The Poems of Edward Taylor :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lord, Can a Crumb of Dust the Earth outweigh,
Outmatch all mountains, nay the Chrystall Sky?
Imbosom in't designs that shall Display
And trace into the Boundless Deity?
Yea hand a Pen whose moysture doth guild ore
Eternall Glory with a glorious glore.

If it its Pen had of an Angels Quill,
And Sharpend on a Pretious Stone ground tite,
And dipt in Liquid Gold, and mov'de by Skill
In Christall leaves should golden Letters write
It would but blot and blur yea jag, and jar
Unless thou mak'st the Pen, and Scribener.

I am this Crumb of Dust which is design'd
To make my Pen unto thy Praise alone,
And my dull Phancy I would gladly grinde
Unto an Edge on Zions Pretious Stone.
And Write in Liquid Gold upon thy Name
My Letters till thy glory forth doth flame.

Let not th'attempts breake down my Dust I pray
Nor laugh thou them to scorn but pardon give.
Inspire this Crumb of Dust till it display
Thy Glory through't: and then thy dust shall live.
Its failings then thou'lt overlook I trust,
They being Slips slipt from thy Crumb of Dust.

Thy Crumb of Dust breaths two words from its breast,
That thou wilt guide its pen to write aright
To Prove thou art, and that thou art the best
And shew thy Properties to shine most bright.
And then thy Works will shine as flowers on Stems
Or as in Jewellary Shops, do jems.

Preparatory Meditations before my Approach to the Lords Supper. Chiefly upon the Doctrin preached upon the Day of administration

1. Meditation

Westfield 23.5m [July] 1682.

What Love is this of thine, that Cannot bee
In thine Infinity, O Lord, Confinde,
Unless it in thy very Person see,
Infinity, and Finity Conjoyn'd?
What hath thy Godhead, as not satisfide
Marri'de our Manhood, making it its Bride?

Oh, Matchless Love! filling Heaven to the brim!
O're running it: all running o're beside
This World! Nay Overflowing Hell; wherein
For thine Elect, there rose a mighty Tide!
That there our Veans might through thy Person bleed,
To quench those flames, that else would on us feed.

Oh! that thy Love might overflow my Heart!
To fire the same with Love: for Love I would.
But oh! my streight'ned Breast! my Lifeless Sparke!
My Fireless Flame! What Chilly Love, and Cold?
In measure small! In Manner Chilly! See.
Lord blow the Coal: Thy Love Enflame in mee.

2. Meditation on Can. 1.3. Thy Name is an Ointment poured out.

12.9m [Nov.] 1682.

My Dear, Deare, Lord I do thee Saviour Call:
Thou in my very Soul art, as I Deem,

Soe High, not High enough, Soe Great; too small:
Soe Deare, not Dear enough in my esteem.
Soe Noble, yet So Base: too Low; too Tall:
Thou Full, and Empty art: Nothing, yet all.

A Precious Pearle, above all price dost 'bide.
Rubies no Rubies are at all to thee.
Blushes of burnisht Glory Sparkling Slide
From every Square in various Colour'd glee
Nay Life itselfe in Sparkling Spangles Choice.
A Precious Pearle thou art above all price.

Oh! that my Soul, Heavens Workmanship (within
My Wicker'd Cage,) that Bird of Paradise
Inlin'de with Glorious Grace up to the brim
Might be thy Cabbinet, oh Pearle of Price.
Oh! let thy Pearle, Lord, Cabbinet in mee.
I'st then be rich! nay rich enough for thee.

My Heart, oh Lord, for thy Pomander gain.
Be thou thyselfe my sweet Perfume therein.
Make it thy Box, and let thy Pretious Name
My Pretious Ointment be emboxt therein.
If I thy box and thou my Ointment bee
I shall be sweet, nay, sweet enough for thee.

Enough! Enough! oh! let me eat my Word.
For if Accounts be ballanc'd any way,
Can my poore Eggeshell ever be an Hoard,
Of Excellence enough for thee? Nay: nay.
Yet may I Purse, and thou my Mony bee.
I have enough. Enough in having thee.

3. Meditation. Can. 1.3. Thy Good Ointment

11.12m [Feb.] 1682.

How sweet a Lord is mine? If any should
Guarded, Engarden'd, nay, Imbosomd bee
In reechs of Odours, Gales of Spices, Folds
Of Aromaticks, Oh! how sweet was hee?
He would be sweet, and yet his sweetest Wave
Compar'de to thee my Lord, no Sweet would have.

A Box of Ointments, broke; sweetness most sweet.
A surge of spices: Odours Common Wealth,
A Pillar of Perfume: a steaming Reech
Of Aromatick Clouds: All Saving Health.
Sweetness itselfe thou art: And I presume
In Calling of thee Sweet, who art Perfume.

But Woe is mee! who have so quick a Sent
To Catch perfumes pufft out from Pincks, and Roses
And other Muscadalls, as they get Vent,
Out of their Mothers Wombs to bob our noses.
And yet thy sweet perfume doth seldom latch
My Lord, within my Mammulary Catch.

Am I denos'de? or doth the Worlds ill sents
Engarison my nosthrills narrow bore?
Or is my smell lost in these Damps it Vents?
And shall I never finde it any more?
Or is it like the Hawks, or Hownds whose breed
Take stincking Carrion for Perfume indeed?

This is my Case. All things smell sweet to mee:
Except thy sweetness, Lord. Expell these damps.
Breake up this Garison: and let me see
Thy Aromaticks pitching in these Camps.
Oh! let the Clouds of thy sweet Vapours rise,
And both my Mammularies Circumcise.

Shall Spirits thus my Mammularies suck?
(As Witches Elves their teats,) and draw from thee
My Dear, Dear Spirit after fumes of muck?
Be Dunghill Damps more sweet than Graces bee?
Lord, clear these Caves. These Passes take, and keep.
And in these Quarters lodge thy Odours sweet.

Lord, breake thy Box of Ointment on my Head;
Let thy sweet Powder powder all my hair:
My Spirits let with thy perfumes be fed
And make thy Odours, Lord, my nosthrills fare.
My Soule shall in thy sweets then soar to thee:
I'le be thy Love, thou my sweet Lord shalt bee.

The Experience.

Oh! that I alwayes breath'd in such an aire,
As I suckt in, feeding on sweet Content!
Disht up unto my Soul ev'n in that pray're
Pour'de out to God over last Sacrament.
What Beam of Light wrapt up my sight to finde
Me neerer God than ere Came in my minde?

Most strange it was! But yet more strange that shine
Which filld my Soul then to the brim to spy
My Nature with thy Nature all Divine
Together joyn'd in Him thats Thou, and I.

Flesh of my Flesh, Bone of my Bone. There's run
Thy Godhead, and my Manhood in thy Son.

Oh! that that Flame which thou didst on me Cast
Might me enflame, and Lighten ery where.
Then Heaven to me would be less at last
So much of heaven I should have while here.
Oh! Sweet though Short! Ile not forget the same.
My neerness, Lord, to thee did me Enflame.

I'le Claim my Right: Give place, ye Angells Bright.
Ye further from the Godhead stande than I.
My Nature is your Lord; and doth Unite
Better than Yours unto the Deity.
Gods Throne is first and mine is next: to you
Onely the place of Waiting-men is due.

Oh! that my Heart, thy Golden Harp might bee
Well tun'd by Glorious Grace, that e'ry string
Screw'd to the highest pitch, might unto thee
All Praises wrapt in sweetest Musick bring.
I praise thee, Lord, and better praise thee would
If what I had, my heart might ever hold.

The Return.

Inamoring Rayes, thy Sparkles, Pearle of Price
Impearld with Choisest Gems, their beams Display
Impoysoning Sin, Guilding my Soule with Choice
Rich Grace, thy Image bright, making me pray,
Oh! that thou Wast on Earth below with mee
Or that I was in Heaven above with thee.

Thy Humane Frame, with Beauty Dapled, and
In Beds of Graces pald with golden layes,
Lockt to thy Holy Essence by thy hand,
Yields Glances that enflame my Soul, that sayes
Oh! that thou wast on Earth below with mee!
Or that I was in Heaven above with thee.

All Love in God, and's Properties Divine
Enam'led are in thee: thy Beauties Blaze
Attracts my Souls Choice golden Wyer to twine
About thy Rose-sweet selfe. And therefore prayes
Oh! that thou wast on Earth below with mee!
Or, that I was in Heaven above with thee.

A Magazeen of Love: Bright Glories blaze:
Thy Shine fills Heaven with Glory; Smile Convayes
Heavens Glory in my Soule, which it doth glaze
All ore with amoring Glory; that she sayes,
Oh! that thou wast on Earth below with mee!
Or, that I was in Heaven above with thee!

Heavens Golden Spout thou art where Grace most Choice
Comes Spouting down from God to man of Clay.
A Golden Stepping Stone to Paradise
A Golden Ladder into Heaven! I'l pray
Oh! that thou wast on Earth below with mee
Or that I was in Heaven above with thee.

Thy Service is my Freedom Pleasure, Joy,
Delight, Bliss, Glory, Heaven on Earth, my Stay,
In Gleams of Glory thee to glorify.
But oh! my Dross and Lets. Wherefore I say
Oh! that thou wast on Earth below with mee:
Or that I was in Heaven above with thee.

If off as Offall I be put, if I
Out of thy Vineyard Work be put away:
Life would be Death: my Soule would Coffin'd ly,
Within my Body; and no longer pray

Oh! that thou wast on Earth below with mee:
But that I was in Heaven above with thee.

But I've thy Pleasant Pleasant Presence had
In Word, Pray're, Ordinances, Duties; nay,
And in thy Graces, making me full Glad,
In Faith, Hope, Charity, that I do say,
That thou hast been on Earth below with mee.
And I shall be in Heaven above with thee.

Be thou Musician, Lord, Let me be made
The well tun'de Instrument thou dost assume.
And let thy Glory be my Musick plaide.
Then let thy Spirit keepe my Strings in tune,
Whilst thou art here on Earth below with mee
Till I sing Praise in Heaven above with thee.

4. Meditation. Cant. 2.1. I am the Rose of Sharon.

22.2m [April] 1683.

My Silver Chest a Sparke of Love up locks:
And out will let it when I can't well Use.
The gawdy World me Courts t'unlock the Box,
A motion makes, where Love may pick and choose.
Her Downy Bosom opes, that pedlars Stall,
Of Wealth, Sports, Honours, Beauty, slickt up all.

Love pausing on't, these Clayey Faces she
Disdains to Court; but Pilgrims life designs,
And Walkes in Gilliads Land, and there doth see
The Rose of Sharon which with Beauty shines.
Her Chest Unlocks; the Sparke of Love out breaths
To Court this Rose: and lodgeth in its leaves.

No flower in Garzia Horti shines like this:
No Beauty sweet in all the World so Choice:
It is the Rose of Sharon sweet, that is
The Fairest Rose that Grows in Paradise.
Blushes of Beauty bright, Pure White, and Red
In Sweats of Glory on Each Leafe doth bed.

Lord lead me into this sweet Rosy Bower:
Oh! Lodge my Soul in this Sweet Rosy bed:
Array my Soul with this sweet Sharon flower:
Perfume me with the Odours it doth shed.
Wealth, Pleasure, Beauty Spirituall will line
My pretious Soul, if Sharons Rose be mine.

The Blood Red Pretious Syrup of this Rose
Doth all Catholicons excell what ere.
Ill Humours all that do the Soule inclose
When rightly usd, it purgeth out most clear.
Lord purge my Soul with this Choice Syrup, and
Chase all thine Enemies out of my land.

The Rosy Oyle, from Sharons Rose extract
Better than Palma Christi far is found.
Its Gilliads Balm for Conscience when she's wrackt
Unguent Apostolorum for each Wound.
Let me thy Patient, thou my Surgeon bee.
Lord, with thy Oyle of Roses Supple mee.

No Flower there is in Paradise that grows
Whose Virtues Can Consumptive Souls restore
But Shugar of Roses made of Sharons Rose
When Dayly usd, doth never fail to Cure.
Lord let my Dwindling Soul be dayly fed
With Sugar of Sharons Rose, its dayly Bread.

God Chymist is, doth Sharons Rose distill.
Oh! Choice Rose Water! Swim my Soul herein.
Let Conscience bibble in it with her Bill.
Its Cordiall, ease doth Heart burns Causd by Sin.
Oyle, Syrup, Sugar, and Rose Water such.
Lord, give, give, give; I cannot have too much.

But, oh! alas! that such should be my need
That this Brave Flower must Pluckt, stampt, squeezed bee,
And boyld up in its Blood, its Spirits sheed,
To make a Physick sweet, sure, safe for mee.
But yet this mangled Rose rose up again
And in its pristine glory, doth remain.

All Sweets, and Beauties of all Flowers appeare
In Sharons Rose, whose Glorious Leaves out vie
In Vertue, Beauty, Sweetness, Glory Cleare,
The Spangled Leaves of Heavens cleare Chrystall Sky.
Thou Rose of Heaven, Glory's Blossom Cleare
Open thy Rosie Leaves, and lodge mee there.

My Dear-Sweet Lord, shall I thy Glory meet
Lodg'd in a Rose, that out a sweet Breath breaths.
What is my way to Glory made thus sweet,
Strewd all along with Sharons Rosy Leaves.
I'le walk this Rosy Path: World fawn, or frown
And Sharons Rose shall be my Rose, and Crown.

The Reflexion.

Lord, art thou at the Table Head above
Meat, Med'cine, sweetness, sparkling Beautys to
Enamour Souls with Flaming Flakes of Love,
And not my Trencher, nor my Cup o'reflow?
Be n't I a bidden Guest? Oh! sweat mine Eye.
Oreflow with Teares: Oh! draw thy fountains dry.

Shall I not smell thy sweet, oh! Sharons Rose?
Shall not mine Eye salute thy Beauty? Why?
Shall thy sweet leaves their Beautious sweets upclose?
As halfe ashamde my sight should on them ly?
Woe's me! for this my sighs shall be in grain
Offer'd on Sorrows Altar for the same.

Had not my Soule's thy Conduit, Pipes stopt bin
With mud, what Ravishment would'st thou Convay?
Let Graces Golden Spade dig till the Spring
Of tears arise, and cleare this filth away.
Lord, let thy spirit raise my sighings till
These Pipes my soule do with thy sweetness fill.

Earth once was Paradise of Heaven below
Till inkefac'd sin had it with poyson stockt
And Chast this Paradise away into
Heav'ns upmost Loft, and it in Glory Lockt.
But thou, sweet Lord, hast with thy golden Key
Unlockt the Doore, and made, a golden day.

Once at thy Feast, I saw thee Pearle-like stand
'Tween Heaven, and Earth where Heavens Bright glory all

In streams fell on thee, as a floodgate and,
Like Sun Beams through thee on the World to Fall.
Oh! sugar sweet then! my Deare sweet Lord, I see
Saints Heavens-lost Happiness restor'd by thee.

Shall Heaven, and Earth's bright Glory all up lie
Like Sun Beams bundled in the sun, in thee?
Dost thou sit Rose at Table Head, where I
Do sit, and Carv'st no morsell sweet for mee?
So much before, so little now! Sprindge, Lord,
Thy Rosie Leaves, and me their Glee afford.

Shall not thy Rose my Garden fresh perfume?
Shall not thy Beauty my dull Heart assaile?
Shall not thy golden gleams run through this gloom?
Shall my black Velvet Mask thy fair Face Vaile?
Pass o're my Faults: shine forth, bright sun: arise
Enthrone thy Rosy-selfe within mine Eyes.

5. Meditation. Cant. 2.1. The Lilly of the Vallies.

2.7m [Sept.] 1683.

My Blessed Lord, art thou a Lilly Flower?
Oh! that my Soul thy Garden were, that so
Thy bowing Head root in my Heart, and poure
Might of its Seeds, that they therein might grow.
Be thou my Lilly, make thou me thy knot:
Be thou my Flowers, I'le be thy Flower Pot.

My barren heart thy Fruitfull Vally make:
Be thou my Lilly flouerishing in mee:

Oh Lilly of the Vallies. For thy sake,
Let me thy Vally, thou my Lilly bee.
Then nothing shall me of thyselfe bereave.
Thou must not me, or must thy Vally leave.

How shall my Vallie's Spangling Glory spred,
Thou Lilly of the Vallies Spangling
There springing up? Upon thy bowing Head
All Heavens bright Glory hangeth dangling.
My Vally then with Blissfull Beams shall shine,
Thou Lilly of the Vallys, being mine.

[6.] Another Meditation at the same time.

Am I thy Gold? Or Purse, Lord, for thy Wealth;
Whether in mine, or mint refinde for thee?
Ime counted so, but count me o're thyselfe,
Lest gold washt face, and brass in Heart I bee.
I Feare my Touchstone touches when I try
Mee, and my Counted Gold too overly.

Am I new minted by thy Stamp indeed?
Mine Eyes are dim; I cannot clearly see.
Be thou my Spectacles that I may read
Thine Image, and Inscription stampt on mee.
If thy bright Image do upon me stand
I am a Golden Angell in thy hand.

Lord, make my Soule thy Plate: thine Image bright
Within the Circle of the same enfoile.
And on its brims in golden Letters write
Thy Superscription in an Holy style.
Then I shall be thy Money, thou my Hord:
Let me thy Angell bee, bee thou my Lord.

7. Meditation. Ps. 45.2. Grace in thy lips is poured out.

10.12m [Feb.] 1683.

Thy Humane Frame, my Glorious Lord, I spy,
A Golden Still with Heavenly Choice drugs filld;
Thy Holy Love, the Glowing heate whereby,
The Spirit of Grace is graciously distilld.
Thy Mouth the Neck through which these spirits still.
My Soul thy Violl make, and therewith fill.

Thy Speech the Liquour in thy Vessell stands,
Well ting'd with Grace a blessed Tincture, Loe,
Thy Words distilld, Grace in thy Lips pourd, and,
Give Graces Tinctur in them where they go.
Thy words in graces tincture stilld, Lord, may
The Tincture of thy Grace in me Convay.

That Golden Mint of Words, thy Mouth Divine,
Doth tip these Words, which by my Fall were spoild;
And Dub with Gold dug out of Graces mine
That they thine Image might have in them foild.
Grace in thy Lips pourd out's as Liquid Gold.
Thy Bottle make my Soule, Lord, it to hold.

8. Meditation. Joh. 6.51. I am the Living Bread.

8.4m [June] 1684.

I kening through Astronomy Divine
The Worlds bright Battlement, wherein I spy
A Golden Path my Pensill cannot line,
From that bright Throne unto my Threshold ly.
And while my puzzled thoughts about it pore
I finde the Bread of Life in't at my doore.

When that this Bird of Paradise put in
This Wicker Cage (my Corps) to tweedle praise
Had peckt the Fruite forbad: and so did fling
Away its Food; and lost its golden dayes;
It fell into Celestiall Famine sore:
And never could attain a morsell more.

Alas! alas! Poore Bird, what wilt thou doe?
The Creatures field no food for Souls e're gave.
And if thou knock at Angells dores they show
An Empty Barrell: they no soul bread have.
Alas! Poore Bird, the Worlds White Loafe is done.
And cannot yield thee here the smallest Crumb.

In this sad state, Gods Tender Bowells run
Out streams of Grace: And he to end all strife
The Purest Wheate in Heaven, his deare-dear Son
Grinds, and kneads up into this Bread of Life.
Which Bread of Life from Heaven down came and stands
Disht on thy Table up by Angells Hands.

Did God mould up this Bread in Heaven, and bake,
Which from his Table came, and to thine goeth?
Doth he bespeake thee thus, This Soule Bread take.

Come Eate thy fill of this thy Gods White Loafe?
Its Food too fine for Angells, yet come, take
And Eate thy fill. Its Heavens Sugar Cake.

What Grace is this knead in this Loafe? This thing
Souls are but petty things it to admire.
Yee Angells, help: This fill would to the brim
Heav'ns whelm'd-down Chrystall meele Bowle, yea and higher.
This Bread of Life dropt in thy mouth, doth Cry.
Eate, Eate me, Soul, and thou shalt never dy.

9. Meditation. Joh. 6.51. I am the Living Bread.

7.7m [Sept.] 1684.

Did Ever Lord such noble house mentain,
As my Lord doth? Or such a noble Table?
'T would breake the back of kings, nay, Monarchs brain
To do it. Pish, the Worlds Estate's not able.
I'le bet a boast with any that this Bread
I eate excells what ever Caesar had.

Take earth's Brightst Darlings, in whose mouths all flakes
Of Lushous Sweets she hath do croude their Head,
Their Spiced Cups, sweet Meats, and Sugar Cakes
Are but dry Sawdust to this Living Bread.
I'le pawn my part in Christ, this Dainti'st Meate,
Is Gall, and Wormwood unto what I eate.

The Boasting Spagyrist (Insipid Phlegm,
Whose Words out strut the Sky) vaunts he hath rife
The Water, Tincture, Lozenge, Gold, and Gem,

Of Life itselfe. But here's the Bread of Life.
I'le lay my Life, his Aurum Vitae Red
Is to my Bread of Life, worse than dead head.

The Dainti'st Dish of Earthly Cookery
Is but to fat the body up in print.
This Bread of Life doth feed the Soule, whereby
Its made the Temple of Jehovah in't.
I'le Venture Heav'n upon't that Low or High
That eate this Living Bread shall never dy.

This Bread of Life, so excellent, I see
The Holy Angells doubtless would, if they
Were prone unto base Envie, Envie't mee.
But oh! come, tast how sweet it is. I say,
I'le Wage my Soule and all therein uplaid,
This is the sweetest Bread that e're God made.

What wonder's here, that Bread of Life should come
To feed Dead Dust? Dry Dust eate Living Bread?
Yet Wonder more by far may all, and some
That my Dull Heart's so dumpish when thus fed.
Lord Pardon this, and feed mee all my dayes,
With Living Bread to thy Eternall Prayse.

10. Meditation. Joh. 6.55. My Blood is Drinke indeed.

26.8m [Oct.] 1684.

Stupendious Love! All Saints Astonishment!
Bright Angells are black Motes in this Suns Light.
Heav'ns Canopy the Paintice to Gods tent
Can't Cover't neither with its breadth, nor height.
Its Glory doth all Glory else out run,
Beams of bright Glory to't are motes i'th'sun.

My Soule had Caught an Ague, and like Hell
Her thirst did burn: she to each spring did fly,
But this bright blazing Love did spring a Well
Of Aqua-Vitae in the Deity,
Which on the top of Heav'ns high Hill out burst
And down came running thence t'allay my thirst.

But how it came, amazeth all Communion.
Gods onely Son doth hug Humanity,
Into his very person. By which Union
His Humane Veans its golden gutters ly.
And rather than my Soule should dy by thirst,
These Golden Pipes, to give me drink, did burst.

This Liquour brew'd, thy sparkling Art Divine
Lord, in thy Chrystall Vessells did up tun,
(Thine Ordinances,) which all Earth o're shine
Set in thy rich Wine Cellars out to run.
Lord, make thy Butlar draw, and fill with speed
My Beaker full: for this is drink indeed.

Whole Buts of this blesst Nectar shining stand
Lockt up with Saph'rine Taps, whose splendid Flame
Too bright do shine for brightest Angells hands
To touch, my Lord. Do thou untap the same.
Oh! make thy Chrystall Buts of Red Wine bleed
Into my Chrystall Glass this Drink-Indeed.

How shall I praise thee then? My blottings Jar
And wrack my Rhymes to pieces in thy praise.
Thou breath'st thy Vean still in my Pottinger
To lay my thirst, and fainting spirits raise.
Thou makest Glory's Chiefest Grape to bleed
Into my cup: And this is Drink-Indeed.

Nay, though I make no pay for this Red Wine,
And scarce do say I thank-ye-for't; strange thing!
Yet were thy silver skies my Beer bowle fine

I finde my Lord, would fill it to the brim.
Then make my life, Lord, to thy praise proceed
For thy rich blood, which is my Drink-Indeed.

11. Meditation. Isai. 25.6. A Feast of Fat things.

31.3m [Mar.] 1685.

A Deity of Love Incorporate
My Lord, lies in thy Flesh, in Dishes stable
Ten thousand times more rich than golden Plate
In golden Services upon thy Table,
To feast thy People with. What Feast is this!
Where richest Love lies Cookt in e'ry Dish?

A Feast, a Feast, a Feast of Spiced Wine
Of Wines upon the Lees, refined well
Of Fat things full of Marrow, things Divine
Of Heavens blest Cookery which doth excell.
The Smell of Lebanon, and Carmell sweet
Are Earthly damps unto this Heavenly reech.

This Shew-Bread Table all of Gold with white
Fine Table Linen of Pure Love, 's ore spred
And Courses in Smaragdine Chargers bright
Of Choicest Dainties Paradise e're bred.
Where in each Grace like Dainty Sippits lie
Oh! brave Embroderies of sweetest joy!

Oh! what a Feast is here? This Table might
Make brightest Angells blush to sit before.
Then pain my Soule! Why wantst thou appitite?
Oh! blush to thinke thou hunger dost no more.
There never was a feast more rich than this:
The Guests that Come hereto shall swim in bliss.

