Distressed Sion Relieved Or, The Garment of Praise for the Spirit of Heaviness. Wherein are Discovered the Grand Causes of the Churches Trouble and Misery under the late Dismal Dispensation. With a Compleat History of, and Lamentation for those Renowned Worthies that fell in England by Popish Rage and Cruelty, from the Year 1680 to 1688. Together with an Account of the late Admirable and Stupendious Providence which hath wrought such a sudden and Wonderful Deliverance for this Nation, and Gods Sion therein. Humbly Dedicated to their Present Majesties. By Benjamin Keach |
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 | Distressed Sion Relieved |  |
The next Great Worthy 'mongst the vanquisht Host
Which in that hour of darkness I have lost,
A Preacher was, indu'd with Holy Art,
Who did dissolve the Stone in many a Heart,
His name was Lark; O come my Children now,
Pay him those tears which he laid out for you;
Ah! must he fall by Fate? Ah! must he yield?
His Life up too? but why not in the Field?
Must Sampson fall by the Philistines hand
Who from their Bondage strove to save the Land?
Well! by thy death thou hast prevailed so,
Thou hastenedst their utter overthrow,
And yet I cannot but lament to think
Of what a bitter Cup thy Flock do drink.
My loss of thee is more than loss of Ten,
Though they might be sober Religious men:
When Death thus with his hands lays hold upon
The Pillars of the House, the Building's gone,
Unless God in his Mercy instantly
Raise others up their places to supply:
But Ah! how many dye? how few appear
Them to succeed, and their great weight to bear.
In Jesus Christ's own Harvest in this Nation,
(which now seems white) there's cause of Lamentation.
A Chariot and an Horseman I have lost,
But he's above, incampt i'th' Heavenly Host.
Have you not seen an early rising Lark
Mounting aloft, making the Sun her mark?
Lo here's a Lark that soar'd up higher, higher,
Till he had sung himself into Heav'ns Quire.
From Earth to Heaven he went, and in a trice
His Soul ascended into Paradice.
Which in that hour of darkness I have lost,
A Preacher was, indu'd with Holy Art,
Who did dissolve the Stone in many a Heart,
His name was Lark; O come my Children now,
Pay him those tears which he laid out for you;
Ah! must he fall by Fate? Ah! must he yield?
His Life up too? but why not in the Field?
Must Sampson fall by the Philistines hand
Who from their Bondage strove to save the Land?
Well! by thy death thou hast prevailed so,
Thou hastenedst their utter overthrow,
And yet I cannot but lament to think
Of what a bitter Cup thy Flock do drink.
My loss of thee is more than loss of Ten,
Though they might be sober Religious men:
When Death thus with his hands lays hold upon
The Pillars of the House, the Building's gone,
Unless God in his Mercy instantly
Raise others up their places to supply:
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Them to succeed, and their great weight to bear.
In Jesus Christ's own Harvest in this Nation,
(which now seems white) there's cause of Lamentation.
A Chariot and an Horseman I have lost,
But he's above, incampt i'th' Heavenly Host.
Have you not seen an early rising Lark
Mounting aloft, making the Sun her mark?
Lo here's a Lark that soar'd up higher, higher,
Till he had sung himself into Heav'ns Quire.
From Earth to Heaven he went, and in a trice
His Soul ascended into Paradice.
| Distressed Sion Relieved | |