man trembling, likewise thinks to fly
Into some lurking-corner, secretly
To hide himself: but th' Spirit's piercing Sight
Discovers him, and now with heavenly might
Laid on such strokes, and gave him such a wound,
Wch with dire vengeance brought him to the ground.
Now the Affection's chang'd, and Will doth yield,
Being willing made, says Grace shall have the Field.
O happy season! and thrice long'd-for hour!
This is the day of God's most mighty Power
Upon the Soul. But hark, methinks I hear
Most bitter sighs and groans sound in mine Ear.
The Soul's afflicted! it is she doth mourn,
To think what sorrows for her Christ hath born.
She hates, nay loaths her self to th' very dust,
And seeks to mortifie each former Lust.
And something more doth still perplex her mind,
Him whom she dearly loves, she cannot find.
Her heart I fear will quickly burst asunder,
If any long time she should be prest under
This heavy weight: no grief like hers, is there:
Who can (alas) a wounded Spirit bear?
She's almost swallow'd up in deep despair.
You next shall hear (if you attention lend)
How she bewails the absence of her Friend.
All storms i'th Soul alas) are not yet o're.
No sooner did the Old-man cast his Eyes,
And view'd this change but in great wrath did rise
For to renew the War; he joins afresh
With scatter'd force of Will and Lusts of th' flesh,
To make what strength they can, with hellish spite.
The Devil's with these conquer'd pow'rs unite,
Arm'd with despair, and like to Lamps, wch make
The greatest blaze at going out, they take
Their blunt and broken Weapons in their hand,
Resolving Christ in her shall not command;
Nor she desert their cause, nor break her Vows
With Sin and Self, and so become Christ's Spouse.
But now, I find in vain they do resist:
True Grace is come, the Spirit doth assist.
Sin, World, the Flesh, nor Devil, can long stand
Before the Spirits strong and pow'rful hand.
See how the Spirit now doth search about
To find each Sin, and cursed Darling out.
Did you never behold in what dread sort
The wide-mouth'd Canon plays upon the Fort,
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The shattered walls of a besieged Town?
Even so the Spirit with his powerful Sword
Makes glorious slaughter, will no Truce afford,
Kills all before him, will no Quarter give,
Nor will he suffer any Lust to live.
The Strong-man, (Satan) quakes; good reason why;
A stronger's come, a stronger he doth spy
Is enter'd in—O therefore he's much pain'd;
All, all is gone, and he himself is chain'd.
The Old-man trembling, likewise thinks to fly
Into some lurking-corner, secretly
To hide himself: but th' Spirit's piercing Sight
Discovers him, and now with heavenly might
Laid on such strokes, and gave him such a wound,
Wch with dire vengeance brought him to the ground.
Now the Affection's chang'd, and Will doth yield,
Being willing made, says Grace shall have the Field.
O happy season! and thrice long'd-for hour!
This is the day of God's most mighty Power
Upon the Soul. But hark, methinks I hear
Most bitter sighs and groans sound in mine Ear.
The Soul's afflicted! it is she doth mourn,
To think what sorrows for her Christ hath born.
She hates, nay loaths her self to th' very dust,
And seeks to mortifie each former Lust.
And something more doth still perplex her mind,
Him whom she dearly loves, she cannot find.
Her heart I fear will quickly burst asunder,
If any long time she should be prest under
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Who can (alas) a wounded Spirit bear?
She's almost swallow'd up in deep despair.
You next shall hear (if you attention lend)
How she bewails the absence of her Friend.
Ah me! I faint, my Spirits quite decay,
And yet I cannot die: O who can stay
My sinking Soul, whilst I these sorrows feel?
My feeble knees under their burden reel.
Infernal deeps, black gulphs, where horror lies,
Open their ghastly mouths before mine Eys.
O wretched Soul! curs'd Sin! I might have been
The Lamb's fair Bride, and a Celestial Queen,
Had I imbrac'd my Lord, my King, my Love,
(Who was more faithful than the Turtle Dove.)
O had I then receiv'd him in mine Arms,
He would have sav'd me from eternal harms.
But now I fear those happy days are past,
And I poor wretch shall into Hell be cast,
Bound up in fetters, and eternal chains
Of burning Wrath, and everlasting pains.
O sinful Soul! I who have lightly set
By the blest Prince, who would have paid my debt
O he that would have freely quit my score,
Ah! Now I fear I shall ne're see him more.
Could I but once more hear his Sacred Voice,
I would make him my joy, and only choice.
But's Wooing-time I fear is out of date;
Now I repent, but dread it is too late.
I melt, Lord, into tears, whilst thou the Sun
Of precious Light, art hid, where shall I run
For Light and comfort in this dolesom hour,
Whilst I lie drenched in this brinish shower?
More would she speak, but her great passion stops
Her mournful speech, whilst her eys flood-gates opes,
Smote with despair; so faint, she scarce appears
To breath or live, but by her sighs and tears.
And yet I cannot die: O who can stay
My sinking Soul, whilst I these sorrows feel?
My feeble knees under their burden reel.
Infernal deeps, black gulphs, where horror lies,
Open their ghastly mouths before mine Eys.
O wretched Soul! curs'd Sin! I might have been
The Lamb's fair Bride, and a Celestial Queen,
Had I imbrac'd my Lord, my King, my Love,
(Who was more faithful than the Turtle Dove.)