Hunger, and Thirst my Soule, goe Fasting Pray,
Untill thou hast an Appitite afresh:
And then come here; here is a feast will pay
Thee for the same with all Deliciousness.
Untap Loves Golden Cask, Love run apace:
And o're this Feast Continually say Grace.

12. Meditation. Isai. 63.1. Glorious in his Apparell.

19.5m [July] 1685.

This Quest rapt at my Eares broad golden Doores
Who's this that comes from Edom in this shine
In Died Robes from Bozrah? this more ore
All Glorious in's Apparrell; all Divine?
Then through that Wicket rusht this buss there gave,
Its I that right do speake mighty to save.

I threw through Zions Lattice then an Eye
Which spide one like a lump of Glory pure
Nay, Cloaths of gold button'd with pearls do ly
Like Rags, or shooclouts unto his he wore.
Heavens Curtains blancht with Sun, and Starrs of Light
Are black as sackcloath to his Garments bright.

One shining sun guilding the skies with Light
Benights all Candles with their flaming Blaze
So doth the Glory of this Robe benight
Ten thousand suns at once ten thousand wayes.
For e'ry thrid therein's dy'de with the shine
Of All, and Each the Attributes Divine.

The sweetest breath, the sweetest Violet
Rose, or Carnation ever did gust out
Is but a Foist to that Perfume beset
In thy Apparell steaming round about:
But is this so? My Peuling soul then pine
In Love untill this Lovely one be thine.

Pluck back the Curtains, back the Window Shutts:
Through Zions Agate Window take a view;
How Christ in Pinckted Robes from Bozrah puts
Comes Glorious in's Apparell forth to Wooe.
Oh! if his Glory ever kiss thine Eye,
Thy Love will soon Enchanted bee thereby.

Then Grieve, my Soul, thy vessell is so small
And holds no more for such a Lovely Hee.
That strength's so little, Love scarce acts at all.
That sight's so dim, doth scarce him lovely see.
Grieve, grieve, my Soul, thou shouldst so pimping bee,
Now such a Price is here presented thee.

All sight's too little sight enough to make
All strength's too little Love enough to reare
All Vessells are too small to hold or take
Enough Love up for such a Lovely Deare.

How little to this Little's then thy all.
For Him whose Beauty saith all Love's too small?

My Lovely One, I fain would love thee much
But all my Love is none at all I see,
Oh! let thy Beauty give a glorious tuch
Upon my Heart, and melt to Love all mee.
Lord melt me all up into Love for thee
Whose Loveliness excells what love can bee.

13. Meditation. Col. 2.3. All the Treasures of Wisdom.

27.7m [Sept.] 1685.

Thou Glory Darkning Glory, with thy Flame
Should all Quaint Metaphors teem ev'ry Bud
Of Sparkling Eloquence upon the same
It would appeare as dawbing pearls with mud.
Nay Angells Wits are Childish tricks, and like
The Darksom night unto thy Lightsom Light.

Oh! Choicest Cabbinet, more Choice than gold
Or Wealthist Pearles Wherein all Pearls of Price
All Treasures of Choice Wisdom manifold
Inthroned reign. Thou Cabinet most Choice
Not scant to hold, not staind with cloudy geere
The Shining Sun of Wisdom bowling there.

Thou Shining Golden Lanthorn with pain'd Lights
Of Chrystall cleare, thy golden Candles flame,
Makes such a Shine, as doth the Sun benights.
Its but a Smoaky vapor to the Same.
All Wisdom knead into a Chrystall Ball,
Shines like the Sun in thee, its azure Hall.

Thou rowling Eye of Light, to thee are sent
All Dazzling Beams of Shine the Heavens distill.
All Wisdoms Troops do quarter in thy Tents
And all her Treasures Cabin in thy tills.
Be thou, Lord, mine: then I shall Wealthy bee,
Enricht with Wisdoms Treasures, Stoughd in thee.

That little Grain within my golden Bowle,
Should it attempt to poise thy Talent cleare,
It would inoculate into my Soule,
As illookt Impudence as ever were.
But, loe, it stands amaizd, and doth adore,
Thy Magazeen of Wisdom, and thy Store.

14. 15. Meditations. Heb. 4.14. A Great High Priest.

14.9m [Nov.] 1685. 10.11m [Jan.] 1685.

Raptures of Love, surprizing Loveliness,
That burst through Heavens all, in Rapid Flashes,
Glances guilt o're with smiling Comliness!
(Wonders do palefac'd stand smit by such dashes).
Glory itselfe Heartsick of Love doth ly
Bleeding out Love o're Loveless mee, and dy.

Might I a glance of this bright brightness shew;
Se it in him who gloriously is dresst:
A Gold Silk Stomacher of Purple, blew
Blancht o're with Orient Pearles being on his Breast:
And all his Robes being answerable, but
This glory seen, to that unseen's a Smut.

Yea, Beauteous Hee, in all his Glory stands,
Tendring himselfe to God, and Man where hee
Doth Justice thus bespeake, Hold out thy hands:
Come, take thy Penworths now for mine of mee.

I'le pay the fine that thou seest meet to set
Upon their Heads: I'le dy to cleare their debts.

Out Rampant Justice steps in Sparkling White,
Him rends in twain, who on her Altar lies
A Lump of Glory flaming in her bright
Devouring Flames, to be my Sacrifice
Untill her Fire goes out well Satisfide:
And then he rose in Glory to abide.

To Heav'n went he, and in his bright Throne sits
At Gods right hand pleading poor Sinners Cases.
With Golden Wedges he of Promise, splits
The Heav'ns ope, to shew what Glory 'braces.
And in its thickness thus with Arms extended,
Calls, come, come here, and ever be befriended.

Frost bitten Love, Frozen Affections! Blush;
What icy Chrystall mountain lodge you in?
What Wingless Wishes, Hopes pinfeatherd tush!
Sore Hooft Desires hereof do in you spring?
Oh hard black Kirnell at the Coare! not pant?
Encastled in an heart of Adamant!

What strange Congealed Heart have I when I
Under such Beauty shining like the Sun
Able to make Frozen Affection fly,
And Icikles of Frostbitt Love to run.
Yea, and Desires lockt in an heart of Steel
Or Adamant, breake prison, nothing feel.

Lord may thy Priestly Golden Oares but make
A rowing in my Lumpish Heart, thou'lt see
My Chilly Numbd Affections Charm, and break
Out in a rapid Flame of Love to thee.
Yea, they unto thyselfe will fly in flocks
When thy Warm Sun my frozen Lake unlocks.

Be thou my High Priest, Lord; and let my name
Ly in some Grave dug in these Pearly rocks

Upon thy Ephods Shoulder piece, like flame
Or graved in thy Breast Plate-Gem: brave Knops.
Thou'lt then me beare before thy Fathers Throne
Rowld up in Folds of Glory of thine own.

One of these Gems I beg, Lord, that so well
Begrace thy Breast Plate, and thy Ephod cleaver
To stud my Crown therewith: or let me dwell
Among their sparkling, glancing Shades for ever.
I'st then be deckt in glory bright to sing
With Angells, Hallelujahs to my King.

16. Meditation. Lu. 7.16. A Greate Prophet is risen up.

6.1m [Mar.] 1685/6.

Leafe Gold, Lord of thy Golden Wedge o'relaid
My Soul at first, thy Grace in e'ry part
Whose peart, fierce Eye thou such a Sight hadst made
Whose brightsom beams could break into thy heart
Till thy Curst Foe had with my Fist mine Eye
Dasht out, and did my Soule Unglorify.

I cannot see, nor Will thy Will aright.
Nor see to waile my Woe, my loss and hew
Nor all the Shine in all the Sun can light
My Candle, nor its Heate my Heart renew.
See, waile, and Will thy Will, I must, or must
From Heavens sweet Shine to Hells hot flame be thrust.

Grace then Conceald in God himselfe, did rowle
Even Snow Ball like into a Sunball Shine
And nestles all its beams buncht in thy Soule
My Lord, that sparkle in Prophetick Lines.
Oh! Wonder more than Wonderfull! this Will
Lighten the Eye which Sight Divine did spill.

What art thou, Lord, this Ball of Glory bright?
A Bundle of Celestiall Beams up bound
In Graces band fixt in Heavens topmost height
Pouring thy golden Beams thence, Circling round
Which shew thy Glory, and thy glories Way
And ery Where will make Celestiall Day.

Lord let thy Golden Beams pierce through mine Eye
And leave therein an Heavenly Light to glaze
My Soule with glorious Grace all o're, whereby
I may have Sight, and Grace in mee may blaze.
Lord ting my Candle at thy Burning Rayes,
To give a gracious Glory to thy Prayse.

Thou Lightning Eye, let some bright Beames of thine
Stick in my Soul, to light and liven it:
Light, Life, and Glory, things that are Divine;
I shall be grac'd withall for glory fit.
My Heart then stufft with Grace, Light, Life, and Glee
I'le sacrifice in Flames of Love to thee.

17. Meditation. Rev. 19.16. King of Kings.

13.4m [June] 1686.

A King, a King, a King indeed, a King
Writh up in Glory! Glorie's glorious Throne
Is glorifide by him, presented him.
And all the Crowns of Glory are his own.
A King, Wise, Just, Gracious, Magnificent.
Kings unto him are Whiffles, Indigent.

What is his Throne all Glory? Crown all Gay?
Crown all of Brightest Shine of Glory's Wealth?
This is a Lisp of Non-sense. I should say,
He is the Throne, and Crown of Glory 'tselfe.

Should Sun beams come to gilde his glory they
Would be as 'twere to gild the Sun with Clay.

My Phancys in a Maze, my thoughts agast,
Words in an Extasy; my Telltale Tongue
Is tonguetide, and my Lips are padlockt fast
To see thy Kingly Glory in to throng.
I can, yet cannot tell this Glory just,
In Silence bury't, must not, yet I must.

This King of King's Brave Kingdom doth Consist
Of Glorious Angells, and Blesst Saints alone
Or Chiefly. Where all Beams of Glory twist,
Together, beaming from, lead to his throne
Which Beams his Grace Coiles in a Wreath to Crown
His, in the End in Endless Bright Renown.

His Two-Edg'd Sword, not murdering Steel so base,
Is made of Righteousness, unspotted, bright
Imbellisht o're with overflowing Grace
Doth killing, Cure the Sinner, kills Sin right.
Makes milkwhite Righteousness, and Grace to reign,
And Satan and his Cubs with Sin ly slain.

Were all Kings deckt with Sparkling Crowns, and arm'd
With flaming Swords, and firy Courage traind
And led under their King Abaddon, Charmd
In battell out against their foes disdaind
One smiling look of this bright Shine would fell
Them and their Crowns of Glory all to Hell.

Thou art my king: let me not be thy Shame.
Thy Law my Rule: my Life thy Life in Mee.
Thy Grace my Badge: my Glory bright thy Name.
I am resolv'd to live and dy with thee.
Keep mee, thou King of Glory on Record.
Thou art my King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.

18. Meditation. Isai. 52.14. His Vissage was marr'd more than any man.

29.6m [Aug.] 1686.

Astonisht stand, my Soule; why dost not start
At this surprizing Sight shewn here below?
Oh! let the twitch made by my bouncing Heart
Gust from my breast this Enterjection, Oh!
A Sight so Horrid, sure its Mercies Wonder
Rocks rend not at't, nor Heavens split asunder.

Souls Charg'd with Sin, Discharge at God, beside
Firld up in Guilt, Wrapt in Sins Slough, and Slime.
Wills wed to Wickedness, Hearts Stonifide
Flinty Affections, Conscience Chalybdine
Flooding the World with Horrid Crimes, arise
Daring Almighty God Contemptuouswise.

Hence Vengeance rose with her fierce Troops in Buff,
Soul-piercing Plagues, Heart-Aching Griefs, and Groans,
Woes Pickled in Revenges Powdering Trough:
Pain fetching forth their Proofs out of the boanes.
Doth all in Flames of Fire surround them so
Which they can ne're o'recome, nor undergo.

In this sad Plight the richest Beauty Cleare
That th'bravest Flower, that bud was big with, wore,
Did glorify those Cheeks, whose Vissage were
Marr'd more than any mans, and Form spoild more.
Oh! Beauty beautifull, not toucht with vice!
The fairest Flower in all Gods Paradise!

Stept in, and in its Glory 'Counters all.
And in the Belly of this Dismall Cloud,
Of Woes in Pickle is gulpht up, whose Gall
He dranke up quite. Whose Claws his Face up plow'd.

Yet in these Furrows sprang the brightest Shine
That Glory's Sun could make, or Love Enshrine.

Then Vengeance's Troops are routed, Pickled Woe
Heart-aching Griefes, Pains plowing to the boanes,
Soul piercing Plagues, all Venom do foregoe.
The Curse now Cures, though th'Griefe procureth groans.
As th'Angry Bee doth often lose her Sting,
The Law was Cursless made in Cursing him.

And now his shining Love beams out its rayes
My Soul, upon thy Heart to thaw the same:
To animate th'Affections till they blaze;
To free from Guilt, and from Sins Slough, and Shame.
Open thy Casement wide, let Glory in,
To Guild thy Heart to be an Hall for him.

My Breast, be thou the ringing Virginalls:
Ye mine Affections, their sweet Golden Strings,
My Panting Heart, be thou for Stops, and Falls:
Lord, let thy quick'ning Beams dance o're the Pins.
Then let thy Spirit this sweet note resume,
altaschath michtam, in Seraphick Tune.

19. Meditation. Phil. 2.9. God hath highly exalted him.

14.9m [Nov.] 1686.

Looke till thy Looks look Wan, my Soule; here's ground.
The Worlds bright Eye's dash't out: Day-Light so brave
Bemidnighted; the sparkling sun, palde round
With flouring Rayes lies buri'de in its grave
The Candle of the World blown out, down fell.
Life knockt a head by Death: Heaven by Hell.

Alas! this World all filld up to the brim
With Sins, Deaths, Divills, Crowding men to Hell.

For whose reliefe Gods milkwhite Lamb stept in
Whom those Curst Imps did worry, flesh, and fell.
Tread under foot, did Clap their Wings and so
Like Dunghill Cocks over their Conquourd, Crow.

Brave Pious Fraud; as if the Setting Sun:
Dropt like a Ball of Fire into the Seas,
And so went out. But to the East come, run:
You'l meet the morn Shrinde with its flouring Rayes.
This Lamb in laying of these Lyons dead;
Drank of the brooke: and so lift up his Head.

Oh! sweet, sweet joy! These Rampant Fiends befoold:
They made their Gall his Winding sheete; although
They of the Heart-ach dy must, or be Coold
With Inflamation of the Lungs, they know.
He's Cancelling the Bond, and making Pay:
And Ballancing Accounts: its Reckoning day.

See, how he from the Counthouse shining went,
In Flashing Folds of Burnisht Glory, and
Dasht out all Curses from the Covenant
Hath Justices Acquittance in his hand
Pluckt out Deaths Sting, the Serpents Head did mall
The Bars and Gates of Hell he brake down all.

The Curse thus Lodgd within his Flesh, and Cloyde,
Can't run from him to his, so much he gave.
And like a Gyant he awoke, beside,
The Sun of Righteousness rose out of's Grave.
And setting Foot upon its neck I sing
Grave, where's thy Victory? Death, Where's thy Sting?

20. Meditation. Phil. 2.9. God hath highly Exalted him.

9.11m [Jan.] 1686.

View all ye eyes above, this sight which flings
Seraphick Phancies in Chill Raptures high,
A Turffe of Clay, and yet bright Glories King
From dust to Glory Angell-like to fly.
A Mortall Clod immortalizde, behold,
Flyes through the Skies swifter than Angells could.

Upon the Wings he of the Winde rode in
His Bright Sedan, through all the Silver Skies
And made the Azure Cloud his Charriot bring
Him to the Mountain of Celestiall joyes.
The Prince o'th'Aire durst not an Arrow spend
While through his Realm his Charriot did ascend.

He did not in a Fiery Charriot's Shine,
And Whirlewinde, like Elias upward goe.
But th'golden Ladders Jasper rounds did climbe
Unto the Heavens high from Earth below.
Each step trod on a Golden Stepping Stone
Of Deity unto his very Throne.

Methinks I see Heavens sparkling Courtiers fly,
In flakes of Glory down him to attend:
And heare Heart Cramping notes of Melody,
Surround his Charriot as it did ascend
Mixing their Musick making e'ry string
More to inravish as they this tune sing.

God is Gone up with a triumphant Shout
The Lord with sounding Trumpets melodies.

Sing Praise, sing Praise, sing Praise, sing Praises out,
Unto our King sing praise seraphickwise.
Lift up your Heads ye lasting Doore they sing
And let the King of Glory Enter in.

Art thou ascended up on high, my Lord,
And must I be without thee here below?
Art thou the sweetest Joy the Heavens afford?
Oh! that I with thee was! what shall I do?
Should I pluck Feathers from an Angells Wing,
They could not waft me up to thee my King.

Lend mee thy Wings, my Lord, I'st fly apace.
My Soules Arms stud with thy strong Quills, true Faith,
My Quills then Feather with thy Saving Grace,
My Wings will take the Winde thy Word displai'th.
Then I shall fly up to thy glorious Throne
With my strong Wings whose Feathers are thine own.

21. Meditation. Phil. 2.9. God hath Highly Exalted Him.

13.1m [Mar.] 1686/7.

What Glory's this, my Lord? Should one small Point
Of one small Ray of't touch my Heart 'twould spring
Such joy as would an Adamant unjoynt
If in't, and tare it, to get out and sing.
T'run on Heroick golden Feet, and raise
Heart Ravishing Tunes, Curld with Celestiall praise.

Oh! Bright! Bright thing! I fain would something say:
Lest Silence should indict me. Yet I feare
To say a Syllable lest at thy day
I be presented for my Tattling here.

Course Phancy, Ragged Faculties, alas!
And Blunted Tongue don't Suit: Sighs Soile the Glass.

Yet shall my mouth stand ope, and Lips let run
Out gliding Eloquence on each light thing?
And shall I gag my mouth, and ty my Tongue,
When such bright Glory glorifies within?
That makes my Heart leape, dancing to thy Lute?
And shall my tell tale tongue become a Mute?

Lord spare I pray, though my attempts let fall
A slippery Verse upon thy Royall Glory.
I'le bring unto thine Altar th'best of all
My Flock affords. I have no better Story.
I'le at thy Glory my dark Candle light:
Not to descry the Sun, but use by night.

A Golden Throne whose Banisters are Pearles,
And Pomills Choicest Gems: Carbuncle-Stayes
Studded with Pretious Stones, Carv'd with rich Curles
Of Polisht Art, sending out flashing Rayes,
Would him surround with Glory, thron'de therein.
Yet this is to thy Throne a dirty thing.

Oh! Glorious Sight! Loe, How Bright Angells stand
Waiting with Hat in hand on Him alone
That is Enthron'de, indeed at Gods right hand:
Gods Heart itselfe being his Happy Throne.
The Glory that doth from this Person fall,
Fills Heaven with Glory, else there's none at all.

22. Meditation. Phil. 2.9. God hath Highly Exalted him.

12.4m [June] 1687.

When thy Bright Beams, my Lord, do strike mine Eye,
Methinkes I then could truely Chide out right

My Hide bound Soule that stands so niggardly
That scarce a thought gets glorified by't.
My Quaintest Metaphors are ragged Stuff,
Making the Sun seem like a Mullipuff.

Its my desire, thou shouldst be glorifi'de:
But when thy Glory shines before mine eye,
I pardon Crave, lest my desire be Pride.
Or bed thy Glory in a Cloudy Sky.
The Sun grows wan; and Angells palefac'd shrinke,
Before thy Shine, which I besmeere with Inke.

But shall the Bird sing forth thy Praise, and shall
The little Bee present her thankfull Hum?
But I who see thy shining Glory fall
Before mine Eyes, stand Blockish, Dull, and Dumb?
Whether I speake, or speechless stand, I spy,
I faile thy Glory: therefore pardon Cry.

But this I finde; My Rhymes do better suite
Mine own Dispraise than tune forth praise to thee.
Yet being Chid, whether Consonant, or Mute,
I force my Tongue to tattle, as you see.
That I thy glorious Praise may Trumpet right,
Be thou my Song, and make Lord, mee thy Pipe.

This shining Sky will fly away apace,
When thy bright Glory splits the same to make
Thy Majesty a Pass, whose Fairest Face
Too foule a Path is for thy Feet to take.
What Glory then, shall tend thee through the Sky
Draining the Heaven much of Angells dry?

What Light then flame will in thy Judgment Seate,
'Fore which all men, and angells shall appeare?
How shall thy Glorious Righteousness them treate,

Rend'ring to each after his Works done here?
Then Saints With Angells thou wilt glorify:
And burn Lewd Men, and Divells Gloriously.

One glimps, my Lord, of thy bright Judgment day,
And Glory piercing through, like fiery Darts,
All Divells, doth me make for Grace to pray,
For filling Grace had I ten thousand Hearts.
I'de through ten Hells to see thy Judgment Day
Wouldst thou but guild my Soule with thy bright Ray.

23. Meditation. Cant. 4.8. My Spouse.

21.6m [Aug.] 1687.

Would God I in that Golden City were,
With Jaspers Walld, all garnisht, and made swash,
With Pretious Stones, whose Gates are Pearles most cleare
And Street Pure Gold, like to transparent Glass.
That my dull Soule, might be inflamde to see
How Saints and Angells ravisht are in Glee.

Were I but there, and could but tell my Story,
'Twould rub those Walls of Pretious Stones more bright:
And glaze those Gates of Pearle, with brighter Glory;
And pave the golden Street with greater light.
'Twould in fresh Raptures Saints, and Angells fling.
But I poore Snake Crawl here, scarce mudwalld in.

May my Rough Voice, and my blunt Tongue but spell
My Tale (for tune they can't) perhaps there may
Some Angell catch an end of't up, and tell
In Heaven, when he doth return that way,
He'l make thy Palace, Lord, all over ring,
With it in Songs, thy Saint, and Angells sing.

I know not how to speak't, it is so good:
Shall Mortall, and Immortall marry? nay,
Man marry God? God be a Match for Mud?
The King of Glory Wed a Worm? mere Clay?
This is the Case. The Wonder too in Bliss.
Thy Maker is thy Husband. Hearst thou this?

My Maker, he my Husband? Oh! strange joy!
If Kings wed Worms, and Monarchs Mites wed should,
Glory spouse Shame, a Prince a Snake or Fly
An Angell Court an Ant, all Wonder would.
Let such wed Worms, Snakes, Serpents, Divells, Flyes.
Less Wonder than the Wedden in our Eyes.

I am to Christ more base, than to a King
A Mite, Fly, Worm, Ant, Serpent, Divell is,
Or Can be, being tumbled all in Sin,
And shall I be his Spouse? How good is this?
It is too good to be declar'de to thee.
But not too good to be believ'de by mee.

Yet to this Wonder, this is found in mee,
I am not onely base but backward Clay,
When Christ doth Wooe: and till his Spirit bee
His Spokes man to Compell me I deny.
I am so base and Froward to him, Hee
Appears as Wonders Wonder, wedding mee.

Seing, Dear Lord, its thus, thy Spirit take
And send thy Spokes man, to my Soul, I pray.
Thy Saving Grace my Wedden Garment make:
Thy Spouses Frame into my Soul Convay.
I then shall be thy Bride Espousd by thee
And thou my Bridesgroom Deare Espousde shalt bee.

24. Meditation. Eph. 2.18. Through him we have—an Access—unto the Father.

6.9m [Nov.] 1687.

Was there a Palace of Pure Gold, all Ston'de
And pav'de with Pearles, whose Gates Rich Jaspers were,
And Throne a Carbuncle, whose King Enthronde
Sat on a Cushion all of Sunshine Cleare;
Whose Crown a Bunch of Sun Beams was: I should
Prize such as in his favour shrine me Would.

Thy Milke white Hand, my Glorious Lord, doth this:
It opes this Gate, and me Conducts into
This Golden Palace whose rich Pavement is
Of Pretious Pearles: and to this King also.
Thus Thron'de, and Crown'd: whose Words are 'bellisht all
With brighter Beams, than e're the Sun let fall.

But oh! Poore mee, thy sluggish Servant, I
More blockish than a block, as blockhead, stand.
Though mine Affections Quick as Lightning fly
On toys, they Snaile like move to kiss thy hand.
My Coal-black doth thy Milke white hand avoide,
That would above the Milky Way me guide.

What aim'st at, Lord? that I should be so Cross.
My minde is Leaden in thy Golden Shine.
Though all o're Spirit, when this dirty Dross
Doth touch it with its smutting leaden lines.
What shall an Eagle t'catch a Fly thus run?
Or Angell Dive after a Mote ith'Sun?

What Folly's this? I fain would take, I thinke,
Vengeance upon myselfe: But I Confess,
I can't. Mine Eyes, Lord, shed no Tears but inke.
My handy Works, are Words, and Wordiness.

Earth's Toyes ware Knots of my Affections, nay,
Though from thy Glorious Selfe they're Stoole away.

Oh! that my heart was made thy Golden Box
Full of Affections, and of Love Divine
Knit all in Tassles, and in True-Love Knots,
To garnish o're this Worthy Worke of thine.
This Box and all therein more rich than Gold,
In sacred Flames, I to thee offer would.

With thy rich Tissue my poore Soule array:
And lead me to thy Fathers House above.
Thy Graces Storehouse make my Soule I pray.
Thy Praise shall then ware Tassles of my Love.
If thou Conduct mee in thy Fathers Wayes,
I'le be the Golden Trumpet of thy Praise.

25. Meditation. Eph. 5.27. A Glorious Church.

22.11m [Jan.] 1687.

Why should my Bells, which Chime thy Praise, when thou
My Shew-Bread, on thy Table wast, my King,
Their Clappers, or their Bell-ropes want even now?
Or those that can thy Changes sweetly ring?
What is a Scar-Fire broken out? No, no.
The Bells would backward ring if it was so.

Its true: and I do all things backward run,
Poor Pillard I have a sad tale to tell:
My soule starke nakt, rowld all in mire, undone.
Thy Bell may tole my passing Peale to Hell.
None in their Winding sheet more naked stay
Nor Dead than I. Hence oh! the Judgment Day.

When I behold some Curious Piece of Art,
Or Pritty Bird, Flower, Star, or Shining Sun,

Poure out o'reflowing Glory: oh! my Heart
Achs seing how my thoughts in Snick-Snarls run.
But all this Glory to my Lord's a spot
While I instead of any, am all blot.

But, my sweet Lord, what glorious robes are those
That thou hast brought out of thy Grave for thine?
They do outshine the Sun-Shine, Grace the Rose.
I leape for joy to thinke, shall these be mine?
Such are, as waite upon thee in thy Wars,
Cloathd with the Sun, and Crowned with twelve Stars.

Dost thou adorn some thus, and why not mee?
Ile not believe it. Lord, thou art my Chiefe.
Thou me Commandest to believe in thee.
I'l not affront thee thus with Unbeliefe.
Lord, make my Soule Obedient: and when so,
Thou saist Believe, make it reply, I do.

I fain the Choicest Love my soule Can get,
Would to thy Gracious selfe a Gift present
But cannot now unscrew Loves Cabbinet.
Say not this is a Niggards Complement.
For seing it is thus I choose now rather
To send thee th'Cabbinet, and Pearle together.

26. Meditation. Act. 5.31. To Give—Forgiveness of Sins.

15.1m [Mar.] 1688.

My Noble Lord, thy Nothing Servant I
Am for thy sake out with my heart, that holds,
So little Love for such a Lord: I Cry [OMITTED]

How should I be but angry thus to see
My Heart so hidebound in her Acts to thee?

Thou art a Golden Theame: but I am lean,
A Leaden Oritor upon the same.
Thy Golden Web excells my Dozie Beam:
Whose Linsy-Wolsy Loom deserves thy blame.
Its all defild, unbiasst too by Sin:
An hearty Wish for thee's scarce shot therein.

It pitties mee who pitty Cannot show,
That such a Worthy Theame abusd should bee.
I am undone, unless thy Pardons doe
Undoe my Sin I did, undoing mee.
My Sins are greate, and grieveous ones, therefore
Carbuncle Mountains can't wipe out their Score.

But thou, my Lord, dost a Free Pardon bring.
Thou giv'st Forgiveness: yet my heart through Sin,
Hath naught but naught to file thy Gift up in.
An hurden Haump doth Chafe a Silken Skin.
Although I pardons beg, I scarce can see,
When thou giv'st pardons, I give praise to thee.

O bad at best! what am I then at worst?
I want a Pardon: and when pardon'd, want
A Thankfull Heart: Both which thou dost disburst.
Giv'st both, or neither: for which Lord I pant.
Two such good things at once! methinks I could
Avenge my heart, lest it should neither hold.

Lord tap mine Eyes, seing such Grace in thee,
So little doth affect my Graceless Soule.
And take my teares in lue of thanks of mee,
New make my heart: then take it for thy tole.
Thy Pardons then will make my heart to sing
Its Michtam-David: With sweet joy Within.

27. Meditation. Col. 1.19. In Him should all Fulness Dwell.

1.5m [July] 1688.

Oh! Wealthy Theam! Oh! Feeble Phancy: I
Must needs admire, when I recall to minde,
That's Fulness, This it's Emptiness, though spy
I have no Flowring Brain thereto inclinde.
My Damps do out my fire. I cannot, though
I would Admire, finde heate enough thereto.

What shall I say? Such rich rich Fullness would
Make stammering Tongues speake smoothly, and Enshrine
The Dumb mans mouth with Silver Streams like gold
Of Eloquence making the Aire to Chime.
Yet I am Tonguetide stupid, sensless stand,
And Drier drain'd than is my pen I hand.

Oh! Wealthy Box: more Golden far than Gold
A Case more Worth than Wealth: a richer Delph,
Than Rubies; Cabbinet, than Pearles here told
A Purse more glittering than Glory 'tselfe
A Golden Store House of all Fulness: Shelfe,
Of Heavenly Plate. All Fulness in thyselfe.

Oh! Godhead Fulness! There doth in thee flow
All Wisdoms Fulness; Fulness of all Strength:
Of Justice, Truth, Love, Holiness also
And Graces Fulness to its upmost length
Do dwell in thee. Yea and thy Fathers Pleasure.
Thou art their Cabbinet, and they thy Treasure.

All Office Fulness with all Office Gifts
Imbossed are in thee, Whereby thy Grace,
Doth treat both God, and Man, bringst up by hifts
Black Sinner and White Justice to imbrace.

Making the Glory of Gods Justice shine:
And making Sinners to Gods glory Climbe.

All Graces Fulness dwells in thee, from Whom
The Golden Pipes of all Convayance ly,
Through which Grace to our Clayie Panchins Come.
Fullness of Beauty, and Humanity.
Oh! Glorious Flow're, Glory, and Sweetness splice,
In thee to Grace, and sweeten Paradise!

But, oh! the Fathers Love! herein most vast!
Angells engrave't in brightest Marble, t'see
This Flower that in his Bosom sticks so fast,
Stuck in the Bosom of such stuffe as wee
That both his Purse, and all his Treasure thus,
Should be so full, and freely sent to us.

Were't not more than my heart can hold, or hord,
Or than my Tongue can tell; I thus would pray,
Let him in Whom all Fulness Dwells, dwell, Lord
Within my Heart: this Treasure therein lay.
I then shall sweetly tune thy Praise, When hee
In Whom all Fulness dwells, doth dwell in mee.

28. Meditation. Joh. 1.16. Of His Fulness wee all receive: and Grace—

2.7m [Sept.] 1688.

When I Lord, send some Bits of Glory home,
(For Lumps I lack) my Messenger, I finde,
Bewildred, lose his Way being alone
In my befogg'd Dark Phancy, Clouded minde.
Thy Bits of Glory packt in Shreds of Praise
My Messenger doth lose, losing his Wayes.

Lord Cleare the Coast: and let thy sweet sun shine.
That I may better speed a second time:
Oh! fill my Pipkin with thy Blood red Wine:
I'l drinke thy Health: To pledge thee is no Crime.
Although I but an Earthen Vessell bee
Convay some of thy Fulness into mee.

Thou, thou my Lord, art full, top full of Grace,
The Golden Sea of Grace: Whose springs thence come,
And Pretious Drills, boiling in ery place.
Untap thy Cask, and let my Cup Catch some.
Although its in an Earthen Vessells Case,
Let it no Empty Vessell be of Grace.

Let thy Choice Caske, shed, Lord, into my Cue
A Drop of Juyce presst from thy Noble Vine.
My Bowl is but an Acorn Cup, I sue
But for a Drop: this will not empty thine.
Although I'me in an Earthen Vessells place,
My Vessell make a Vessell, Lord, of Grace.

My Earthen Vessell make thy Font also:
And let thy Sea my Spring of Grace in't raise.
Spring up oh Well. My Cup with Grace make flow.
Thy Drops will on my Vessell ting thy Praise.
I'l sing this Song, when I these Drops Embrace.
My Vessell now's a Vessell of thy Grace.

29. Meditation. Joh. 20.17. My Father, and your Father, to my God, and your God.

11.9m [Nov.] 1688.

My shattred Phancy stole away from mee,
(Wits run a Wooling over Edens Parke)

And in Gods Garden saw a golden Tree,
Whose Heart was All Divine, and gold its barke.
Whose glorious limbs and fruitfull branches strong
With Saints, and Angells bright are richly hung.

Thou! thou! my Deare-Deare Lord, art this rich Tree
The Tree of Life Within Gods Paradise.
I am a Withred Twig, dri'de fit to bee
A Chat Cast in thy fire, Writh off by Vice.
Yet if thy Milke white-Gracious Hand will take mee
And grafft mee in this golden stock, thou'lt make mee.

Thou'lt make me then its Fruite, and Branch to spring.
And though a nipping Eastwinde blow, and all
Hells Nymps with spite their Dog's sticks thereat ding
To Dash the Grafft off, and it's fruits to fall,
Yet I shall stand thy Grafft, and Fruits that are
Fruits of the Tree of Life thy Grafft shall beare.

I being grafft in thee there up do stand
In us Relations all that mutuall are.
I am thy Patient, Pupill, Servant, and
Thy Sister, Mother, Doove, Spouse, Son, and Heire.
Thou art my Priest, Physician, Prophet, King,
Lord, Brother, Bridegroom, Father, Ev'ry thing.

I being grafft in thee am graffted here
Into thy Family, and kindred Claim
To all in Heaven, God, Saints, and Angells there.
I thy Relations my Relations name.
Thy Father's mine, thy God my God, and I
With Saints, and Angells draw Affinity.

My Lord, what is it that thou dost bestow?
The Praise on this account fills up, and throngs
Eternity brimfull, doth overflow
The Heavens vast with rich Angelick Songs.
How should I blush? how Tremble at this thing,
Not having yet my Gam-Ut, learnd to sing.

But, Lord, as burnish't Sun Beams forth out fly
Let Angell-Shine forth in my Life out flame,
That I may grace thy gracefull Family
And not to thy Relations be a Shame.
Make mee thy Grafft, be thou my Golden Stock.
Thy Glory then I'le make my fruits and Crop.

30. Meditation. 2 Cor. 5.17.—He is a New Creature.

6.11m [Jan.] 1688.

The Daintiest Draught thy Pensill ever Drew:
The finest vessell, Lord, thy fingers fram'de:
The statelist Palace Angells e're did view,
Under thy Hatch betwixt Decks here Contain'd
Broke, marred, spoild, undone, Defild doth ly
In Rubbish ruinde by thine Enemy.

What Pittie's this? Oh Sunshine Art! What Fall?
Thou that more Glorious wast than glories Wealth!
More Golden far than Gold! Lord, on whose Wall
Thy scutchons hung, the Image of thyselfe!
Its ruinde, and must rue, though Angells should
To hold it up heave while their Heart Strings hold.

But yet thou stem of Davids stock when dry
And shrivled held, although most green was lopt
Whose sap a sovereign Sodder is, whereby
The breach repared is in which its dropt.
Oh Gracious Twig! thou Cut off? bleed rich juyce
T'Cement the Breach, and Glories shine reduce?

Oh Lovely One! how doth thy Loveliness
Beam through the Chrystall Casements of the Eyes
Of Saints, and Angells sparkling Flakes of Fresh

Heart Ravishing Beauty, filling up their joyes?
And th'Divells too; if Envies Pupills stood
Not peeping there these sparkling Rayes t'exclude?

Thou Rod of Davids Root, Branch of his Bough
My Lord, repare thy Palace, Deck thy Place.
I'm but a Flesh and Blood bag: Oh! do thou
Sill, Plate, Ridge, Rib, and Rafter me with Grace.
Renew my Soule, and guild it all within:
And hang thy saving Grace on ery Pin.

My Soule, Lord, make thy Shining Temple, pave
Its Floore all o're with Orient Grace: thus guild
It o're with Heavens gold: Its Cabbins have
Thy Treasuries with Choicest thoughts up filld.
Pourtray thy Glorious Image round about
Upon thy Temple Walls within, and Out.

Garnish thy Hall with Gifts, Lord, from above
With that Rich Coate of Male thy Righteousness,
Truths Belt, the Spirits Sword, the Buckler Love
Hopes Helmet, and the Shield of Faith kept fresh.
The Scutchons of thy Honour make my Sign
As Garland Tuns are badges made of Wine.

New mould, new make me thus, me new Create
Renew in me a spirit right, pure, true.
Lord make me thy New Creature, then new make
All things to thy New Creature here anew,
New Heart, New thoughts, New Words, New wayes likewise.
New Glory then shall to thyselfe arise.

31. Meditation. 1 Cor. 3.21.22. All things are yours.

17.12m [Feb.] 1688.

Begracde with Glory, gloried with Grace,
In Paradise I was, when all Sweet Shines
Hung dangling on this Rosy World to face
Mine Eyes, and Nose, and Charm mine Eares with Chimes.
All these were golden Tills the which did hold
My evidences wrapt in glorious folds.

But as a Chrystall Glass, I broke, and lost
That Grace, and Glory I was fashion'd in
And cast this Rosy World with all its Cost
Into the Dunghill Pit, and Puddle Sin.
All right I lost in all Good things, each thing
I had did hand a Vean of Venom in.

Oh! Sad-Sad thing! Satan is now turnd Cook:
Sin is the Sauce he gets for ev'ry Dish.
I cannot bite a bit of Bread or Roote
But what is sopt therein, and Venomish.
Right's lost in what's my Right. Hence I do take
Onely what's poison'd by th'infernall Snake.

But this is not the Worst: there's worse than this.
My Tast is lost; no bit tasts sweet to mee,
But what is Dipt all over in this Dish
Of Ranck ranck Poyson: this my Sauce must bee.
Hell Heaven is, Heaven hell, yea Bitter Sweet:
Poison's my Food: Food poison in't doth keep.

What e're we want, we cannot Cry for, nay,
If that we could, we could not have it thus.
The Angell's can't devise, nor yet Convay

Help in their Golden Pipes from God to us.
But thou my Lord, (Heart leape for joy and sing)
Hast done the Deed: and't makes the Heavens ring.

By mee all lost, by thee all are regain'd.
All things are thus fall'n now into thy hande.
And thou steep'st in thy Blood what Sin had stain'd
That th'Stains, and Poisons may not therein stand.
And having stuck thy Grace all o're the same
Thou giv'st it as a Glorious Gift again.

Cleare up my Right, my Lord, in thee, and make
Thy Name stand Dorst upon my Soule in print,
In grace I mean, that so I may partake
Of what I lost, in thee, and of thee in't.
I'l take it then, Lord, at thy hand, and sing
Out Hallelujah for thy Grace therein.

32. Meditation. 1 Cor. 3.22. Whether Paul or Apollos, or Cephas.

28.2m [Apr.] 1689.

Thy Grace, Dear Lord's my golden Wrack, I finde
Screwing my Phancy into ragged Rhimes,
Tuning thy Praises in my feeble minde
Untill I come to strike them on my Chimes.
Were I an Angell bright, and borrow could
King Davids Harp, I would them play on gold.

But plung'd I am, my minde is puzzled,
When I would spin my Phancy thus unspun,
In finest Twine of Praise I'm muzzled.
My tazzled Thoughts twirld into Snick-Snarls run.
Thy Grace, my Lord, is such a glorious thing,
It doth Confound me when I would it sing.

Eternall Love an Object mean did smite
Which by the Prince of Darkness was beguilde,
That from this Love it ran and sweld with spite
And in the way with filth was all defilde
Yet must be reconcild, cleansd, and begrac'te
Or from the fruits of Gods first Love displac'te.

Then Grace, my Lord, wrought in thy Heart a vent,
Thy Soft Soft hand to this hard worke did goe,
And to the Milke White Throne of Justice went
And entred bond that Grace might overflow.
Hence did thy Person to my Nature ty
And bleed through humane Veans to satisfy.

Oh! Grace, Grace, Grace! this Wealthy Grace doth lay
Her Golden Channells from thy Fathers throne,
Into our Earthen Pitchers to Convay
Heavens Aqua Vitae to us for our own.
O! let thy Golden Gutters run into
My Cup this Liquour till it overflow.

Thine Ordinances, Graces Wine-fats where
Thy Spirits Walkes, and Graces runs doe ly
And Angells waiting stand with holy Cheere
From Graces Conduite Head, with all Supply.
These Vessells full of Grace are, and the Bowls
In which their Taps do run, are pretious Souls.

Thou to the Cups dost say (that Catch this Wine,)
This Liquour, Golden Pipes, and Wine-fats plain,
Whether Paul, Apollos, Cephas, all are thine.
Oh Golden Word! Lord speake it ore again.
Lord speake it home to me, say these are mine.
My Bells shall then thy Praises bravely chime.

33. Meditation. 1 Cor. 3.22. Life is youres.

7.5m [July] 1689.

My Lord my Life, can Envy ever bee
A Golden Vertue? Then would God I were
Top full thereof untill it colours mee
With yellow streaks for thy Deare sake most Deare,
Till I be Envious made by't at myselfe,
As scarcely loving thee my Life, my Health.

Oh! what strange Charm encrampt my Heart with spite
Making my Love gleame out upon a Toy?
Lay out Cart-Loads of Love upon a mite?
Scarce lay a mite of Love on thee, my Joy?
Oh, Lovely thou! Shalt not thou loved bee?
Shall I ashame thee thus? Oh! shame for mee!

Nature's amaz'de, Oh monstrous thing Quoth shee,
Not Love my life? What Violence doth split
True Love, and Life, that they should sunder'd bee?
She doth not lay such Eggs, nor on them sit.
How do I sever then my Heart with all
Its Powers whose Love scarce to my Life doth crawle.

Glory lin'de out a Paradise in Power
Where e'ry seed a Royall Coach became
For Life to ride in, to each shining Flower.
And made mans Flower with glory all ore flame.
Hells Inkfac'de Elfe black Venom spat upon
The same, and kill'd it. So that Life is gone.

Life thus abusde fled to the golden Arke,
Lay lockt up there in Mercie's seate inclosde:
Which did incorporate it whence its Sparke
Enlivens all things in this Arke inclosde.

Oh, glorious Arke! Life's Store-House full of Glee!
Shall not my Love safe lockt up ly in thee?

Lord arke my Soule safe in thyselfe, whereby
I and my Life again may joyned bee.
That I may finde what once I did destroy
Again Conferde upon my soul in thee.
Thou art this Golden Ark; this Living Tree
Where life lies treasurde up for all in thee.

Oh! Graft me in this Tree of Life within
The Paradise of God, that I may live.
Thy Life make live in mee; I'le then begin
To bear thy Living Fruits, and them forth give.
Give mee my Life this way; and I'le bestow
My Love on thee my Life, and it shall grow.

34. Meditation. 1 Cor. 3.22. Death is Yours.

25.9m [Nov.] 1689.

My Lord I fain would Praise thee Well but finde
Impossibilities blocke up my pass.
My tongue Wants Words to tell my thoughts, my Minde
Wants thoughts to Comprehend thy Worth, alas!
Thy Glory far Surmounts my thoughts, my thoughts
Surmount my Words: Hence little Praise is brought.

But seing Non-Sense very Pleasant is
To Parents, flowing from the Lisping Child,
I Conjue to thee, hoping thou in this
Will finde some hearty Praise of mine Enfoild,
But though my pen drop'd golden Words, yet would
Thy Glory far out shine my Praise in Gold.

Poor wretched man Deaths Captive stood full Chuffe
But thou my Gracious Lord didst finde reliefe,

Thou King of Glory didst, to handy cuff
With King of Terrours, and dasht out his Teeth,
Plucktst out his sting, his Poyson quelst, his head
To pieces brakest. Hence Cruell Death lies Dead.

And still thou by thy gracious Chymistry
Dost of his Carkass Cordialls make rich, High,
To free from Death makst Death a remedy:
A Curb to Sin, a Spur to Piety.
Heavens brightsom Light shines out in Death's Dark Cave.
The Golden Dore of Glory is the Grave.

The Painter lies who pensills death's Face grim
With White bare butter Teeth, bare staring bones,
With Empty Eyeholes, Ghostly Lookes which fling
Such Dread to see as raiseth Deadly groans,
For thou hast farely Washt Deaths grim grim face
And made his Chilly finger-Ends drop grace.

Death Tamde, Subdude, Washt fair by thee! Oh Grace!
Made Usefull thus! thou unto thine dost say
Now Death is yours, and all it doth in't brace.
The Grave's a Down bed now made for your clay.
Oh! Happiness! How should our Bells hereby
Ring Changes, Lord, and praises trust with joy.

Say I am thine, My Lord: Make me thy bell
To ring thy Praise. Then Death is mine indeed
A Hift to Grace, a Spur to Duty; Spell
To Fear; a Frost to nip each naughty Weede.
A Golden doore to Glory. Oh I'le sing
This Triumph o're the Grave! Death where's thy Sting?

35. Meditation. 1 Cor. 3.22. Things Present.

19.11m [Jan.] 1689.

Oh! that I ever felt what I profess.
'Twould make me then the happi'st man alive.
Ten thousand Worlds of Saints can't make this less
By living on't, but it would make them thrive.
These Loaves and Fishes are not lessened
Nor Pasture over stock, by being fed.

Lord am I thine? art thou, Lord, mine? So rich!
How doth thy Wealthy bliss branch out thy sweets
Through all things Present? These the Vent-holes which
Let out those Ravishing Joys our Souls to greet?
Impower my Powers sweet Lord till up they raise
My 'Fections that thy glory on them blaze.

How many things are there now, who display'th?
How many Acts each thing doth here dispense?
How many Influences each thing hath?
How many Contraries each Influence?
How many Contraries from Things do flow?
From Acts? from Influences? Who can show?

How Glorious then is he that doth all raise
Rule and Dispose and make them all Conspire
In all their Jars, and Junctures, Good-bad wayes
To meliorate the self same Object higher?
Earth, Water, Fire, Winds, Herbs, Trees, Beasts and Men,
Angells, and Divells, Bliss, Blasts, advance one stem?

Hell, Earth, and Heaven with their Whole Troops come
Contrary Windes, Grace, and Disgrace, Soure, Sweet,
Wealth, Want, Health, Sickness, to Conclude in Sum
All Providences Works in this good meet?

Who, who can do't, but thou, my Lord? and thou
Dost do this thing. Yea thou performst it now.

Oh, that the Sweets of all these Windings, spoute
Might, and these Influences streight, and Cross,
Upon my Soule, to make thy Shine breake out
That Grace might in get and get out my dross!
My Soule up lockt then in this Clod of Dust
Would lock up in't all Heavenly Joyes most just.

But oh! thy Wisdom, Lord! thy Grace! thy Praise!
Open mine Eyes to see the same aright.
Take off their film, my Sins, and let the Rayes
Of thy bright Glory on my peepholes light.
I fain would love and better love thee should,
If 'fore me thou thy Loveliness unfold.

Lord, Cleare my Sight, thy Glory then out dart.
And let thy Rayes beame Glory in mine eye
And stick thy Loveliness upon my heart,
Make me the Couch on which thy Love doth ly.
Lord make my heart thy bed, thy heart make mine.
Thy Love bed in my heart, bed mine in thine.

36. Meditation. 1 Cor. 3.22. Things to come yours.

16.1m [Mar.] 1689.

What rocky heart is mine? My pincky Eyes
Thy Grace spy blancht, Lord, in immensitie.
But finde the Sight me not to meliorize,
O Stupid Heart! What strang-strange thing am I?
I many months do drown in Sorrows Spring
But hardly raise a Sigh to blow down Sin.

To find thee Lord, thus overflowing kinde,
And t'finde mee thine, thus overflowing vile,
A Riddle seems onrivetted I finde.
This reason saith is hard to reconcile.
Dost Vileness choose? Or can't thy kindness shown
Me meliorate? Or am I not thine own?

The first two run thy glory would to Shame:
The last plea doth my Soule to hell Confine.
My Faith therefore doth all these Pleas disdain.
Thou kindness art, it saith, and I am thine.
Upon this banck it doth on tiptoes stand
To ken o're Reasons head at Graces hand.

But Did I say, I wonder, Lord, to spie
Thy Selfe so kind; and I so vile yet thine?
I eate my Word: and wonder more that I
No viler am, though all ore vile do shine.
As full of Sin I am, as Egge of meate.
Yet finde thy golden Rod my Sin to treate.

Nay did I say, I wonder t'see thy Store
Of kindnesses, yet me thus vile with all?
I now Unsay my Say: I wonder more
Thou dash me not to pieces with thy maule,
But in the bed, Lord, of thy goodness lies
The Reason of't, which makes my Wonders rise.

For now I wonder t'feele how I thus feele.
My Love leapes into Creatures bosoms; and
Cold Sorrows fall into my Soule as Steel,
When faile they, yet I kiss thy Love's White hand.
I scarce know what t'make of myselfe. Wherefore
I crave a Pardon, Lord, for thou hast Store.

How wondrous rich art thou? Thy Storehouse vast
Holdes more ten thousand fold told ore and ore
Than this Wide World Can hold. The doore unshasp.
And bring me thence a Pardon out therefore.
Thou Stoughst the World so tite with present things
That things to Come, though crowd full hard, cant in.