O had I then receiv'd him in mine Arms,
He would have sav'd me from eternal harms.
But now I fear those happy days are past,
And I poor wretch shall into Hell be cast,
Bound up in fetters, and eternal chains
Of burning Wrath, and everlasting pains.
O sinful Soul! I who have lightly set
By the blest Prince, who would have paid my debt
O he that would have freely quit my score,
Ah! Now I fear I shall ne're see him more.
Could I but once more hear his Sacred Voice,
I would make him my joy, and only choice.
But's Wooing-time I fear is out of date;
Now I repent, but dread it is too late.
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Of precious Light, art hid, where shall I run
For Light and comfort in this dolesom hour,
Whilst I lie drenched in this brinish shower?
More would she speak, but her great passion stops
Her mournful speech, whilst her eys flood-gates opes,
Smote with despair; so faint, she scarce appears
To breath or live, but by her sighs and tears.
A Friend amidst this passion straight arriv'd,
Whose shining beams and lustre much reviv'd
The troubl'd Soul on every side, that she
Cry'd out, O heavenly Spirit, it is thee,
Who with Diviner and mysterious Art
Did such illustrious beams of Glory dart,
Which did not only tend to joy and peace,
But much inflam'd her heart, made love increase;
And lo, before her Eys she doth behold
The Prince to stand, whose Glory to unfold
Is 'bove the reach of Man, or Seraphim;
And thus had she a blessed sight of him.
Like as the Sun breaks forth beneath a Cloud,
Whose conqu'ring light cast off each envious shroud,
And round about his beauteous beams displays,
Making her Earth like Heav'n with his bright rays.
This glorious Aspect of his lovely Eye,
Which she through Faith beheld, did by and by
With such transports, or Raptures, on her seize,
And from her former sorrows gave her ease:
Yet could she not be fully satisfy'd,
Until the Marriage-knot was firmly ty'd.
A Promise she endeavours to procure,
To make Christ's Love and Pardon to her sure.
She to this purpose does her self address
To him she loves, with sweet composedness
Of heart and mind; tho thinking what she'd bin,
She's under fears, and oft distrest agin;
Much questioning (for want of Faith) how he
Could e're forget past wrongs and injurie.
Whose shining beams and lustre much reviv'd
The troubl'd Soul on every side, that she
Cry'd out, O heavenly Spirit, it is thee,
Who with Diviner and mysterious Art
Did such illustrious beams of Glory dart,
Which did not only tend to joy and peace,
But much inflam'd her heart, made love increase;
And lo, before her Eys she doth behold
The Prince to stand, whose Glory to unfold
Is 'bove the reach of Man, or Seraphim;
And thus had she a blessed sight of him.
Like as the Sun breaks forth beneath a Cloud,
Whose conqu'ring light cast off each envious shroud,
And round about his beauteous beams displays,
Making her Earth like Heav'n with his bright rays.
This glorious Aspect of his lovely Eye,
Which she through Faith beheld, did by and by
With such transports, or Raptures, on her seize,
And from her former sorrows gave her ease:
Yet could she not be fully satisfy'd,
Until the Marriage-knot was firmly ty'd.
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To make Christ's Love and Pardon to her sure.
She to this purpose does her self address
To him she loves, with sweet composedness
Of heart and mind; tho thinking what she'd bin,
She's under fears, and oft distrest agin;
Much questioning (for want of Faith) how he
Could e're forget past wrongs and injurie.
Soul.
Life of my life! alas, Lord, what am I?
A wretched Creature; who deserves to die
A thousand deaths, nay, and a thousand more,
For wounding thee within, without, all o're,
In every part: O this doth make me mourn,
It melts my heart to think what thou hast born
For a vile worm. But wilt thou view the wound
That's made in me? Lord, I am drench'd & drown'd
In bloud, and brinish tears, my wasting breath,
And sighing Soul, will period soon in Death,
Unless thou seal, and dost confirm to me
Thy Love by promises; O! shall I see
Thy hand stretch'd out? or shall I hear thee say,
Come, come to me, poor Soul, O come away?
'Tis thou that wilt not bruise the broken reed,
Hurt not my sores, nor crush the wounds that bleed.
O let my chilled Soul feel the warm fires
Of thy sweet Voice, that my dissolv'd desires
May turn a soveraign Balsam, to make whole
Those wounds my sins have made in thy dear Soul.
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Whilst thou standst looking on? Lord, cast an eye
On me, for whom thou on the Cross didst bleed;
Some comfort, Lord, now in my greatest need:
No Corrosives, some Cordial Spir'ts, or I
For ever perish must; Lord, hear my cry.
Jesus.
Afflicted Soul! the purchase of my Bloud,
Come, hear, come hear a consolating Word.
Shall I who have through sore Afflictions past
For love of thee, refuse thee now at last?
No, no! I cannot, Soul, I cannot bear
Such piercing moans that wounds my tender Ear.
Now will I magnifie my Pow'r and rise
To scatter thy malicious Enemies;
I'le thee enlighten with my glorious Rays,
And make thee happy, happy all thy days.
Who will betroth, or give this Soul to me?
Let's Celebrate with great'st Solemnity,
And glorious Triump, the espousal Day:
Come, come, my Dear, let us no longer stay.
The Father.
'Tis in my Pow'r, 'tis I, I give her thee,
As th' fruit of my own Choice, Love and Decree.
CHAP. VII. The Glorious Lover | ||