These things to Come, tread on the heels of those.
The presents breadth doth with the broad world run.
The Depth and breadth of things to come out goes
Unto Times End which bloweth out the Sun.
These breadth and length meate out Eternity.
These are the things that in thy Storehouse ly.

A Cockle Shell contains this World as well
As can this World thy Liberallness contain.
And by thy Will these present things all fell
Unto thy Children for their present gain;
And things to Come too, to Eternity.
Thou Willedst them: they're theirs by Legacy.

But am I thine? Oh! what strange thing's in mee?
Enricht thus by thy Legacy? yet finde
When one small Twig's broke off, the breach should bee
Such an Enfeebling thing upon my minde.
Then take a pardon from thy Store, and twist
It in my Soule for help. 'Twill not be mist.

I am asham'd to say I love thee do.
But dare not for my Life, and Soule deny't.
Yet wonder much Love's Springs should lie so low
Thy loveliness its Object shines so bright.
Shall all the Beams of Love upon me shine?
And shall my Love Love's Object still make pine?

I'me surely made a Gazing Stock to all.
The Holy Angells Wonder: and the Mock
Of Divells (pining that they misse it all)
To see these beams gild me a Stupid Stock.
Thy Argument is good, Lord point it, come
Let't lance my heart, till True Loves Veane doth run.

But that there is a Crevice for one hope
To creep in, and this Message to Convay
That I am thine, makes me refresh. Lord ope

The Doore so wide that Love may Scip, and play.
My Spirits then shall dance thy Praise. I'me thine.
And Present things with things to come are mine.

37. Meditation. 1 Cor. 3.23. You are Christ's.

4.3m [May] 1690.

My Soule, Lord, quailes to thinke that I should bee
So high related, have such colours faire
Stick in my Hat, from Heaven: yet should see
My Soule thus blotcht: Hells Liveries to beare.
What Thine? New-naturizd? Yet this Relation
Thus barren, though't 's a Priviledg-Foundation?

Shall I thy Vine branch be, yet grapes none beare?
Grafft in thy Olive stand: and fatness lack?
A Shackeroon, a Ragnell, yet an Heire?
Thy spouse, yet, oh! my Wedden Ring thus slack?
Should Angel-Feathers plume my Cap, I should
Be swash? but oh! my Heart hereat grows Cold.

What is my Title but an empty Claim?
Am I a fading Flower within thy Knot?
A Rattle, or a gilded Box, a Flame
Of Painted Fire, a glorious Weedy Spot?
The Channell ope of Union, the ground
Of Wealth, Relation: yet I'me barren found?

What am I thine, and thou not mine? or dost
Not thou thy Spouse joyn in thy Glory Cleare?
Is my Relation to thee but a boast?
Or but a blustring say-so, or spruice jeere?
Should Roses blow more late, sure I might get,
If thine, some Prim-Rose or sweet Violet?

Make me thy Branch to bare thy Grapes, Lord, feed
Mee with thy bunch of Raisins of the Sun.
Mee stay with apples; let me eate indeed
Fruits of the tree of Life: its richly hung.
Am I thy Child, Son, Heir, thy Spouse, yet gain
Not of the Rights that these Relations claim?

Am I hop't on thy knees, yet not at ease?
Sunke in thy bosom, yet thy Heart not meet?
Lodgd in thine Arms? yet all things little please?
Sung sweetly, yet finde not this singing sweet?
Set at thy Table, yet scarce tast a Dish
Delicious? Hugd, yet seldom gain a Kiss?

Why? Lord, why thus? Shall I in Question Call
All my Relation to thyselfe? I know
It is no Gay to please a Child withall
But is the Ground whence Priviledges flow.
Then ope the sluce: let some thing spoute on me.
Then I shall in a better temper bee.

38. Meditation. 1 Joh. 2.1. An Advocate With the Father.

6.5m [July] 1690.

Oh! What a thing is Man? Lord, Who am I?
That thou shouldst give him Law (Oh! golden Line)
To regulate his Thoughts, Words, Life thereby.
And judge him Wilt thereby too in thy time.
A Court of Justice thou in heaven holdst
To try his Case while he's here housd on mould.

How do thy Angells lay before thine eye
My Deeds both White, and Black I dayly doe?

How doth thy Court thou Pannellst there them try?
But flesh complains. What right for this? let's know.
For right, or wrong I can't appeare unto't.
And shall a sentence Pass on such a suite?

Soft; blemish not this golden Bench, or place.
Here is no Bribe, nor Colourings to hide
Nor Pettifogger to befog the Case
But Justice hath her Glory here well tri'de.
Her spotless Law all spotted Cases tends.
Without Respect or Disrespect them ends.

God's Judge himselfe: and Christ Atturny is,
The Holy Ghost Regesterer is founde.
Angells the sergeants are, all Creatures kiss
The booke, and doe as Evidences abounde.
All Cases pass according to pure Law
And in the sentence is no Fret, nor flaw.

What saist, my soule? Here all thy Deeds are tri'de.
Is Christ thy Advocate to pleade thy Cause?
Art thou his Client? Such shall never slide.
He never lost his Case: he pleads such Laws
As Carry do the same, nor doth refuse
The Vilest sinners Case that doth him Choose.

This is his Honour, not Dishonour: nay
No Habeas-Corpus gainst his Clients came
For all their Fines his Purse doth make down pay.
He Non-Suites Satan's Suite or Casts the Same.
He'l plead thy Case, and not accept a Fee.
He'l plead Sub Forma Pauperis for thee.

My Case is bad. Lord, be my Advocate.
My sin is red: I'me under Gods Arrest.
Thou hast the Hint of Pleading; plead my State.
Although it's bad thy Plea will make it best.
If thou wilt plead my Case before the King:
I'le Waggon Loads of Love, and Glory bring.

39. Meditation. from 1 Joh. 2.1. If any man sin, we have an Advocate.

9.9m [Nov.] 1690.

My Sin! my Sin, My God, these Cursed Dregs,
Green, Yellow, Blew streakt Poyson hellish, ranck,
Bubs hatcht in natures nest on Serpents Eggs,
Yelp, Cherp and Cry; they set my Soule a Cramp.
I frown, Chide, strik and fight them, mourn and Cry
To Conquour them, but cannot them destroy.

I cannot kill nor Coop them up: my Curb
'S less than a Snaffle in their mouth: my Rains
They as a twine thrid, snap: by hell they're spurd:
And load my Soule with swagging loads of pains.
Black Imps, young Divells, snap, bite, drag to bring
And pick mee headlong hells dread Whirle Poole in.

Lord, hold thy hand: for handle mee thou may'st
In Wrath: but, oh, a twinckling Ray of hope
Methinks I spie thou graciously display'st.
There is an Advocate: a doore is ope.
Sin's poyson swell my heart would till it burst,
Did not a hope hence creep in't thus, and nurse't.

Joy, joy, Gods Son's the Sinners Advocate
Doth plead the Sinner guiltless, and a Saint.
But yet Atturnies pleas spring from the State
The Case is in: if bad its bad in plaint.
My Papers do contain no pleas that do
Secure mee from, but knock me down to, woe.

I have no plea mine Advocate to give:
What now? He'l anvill Arguments greate Store
Out of his Flesh and Blood to make thee live.
O Deare bought Arguments: Good pleas therefore.

Nails made of heavenly Steel, more Choice than gold
Drove home, Well Clencht, eternally will hold.

Oh! Dear bought Plea, Deare Lord, what buy't so deare?
What with thy blood purchase thy plea for me?
Take Argument out of thy Grave t'appeare
And plead my Case with, me from Guilt to free.
These maule both Sins, and Divells, and amaze
Both Saints, and Angells; Wreath their mouths with praise.

What shall I doe, my Lord? what do, that I
May have thee plead my Case? I fee thee will
With Faith, Repentance, and obediently
Thy Service gainst Satanick Sins fulfill.
I'l fight thy fields while Live I do, although
I should be hackt in pieces by thy foe.

Make me thy Friend, Lord, be my Surety: I
Will be thy Client, be my Advocate:
My Sins make thine, thy Pleas make mine hereby.
Thou wilt mee save, I will thee Celebrate.
Thou'lt kill my Sins that cut my heart within:
And my rough Feet shall thy smooth praises sing.

40. Meditation. 1 Joh. 2.2. He is a Propitiation for our Sin.

12m [Feb.] 1690/1.

Still I complain; I am complaining still.
Oh! woe is me! Was ever Heart like mine?
A Sty of Filth, a Trough of Washing-Swill
A Dunghill Pit, a Puddle of mere Slime.
A Nest of Vipers, Hive of Hornets; Stings.
A Bag of Poyson, Civit-Box of Sins.

Was ever Heart like mine? So bad? black? Vile?
Is any Divell blacker? Or can Hell
Produce its match? It is the very Soile
Where Satan reads his Charms, and sets his Spell.
His Bowling Ally, where he sheeres his fleece
At Nine Pins, Nine Holes, Morrice, Fox and Geese.

His Palace Garden where his courtiers walke.
His Jewells Cabbinet. Here his Caball
Do sham it, and truss up their Privie talk
In Fardells of Consults and bundles all.
His shambles, and his Butchers stale's herein.
It is the Fuddling Schoole of every sin.

Was ever Heart like mine? Pride, Passion, fell.
Ath'ism, Blasphemy, pot, pipe it, dance
Play Barlybreaks, and at last Couple in Hell.
At Cudgells, Kit-Cat, Cards and Dice here prance.
At Noddy, Ruff-and-trumpt, Jing, Post-and-Pare,
Put, One-and-thirty, and such other ware.

Grace shuffled is away: Patience oft sticks
Too soon, or draws itselfe out, and's out Put.
Faith's over trumpt, and oft doth lose her tricks.
Repentance's Chalkt up Noddy, and out shut.
They Post, and Pare off Grace thus, and its shine.
Alas! alas! was ever Heart like mine?

Sometimes methinks the serpents head I mall:
Now all is still: my spirits do recreute.
But ere my Harpe can tune sweet praise, they fall
On me afresh, and tare me at my Root.
They bite like Badgers now nay worse, although
I tooke them toothless sculls, rot long agoe.

My Reason now's more than my sense, I feele
I have more Sight than Sense. Which seems to bee
A Rod of Sun beams t'whip mee for my steele.
My Spirits spiritless, and dull in mee

For my dead prayerless Prayers: the Spirits winde
Scarce blows my mill about. I little grinde.

Was ever Heart like mine? My Lord, declare.
I know not what to do: What shall I doe?
I wonder, split I don't upon Despare.
Its grace's wonder that I wrack not so.
I faintly shun't: although I see this Case
Would say, my sin is greater than thy grace.

Hope's Day-peep dawns hence through this chinck. Christs name
Propitiation is for sins. Lord, take
It so for mine. Thus quench thy burning flame
In that clear stream that from his side forth brake.
I can no Comfort take while thus I see
Hells cursed Imps thus jetting strut in mee.

Lord take thy sword: these Anakims destroy:
Then soake my soule in Zions Bucking tub
With Holy Soap, and Nitre, and rich Lye.
From all Defilement me cleanse, wash and rub.
Then wrince, and wring mee out till th'water fall
As pure as in the Well: not foule at all.

And let thy Sun, shine on my Head out cleare.
And bathe my Heart within its radient beams:
Thy Christ make my Propitiation Deare.
Thy Praise shall from my Heart breake forth in streams.
This reeching Vertue of Christs blood will quench
Thy Wrath, slay Sin and in thy Love mee bench.

41. Meditation. Joh. 14.2. I go to prepare a Place for you.

24.3m [May] 1691.

A Clew of Wonders! Clusterd Miracles!
Angells, come whet your sight hereon. Here's ground.
Sharpen your Phansies here, ye Saints in Spiricles.
Here is enough in Wonderment to drownd's.
Make here the Shining dark or White on which
Let all your Wondring Contemplations pitch.

The Magnet of all Admiration's here.
Your tumbling thoughts turn here. Here is Gods Son,
Wove in a Web of Flesh, and Bloode rich geere.
Eternall Wisdoms Huswifry well spun.
Which through the Laws pure Fulling mills did pass.
And so went home the Wealthy'st Web that was.

And why thus shew? Hark, harke, my Soule. He came
To pay thy Debt. And being come most Just
The Creditor did sue him for the same,
Did winn the Case, and in the grave him thrust.
Who having in this Prison paid the Debt.
And took a Quittance, made Death's Velvet fret.

He broke her Cramping tallons did unlute
The sealed Grave, and gloriously up rose.
Ascendeth up to glory on this Sute,
Prepares a place for thee where glorie glowes.
Yea yea for thee, although thy griefe out gush
At such black Sins at which the Sun may blush.

What Wonder's here? Big belli'd Wonders in't
Remain, though wrought for Saints as white as milk.
But done for me whose blot's as black as inke.
A Clew of Wonders finer far than Silke.

Thy hand alone that wound this Clew I finde
Can to display these Wonders it unwinde.

Why didst thou thus? Reason stands gasterd here.
She's overflown: this Soares above her Sight.
Gods onely Son for Sinners thus appeare,
Prepare for Durt a throne in glory bright!
Stand in the Doore of Glory to imbrace
Such dirty bits of Dirt, with such a grace!

Reason, lie prison'd in this golden Chain.
Chain up thy tongue, and silent stand a while.
Let this rich Love thy Love and heart obtain
To tend thy Lord in all admiring Style.
Lord screw my faculties up to the Skill
And height of praise as answers thy good Will.

Then while I eye the Place thou hast prepar'de
For such as I, I'le sing thy glory out
Untill thou welcome me, as 'tis declar'de
In this sweet glory runing rounde about.
I would do more but can't, Lord help me so
That I may pay in glory what I owe.

42. Meditation. Rev. 3.22. I will give Him to sit with me in my Throne.

2.6m [Aug.] 1691.

Apples of gold, in silver pictures shrin'de
Enchant the appetite, make mouths to water.
And Loveliness in Lumps, tunn'd, and enrin'de
In Jasper Cask, when tapt, doth briskly vaper:
Brings forth a birth of Keyes t'unlock Loves Chest,
That Love, like Birds, may fly to't from its nest.

Such is my Lord, and more. But what strang thing
Am I become? Sin rusts my Lock all o're.
Though he ten thousand Keyes all on a string
Takes out, scarce one, is found, unlocks the Doore.
Which ope, my Love crincht in a Corner lies
Like some shrunck Crickling: and scarce can rise.

Lord ope the Doore: rub off my Rust, Remove
My sin, And Oyle my Lock. (Dust there doth shelfe).
My Wards will trig before thy Key: my Love
Then, as enliven'd, leape will on thyselve.
It needs must be, that giving handes receive
Again Receivers Hearts furld in Love Wreath.

Unkey my Heart; unlock thy Wardrobe: bring
Out royall Robes: adorne my Soule, Lord: so,
My Love in rich attire shall on my King
Attend, and honour on him well bestow.
In Glory he prepares for his a place
Whom he doth all beglory here with grace.

He takes them to the shining threashould cleare
Of his bright Palace, cloath'd in Grace's flame.
Then takes them in thereto, not onely there
To have a Prospect, but possess the same.
The Crown of Life, the Throne of Glorys Place,
The Fathers House blancht o're with orient Grace.

Can'an in golden print enwalld with jems:
A Kingdome rim'd with Glory round: in fine
A glorious Crown pal'de thick with all the stems
Of Grace, and of all Properties Divine.
How happy wilt thou make mee when these shall
As a bless't Heritage unto mee fall?

Adorn me, Lord, with Holy Huswifry.
All blanch my Robes with Clusters of thy Graces:
Thus lead me to thy threashold: give mine Eye
A Peephole there to see bright glories Chases.
Then take mee in: I'le pay, when I possess,
Thy Throne, to thee the Rent in Happiness.

43. Meditation. Rev. 2.10. A Crown of Life.

8.9m [Nov.] 1691.

Fain I would sing thy Praise, but feare I feign.
My Sin doth keepe out of my heart thy Feare,
Damps Love: defiles my Soule. Old Blots new stain.
Hopes hoppled lie, and rusty Chains worn cleare.
My Sins that make me stand in need of thee,
Do keep me back to hugge all Sin I see.

Nature's Corrupt, a nest of Passion, Pride,
Lust, Worldliness, and such like bubs: I pray,
But struggling finde, these bow my Heart aside.
A Knot of Imps at barly breaks in't play.
They do inchant me from my Lord, I finde,
The thoughts whereof proove Daggers in my minde.

Pardon, and Poyson them, Lord, with thy Blood.
Cast their Curst Karkasses out of my Heart.
My Heart fill with thy Love: let Grace it dub.
Make this my Silver Studs by thy rich art.
My Soule shall then be thy sweet Paradise.
Thou'st be its Rose, and it thy Bed of Spice.

Why mayn't my Faith now drinke thy Health, Lord, ore,
The Head of all my Sins? And Cast her Eye,
In glorifying glances, on the Doore
Of thy Free Grace, where Crowns of Life do lie?
Thou'lt give a Crown of Life to such as bee
Faithfull to Death. And shall Faith faile in mee?

A Crown of Life, of Glory, Righteousness,
Thou wilt adorn them with, that will not fade.
Shall Faith in mee shrinke up for Feebleness?
Nor take my Sins by th'Crown, till Crownless made?

Breath, Lord, thy Spirit on my Faith, that I
May have thy Crown of Life, and Sin may dy.

How Spirituall? Holy shall I shine, when I
Thy Crown of Righteousness ware on my Head?
How Glorious when thou dost me glorify
To ware thy Crown of Glory pollished?
How shall I when thy Crown of Life I ware
In lively Colours flowrish, fresh, and fair?

When thou shalt Crown me with these Crowns I'l bend
My Shallow Crown to crown with Songs thy Name.
Angels shall set the tune, I'le it attend:
Thy Glory'st be the burden of the same.
Till then I cannot sing, my tongue is tide.
Accept this Lisp till I am glorifide.

44. Meditation. 2 Tim. 4.8. A Crown of Righteousness.

17.11m [Jan.] 1691.

A Crown, Lord, yea, a Crown of Righteousness.
Oh! what a Gift is this? Give Lord I pray
An Holy Head, and Heart it to possess
And I shall give thee glory for the pay.
A Crown is brave, and Righteousness much more.
The glory of them both will pay the score.

A Crown indeed consisting of fine gold
Adherent, and Inherent Righteousness,
Stuck with their Ripe Ripe Fruits in every fold
Like studded Carbuncles they do it dress.
A Righteous Life doth ever ware renown
And thrusts the Head at last up in this Crown.

A Milk whit hand sets't on a Righteous Head.
An hand Unrighteous can't dispose it nay
It's not in such an hande. Such hands would bed
Black Smuts on't should they fingers on it lay.
Who can the Crown of Righteousness suppose
In an Unrighteous hand for to dispose.

When once upon the head its ever green
And altogether Usde in Righteousness,
Where blessed bliss, and blissfull Peace is seen,
And where no jar, nor brawler hath access.
Oh! blessed Crown what hold the breadth of all
The State of Happiness in Heavens Hall.

A Crown of Righteousness, a Righteous Head,
Oh naughty man! my brain pan turrit is
Where Swallows build, and hatch: Sins black and red.
My head and heart do ach, and frob at this.
Lord were my Turret cleansd, and made by thee
Thy Graces Dovehouse turret much might bee.

Oh! make it so: then Righteousness pure, true
Shall Roost upon my boughs, and in my heart
And all its fruits that in Obedience grew
To stud this Crown like jems in every part.
Ist then be garnisht for this Crown, and thou
Shalt have my Songs to diadem thy brow.

Oh! Happy me, if thou wilt Crown me thus.
Oh! naughty heart! What swell with Sin? fy, fy.
Oh! Gracious Lord, me pardon: do not Crush
Me all to mammocks: Crown and not destroy.
Ile tune thy Prayses while this Crown doth come.
Thy Glory bring I tuckt up in my Songe.

45. Meditation. 1 Pet. 5.4. Ye shall receive a Crown of Glory.

24.2m [Apr.] 1692.

A Crown of Glory! Oh! I'm base, its true.
My Heart's a Swamp, Brake, Thicket vile of Sin.
My Head's a Bog of Filth; Blood bain'd doth spew
Its venom streaks of Poyson o're my Skin.
My Members Dung-Carts that bedung at pleasure,
My Life, the Pasture where Hells Hurdloms leasure.

Becrown'd with Filth! Oh! what vile thing am I?
What Cost, and Charge to make mee Meddow ground?
To drain my Bogs? to lay my Frog-pits dry?
To stub up all my brush that doth abound?
That I may be thy Pasture fat and frim,
Where thy choice Flowers, and Hearbs of Grace shine trim?

Vast charge thus to subdue me: Wonders play
Hereat like Gamesters; 'bellisht Thoughts dresst fine,
In brave attire, cannot a finger lay
Upon it that doth not besmut the Shine.
Yet all this cost and more thou'rt at with me.
And still I'm sad, a Seing Eye may see.

Yet more than this: my Hands that Crown'd thy Head
With sharpest thorns, thou washest in thy Grace.
My Feet that did upon thy Choice Blood tread
Thou makest beautifull thy Way to trace.
My Head that knockt against thy head, thou hugg'st
Within thy bosom: boxest not, nor lugg'st.

Nay more as yet: thou borrow'st of each Grace
That stud the Hearts of Saints, and Angells bright

Its brightest beams, the beams too of the place
Where Glory dwells: and all the Beames of Light
Thy, and thy Fathers Glorious Face out spread,
To make this Crown of Glory for my head.

If it was possible the thoughts that are
Imbellisht with the riches of this tender
Could torment such as do this bright Crown Ware,
Their Love to thee Lord's lac'de so streight, and slender.
These beams would draw up Griefe to cloude this Glory,
But not so then; though now Grace acts this Story.

My Pen enravisht with these Rayes out strains
A sorry Verse: and when my gold dwells in
A Purse guilt with the glory bright that flames
Out from this Crown, I'le tune an higher pin.
Then make me Lord heir of this Crown. Ile sing
And make thy Praise on my Heroicks ring.

46. Meditation. Rev. 3.5. The same shall be cloathed in White Raiment.

17.5m [July] 1692.

Nay, may I, Lord, believe it? Shall my Skeg
Be ray'd in thy White Robes? My thatcht old Cribb
(Immortal Purss hung on a mortall Peg,)
Wilt thou with fair'st array in heaven rig?
I'm but a jumble of gross Elements
A Snaile Horn where an Evill Spirit tents.

A Dirt ball dresst in milk white Lawn, and deckt
In Tissue tagd with gold, or Ermins flush,
That mocks the Starrs, and sets them in a fret
To se themselves out shone thus. Oh they blush.
Wonders stand gastard here. But yet my Lord,
This is but faint to what thou dost afford.

I'm but a Ball of dirt. Wilt thou adorn
Mee with thy Web wove in thy Loom Divine
The Whitest Web in Glory, that the morn
Nay, that all Angell glory, doth ore shine?
They ware no such. This whitest Lawn most fine
Is onely worn, my Lord, by thee and thine.

This Saye's no flurr of Wit, nor new Coin'd Shape
Of frollick Fancie in a Rampant Brain.
It's juyce Divine bled from the Choicest Grape
That ever Zions Vinyarde did mentain.
Such Mortall bits immortalliz'de shall ware
More glorious robes, than glorious Angells bare.

Their Web is wealthy, wove of Wealthy Silke
Well wrought indeed, its all brancht Taffity.
But this thy Web more white by far than milke
Spun on thy Wheele twine of thy Deity
Wove in thy Web, Fulld in thy mill by hand
Makes them in all their bravery seem tand.

This Web is wrought by best, and noblest Art
That heaven doth afford of twine most choice
All brancht, and richly flowerd in every part
With all the sparkling flowers of Paradise
To be thy Ware alone, who hast no peere
And Robes for glorious Saints to thee most deare.

Wilt thou, my Lord, dress my poore wither'd Stump
In this rich web whose whiteness doth excell
The Snow, though 'tis most black? And shall my Lump
Of Clay ware more than e're on Angells fell?
What shall my bit of Dirt be deckt so fine
That shall Angelick glory all out shine?

Shall things run thus? Then Lord, my tumberill
Unload of all its Dung, and make it cleane.
And load it with thy wealthi'st Grace untill
Its Wheeles do crack, or Axletree complain.

I fain would have it cart thy harvest in,
Before its loosed from its Axlepin.

Then screw my Strings up to thy tune that I
May load thy Glory with my Songs of praise.
Make me thy Shalm, thy praise my Songs, whereby
My mean Shoshannim may thy Michtams raise.
And when my Clay ball's in thy White robes dresst
My tune perfume thy praise shall with the best.

47. Meditation on Matt. 25.21. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.

9.8m [Oct.] 1692.

Strang, strang indeed. It rowell doth my heart
With pegs of Greefe, and tents of greatest joy:
When I wore Angells Glory in each part
And all my skirts wore flashes of rich die
Of Heavenly Colour, hedg'd in with rosie Reechs,
A spider spit its Vomit on my Cheeks.

This ranckling juyce bindg'd in its cursed stain
Doth permeat both Soul and Body: soile
And drench each Fibre, and infect each grain.
Its ugliness swells over all the ile.
Whose stain'd mishapen bulk's too high, and broad
For th'Entry of the narrow gate to God.

Ready to burst, thus, and to burn in hell:
Now in my path I finde a Waybred spring
Whose leafe drops balm that doth this venom quell
And juyce's a Bath, that doth all stains out bring
And sparkling beauty in the room convay.
Lord feed me with this Waybred Leafe, I pray.

My stain will out: and swelling swage apace.
And holy Lusters on my shape appeare.
All Rosie Buds: and Lilly flowers of grace
Will grace my turfe with sweet sweet glory here.
Under whose shades Angells will bathing play
Who'l guard my Pearle to glory, hous'd in clay.

Those Gates of Pearle, porter'd with Seraphims,
On their carbuncle joynts will open wide.
And entrance give me where all glory swims
In to the Masters Joy, e're to abide.
O sweet sweet thought. Lord take this praise though thin.
And when I'm in't Ile tune an higher pin.

48. Meditation on Matt. 25.21. Enter into the Joy of thy Lord.

10m? [Dec.] 1692.

When I, Lord, eye thy Joy, and my Love, small,
My heart gives in: what now? Strange! Sure I love thee!
And finding brambles 'bout my heart to crawl
My heart misgives mee. Prize I ought above thee?
Such great Love hugging them, such small Love, thee!
Whether thou hast my Love, I scarce can see.

My reason rises up, and chides my Cup
Bright Loveliness itselfe. What not love thee!
Tumbling thy Joy, Lord, ore, it rounds me up.
Shall loves nest be a thorn bush: not thee bee?
Set Hovells up of thorn kids in my heart!
Avant adultrous Love. From me depart.

The Influences my vile heart sucks in
Of Puddle Water boyld by Sunn beams till

Its Spiritless, and dead, nothing more thin
Tasts wealthier than those thou dost distill.
This seems to numb my heart to think that I
Should null all good to optimate a toy.

Yet when the beamings, Lord, of thy rich Joys,
Do guild my Soule, meethinks I'm sure I Love thee.
They Calcine all these brambly trumperys
And now I'm sure that I prize naught above thee.
Thy beams making a bonefire of my Stack
Of Faggots, bring my Love to thee in'ts pack.

For when the Objects of thy Joy impress
Their shining influences on my heart
My Soule seems an Alembick doth possess
Love stilld into rich Spirits by thy Art.
And all my pipes, were they ten thousand would
Drop Spirits of Love on thee, more rich than gold.

Now when the world with all her dimples in't
Smiles on me, I do love thee more than all:
And when her glory freshens, all in print,
I prize thee still above it all. And shall.
Nay all her best to thee, do what she can,
Drops but like drops dropt in a Closestoole pan.

The Castings of thy Joy, my Lord therefore
Let in the Cabbin of my Joy rise high,
And let thy Joy enter in mee before
I enter do into my masters joy.
Thy joyes in mee will make my Pipes to play
For joy thy Praise while teather'd to my clay.

49. Meditation. Matt. 25.21. The joy of thy Lord.

26.12m [Feb.] 1692.

Lord, do away my Motes: and Mountains great.
My nut is vitiate. Its kirnell rots:
Come, kill the Worm, that doth its kirnell eate
And strike thy sparkes within my tinderbox.
Drill through my metall-heart an hole wherein
With graces Cotters to thyselfe it pin.

A Lock of Steel upon my Soule, whose key
The serpent keeps, I fear, doth lock my doore.
O pick't: and through the key-hole make thy way
And enter in: and let thy joyes run o're.
My Wards are rusty. Oyle them till they trig
Before thy golden key: thy Oyle makes glib.

Take out the Splinters of the World that stick
Do in my heart: Friends, Honours, Riches, and
The Shivers in't of Hell whose venoms quick
And firy make it swoln and ranckling stand.
These wound and kill: those shackle strongly to
Poore knobs of Clay, my heart. Hence sorrows grow.

Cleanse, and enlarge my kask: It is too small:
And tartarizd with worldly dregs dri'de in't.
It's bad mouth'd too: and though thy joyes do Call
That boundless are, it ever doth them stint.
Make me thy Chrystall Caske: those wines in't tun
That in the Rivers of thy joyes do run.

Lord make me, though suckt through a straw or Quill,
Tast of the Rivers of thy joyes, some drop.

'Twill sweeten me: and all my Love distill
Into thy glass, and me for joy make hop.
'Twill turn my water into wine: and fill
My Harp with Songs my Masters joyes distill.

Preparatory Meditations

[_]

SECOND SERIES

1. Meditation. Col. 2.17. Which are Shaddows of things to come and the body is Christs.

[16]93.

Oh Leaden heeld. Lord, give, forgive I pray.
Infire my Heart: it bedded is in Snow.
I Chide myselfe seing myselfe decay.
In heate and Zeale to thee, I frozen grow.
File my dull Spirits: make them sharp and bright:
Them firbush for thyselfe, and thy delight.

My Stains are such, and sinke so deep, that all
The Excellency in Created Shells
Too low, and little is to make it fall
Out of my leather Coate wherein it dwells.
This Excellence is but a Shade to that
Which is enough to make my Stains go back.

The glory of the world slickt up in types
In all Choise things chosen to typify,
His glory upon whom the worke doth light,
To thine's a Shaddow, or a butterfly.
How glorious then, my Lord, art thou to mee
Seing to cleanse me, 's worke alone for thee.

The glory of all Types doth meet in thee.
Thy glory doth their glory quite excell:
More than the Sun excells in its bright glee
A nat, an Earewig, Weevill, Snaile, or Shell.
Wonders in Crowds start up; your eyes may strut
Viewing his Excellence, and's bleeding cut.

Oh! that I had but halfe an eye to view
This excellence of thine, undazled: so
Therewith to give my heart a touch anew
Untill I quickned am, and made to glow.
All is too little for thee: but alass
Most of my little all hath other pass.

Then Pardon, Lord, my fault: and let thy beams
Of Holiness pierce through this Heart of mine.
Ope to thy Blood a passage through my veans.
Let thy pure blood my impure blood refine.
Then with new blood and spirits I will dub
My tunes upon thy Excellency good.

2. Meditation. Coll. 1.15. The First Born of Every Creature.

Oh! Golden Rose! Oh. Glittering Lilly White
Spic'd o're With heavens File divine, till Rayes
Fly forth whose Shine doth Wrack the strongest Sight
That Wonders Eye is tent of, while't doth gaze
On thee. Whose Swaddle Bonde's Eternity.
And Sparkling Cradle is Rich Deity.

First Born of e'ry Being: hence a Son
Begot o'th'First: Gods onely Son begot.
Hence Deity all ore. Gods nature run
Into a Filiall Mould: Eternall knot.
A Father then, and Son: persons distinct.
Though them Sabellians contrar'ly inckt.

This mall of Steell falls hard upon those foes
Of truth, who make the Holy Trinity
Into One Person: Arrians too and those
Socinians calld, who do Christs Deity
Bark out against. But Will they, nill they, they
Shall finde this Mall to split their brains away.

Come shine, Deare Lord, out in my heart indeed
First Born; in truth before thee there was none
First Born, as man, born of a Virgin's seed:
Before or after thee such up ne'er sprung.

Hence Heir of all things lockt in natures Chest:
And in thy Fathers too: extreamly best.

Thou Object of Gods boundless brightest Love,
Invested with all sparkling rayes of Light
Distill thou down, what hony falls above
Bedew the Angells Copses, fill our Sight
And hearts therewith within thy Father's joy.
These are but Shreads under thy bench that ly.

Oh! that my Soul was all enamored
With this First Born enough: a Lump of Love
Son of Eternall Father, Chambered
Once in a Virgins Womb, dropt from above.
All Humane royalty hereby Divin'de.
The First Born's Antitype: in whom they're shrin'de.

Make mee thy Babe, and him my Elder Brother.
A Right, Lord grant me in his Birth Right high.
His Grace, my Treasure make above all other:
His Life my Sampler: My Life his joy.
I'le hang my love then on his heart, and sing
New Psalms on Davids Harpe to thee and him.

3. Meditation. Rom. 5.14. Who is the Figure of Him that was to come.

15.8m [Oct.] 1693.

Like to the Marigold, I blushing close
My golden blossoms when thy sun goes down:
Moist'ning my leaves with Dewy Sighs, half frose
By the nocturnall Cold, that hoares my Crown.
Mine Apples ashes are in apple shells
And dirty too: strange and bewitching spells!

When Lord, mine Eye doth spie thy Grace to beame
Thy Mediatoriall glory in the shine
Out Spouted so from Adams typick streame
And Emblemiz'd in Noahs pollisht shrine
Thine theirs outshines so far it makes their glory
In brightest Colours, seem a smoaky story.

But when mine Eye full of these beams, doth cast
Its rayes upon my dusty essence thin
Impregnate with a Sparke Divine, defacde,
All Candid o're with Leprosie of Sin,
Such Influences on my Spirits light,
Which them as bitter gall, or Cold ice smite.

My brissled sins hence do so horrid peare,
None but thyselfe, (and thou deckt up must bee
In thy Transcendent glory sparkling cleare)
A Mediator unto God for mee.
So high they rise, Faith scarce can toss a Sight
Over their head upon thyselfe to light.

Is't possible such glory, Lord, ere should
Center its Love on me Sins Dunghill else?
My Case up take? make it its own? Who would
Wash with his blood my blots out? Crown his shelfe
Or Dress his golden Cupboard with such ware?
This makes my pale facde Hope almost despare.

Yet let my Titimouses Quill suck in
Thy Graces milk Pails some small drop: or Cart
A Bit, or Splinter of some Ray, the wing
Of Grace's sun sprindgd out, into my heart:
To build there Wonders Chappell where thy Praise
Shall be the Psalms sung forth in gracious layes.

4. Meditation. Gal. 4.24. Which things are an Allegorie.

24.10m [Dec.] 1693.

My Gracious Lord, I would thee glory doe:
But finde my Garden over grown with weeds:
My Soile is sandy; brambles o're it grow;
My Stock is stunted; branch no good Fruits breeds.
My Garden weed: Fatten my Soile, and prune
My Stock, and make it with thy glory bloome.

O Glorious One, the gloriou'st thought I thincke
Of thee falls black as Inck upon thy Glory.
The brightest Saints that rose, do Star like, pinck.
Nay, Abrams Shine to thee's an Allegory,
Or fleeting Sparke in th'Smoke, to typify
Thee, and thy Glorious Selfe in mystery.

Should all the Sparks in heaven, the Stars there dance
A Galliard, Round about the Sun, and stay
His Servants (while on Easter morn his prance
Is o're, which old wives prate of) O brave Play.
Thy glorious Saints thus boss thee round, which stand
Holding thy glorious Types out in their hand.

But can I thinck this Glory greate, its head
Thrust in a pitchy cloude, should strangled ly
Or tucking up its beams should go to bed
Within the Grave, darke me to glorify?
This Mighty thought my hearts too streight for, though
I hold it by the hand, and let not goe.

Then, my Blesst Lord, let not the Bondmaids type
Take place in mee. But thy blesst Promisd Seed.

Distill thy Spirit through thy royall Pipe
Into my Soule, and so my Spirits feed,
Then them, and me still into praises right
Into thy Cup where I to swim delight.

Though I desire so much, I can't o're doe.
All that my Can contains, to nothing comes
When summed up, it onely Cyphers grows
Unless thou set thy Figures to my Sums.
Lord set thy Figure 'fore them, greate, or small.
To make them something, and I'l give thee all.

5. Meditation on Gal. 3.16. And to thy Seed Which is Christ.

4.1m [Mar.] 1693/4.

Art thou, Lord, Abraham's Seed, and Isaac too?
His Promisd Seed? That One and Only Seed?
How can this bee? Paul certainly saith true.
But one Seed promisd. Sir this Riddle read.
Christ is the Metall: Isaack is the Oar.
Christ is the Pearle, in Abraham's tread therefore.

Christ's Antitype Isaac his Type up spires
In many things, but Chiefly this because
This Isaac, and the Ram caught in the briars
One Sacrifice, fore shew by typick laws
Christs Person, all Divine, joynd whereto's made
Unperson'd Manhood, on the Altar's laid.

The full grown Ram, provided none knows how,
Typing Christ's Manhood, made by God alone
Caught in the brambles by the horns, must bow,
Under the Knife: The manhoods Death, and Groan.

Yet Isaac's leaping from the Altar's bed,
Foretold its glorious rising from the Dead.

But why did things run thus? For Sin indeed,
No lesser price than this could satisfy.
Oh costly Sin! this makes mine intraills bleed.
What fills my Shell, did make my Saviour die.
What Grace then's this of God, and Christ that stills
Out of this Offering into our tills?

Lord with thine Altars Fire, mine Inward man
Refine from dross: burn out my sinfull guise
And make my Soul thine Altars Drippen pan
To Catch the Drippen of thy Sacrifice.
This is the Unction thine receive; the which
Doth teach them all things of an happy pitch.

Thy Altars Fire burns not to ashes down
This Offering. But it doth roast it here.
This is thy Roastmeate cooked up sweet, brown,
Upon thy table set for Souls good cheer.
The Drippen, and the meate are royall fair
That fatten Souls, that with it welcomd are.

My Trencher, Lord, with thy Roast Mutton dress:
And my dry Bisket in thy Dripping Sap.
And feed my Soul with thy Choice Angell Mess:
My heart thy Praise, Will, tweedling Larklike tap.
My florid notes, like Tenderills of Vines
Twine round thy Praise, plants sprung in true Love's Mines.

6. Meditation on Isai. 49.3. Thou art my Servant, Oh, Israel.

27.3m [May] 1694.

I fain would praise thee, Lord, but finde black Sin,
To stain my Tunes my Virginalls to spoile.
Fetch out the same with thy red blood and bring
My Heart in kilter, and my Spirits oyle.
My Theme is rich: my Skill is poore untill
Thy Spirit makes my hand its holy quill.

I spy thyselfe, as Golden Bosses fixt
On Bible Covers, shine in Types out bright,
Of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, where's immixt
Their streaming Beames of Christ displaying Light.
Jacobs now jog my pen, whose golden rayes
Do of thyselfe advance an holy blaze.

His Name as Jacob, saith there's stow'd in thee
All Wisdom to mentain all Pious Skill
And that the Divells Heels should tript up bee
By thee alone, thou dost his brains out spill.
The Name of Israel in Scutcheons shows
Thou art Gods Prince to batter down his Foes.

His Fathers blessing him, shews thou camest down
Full of thy Fathers blessing: and his Griefe
That thou shouldst be a man of Grief: a Crown
Of Thorns thou wer'st to purchase us reliefe.
Isr'el by Joseph's had to Egypt, and
Joseph thee thither, and from thence did hand.

Jacob doth from his Father go and seek
A Spouse and purchasd by his service two.

Thou from thy Father came'st thy Spouse most meek
Of Jews, and Gentiles down to purchase, Wooe
And gain, and as Twelve Stems did from him bud
Thou twelve Apostles sentst, the Church to stud.

In all those Typick Lumps of Glory I
Spy thee the Gem made up of all their shine
Which from them all in thickest glory fly
And twist themselves into this Gem of thine.
And as the Shine thereof doth touch my heart,
Joy sincks my Soule seeing how rich thou art.

How rich art thou? How poore am I of Love
To thee, when all this Glory at my Doore
Stands knocking for admission: and doth shove
To ope't, and Cabbinet in't all her Store?
Make Love inflamed rise, and all entwine
About Thyselfe her Object all in Shine.

Lord pardon mee, my Sin, and all my trash:
And bring my Soule in Surges of rich flame
Of love to thee. I truely Envie dash
Upon my selfe, my hidebound selfe for shame,
I fain would prize and praise thee, but do sende
My Flame up smootherd by a Carnall minde.

Oh! blow my Coale with thy blesst Bellows till
It Glow, and send Loves hottest Steams on thee.
I shall be warm; and thou mine arms shalt fill
And mine Embraces shall thy Worship bee.
I'le sacrifice to thee my Heart in praise,
When thy Rich Grace shall be my hearty Phrase.

7. Meditation. Ps. 105.17. He sent a man before them, even Joseph, who was sold etc.

5.6m [Aug.] 1694.

All Dull, my Lord, my Spirits flat, and dead
All water sockt and sapless to the skin.
Oh! Screw mee up and make my Spirits bed
Thy quickening vertue For my inke is dim,
My pensill blunt. Doth Joseph type out thee?
Haraulds of Angells sing out, Bow the Knee.

Is Josephs glorious shine a Type of thee?
How bright art thou? He Envi'de was as well.
And so was thou. He's stript, and pick't, poore hee,
Into the pit. And so was thou. They shell
Thee of thy Kirnell. He by Judah's sold
For twenty Bits, thirty for thee he'd told.

Joseph was tempted by his Mistress vile.
Thou by the Divell, but both shame the foe.
Joseph was cast into the jayle awhile.
And so was thou. Sweet apples mellow so.
Joseph did from his jayle to glory run.
Thou from Death's pallot rose like morning sun.

Joseph layes in against the Famine, and
Thou dost prepare the Bread of Life for thine.
He bought with Corn for Pharaoh th'men and Land.
Thou with thy Bread mak'st such themselves Consign
Over to thee, that eate it. Joseph makes
His brethren bow before him. Thine too quake.

Joseph constrains his Brethren till their sins
Do gall their Souls. Repentance babbles fresh.
Thou treatest sinners till Repentance springs
Then with him sendst a Benjamin like messe.
Joseph doth Cheare his humble brethren. Thou
Dost stud with Joy the mourning Saints that bow.

Josephs bright shine th'Eleven Tribes must preach.
And thine Apostles now Eleven, thine.
They beare his presents to his Friends: thine reach
Thine unto thine, thus now behold a shine.
How hast thou pensild out, my Lord, most bright
Thy glorious Image here, on Josephs Light.

This I bewaile in me under this shine
To see so dull a Colour in my Skin.
Lord, lay thy brightsome Colours on me thine.
Scoure thou my pipes then play thy tunes therein.
I will not hang my Harp in Willows by.
While thy sweet praise, my Tunes doth glorify.

8. Meditation. Rom. 5.8. God commends his Love unto us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

14.8m [Oct.] 1694.

Thou pry'st thou screw'st my sincking Soul up to,
Lord th'Highest Vane amazements Summit Wears
Seeing thy Love ten thousand wonders do
Breaking Sins Back that blockt it up: us snares.

The Very Stars, and Sun themselves did scoule,
Yea Angells too, till it shone out, did howle.

Poore sinfull man lay grovling on the ground.
Thy wrath, and Curse to dust lay grinding him.
And Sin, that banisht Love out of these bounds
Hath stufft the world with curses to the brim.
Gods Love thus Caskt in Heaven, none can tap
Or breake its truss hoops, or attain a Scrap.

Like as a flock of Doves with feathers washt,
All o're with yellow gold, fly all away
At one Gun crack: so Lord thy Love Sin quasht
And Chased hence to heaven (Darksom day).
It nestles there: and Graces Bird did hatch
Which in dim types we first Pen feather'd catch.

God takes his Son stows in him all his Love,
(Oh Lovely One), him Lovely thus down sends
His rich Love Letter to us from above
And chiefly in his Death his Love Commends,
Writ all in Love from top to toe, and told
Out Love more rich, and shining far than gold.

For e'ry Grain stands bellisht ore with Love,
Each Letter, Syllable, Word, Action sounde
Gods Commendations to us from above,
But yet Loves Emphasis most cleare is found
Engrav'd upon his Grave Stone in his blood
He shed for Sinners, Lord what Love? How good?

It rent the Heavens ope that seald up were
Against poore Sinners: rend the very Skie
And rout the Curse, Sin, Divell, Hell (Oh Deare,)
And brake Deaths jaw bones, and its Sting destroy.
Will search its Coffers: fetch from thence the Dust
Of Saints, and it attend to glory just.

My God! this thy Love Letter to mee send.
Thy Love to mee spell out therein I will.

And What choice Love thou dost mee there commend,
I'le lay up safely in my Souls best till.
I'le read, and read it; and With Angells soon
My Mictams shall thy Hallelujahs tune.

9. Meditation. Deut. 18.[15] The Lord thy God will raise up unto thee a Prophet—like unto mee.

16.10m [Dec.] 1694.

Lord, let thy Dazzling Shine refracted fan'de
In this bright Looking Glass, its favour lay
Upon mine Eyes that oculated stand
And peep thereat, in button moulds of clay.
Whose glory otherwise that Courts mine eye
Will all its sparkling family destroy.

Yea let thy Beams, better ten thousand times
Than brightest Eyebright, cherishing revive
The Houshold that possesseth all the Shrines
In Visions Palace, that it well may thrive.
Moses is made the Looking glass: in which
Mine Eyes to spie thee in this Type I pitch.

Poor Parents bring him in, when bondage state
On Israel lay: and so it was with thee.
He's persecuted. All male babes a late
Are to be slain. Thy case was such we see.
He's sav'de by miracle: and raisd up by
A sire reputed. So thy matters ly.

Was he most Meeke, Courageous, Faithfull, Wise?
These all shine bright in thee, out shine the Sun.
Did he his Father then in law suffice

With faithfull service? So thou well hast done.
Did he a gentile Wed? Thy Spouse so shines.
Was he a Mediator? This thee twines.

Did he Gods Israel from Egypt through
The Red Sea lead, into the Wilderness?
Thou bringst Gods Israel from bondage too
Of Sin into the World here through no less
Than thy red blood: and in this Chace t'assoile
The firy Serpents, whose black venoms boile.

He Fasted fourty days, and nights, did give
Them Gods own Law: Thou didst the very same.
The Morall Law whereto we ought to live.
The Gospell Law to laver out our Shame.
Then Israel's Church-hood, Worship, Ministry
He founded: which thou didst too gospelly.

He did confirm his Office Worke with Wonders,
And to the Covenant annexed Seals.
Thou thine in miracles, and more in numbers.
And Gospell Seals unto thy Church out dealst.
He intercession made, and pardon gain'd
Unto his people. Thou didst so, its fam'de.

He led them to the border of God's Land,
Sang like a Swan his dying Song (Well known)
Laid down his hilts: and so discharg'd his hand.
Dy'de, Buri'de, Rose, and went to glories throne.
All which shine gloriously in thee that wee
Do Moses finde a Well drawn Map of thee.

Good God! what grace is this takes place in thee?
How dost thou make thy Son to shine, and prize
His glory thus? Thy Looking-glass give mee.
And let thy Spirit wipe my Watry eyes.

That I may see his flashing glory darte
Like Lightening quick till it infire my heart.

I long to see thy Sun upon mee shine,
But feare I'st finde myselfe thereby shown worse.
Yet let his burning beams melt, and refine
Me from my dross, yet not to singe my purse.
Then of my metall make thy Warbling harp:
That shall thy Praise deck't in sweet tunes out warp.

10. Meditation. Which our Fathers that Follow'd after, brought in with Jesus, into the Possession of the Gentiles. Acts. 7.45.

10.12m [Feb.] 1694.

Moses farewell. I with a mournfull teare
Will wash thy Marble Vault, and leave thy Shine
To follow Josuah to Jordan where
He weares a Type, of Jesus Christ, divine.
Did by the Priests bearing the Arke off Cut
Her Stream, that Isr'el through it drieshod foot.

Doth twelve men call who in the Channell raise
Twelve Stones, and also other twelve up take
And Gilgal stud therewith, like pearles that blaze
In Rings of Gold, this passage to relate.
All speaking Types of Christ whose Ministry
Doth Jordans Streams cut off, that 'fore them fly.

And brings the Church into the Promisd Coast
And singles out his twelve Apostles who
Twelve flaming Carbuncles before his host
Out of the Channell take, and them bestow
As Monuments upon its banck most fair,
Twelve Articles th'Apostles Creed doth bare.

Now Farewell Wilderness, with all thy Fare.
The Water of the Rock, and Mannah too.
My Old-New Cloaths my Wildernesses Ware,
The Cloud and Pillar bright, adjue adjue.
You onely in the Wilderness did flower
As flowring Types. With Angells now I bower.

Let Gilgal speake for mee, where Egypts Stain
Lapt in my Foreskin up clipt off off took.
I feed on Can'ans Wheat, Mannah's plump grain.
All Evangelicall our Bakers Cooke.
I drink the Drink of Life and weare Christs Web
And by the Sun of Righteousness am led.

Our Joshua doth draw his Troops out to
The Lunar coast, this Jericho the World
And rounds it while the Gospell Levites blow
Their Gospell Rams Horn Trumpets till down hurld
Its walls lie flat, and it his sacrifice
Doth burn in Zeale, whose Flame doth sindge the Skies.

As Joshuah doth fight Haile Stones smite down
The Can'anites: so Christ with Haile Stones shall
Destroy his Enemies, and breake their Crown.
The Sun and Moon shall stand to see them fall

The Heavens Chrystall Candlestick-like stand
Holding for him their Candles in their hand.

Yet such as Rahab like come o're to him
His Grace implanteth in his Golden Stock.
As Joshuah did each Tribe his lot out fling
So Christ doth his in Glory portions lot.
As Joshua fixt Gods Worship, and envest
Them with the Promise. Christ thus his hath blest.

That blazing Star in Joshua's but a Beam
Of thy bright Sun, my Lord, fix such in mee.
My Dish clout Soul Rence Wring, and make it clean.
Then die it in that blood that fell from thee.
And make the Waiting men within my heart
Attend thy sweetest praise, in evry part.

11. Meditation. Jud. 13.3. The Angell of the Lord appeared to the Woman, etc.

19.3m [May] 1695.

Eternall Love burnisht in Glory thick,
Doth butt, and Center in thee, Lord, my joy.
Thou portrai'd art in Colours bright, that stick
Their Glory on the Choicest Saints, Whereby
They are thy Pictures made. Samson Exceld
Herein thy Type, as he thy foes once queld.

An Angell tells his mother of his birth.
An Angell telleth thine of thine. Ye two
Both Males that ope the Womb in Wedlock Kerfe
Both Nazarited from the Womb up grew.

100

He after pitchy night a Sunshine grows
And thou the Sun of Righteousness up rose.

His Love did Court a Gentile spouse, and thine
Espous'd a Gentile to bebride thyselfe.
His Gentile Bride apostatizd betime.
Apostasy in thine grew full of Wealth.
He sindgd the Authours of't with Foxes tails.
And foxy men by thee on thine prevaile.

The Fret now rose. Thousands upon him poure.
An asses Jaw his javling is, whereby
He slew a Thousand, heap by heap that hour.
Thou by weake means makest many thousands fly.
Thou ribbon like wast platted in his Locks
And hence he thus his Enemies did box.

He's by his Friend betray'd, for money sold,
Took, bound, blindfolded, made a May game Flout
Dies freely with great sinners, when they hold
A Sacred Feast. With arms stretcht greatly out,
Slew more by death, than in his Life he slew.
And all such things, my Lord, in thee are true.

Samson at Gaza went to bed to sleep.
The Gazites watch him and the Soldiers thee.
He Champion stout, at midnight rose full deep.
Took Gaza's Gate on's back away went hee.
Thou rose didst from thy Grave and also tookst
Deaths Doore away throwing it off o'th'hooks.

Thus all the shine that Samson wore is thine,
Thine in the Type. Oh. Glorious One, Rich glee.
Gods Love hath made thee thus. Hence thy bright shine
Commands our Love to bow thereto the Knee.
Thy Glory chargeth us in Sacrifice
To make our Hearts and Love to thee to rise.

101

But woe is me! my heart doth run out to
Poor bits of Clay: or dirty Gayes embrace.
Doth leave thy Lovely Selfe for loveless show:
For lumps of Lust, nay sorrow and disgrace.
Alas, poore Soule! a Pardon, Lord, I crave.
I have dishonourd thee and all I have.

Be thou my Samson, Lord, a Rising Sun,
Of Righteousness unto my Soule, I pray.
Conquour my Foes. Let Graces Spouts all run
Upon my Soule O're which thy sunshine lay.
And set me in thy Sunshine, make each flower
Of Grace in me thy Praise perfum'd out poure.

12. Meditation. Ezek. 37.24. David my Servant shall be their King.

7.5m [July] 1695.

Dull, Dull indeed! What shall it e're be thus?
And why? Are not thy Promises, my Lord,
Rich, Quick'ning things? How should my full Cheeks blush
To finde mee thus? And those a lifeless Word?
My Heart is heedless: unconcernd hereat:
I finde my Spirits Spiritless, and flat.

Thou Courtst mine Eyes in Sparkling Colours bright,
Most bright indeed, and soul enamoring,
With the most Shining Sun, whose beames did smite
Me with delightfull Smiles to make mee spring.
Embellisht knots of Love assault my minde
Which still is Dull, as if this Sun ne're shin'de.

David in all his gallantry now comes,
Bringing to tende thy Shrine, his Royall Glory,

102

Rich Prowess, Prudence, Victories, Sweet Songs,
And Piety to Pensill out thy Story;
To draw my Heart to thee in this brave shine
Of typick Beams, most warm. But still I pine.

Shall not this Lovely Beauty, Lord, set out
In Dazzling Shining Flashes 'fore mine Eye,
Enchant my heart, Love's golden mine, till't spout
Out Streames of Love refin'd that on thee lie?
Thy Glory's great: Thou Davids Kingdom shalt
Enjoy for aye. I want and thats my fault.

Spare me, my Lord, spare me, I greatly pray,
Let me thy Gold pass through thy Fire untill
Thy Fire refine, and take my filth away.
That I may shine like Gold, and have my fill
Of Love for thee; untill my Virginall
Chime out in Changes sweet thy Praises shall.

Wipe off my Rust, Lord, with thy wisp me scoure,
And make thy Beams pearch on my Strings their blaze.
My tunes Cloath with thy Shine, and Quavers poure
My Cursing Strings on, loaded with thy Praise.
My Fervent Love with Musick in her hand,
Shall then attend thyselfe, and thy Command.

13. Meditation. Ps. 72. The title. A Psalm for Solomon.

1.7m [Sept.] 1695.

I fain would praise thee, Lord, but when I would,
I finde my Sin my Praise dispraises bring.
I fain would lift my hands up as I should,
But when I do, I finde them fould by Sin.

103

I strive to heave my heart to thee, but finde
When striving, in my heart an heartless minde.

Oh! that my Love, and mine Affections rich
Did spend themselves on thee and thou hadst them.
I strive to have thy Glory on them pitch
And fetch thee them. Hence Solomon thy jem,
And glorious Type thy Sparkling Beams out flings
But in the same my Love but little springs.

Was He a bud of Davids stock? So thou.
Was he a King? Thou art a King of Kings.
Was He a Make-peace King? Thy royall brow
Doth weare a Crown which peace Eternall brings.
Did He Excell in Wisdome? Thine doth flame.
And thou art Wisdom's Storehouse whence his came.

I may aver he's of all fallen men
The perfect'st piece that Nature ever bred.
Thy Human nature is the perfect'st jem
That Adams offspring ever brudled.
No spot nor Wrinckle did it ever smite.
Adams in Paradise was ne're so bright.

Did He Gods Temple Build, in glory shown?
Thou buildst Gods House, more gloriously bright.
Did he sit on a golden ivery Throne
With Lions fenc'd? Thy Throne is far more White
And glorious: garded with Angells strong.
A Streame of fire doth with the Verdict come.

Did he his Spouse, a glorious Palace build?
The Heavens are thy Palace for thy Spouse.
Gods house was by his pray're with Glory filld.
God will for thine his Church in Glory house.
Did Sheba's Queen faint viewing of his glory?
Bright Angells stand amazed at thy Story.

104

But hence griefe springs, finding these rayes of Light
Scarce reach my heart, it is so ditcht with Sin.
I scarce can see I see it, or it smite
Upon my Love that it doth run to him.
Why so? my Lord! Why so? Shall Love up shrink?
Or mine Affection to thee be a Shrimp?

Oh! feed me at thy Table, make Grace grow
Knead in thy Bread, I eate, thy Love to mee,
And spice thy Cup I take, with rich grace so,
That at thy Table I may honour thee.
And if thy Banquet fill mee with thy Wealth,
My growing Grace will glorify thyselfe.

14. Meditation. Col. 2.3. In whom are hid all the Treasures of Wisdom, and Knowledge.

3d.9m [Nov.] 1695.

Halfe Dead: and rotten at the Coare: my Lord!
I am Consumptive: and my Wasted lungs
Scarce draw a Breath of aire: my Silver Coard
Is loose. My buckles almost have no tongues.
My Heart is Fistulate: I am a Shell.
In Guilt and Filth I wallow, Sent and Smell.

Shall not that Wisdom horded up in thee
(One key whereof is Sacerdotall Types)
Provide a Cure for all this griefe in mee
And in the Court of Justice save from Stripes,
And purge away all Filth and Guilt, and bring
A Cure to my Consumption as a King?

Shall not that Wisdom horded in thee (which
Prophetick Types enucleate) forth shine

105

With Light enough a Saving Light to fix
On my Poore Taper? And a Flame Divine?
Making my Soule thy Candle and its Flame
Thy Light to guide mee, till I Glory gain?

Shall not that Wisdom horded in thee up
(Which Kingly Types do shine upon in thee)
Mee with its Chrystall Cupping Glasses cup
And draine ill Humours wholy out of mee?
Ore come my Sin? And mee adorn with Grace
And fit me for thy Service, and thy Face?

How do these Pointers type thee out most right
As Graces Officine of Wisdom pure
The fingers Salves and Medicines so right
That never faile, when usd, to worke a Cure?
Oh! that it would my Wasted lungs recrute.
And make my feeble Spirits upward shute.

How Glorious art thou, Lord? Cloathd with the Glory
Of Prophets, Priests, and Kings? Nay all Types come
To lay their Glory on thee. (Brightsome Story).
Their Rayes attend thee, as Sun Beams the Sun.
And shall my Ulcer'd Soule have such reliefe?
Such glorious Cure? Lord strengthen my beliefe.

Why dost not love, my Soule? or Love grow strong?
These glorious Beams of Wisdom on thee shine.
Will not this Sunshine make thy branch green long,
And flowrish as it doth to heaven climbe?
Oh! chide thyselfe out of thy Lethargie,
And unto Christ on Angells wings up fly.

Draw out thy Wisdom, Lord, and make mee just.
Draw out thy Wisdom. Wisdoms Crown give mee.
With shining Holiness Candy my Crust:
And make mee to thy Scepter bow the knee.
Let thy rich Grace mee save from Sin, and Death:
And I will tune thy Praise with holy Breath.

106

15. Meditation. Mat. 2.23. He shall bee called a Nazarite.

Westfield 12.10m [Dec.] 1695/6.

A Nazarite indeed. Not such another.
More rich than Jasper, finer far than Silke
More cleane than Heavens froth the Skies out pother:
Purer than snow: and Whiter far than Milke.
In Bodie ruddier than Rubies, nay
Whose pollishing of Sapphire's brave, and gay.

Devoted by thy Father and thy selfe
To all Examplary Holy Life.
Grace's Chiefe Flower pot on highest shelfe
In all God's Hall. Here Holiness is rife.
And higher Herbs of Grace can never grow
In Bulk, or Brightness, than before us flow.

Thy Typick Holiness, more sweet than Muske,
Ore tops the paltry Dainties of Strong Drinke:
Or Vines whose Fruite is Casked in an huske,
And Kirnells with hard Stones: though from their Chink:
Bleeds royall Wine: and grapes Sweet Raisens make
The Wine will soure. Types may not of it take.

The letter of the Law of Nazarites
Concerns thee not. The Spirit oft is meet
For thee alone. Thou art the Vine t'invite
The Grape without Husk, Stone, The Raisen Sweet.
Yea, thou thyselfe, the Wine, and Strong Drink art.
E're sweet, nere Vinegar, or soureing sharp.

Thy Head that wares a Nazaritick Crown
Of Holiness Deckt with its purple Hair

107

Dide in the Blood thy Grape shed when presst down
Derides the Rasor. Saints there nestled are.
And when thy Vow is o're, under the wing
Of their Peace offering thy praise they'l sing.

Thou never wast defiled by the Dead.
No Dead thing ever, yet disstained thee.
Life from thy Fingers ends runs, and ore spred
Itselfe through all thy Works what e're they bee.
Thy Thoughts, Words, Works are lively, frim, do still
Out Spirituall Life. Thy Spirit doth them fill.

Pare off, my Lord, from mee I pray, my pelfe.
Make mee thy Nazarite by imitation
Not of the Ceremony, but thy selfe,
In Holiness of Heart, and Conversation.
Then I shall weare thy Nazarite like Crown
In Glory bright with Songs of thy Renown.

16. Meditation. Lu. 1.33. He shall reign over the house of Jacob forever.

Westfield 9.1m [Mar.] 1695/6.

Thou art, my Lord, the King of Glory bright.
A glory't is unto the Angells flame
To be thy Harauld publishing thy Light
Unto the Sons of Men: and thy rich Name.
They are thy Subjects. Yea thy realm is faire.
Ore Jacobs House thou reignest: they declare.

Their brightest glory lies in thee their king.
My Glory is that thou my king maist bee.
That I may be thy Subject thee to sing
And thou may'st have thy kingdoms reign in mee.
But when my Lips I make thy Scepter Kiss
Unheartiness hatcht in my heart doth hiss.

108

Rich Reason, and Religion Good thus cry,
Be Subject, Soule: of Jacobs house be one.
Here is a king for thee, Whom Angells fly
To greet and honour sitting on his throne.
Sins mutiny, and marr his intrest brave.
My Pray'res grow Dead. Dead Corps laid in the grave.

The lowly Vine Grows fruitfull clusters, Rich.
The Humble Olive fat with oyle abounds.
But I like to the fiery Bramble, Which
Jumps at a Crown am but an empty Sound.
A guilded Cask of tawny Pride, and Gall,
With Veans of Venom o're my Spirits sprawle.

Like to the Daugh all glorious made when dresst
In feathers borrowed of other birds
Must need be King of birds: but is distresst,
When ery bird its feather hath, and Curbd
Doth glout, and slouch her Wings. Pride acts this part.
And base Hypocrisy. Oh! rotten heart!

Blesst Lord, my King, where is thy golden Sword?
Oh! Sheath it in the bowells of my Sin.
Slay my Rebellion, make thy Law my Word.
Against thine Enemies Without within.
Implant mee as a branch in Gods true vine
And then my grape will yield thy Cup rich wine.

Shall I now grafted in thy Olive tree
The house of Jacob, bramble berries beare?
This burdens me to thinke of, much more thee.
Breake off my black brire Claws: mee scrape, and pare.
Lord make my Bramble bush thy rosie tree.
And it will beare sweet Roses then for thee.

Kill my Hypocrisie, Pride Poison, Gall.
And make my Daugh thy Turtle Dove ore laid
With golden feathers: and my fruites then shall

109

Flock Dovelike to thy Lockers, oh! Choice trade.
My Cooing then shall be thy Musick in,
The House of Jacob, tun'de to thee, my King.

17. Meditation. Eph. 5.2. And gave himselfe for us an offering, and a Sacrifice to God.

Westfield 16.6[m] [Aug.] 1696.

Thou Greate Supream, thou Infinite first One:
Thy Being Being gave to all that be
Yea to the best of Beings thee alone
To serve with Service best for best of fee.
But man the best servd thee the Worst of all
And so the Worst of incomes on him falls.

Hence I who'me Capable to serve thee best
Of all the ranks of Beings here below
And best of Wages win, have been a pest
And done the Worst, earn'd thus the Worst of Woe.
Sin that imploys mee findes mee worke indeed
Me qualifies, ill qualities doth breed.

This is an hell indeed thus to be held
From that which nature holdst her chiefe delights
To that that is her horrour and refelld
Ev'n by the Law God in her Essence writes.
But for reliefe Grace in her tender would
Massiah cast all Sacrifices told.

I sin'd. Christ, bailes. Grace takes him Surety,
Translates my Sin upon his sinless Shine.
He's guilty thus, and Justice thus doth eye
And sues the band, and brings on him the fine.
All Sacrifices burn but yet their blood
Can't quench the fire, When laid upon the Wood.

110

The type thy Veane phlebotomizd must bee
To quench this Fire: no other blood nor thing
Can do't. Hence thou alone art made for mee
Burnt, Meat, Peace Sin, and Trespass Offering.
Thy blood must fall: thy life must go or I
Under the Wrath of God must ever fry.

This fire upon thee burnt, and is allay'd
For all of thine. Oh make mee thine I pray.
So shall this Wrath from mee be retrograde.
No fire shall sindge my rags nor on them stay.
New qualify mee. I shall then on go
Anew about thy Service, and it do.

What Grace in God? What Love in Christ thus spring
Up unto men, and to my poore poore heart?
That so thy burning fire no Sparke can fling
Or sparkle on such Tinder, This impart
Unto thy Servant. This will be my Health:
And for a gift to thee I send myselfe.

Oh! that my Love, was rowld all ore and ore
In thine, and Candi'd in't, and so refin'd
More bright than gold, and grown in bulke, far more
Than tongue can tell of each best sort, and kind.
All should be thine, and I thine own will be.
Accept my gift, no better is with mee.

Then own thine own. Be thou my Sacrifice,
Thy Father too, that he may father mee,
And I may be his Child, and thy blood prize,
That thy attonement may my clearing bee.
In hope of Which I in thy Service sing
Unto thy Praise upon my Harp within.

111

18. Meditation. Heb. 13.10. Wee have an Altar.

Westfield 18.8m [Oct.] 1696.

A Bran, a Chaff, a very Barly yawn,
An Husk, a Shell, a Nothing, nay yet Worse,
A Thistle, Bryer prickle, pricking Thorn
A Lump of Lewdeness, Pouch of Sin, a purse
Of Naughtiness, I am, yea what not Lord?
And wilt thou be mine Altar? and my bord?

Mine Heart's a Park or Chase of sins: Mine Head
'S a Bowling Alley. Sins play Ninehole here.
Phansy's a Green: sin Barly breaks in't led.
Judgment's a pingle. Blindeman's Buff's plaid there.
Sin playes at Coursey Parke within my Minde.
My Wills a Walke in which it aires what's blinde.

Sure then I lack Atonement. Lord me help.
Thy Shittim Wood ore laid With Wealthy brass
Was an Atoning altar, and sweet smelt:
But if ore laid with pure pure gold it was
It was an Incense Altar, all perfum'd
With Odours, wherein Lord thou thus was bloom'd.

Did this ere during Wood when thus orespread
With these erelasting Metalls altarwise
Type thy Eternall Plank of Godhead, Wed
Unto our Mortall Chip, its sacrifice?
Thy Deity mine Altar. Manhood thine.
Mine Offring on't for all men's Sins, and mine?

This Golden Altar puts such weight into
The sacrifices offer'd on't, that it
Ore weighs the Weight of all the sins that flow

112

In thine Elect. This Wedge, and beetle split
The knotty Logs of Vengeance too to shivers:
And from their Guilt and shame them cleare delivers.

This Holy Altar by its Heavenly fire
Refines our Offerings: casts out their dross
And sanctifies their Gold by its rich 'tire
And all their steams with Holy Odours boss.
Pillars of Frankincense and rich Perfume
They 'tone Gods nosthrills with, off from this Loom.

Good News, Good Sirs, more good than comes within
The Canopy of Angells. Heavens Hall
Allows no better: this atones for sin,
My Glorious God, Whose Grace here thickest falls.
May I my Barly yawn, Bran, Bryer Claw,
Lay on't a Sacrifice? or Chaff or Straw?

Shall I my sin Pouch lay, on thy Gold Bench
My Offering, Lord, to thee? I've such alone
But have no better. For my sins do drench
My very best unto their very bone.
And shall mine Offering by thine Altars fire
Refin'd, and sanctifi'd to God aspire?

Amen, ev'n so be it. I now will climb
The stares up to thine Altar, and on't lay
Myselfe, and services, even for its shrine.
My sacrifice brought thee accept I pray.
My Morn, and Evning Offerings I'le bring
And on this Golden Altar Incense fling.

Lord let thy Deity mine Altar bee
And make thy Manhood, on't my sacrifice.
For mine Atonement: make them both for mee
My Altar t'sanctify my gifts likewise

113

That so myselfe and service on't may bring
Its worth along with them to thee my king.

The thoughts whereof, do make my tunes as fume,
From off this Altar rise to thee Most High
And all their steams stufft with thy Altars blooms,
My Sacrifice of Praise in Melody.
Let thy bright Angells catch my tune, and sing't.
That Equalls Davids Michtam which is in't.

19. Meditation. Can. 1.12. While the King sits at his Table, my Spicknard sends forth the Smell thereof.

Westfield 7.10m [Dec.] 1696.

Lord dub my tongue with a new tier of Words
More comprehensive far than my dull Speech
That I may dress thy Excellency Lord
In Languague welted with Emphatick reech.
Thou art my King: my Heart thy Table make
And sit thereat untill my Spicknard wake.

My Garden Knot drawn out most curiously
By thy brave hand set with the bravest Slips
Of Spicknard: Lavender that thence may fly
Their Wealthy Spirits from their trunks and tips.
That Spicknard Oyle, and Oyle of Spike most sweet
May muskify thy Palace with their Reeke.

Then sit at thy round Table with delight
And feast in mee, untill my Spicknard bloome,
And Crown thy head with Odour-Oyle rich bright
And croud thy Chamber with her sweet perfume.

114

The Spicknard in my knot then flourish will:
And frindge thy Locks with odour it doth still.

And when thou at thy Circuite Table sitst
Thine Ordinances, Lord, to greet poor hearts
Such Influences from thyselfe thou slipst
And make their Spicknard its sweet Smell impart.
So make my Lavender to spring, and sent.
In such attire her Spirits ever tent.

And as thou at thy Table sitst to feast
Thy Guests there at, Thy Supper, Lord, well drest,
Let my sweet Spicknard breath most sweet, at least
Those Odours that advance thy Glory best.
And make my heart thine Alabaster Box
Of my Rich Spicknard to perfume thy locks.

If this thou grant, (and grant thou this I pray)
And sit my King at thy rich table thus,
Then my Choice Spicknard shall its Smell display,
That sweetens mee and on thee sweet doth rush.
My Songs of Praise too sweeten'd with this fume
Shall scale thine Eares in Spicknardisick Tune.

20. Meditation. Heb. 9.11. By a Greater, and more Perfect Tabernacle.

7.12m [Feb.] 1696.

Didst thou, Lord, Cast mee in a Worship-mould
That I might Worship thee immediatly?
Hath Sin blurd all thy Print, that so I should
Be made in vain unto this End? and Why?
Lord print me ore again. Begon, begon,
Yee Fly blows all of hell: I'le harbour none.

115

That I might not receive this mould in vain
Thy Son, my Lord, my Tabernacle he
Shall be: me run into thy mould again.
Then in this Temple I will Worship thee.
If he the Medium of my Worship stand
Mee, and my Worship he will to thee hand.

I can't thee Worship now without an House.
An house of Worship here will do no good,
Unless it type my Woe, in which I douse,
And Remedy in deifyed Blood.
Thy Tabernacle, and thy Temple they
Such Types arose. Christ is their Sun, and Ray.

Thou wast their Authour: Art Christs too and his.
They were of Choicest Matters. His's th'best blood.
Thy Spirits over shaddowing form'd them, This
Did overshaddow Mary. Christ did bud.
The Laver, Altar, Shew Bread, Table Gold
And Golden Light and Oyle do Christs Shine hold.

The Efficacy that's lodgd in them all
Came from thyselfe in influences, nay
Their Glory's but a painted Sun on th'Wall
Compar'd to thine and that thou dost display.
How glorious then art thou, when all their glory
Is but a Paintery to thy bright Story.

Thou art the Laver to wash off my Sin:
The Altars for atonement out of hand:
The Sweet Sweet Incense cast the fire within
The Golden Table, where the Shew bread stand.
The Golden Candlestick with holy Light
Mentain'd by holy Oyle in Graces Pipe.

The flames whereof, enmixt with Grace assaile
With Grace the heart in th'Light that takes the Eye
To light us in the way within the Vaile
Unto the Arke in which the Angells prie

116

Having the Law stand in't, up Coverd under
The Mercy Seate, that Throne of Graces Wonder.

Thou art my Tabernacle, Temple right,
My Cleansing, Holiness, Atonement, Food,
My Righteousness, My Guide of Temple Light
In to the Holy Holies, (as is shewd)
My Oracle, Arke, Mercy Seat: the place
Of Cherubims amazde at such rich grace.

Thou art my Medium to God, thou art
My Medium of Worship done to thee,
And of Divine Communion, Sweet heart!
Oh Heavenly intercourse! Yee Angells see!
Art thou my Temple, Lord? Then thou Most Choice
Art Angells Play-House, and Saints Paradise.

Thy Temples Influences stick on mee,
That I in Holy Love may stow my heart
Upon thyselfe, and on my God in thee,
And with thy Holiness guild Every part
Of me. And I will as I walke herein
Thy Glory thee in Temple Musick bring.

21. Meditation. Col. 2.16.17. In respect of an Holy Day, of a New Moon, or a Sabbath. Which are figures.

16.3m [May] 1697.

Rich Temple Fair! Rich Festivalls my Lord,
Thou makest to entertain thy Guests most dresst
In dishes up by SEVENS which afford
Rich Mystery under their brims expresst.
Which to discover clearly, make the brain
Of most men wring, their kirnells to obtain.

117

Each Seventh Day a Sabbath Gracious Ware.
A Seventh Week a yearly Festivall.
The Seventh Month a Feast nigh, all, rich fare.
The Seventh Yeare a Feast Sabbaticall.
And when seven years are seven times turnd about
A Jubilee. Now turn their inside out.

What Secret Sweet Mysterie under the Wing
Of this so much Elected number lies?
What Vean can e're Divine? Or Poet sing?
Doubtless most Rich. For such shew God most Wise.
I will adore the same although my quill
Can't hit the String that's tun'd by such right Skill.

Sharpen my Sight my Lord that I may spie
A lively Quickness in it jump for joy
And by the breaking of the Shell let fly
Such pleasant Species as will folly stroy.
Out of these Feasts, although the Number Seven
I leave untill my Soul is housd in Heaven.

And here I beg thy aide Mine eyes refine
Untill my Sight is strong enough to spy
Thyselfe my Lord deckt all in Sun Like Shine.
And see myselfe cloathd in thy Beams that fly.
My Sight is dim: With Spectacles mee suite
Made of a pair of Stars it to recrute.

Make mee thy Lunar Body to be filld
In full Conjunction, with thy Shining Selfe
The Sun of Righteousness: whose beams let guild
My Face turnd up to heaven, on which high Shelfe
I shall thy Glorys in my face that shine,
Set in Reflected Rayes. Hence thou hast thine.

Moon-like I have no light here of mine own.
My shining beams are borrowd of this Sun,
With which when 'ray'd its Rayes on mee are shown
Unto this World as I it over run.

118

My black Side's Earthward Yet thy beams that flew
Upon mee from thy face, are in its view.

Hence Angells will in heaven blow up aloud
For joy thy Trumpet on my new Moon day
And in its Prime, the Golden Rayes that shroud
Within thy Face will guild my Edges gay.
Oh! Happy Change. The Sun of Righteousness
With's healing Wings my moon doth richly dress.

And though this world doth eye thy brightness most
When most in distance from thyselfe I'm backt,
Yet then I most am apt even from this Coast
To be Ecclipsed, or by its fogs be blackt.
My back at best, and dark side Godward bee,
And pitchy clouds do hide thy face from mee.

Oh! let not Earth nor its thick fogs I pray
E're slip between me, and thy lightsome Rayes
But let my Cloathing be thy Sunshine Ray.
My New-Moon Trumpet then shall sound thy praise.
I then in sweet Conjunction shall with thee
The Sun of Righteousness abiding bee.

[_]

[The following four stanzas appear after the conclusion of this poem in PW. They have been crossed out and appear, in slightly altered form, as the conclusion of Meditation 22.]

But now I from the New Moon Feast do pass
And pass the Passo're o're unto Gods Seales,
And come to Whitsuntide, and turn its glass
To search for pearles amongst its sands and meals.
For Israel had not fifty dayes been out
Of Egypt, ere at Sinai Law did spout.

So Christ our Passover had not passt ore
Full fifty dayes before in fiery wise
The Law of Spirit and of Life much more
Went out from Zion. Gospell Law did rise.

119

The Harvest of the former yeare is in'd.
Injoy'd, and Consecrated Thanks for't pay'd.
All holding out the Right in things we sind
Away restored is, and they all made
Fit for our use, and that we thankfully
Ourselves unto the using them should ply.

Then make me to this Penticost repare.
Make mee thy Guest, Lord, at this feast, and live
Up to thy Gospell Law. And let my Fare
Be of the two Wave Loaves this Feast doth give.
If th'Prophets Seedtime spring my harvest I
Will, as I reape't, sing thee my harvest joy.

22. Meditation. 1 Cor. 5.7. Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us.

I from the New Moon of the first month high
Unto its fourteenth day When she is Full
Of Light the Which the Shining Sun let fly
And when the Sun's all black to see Sins pull
The Sun of Righteousness from Heaven down
Into the Grave and weare a Pascall Crown.

A Bond Slave in Egyptick Slavery
This Noble Stem, Angellick Bud, this Seed
Of Heavenly Birth, my Soul, doth groaning ly.
When shall its Passo're come? When shall't be Freed?

120

The Lamb is slaine upon the fourteenth day
Of Month the first, my Doore posts do display.

Send out thy Slaughter Angell, Lord, and slay
All my Enslaving 'Gypsies Sins, while I
Eate this rost Mutten, Paschall Lamb, Display
Thy Grace herein, while I from Egypt high.
I'le feed upon thy Roast meat here updresst,
With Bitter hearbs, unleaven'd bread the best.

I'le banish Leaven from my very Soule
And from its Leanetoe tent: and search out all
With Candles lest a Crum thereof should rowle
Into its Corners or in mouseholes fall,
Which when I finde I'le burn up, and will sweep
From every Corner all, and all cleane keep.

My Bunch of Hyssop, Faith, dipt in thy blood
My Paschall Lamb, held in thy Bason bright
Baptize my Doore Posts shall, make Crimson good.
Let nothing off this Varnish from them wipe,
And while they weare thy Crimson painted dy,
No Slaughter Angell shall mine house annoy.

Lord, purge my Leaven out: my Tast make quick:
My Souls strong Posts baptize with this rich blood

121

By bunch of Hyssop, then I'le also lick
Thy Dripping Pan: and eat thy Roast Lamb good,
With Staff in hand, Loins Girt, and Feet well shod
With Gospell ware as walking to my God.

I'le Goshen's Ramesis now leave apace.
Thy Flag I'le follow to thy Succoth tent.
Thy sprinkled blood being my lintells grace
Thy Flesh my Food With bitter herbs attent
To minde me of my bitter bondage State
And my Deliverance from all such fate.

I'le at this Feast my First Sheafe bring, and Wave
Before thee, Lord, my Crop to sanctify
That in my first Fruits I my harvest have
May blest unto my Cyckle Constantly.
So at this Feast my harp shall Tunes advance
Upon thy Lamb, and my Deliverance.

But now I from the Passover do pass.
Easter farewell, rich jewells thou did shew,
And come to Whitsuntide; and turn the Glass
To search her Sands for pearles therein anew.
For Isra'l a fift'th day from Egypt broke,
Gave Sinai's Law, and Crown'd the mount with Smoke.

And Christ oure Passover had not passt o're
Full fifty dayes before in fiery guise
He gave Mount Zions Law from graces store.
The Gospell Law of Spirit and Life out highs
In fiery Tongues that did confound all those
At Pentecost that Zions King oppose.

The Harvest of the year through Grace now inn'd,
Enjoyd and Consecrated with Right praise,
All typefying that the right we sind
Away's restor'd by Christ: and all things raisd

122

Fit for our use, and that we thankfully
Unto the use thereof ourselves should ply.

Lord make me to the Pentecost repare,
Make me thy Guest too at this Feast, and live
Up to thy Gospell Law: and let my fare
Be of the two white Loaves this feast doth give.
If Prophets Seeding yield me harvest, I
Will as I reap sing thee my harvest joy.

23. Meditation. 1 Joh. 2.2. He is the Propitiation for our Sins.

17.7m [Sept.] 1697.

Greate Lord, yea Greatest Lord of Lords thou art,
And King of Kings, may my poor Creaking Pipe
Salute thine Eare; This thought doth sink my heart
Ore burdened with over sweet Delight.
An Ant bears more proportion to the World
Than doth my piping to thine eare thus hurld.

It is a Sight amazing strange to see
An Emperour picking an Emmets Egge.
More strange it's that Almighty should to mee
E're lend his Eare. And yet this thing I beg.
I'm small and Naught, thou mayst much less me spare
Than I the Nit that hangeth on my hair.

But oh thy Grace! What glory on it hings,
In that thou makest thy Son to bare away
The marrow of the matter choice that Clings
Unto the Service of Atonment's day?
This was his Type, He is its Treasure rich
That Reconciles for Sin that doth us ditch.

123

Sins thick and threefold at my threshold lay
At Graces threshold I all gore in Sin.
Christ backt the Curtain, Grace made bright the day,
As he did our Atonement full step in.
So Glorious he. His Type is all unmeet
To typify him till aton'd and sweet.

A'ron as he atonement made did ware
His milke white linen Robes, to typify
Christ cloath'd in human flesh pure White, all fair,
And undefild, atoneing God most High.
Two Goates he took, and lots to know Gods will,
Which he should send away: and Which, should kill.

Dear Christ, thy Natures two are typ't thereby
Making one Sacrifice, Humane, Divine.
The Manhood is Gods Lot, and this must dy.
The Godhead as the Scape Goate death declines.
One Goat atones, one beares all Sin away.
Thy natures do this work, each as they lay.

Aaron the blood must catch in's Vessell to hold.
Lord let my Soule the Vessell be of thine.
Aaron must in a Censar all of Gold
Sweet incense burn with Altars fire Divine
To Typify the Incense of thy Prayer
Perfuming of thy Service thou didst beare.

Aaron goes in unto the Holy place
With blood of Sprinkling and sprinkles there
Atones the Tabernacle, Altars face
And Congregation, for defild all were.
Christ with his proper blood did enter in
The Heavens bright, propitiates for Sin.

Aaron then burns the Goat without the Camp
And Bullock too whose blood went in the Vaile.
Christ sufferd so without the Gate Deaths Cramp,
And Cramped Hell thereby. The Divells quaile.

124

Thus done with God Aaron aside did lay
His Linen Robes, and put on's Golden Ray.

And in this Rich attire he doth apply
Himselfe before the peoples very eyes,
Unto the other Service, richly high
To typify the gracious properties
Wherewith Christs human nature was bedight
In which he mediates within Gods Sight.

What wonder's here? Shall such a sorry thing
As I have such rich Cost laid down for mee
Whose best at best as mine's not worth a Wing
Of one poore Fly, that I should have from thee
Such Influences of thy goodness smite mee
And make me mute as by delight envite mee?

Lord let thy Gracious hand me chafe, and rub
Till my numbd joynts be quickn'd and compleat,
With Heate and Spirits all divine, and good,
To make them nimble in thy Service Greate.
Oh! take my ALL thyselfe, all though I bee
All bad, I have no better gift for thee.

Although my gift is but a Wooden toole
If thou receive it, thou wilt it enrich
With Grace, thats better than Apollo's Stoole.
Thy Oracles 'twill utter out the which
Will make my Spirits thy bright golden Wyers,
altaschat Michtam tune in Angells Quires.

125

24. Meditation Joh. 1.14. εσκηνωσε[ν] εν ημιν Tabernacled amongst us.

25.10m [Dec.] 1697.

My Soul would gazing all amazed stand,
To see the burning Sun, with'ts golden locks
(An hundred sixty six times more than th'land)
Ly buttond up in a Tobacco box.
But this bright Wonder, Lord, that fore us playes
May make bright Angells gasterd, at it gaze.

That thou, my Lord, that hast the Heavens bright
Pav'd with the Sun, and Moon, with Stars o're pinckt,
Thy Tabernacle, yet shouldst take delight
To make my flesh thy Tent, and tent with in't.
Wonders themselves do seem to faint away
To finde the Heavens Filler housd in Clay.

Thy Godhead Cabbin'd in a Myrtle bowre,
A Palm branch tent, an Olive Tabernacle,
A Pine bough Booth, An Osier House or tower
A mortall bitt of Manhood, where the Staple
Doth fixt, uniting of thy natures, hold,
And hold out marvels more than can be told.

Thy Tabernacles floore Celestiall
Doth Canopie the Whole World. Lord; and wilt
Thou tabernacle in a tent so small?
Have Tent, and Tent cloath of a Humane Quilt?
Thy Person make a bit of flesh of mee
Thy Tabernacle, and its Canopee?

Wonders! my Lord, Thy Nature all With Mine
Doth by the Feast of Booths Conjoynd appeare

126

Together in thy Person all Divine
Stand House, and House holder. What Wonder's here?
Thy Person infinite, without compare
Cloaths made of a Carnation leafe doth ware.

What Glory to my nature doth thy Grace
Confer, that it is made a Booth for thine
To tabernacle in? Wonders take place.
Thou low dost step aloft to lift up mine.
Septembers fifteenth day did type the Birth
Of this thy tabernacle here on earth.

And through this leafy Tent the glory cleare
Of thy Rich Godhead shineth very much:
The Crowds of Sacrifices which swarm here
Shew forth thy Efficacy now is such
Flowing in from thy natures thus united
As Clears off Sin, and Victims all benighted.

But yet the Wonder grows: and groweth much,
For thou wilt Tabernacles change with mee.
Not onely Nature, but my person tuch.
Thou wilst mee thy, and thee, my tent to bee.
Thou wilt, if I my heart will to thee rent,
My Tabernacle make thy Tenement.

Thou'lt tent in mee, I dwell in thee shall here.
For housing thou wilt pay mee rent in bliss:
And I shall pay thee rent of Reverent fear
For Quarters in thy house. Rent mutuall is.

127

Thy Tenent and thy Teniment I bee.
Thou Landlord art and Tenent too to mee.

Lord lease thyselfe to mee out: make mee give
A Leafe unto thy Lordship of myselfe.
Thy Tenent, and thy Teniment I'le live.
And give and take Rent of Celestiall Wealth.
I'le be thy Tabernacle: thou shalt bee
My Tabernacle. Lord thus mutuall wee.

The Feast of Tabernacles makes me sing
Out thy Theanthropy, my Lord, I'le spare
No Musick here. Sweet Songs of praises in
The Tabernacles of the Righteous are.
My Palmifer'd Hosannah Songs I'le raise
On my Shoshannims blossoming thy praise.

25. Meditation Numb. 28.4.9. One Lamb shalt thou offer in the Morning, and the other at Even. And on the Sabbath day two Lambs etc.

6.1m [Mar.] 1698.

Guilty, my Lord, What can I more declare?
Thou knowst the Case, and Cases of my Soule.
A Box of tinder: Sparks that falling o're
Set all on fire, and worke me all in Shoals.
A Pouch of Passion is my Pericarde.
Sparks fly when ere my Flint and Steele strike hard.

I am a Dish of Dumps: yea ponderous dross,
Black blood all clotted, burdening my heart,
That Anger's anvill, and my bark bears moss.

128

My Spirits soakt are drunke with blackish Art.
If any Vertue stir, it is but feeble.
Th'Earth Magnet is, my heart's the trembling needle.

My Mannah breedeth Worms: Thoughts fly blow'd are.
My heart's the Temple of the God of Flies.
My Tongue's an Altar of forbidden Weare
Fansy a foolish fire enflam'd by toys
Perfum'de with reeching Offerings of Sins
Whose steaming reechs delight hobgoblings.

My Lord, is there no help for this with thee?
Must I abuse, and be abused thus?
There Morn, and Even Sacrifices bee:
To cleans the Sins of Day, and Night from us.
Christ is the Lamb: my Pray're each morn and night
As Incense offer I up in thy Sight.

My morn, and evening Sacrifice I bring
With Incense sweet upon mine Altar Christ,
With Oyle and Wine two quarters of an Hin
With flower for a Meat Offering all well spic'dt,
On bended knees, with hands that tempt the Skies.
This is each day's atoning Sacrifice.

And thou the Sabbath settledst at the first
And wilt continue it till last. Wherefore,
Who strike down Gospell Sabbaths are accurst.
Two Lambs, a Meat, and Drinke offering God more
Conferd on it than any other Day
As types the Gospell Sabbaths to display.

Here is Atonement made: and Spirituall Wine
Pourd out to God: and Sanctified Bread
From Heaven's givn us: What! shall we decline
With God Communion, thus to be fed?
This Heavenly fare will make true Grace to thrive.
Such as deny this thing are not alive.

129

I'le tend thy Sabbaths: at thine Altar feed.
And never make thy type a nullitie.
The Ceremonies cease, but yet the Creede
Contained therein, continues gospelly,
That make my feeble Spirits will grow frim.
Hence I in Sabbath Service love to swim.

My Vespers, and my Mattins Ile attend:
My Sabbath Service carry on I will.
Atoning Efficacy God doth send
To Sinners in this path, and grace here stills.
Still this on me untill I glory Gain.
And then Ile sing thy praise in better Strain.

26. Meditation Heb. 9.13.14. How much more shall the blood of Christ, etc.

26.4m [June] 1698.

Unclean, Unclean: My Lord, Undone, all vile
Yea all Defild: What shall thy Servant doe?
Unfit for thee: not fit for holy Soile,
Nor for Communion of Saints below.
A bag of botches, Lump of Loathsomeness:
Defild by Touch, by Issue: Leproust flesh.

Thou wilt have all that enter do thy fold
Pure, Cleane, and bright, Whiter than whitest Snow
Better refin'd than most refined Gold:
I am not so: but fowle: What shall I doe?
Shall thy Church Doors be shut, and shut out mee?
Shall not Church fellowship my portion bee?

How can it be? Thy Churches do require
Pure Holiness: I am all filth, alas!
Shall I defile them, tumbled thus in mire?

130

Or they mee cleanse before I current pass?
If thus they do, Where is the Niter bright
And Sope they offer mee to wash me White?

The Brisk Red heifer's Ashes, when calcin'd,
Mixt all in running Water, is too Weake
To wash away my Filth: The Dooves assign'd
Burnt, and Sin Offerings neer do the feate
But as they Emblemize the Fountain Spring
Thy Blood, my Lord, set ope to wash off Sin.

Oh! richest Grace! Are thy Rich Veans then tapt
To ope this Holy Fountain (boundless Sea)
For Sinners here to lavor off (all sapt
With Sin) their Sins and Sinfulness away?
In this bright Chrystall Crimson Fountain flows
What washeth whiter, than the Swan or Rose.

Oh! wash mee, Lord, in this Choice Fountain, White
That I may enter, and not sully here
Thy Church, whose floore is pav'de with Graces bright
And hold Church fellowship with Saints most cleare.
My Voice all sweet, with their melodious layes
Shall make sweet Musick blossom'd with thy praise.

27. Meditation Upon Heb. 9.13.14. How much more shall the Blood of Christ etc.

4.7m [Sept.] 1698.

My mentall Eye, spying thy sparkling Fold
Bedeckt, my Lord, with Glories shine alone,
That doth out do all Broideries of Gold:
And Pavements of Rich Pearles, and Precious Stone

131

Did double back its Beams to light my Sphere
Making an inward Search, for what springs there.

And in my Search I finde myselfe defild:
Issues and Leprosies all ore mee streame.
Such have not Enterance. I am beguild:
My Seate, Bed, Saddle, Spittle too's uncleane.
My Issue Running Leprosy doth spread:
My upper Lip is Covered: not my Head.

Hence all ore ugly, Nature Poysond stands,
Lungs all Corrupted, Skin all botch't and scabd
A Feeble Voice, a Stinking Breath out fand
And with a Scurfy Skale I'me all ore clagd.
Robes rent: Head bare, Lips Coverd too, I cry,
Unclean, Unclean, and from thy Camp do fly.

Woe's mee. Undone! Undone! my Leprosy!
Without a Miracle there is no Cure.
Worse than the Elephantick Mange I spie
My Sickness is. And must I it endure?
Dy of my Leprosy? Lord, say to't nay,
I'le Cure thee in my wonder working way.

I see thy Gracious hand indeed hath caught
Two Curious pritty pure Birds, types most sure
Of thy two Natures, and The one is brought
To shed its blood in running waters pure
Held in an Earthen Panchin which displays
Thy Blood and Water preacht in Gospell dayes.

The slain Dove's buri'de: In whose Blood (in water)
The Living Turtle, Ceder, Scarlet twine,
And Hysop dipted are (as an allator)
Sprinkling the Leper with it Seven times
That typify Christs Blood by Grace applide
To Sinners vile, and then they're purifide.

Sprindge Lord mee With it. Wash me also in
The Poole of Shiloam, and shave mee bare

132

With Gospells Razer. Though the Roots of Sin
Bud up again, again shave off its hair.
Thy Eighth dayes Bath, and Razer make more gay,
Than th'Virgin Maries Purifying day.

My Tresspass, Sin, and my Burnt Sacrifices
My Flowre and Oyle, for my meate Offering
My Lord, thou art. Whether Lambs or Doves up rise
And with thy Holy Blood atonement bring,
And put thy Blood upon my Right Eare fair
Whose tip shall it, its Onely jewell, Ware.

And put it Gold-Ring-like on my Right Thumbe
And on my Right Greate toe as a Rich Gem.
Thy Blood will not Head, Hand nor Foot benum,
But satisfy and cleans all fault from them.
Then put thy Holy Oyle upon the place
Of th'Blood of my Right Eare, Thumb, Toe. Here's Grace.

Then Holiness shall Consecrate mine Eare.
And sanctify my Fingers Ends, and Toes.
And in my hearing, Working, Walking here
The Breath of Sanctifying Grace out goes.
Perfuming all these Actions, and my life.
Oh! Sweetest Sweet. Hence Holiness is rife.

Lord, Cleanse mee thus with thy Rich Bloods Sweet Shower
My Issue stop: destroy my Leprosy.
Thy Holy Oyle upon my Head out poure
And cloathe my heart and Life with Sanctity.
My Head, my Hand and Foot shall strike thy praise,
If thus besprinkled, and Encamp thy Wayes.

133

28. Meditation Isai. 32.2. A man shall be for a hiding place from the Winde.

11.10m [Dec.] 1698.

That Bowre, my Lord, which thou at first didst build
Was pollished most gay, and every ranck
Of Creatures in't shone bright, each of them filld
With dimpling Glory, Cield with golden planck
Of smiling Beauty. Man then bore the Bell:
Shone like a Carbuncle in Glories Shell!

How brave, and bright was I then, Lord, myselfe?
But woe is mee! I have transgresst thy Law,
Undone, defild, Disgrac'd, destroy'd my Wealth,
Persu'de by flaming Vengeance, as fire dry straw.
All Ranks I broake, their Glory I benighted
Their Beauty blasted, and their Bliss befrighted.

Hence Black-Blew, Purple Spots of Horrid guilt,
Rise in my Soule. Mee Vengeance hath in Chase
To spill my blood, 'cause I her Glory spilt,
And did the Creatures Glory all disgrace.
Shall I fall by the Venger's hand, before
I get within the Refuge Citie's doore?

Oh! give me Angells Wings to fly to thee,
My Lord, all stumbling stones pick out of th'way.
Thou art my Refuge City, and shalt bee.
Receive me in, let not th'Avenger slay.
I do attempt to over run my Sin:
And fly to thee, my Refuge. Let mee in.

Ive by my Sin a man, the Son of man
Slain, and myselfe, Selfe Murderer, I slew.

134

Yet on the Golden Wings of Faith which fan
The Gospell Aire the Altars Horns I wooe,
Renouncing all my Sins, and Vanity
And am resolv'd before the same to dy.

Accept me, Lord, and give my Sailes thine Aire,
That I may swiftly sayle unto thyselfe.
Be thou my Refuge and thy Blood my faire.
Disgrace my Guilt, and grace me with thy Wealth.
Be thou my Refuge City, take mee in.
And I thy Praise will on Muth Labben sing.

29. Meditation 1 Pet. 3.20. While the Ark was Building.

5.12m [Feb.] 1698.

What shall I say, my Lord? with what begin?
Immence Profaneness Wormholes ery part.
The World is saddlebackt with Loads of Sin.
Sin Craks the Axle tree of this greate Cart.
Floodgates of Firy Vengeance open fly
And Smoakie Clouds of Wrath darken the Skie.

The Fountains of the Deep up broken are.
The Cataracts of heaven do boile ore
With Wallowing Seas. Thunder, and Lightenings tare
Spouts out of Heaven, Floods out from hell do roare.
To overflow, and drownd the World all drownd
And overflown with Sin, that doth abound.

Oh! for an Ark: an Ark of Gopher Wood.
This Flood's too stately to be rode upon

135

By others boats, which are base swilling tubs.
It gulps them up as gudgeons. And they're gone.
But thou, my Lord, dost Antitype this Arke,
And rod'st upon these Waves that toss and barke.

Thy Humane Nature, (oh Choice Timber Rich)
Bituminated ore within, and out
With Dressing of the Holy Spirits pitch
Propitiatory Grace parg'd round about.
This Ark will ride upon the Flood, and live
Nor passage to a drop through Chink holes give.

This Ark will swim upon the fiery flood:
All Showrs of fire the heavens rain on't will
Slide off: though Hells and Heavens Spouts out stood
And meet upon't to crush't to Shivers, still
It neither sinks, breaks, Fires, nor Leaky prooves,
But lives upon them all and upward mooves.

All that would not be drownded must be in't
Be Arkd in Christ, or else the Cursed rout
Of Crimson Sins their Cargoe will them sinke
And suffocate in Hell, because without.
Then Ark me, Lord, thus in thyselfe that I
May dance upon these drownding Waves with joye.

Sweet Ark, with Concord sweetend, in thee feed
The Calfe, and Bare, Lamb, Lion at one Crib.
Here Rattlesnake and Squerrell jar not, breed.
The Hawk and Dove, the Leopard, and the Kid
Do live in Peace, the Child, and Cockatrice.
As if Red Sin tantarrow'd in no vice.

Take me, my Lord, into thy golden Ark.
Then when thy flood of fire shall come, I shall
Though Hell spews streams of Flames, and th'Heavens spark
Out Storms of burning Coals, swim safe ore all.
I'le make thy Curled flames my Citterns Wire
To toss my Songs of Praise rung on them, higher.

136

30. Meditation Math. 12.40. As Jonah was three Dayes, and three nights in the Whales belly. So must etc.

9.2m [Apr.] 1699.

Prest down with sorrow, Lord, not for my Sin
But with Saint 'Tony Cross I crossed groane.
Thus my leane Muses garden thwarts the spring
Instead of Anthems, breatheth her ahone.
But duty raps upon her doore for Verse.
That makes her bleed a poem through her searce.

When, Lord, man was the miror of thy Works
In happy state, adorn'd with Glory's Wealth
What heedless thing was hee? The serpent lurks
Under an apple paring, and by stealth
Destroy'd her Glory. O poor keeper hee
Was of himselfe: lost God, and lost his Glee.

Christ, as a Turtle Dove, puts out his Wing.
Lay all on me, I will, saith hee, Convay
Away thy fault, and answer for thy sin.
Thou'st be the Stowhouse of my Grace, and lay
It and thyselfe out in my service pure
And I will for thy sake the storm Endure.

Jonas did type this thing, who ran away
From God and shipt for Tarsus, fell asleep.
A storm lies on the Ship. The Seamen they
Bestir their stumps, and at wits end do weep.
Wake, Jonas, who saith Heave me over deck.
The Storm will Cease then, all lies on my neck.

They cast him overboard out of the ship.
The tempest terrible, lies thereby still.

137

A Mighty Whale nam'd Neptunes Dog doth skip
At such a Boon, Whose greedy gorge can't kill
Neither Concoct this gudgeon, but its Chest
Became the Prophets Coffin for the best.

He three dayes here lies trancifi'de and prayes.
Prooves working Physick in the Fishes Crop.
Maybe in th'Euxine, or the Issick Bay
She puking falls and he alive out drops.
She vomits him alive out on the Land
Whence he to Ninive receives command.

A sermon he unto the Gentiles preacht,
Yet fortie dayes, and Ninus is destroy'd.
Space granted, this Repentance doth them teach
God pardons them, and thus they ruine 'void.
Oh! Sweet Sweet Providence, rich Grace hath spic'te
This Overture to be a type of Christ.

Jonas our Turtle Dove, I Christ intend
Is in the ship for Tarsus under saile.
A fiery storm tempestiously doth spend
The Vessill, and its hands. All Spirits faile.
The ship will sink or Wrack upon the rocks
Unless the tempest cease the same to box.

None can it Charm but Jonas. Christ up posts
Is heaved overboard into the sea.
The Dove must die. The storm gives up its Ghost
And Neptune's Dogg leapes at him as a Prey.
Whose stomach is his Grave where he doth sleep,
Three Dayes sepulchred, Jonas in the Deep.

The Grave him swallow'd down as a rich Pill
Of Working Physick full of Virtue which
Doth purge Death's Constitution of its ill.
And womble-Crops her stomach where it sticks.

138

It heaves her stomach till her hasps off fly.
And out hee comes Cast up, rais'd up thereby.

In glorious Grace he to the Heathen goes
Envites them to Repentance, they accept.
Oh! Happy Message squandering Curst foes.
Grace in her glorious Charriot here rides deckt.
Wrath's Fire is quencht. And Graces sun out shines.
Death on her deathbed lies, Consumes and pines.

Here is my rich Atonement in thy Death,
My Lord, nought is so sweet, though sweat it cost.
This turns from me Gods wrath: Thy sweet sweet breath
Revives my heart: thy Rising up o're bosst
My Soule with Hope seeing acquittance in't.
That all my sins are kill'd, that did mee sinke.

I thanke thee, Lord. Thy death hath deadned quite
The Dreadfull Tempest. Let thy Dovy wings
Oreshadow me, and all my Faults benight
And with Celestiall Dews my soule besprindge.
In Angells Quires I'le then my Michtams sing,
Upon my Jonath Elem Rechokim.

31. Meditation Joh. 15.13. Greater Love hath no man etc.

4.4m [June] 1699.

Its said H [OMITTED] doth enjoy
A Tree of Gold whose Root is deemd t'have birth

139

At Centre of the Earth whose Spirits fly
Ore all its body blossoming on the earth.
Leaves dance and Fruits grow on its twigs and limbs.
That make a golden Smile on Spanish Kings.

Yet this rich vegitable tree of Gold
Is but a Toade Stoole bowre compar'd to thee
My blessed Lord, whose tent of Humane mould
Shines like Gods Paradise, Where springs the tree
Of Pure, Pure Love that doth thy friends enfold
In richer Robes than all those Leaves of gold.

Thy Love-Affection, rooted in the Soyle,
Of Humane Nature, springing up all ore
With Sanctifying Grace, of brightest file
Brings Loads of Love to sinfull man all gore.
Here is greate Love, greaten'd by influences
To which thy Godhead to the same dispenses.

No Spirits ever yet were founde within
The golden Tree of Humane nature, bud,
Or blossom such a Love, or Lovely thing
As this thy nature doth so greate so good.
The Plant's set in a Soile Pure, faultless, stronge,
Its fruite sores to the highst pitch, Good, Greate, and Longe.

There is no Sin can touch this Lovely Love.
Its Holy, with a perfect Holiness.
Its grown unto the highst Degree, above
All Stuntedness, or stately Stintedness.
The Soile is faultless, and doth give its Strength.
The Plant doth beare its fruite of largest length.

This Love in thee most pure, and perfect stands
A Relative, and hath its object here
Which it befriends with all good things, and hands
In holy wayes to heavenly Glory cleare.
Oh! happy such as with it are befriended:
With perfect Love, to perfect bliss they're tended.

Make me thy Friend: Befriend me with thy Love.
Here's cloaths more rich than Silk or Cloth of gold.

140

I'le in the Circuite of thy Friendship moove
So thy Warm Love enspire mine Organs would.
My Garden will give sweet, and Lovely Flowers
If thou distill thereon thy Love in Showres.

Lord, let thy Sunshine-Love my Dial grace.
Then what a Clock it is, it will display.
The glory of the Sunshine on it's Face
Will take the light and tell the time of Day.
My Hammer then shall greet this Shine as well
With praise [OMITTED] tun'de on my bell.

32. Meditation Joh. 15.13. Greater Love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his Life for his friends.

30.5m [July] 1699.

Oh! that I could, my Lord, but chide away
That Dulness and the Influences which
Thy All wise Providence doth brieze, display,
Unedging of my Spirits, them down pitch,
Although thy quick'ning Love might make them spring
With its Warm Sun Shine till like birds they sing.

That Love of [OMITTED] in thy Person dwells
All Wonderful in Birth, in Natures shine
In Union too, o're leaping Reason's Shells
One made of twoness Humane, and Divine
Of Infinite, and Finite, (take my Word)
Compound, and Uncompound compose a Third.

That Love I see that in thy Person dwells,
So Great and Good, nothing too good appeares

141

For it to give to such on whom it fell.
Although it shine on mee I hang mine Eares,
Although it smiles thy [OMITTED] doth scowle
In some Things whence my [OMITTED] seems fowle.

[OMITTED] Love One Object [OMITTED]
Thy Life (that Wond'rous Life) [OMITTED] is One
Thy people [OMITTED] the other though they snug
In Satans Arms, in Sin and Wrath ore grown
This Object then much [OMITTED]
Unless thy Love from [OMITTED]

Love borrows Wisdome's Eyes and with them lookes
O're Nature's Cabbinet of Jewells bright
And then attemps th'Accounts down in Gods Books
If Credit may be made and they made right.
But here she findes the Sums so greate, the Debt
Exceed the Worth in Nature's Cabinet.

Alass! what now? shall Satans wiles out wit
Wisdom itselfe and take away Christs eye
His portion from him, and off tare and split
The Object of his Love and [OMITTED]
Oh! Cursed Elf [OMITTED] the fool
[OMITTED] dost thy beams of [OMITTED] Wisdome's toole.

How doth she now, my Lord, spy out the Way
Her object and thy merit to set free?
She Comes to thee, and makes thy person pay
Seing sufficient worth alone in thee.
Hence to the Debtor goes to end the strife
Ore payes their debts in laying down her Life.

The Better object of thy Love, Christs Love,
Surrenders up to ruin to redeem
The Other Object of it and remove
That Wrath that else would ever on it been,

142

Which done it did resume the Life down laid
And both its Objects from the Curse free made.

O let thy lovely streams of Love distill
Upon myselfe and spoute their spirits pure
Into my Viall, and my Vessell fill
With liveliness, from dulness me secure.
And I will answer all this Love of thine
When with it thou hast made me all Divine.

What wilt thou, Lord, deny mee this, that would
Not once deny to lay thy Choice Life downe?
To make a Cabbinet of't more worth than gold,
To give to thine, and buy them Glories Crowne,
My Heart shall harbor better than [OMITTED]
If thou my dross dost but refine from mee.

Lord! make my Leaden Whistle metall good,
That in thy Service it may split an haire.
If thou wilt whet it on thy Holy Rub
Twill trim my Life of sin, and make mee fair.
And I will sing a song of Love to thee
In a Seraphick tune and full of glee.

33. Meditation Joh. 15.13. Greater Love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his Life for his Friend.

1.8m [Oct.] 1699.

Walking, my Lord, within thy Paradise
I finde a Fruite whose Beauty smites mine Eye
And Taste my Tooth that had no Core nor Vice.
An Hony Sweet, that's never rotting, ly

143

Under a Tree, which view'd, I knew to bee
The Tree of Life whose Bulk's Theanthropie.

And looking up, I saw its boughs all bow
With Clusters of this Fruit that it doth bring,
Nam'de Greatest LOVE. And well, For bulk, and brow,
Thereof, of th'sap of Godhood-Manhood spring.
What Love is here for kinde? What sort? How much?
None ever, but the Tree of Life, bore such.

Who is the Object of this Love? and in
Whose mouth doth fall the Apple of this tree?
Is't Man? A Sinner? Such a Wormhol'de thing?
Oh! matchless Love, Laid out on such as Hee!
Should Gold Wed Dung, should Stars Wooe Lobster Claws,
It would no wonder, like this Wonder, cause.

Is sinfull Man the Object of this Love?
What then doth it for this its Object doe,
That doth require a purging far above
The whiteness, Sope and Nitre can bestow,
(Else Justice will its Object take away
Out of its bosome, and to hell't convay?)

Hence in it steps, to justice saith, I'll make
Thee satisfaction, and my Object shine.
I'l slay my Humane Nature for thy sake
Fild with the Worthiness of thy Divine
Make pay therewith. The Fruite doth sacrifice
The tree that bore't. This for its object dies.

An Higher round upon this golden scale
Love cannot Climbe, than to lay down the Life
Of him that loves, for him belov'd to bale,
Thereby to satisfy, and end all strife.

144

Thou lay'st, my Lord, thy Life down for thy Friend
And greater Love than this none can out send.

Then make me, Lord, thy Friend, I humbly pray
Though I thereby should be deare bought by thee.
Not dearer yet than others, for the pay
Is but the same for others as for mee.
If I be in thy booke, my Life shall proove
My Love to thee, an Offering to thy Love.

34. Meditation. Rev. 1.5. Who loved us and washed away our Sins in his Blood.

26.9m [Nov.] 1699.

Suppose this Earthy globe a Cocoe Nut
Whose Shell most bright, and hard out challenge should
The richest Carbunckle in gold ring put
How rich would proove the kirnell it should hold?
But be it so, who then could breake this Shell,
To pick the kirnell, walld within this Cell?

Should I, my Lord, call thee this nut, I should
Debase thy Worth, and of thee basely stut.
Thou dost its worth as far excell as would
Make it to thine worse than a worm eat nut.
Were all the World a sparkling pearle, 't would bee
Worse than a dot of Dung if weighd with thee.

What Elemented bit was that, thine eyes
Before the Elements were moulded, ey'd?
And it Encabbineting Jewell wise
Up in thy person, be'st nigh Deified?
It lay as pearle in dust in this wide world,
But thou it tookst, and in thy person firld.

145

To finde a Pearle in Oister Shells's not strange:
For in such rugged bulwarks such abound.
But this Rich Gem in Humane Natures grange
So bright could by none Eye but thine be found.
Its mankind flowr'd, searst, kneaded up in Love
To Manna in Gods moulding trough above.

This bit of Humane Flesh Divinizd in
The Person of the Son of God; the Cell
Of Soule, and Blood, where Love Divine doth swim
Through veans, through Arteries, Heart flesh, and fell,
Doth with its Circkling Arms about entwinde
A Portion of its kindred choice, Mankinde.

But these defild by Sin, Justice doth stave
Off from the bliss Love them prepar'de, untill
She's satisfide, and sentence too she gave
That thou should feel her vengeance and her will.
Hence Love steps in, turns by the Conduit Cock:
Her Veans full payment on the Counter drop.

Now Justice satisfi'de, Loves Milke white hand
Them takes and brings unto her Ewer of blood
Doth make Free Grace her golden Wisp, and Sand
With which she doth therein them Wash scoure, rub
And Wrince them cleane untill their Beauty shows
More pure, and white, than Lilly, Swan, or Rose.

What love, my Lord, dost thou lay out on thine
When to the Court of Justice cald they're judg'd.
Thou with thy Blood and Life dost pay their fine
Thy Life, for theirs, thy Blood for theirs must budge.
Their Sin, Guilt, Curse upon thyselfe dost lay:
Thy Grace, thy Justice, Life on them Convay.

Make such a Change, my Lord, with mee, I pray.
I'le give thee then, my Heart, and Life to th'bargen.
Thy golden Scepter then my Soule shall sway
Along my Path unto thy Palace garden.

146

Wash off my filth, with thy rich blood, and I
Will stud thy praise with thankfull melody.

35. Meditation Joh. 15.5. Without me yee can do nothing.

3.1m [Mar.] 1699/1700.

My Blessed Lord, that Golden Linck that joyns
My Soule, and thee, out blossoms on't this Spruice
Peart Pronown my more spiritous than wines,
Rooted in Rich Relation, Graces Sluce.
This little Voice feasts mee with fatter Sweets
Than all the Stars that pave the Heavens Streets.

It hands me All, my heart, and hand to thee
And up doth lodge them in thy persons Lodge
And as a Golden bridg ore it to mee
Thee, and thine All to me, and never dodge.
In this small Ship a mutuall Intrest sayles
From Heaven and Earth, by th'holy Spirits gales.

Thy Ware to me's so rich, should my Returns
Be packt in sparkling Metaphors, out stilld
From Zion's garden flowers, by fire that burns
Aright, of Saphire Battlements up filld
And sent in Jasper Vialls it would bee
A pack of guilded Non-Sense unto thee.

Such [OMITTED] Golden Palace Walled round
With Walls made of transparent Silver bright
With Towers of Diamonds and in't is found
A Throne of Sparkling Carbuncle like light
Wherein sits Crownd one with the Sunn. The same
Would be but Smoak compar'd to thy bright flame.

147

Thy Humane frame's a Curious Palace, raisd
Of th'Creame of Natures top Perfection here
Where Grace sits Sovereign that ere ore blazd
The splendent beams of precious Stones most clear.
Whose Mace, and Scepter richer Matter shine,
Than Berill, Amathyst or Smaregdine.

Here is a Living Spring of power which tapt
All-doing influences hence do flow.
What we have done undone us hath, (sad hapt)
That we without thee now can nothing do.
We cannot do what do we should, (in Summ)
Nor undo what undoes us, by us done.

We have our Souls undone, Can't undo this.
We have Undone the Law, this can't undo:
We have undone the World, when did amiss,
We can't undoe the Curse that brings in Woe.
Our Undo-Doing can't undo, its true.
Wee can't our Souls, and things undone, renew.

Without thee wee can nothing do, its sure.
Thou saidst the same. We finde thy Saying true.
Thou canst do all things: all amiss canst cure,
Undo our Undo-doing, make all new.
Thou madst this World: dost it thy play-house keep
Wherein the Stars themselves play Hide-and-Seek.

It is thy Green, where all thy Creatures play
At Barly-Breake and often lose their fleece.
But we poore wee our Soules a wager lay
At Nine-Mens Morrice, and at Fox and Geese.
Let me not play myselfe away, nor Grace.
Nor lose my Soule, My Lord, at prison base.

Reclaim thy Claim: finde me refinde; I'm thine.
Without thee I can nothing do, Dispense,
Thyselfe to me, and all things thine are mine,

148

I'le not account of what thou countst offence.
Give me thy Power to work, and thou shalt finde
Thy Work attended with my hand, and minde.

36. [Meditation.] Col. 1.18. He is the Head of the Body.

19.3m [May] 1700.

An Head, my Lord, an honourable piece;
Nature's high tower, and wealthy Jewelry;
A box of Brains, furld up in reasons fleece:
Casement of Senses: Reason's Chancery:
Religions Chancell pia-mater'd ore
With Damask Roses that Sweet wisdom bore.

This is, my Lord, the rosie Emblem sweet,
Blazing thyselfe out, on my mudd wall, fair,
And in thy Palace, where the rosy feet
Of thy Deare Spouse doth thee her head thus ware.
Her Head thou art: Head glory of her Knot.
Thou art her Flower, and she thy flower pot.

The Metall Kingdoms had a Golden head,
Yet had't no brains, or had its brains out dasht.
But Zions Kingdome fram'd hath better sped,
Through which the Rayes of thy rich head are lasht.
She wares thee Head, thou art her strong defence
Head of Priority, and Excellence.

Hence art an head of Arguments so strong
To argue all unto thyselfe, when bent
And quickly tongue ty, or pluck out the tongue
Of all Contrary pleas or arguments.
It makes them weake as water, for the tide
Of Truth and Excellence rise on this Side.

149

Lord, let these barbed Arrows from thy bow
Fly through mine Eyes, and Eares to strike my heart.
And force my Will, and Reason to thee so
And stifle pleas made for the other part
That so my Soule, rid of their Sophistry
In rapid flames of Love to thee may fly.

My Metaphors are but dull Tacklings tag'd
With ragged Non-Sense. Can such draw to thee
My stund affections all with Cinders clag'd,
If thy bright beaming headship touch not mee?
If that thy headship shines not in mine eyes,
My heart will fuddled ly with wordly toyes.

Lord play thy Excellency on this pin
To tongue ty other pleas my gadding heart
Is tooke withall. Chime my affections in
To serve thy Sacred selfe with Sacred art.
Oh! let thy Head stretch ore my heart its wing
And then my Heart thy Headships praise shall sing.

37. Meditation. Col. 1.18. He is the Head, etc.

14.5m [July] 1700.

It grieves mee, Lord, to thinke thy famous Name
Should not be guilded ore with my bright Love.
Yet griev'd I am to thinke thy splendid fame
Should be bedotcht by such poore Stuff I moove,
That thy Bright Pearle, impald in gold, My Theme,
Should by my addle brains, finde a dull veane.

Thou art an Head, the richest, that e're wore
A Crown of Glory, where the Kirnell lies
Of deepest Wisdom, boxt in Brains, that sore

150

In highest Notions, of the richest Sise
Compar'd whereto man's Wisdom up doth rise
Like Childrens catching speckled Butterflies.

Thou art the Head of Causes to thy Church:
Its Cause of Reconciliation art,
Thou it Redeemdst, and hast gi'n hell the lurch.
Thou Sanctifiest it in Life, and Heart.
Thou dost it Form, Inform, Reform, and Try
Conform to thee, marre her Deformity.

A Glorious Heade of Choicest influence
More rich than Rubies, golden rivlets lie
Convaying Grace along these channells thence
To heart, hand, foot, head, tongue, to eare, and eye.
That man, as th'golden Tree, golde blossoms shoots.
And glorifieth God with golden fruites.

A Royall Head of Majesty to make
Heade of thy foes thy footstoole Stepping Stone.
Thou giv'st forth Holy Laws, and up dost take
The Ruling Scepter over every one.
The Golden Rule is ever in thy hand
By which thine walk unto the golden Strand.

Be thou my Head: and of thy Body make mee
Thy Influences in my Cue distill.
Guild thou my Chamber with thy Grace, and take mee
Under thy Rule, and rule mee by thy Will.
Be thou my head, and act my tongue whereby
Its tittle-tattle may thee glorify.

151

38. Meditation. Col. 1.18. He is the Head of the Body, the Church, who is the Beginning.

22.7m [Sept.] 1700.

If that my Power was answerable to
My minde, my Lord, my little mite would rise
With something in its hand of Worth to 'stow
And send to thee through the bright azure Skies.
For next unto Infinity, I finde
Its Love unto thyselfe of boundless kinde.

Its Love, Desire, Esteem of thee all scorn
Confining limits, whose Dimensions stand
Immeasurable, but my Power's down born,
Its impotency; Cannot heave a Sand
Over a Straw, that all the fruites my Will
Can e're produce can't [OMITTED] or one Sin kill.

This Wracks my heart, and low my person layes
And rowles mee in the dust at thoughts hereon.
That thou, who dost deserve all glorious praise
Should with an Empty Will, whose power is none
Be paid, indeed; But yet, (O pardon mee)
I want a power, not will to honour thee.

Thou Wisdom art, Wisdom's the heads Chiefe thing,
Thou the Beginning art of Gods Creation.
And therefore art of Excellence the Spring
And the Beginning of all Holy Station.
First born from th'Dead: Sun like thy Excellence
All Good things doth like Sunbeames forth dispense.

All Love, and Praise, all Service, Honour bright
From all the Sons of men is but thy due.

152

Thou their beginning art: they and their might
Should sing thy glory out and it forth show.
But, oh my Shame, I have no Power nor Skill
To do the Same, onely an Empty Will.

But, O my Lord, thou the Beginning art,
Begin to draw afresh thine Image out
In Shining Colours, on my Life, and Heart
Begin anew thy foes in mee to route.
Begin again to breize upon my Soule
Breize after brieze untill I touch the goale.

Thou the Beginning art of Order, and
Art Head of Principalities and Power
Archont of Kings, Archangell to the Band
Of Angells, and Archangells in their flower.
Thou art, Lord, Principall: whose Beings run
And all best things, like Sun beames from the Sun.

Be ever, Lord beginning till I end,
At carrying on thine Intrest in my Soule.
For thy beginning will my marrd minde mende
And make it pray Lord, take mee for thy tole.
If mee as Wheate thy Tole-Dish doth once greet
My tune's to thee Al-tashcheth Mictam Sweet.

39. Meditation. Col. 1.18. The First Born from the Dead.

10m [Dec.] 1700.

Poor wither'd Crickling, My lord, am I
Whose shrunke up Skin hidebounds my kirnell so
That Love its Vitall Sparke's so squeezd thereby
'T must breake the prisons Walls ere it can go

153

Unto thyselfe. Hence let thy warm beams just
Make it to grow that it may breake its husk.

Love like to hunger'll breake through stone strong Walls.
Nay brazen Walls cannot imprison it
Up from its object, when its object calls
In Beams attractive falling on it thick.
My Chilly Love sick of the Ague lies.
Lord touch it with thy Sun shine, make it rise.

Death shall not deaden it, while thy Sun shines.
The keyes of Hell, and Death are at thy Side.
Thy Conquoring Powre draws ore the grave thy lines,
Whose darksom Dungeon thy dead body tri'de.
Thou hast Death's Shady Region Conquoured
Rose, as the Sun, up First born from the Dead.

First Fruits of them that sleep to sanctify
The Harvest all, thou art. Thou art therefore
The First born from the Dead in Dignity
In kinde, Cause, Order, to dy, and rise no more,
As those raisd up before must, whose Erection
Rather Reduction was than Resurrection.

Thy Humane Nature in the Cock-Pit dread,
Like as the morning birds when day peeps, strout
Stands Crowing ore the Grave, laid Death there dead,
And ore its Carkass neckt, doth Crow about,
Throws down the Prison doors, comes out, and lay
Them ope that th'Prisoners may come away.

But Lord strike down the iron Gate also
Of Spirituall Death. Unprison thus my Soule.
Breath in the Realm of Life on it bestow,
And in thy Heavenly Records me enrowle.
And then my bird shall Crow thus roosted high
Death, where's thy Sting? Grave, where's thy Victory?

154

The Golden Twist of Unity Divine
Lord make the Ligaments to ty mee fast
Unto thyselfe, a Member with this twine
Binde me to thee, For this will ever last.
My Tunes shall rap thy prayses then good Store
In Death upon the Resurrection Doore.

40. Meditation. Col. 1.18. That in all things he might have the Preheminence.

1701.

Under thy Rod, my God, thy smarting Rod,
That hath off broke my James, that Primrose, Why?
Is't for my sin? Or Triall? Dost thou nod
At me, to teach mee? or mee sanctify?
I needed have this hand, that broke off hath
This Bud of Civill, and of Sacred Faith.

But doth my sickness want such remedies,
As Mummy draind out of that Body spun
Out of my bowells first? Must th'Cure arise
Out of the Coffin of a pious son?
Well: so be it. I'le kiss the Rod, and shun
To quarrell at the Stroake. Thy Will be done.

Yet let the Rose of Sharon spring up cleare,
Out of my James his ashes unto mee,
In radient sweet and shining Beames to cheer
My sorrowfull Soule, and light my way to thee.
Let thy Preheminence which, Lord, indeed
Ore all things is, me help in time of need.

155

Thy Humane nature so divinely ti'de
Unto thy Person all Divine's a Spring
So high advanc'd, that in it doth reside
Preheminence large over ev'ry thing.
Thy Humane flesh with its Perfections shine
So 'bove all others Beauties in their prime.

The like ne're seen in Heaven, nor Earth so broad.
Adorn'd with Graces all, grown ripe in glory.
Thy Person with all Excellency stowd
Perfections shine is lodgd in ev'ry story.
Here all Created, all Creating faire,
And Increated Eminences are.

Here all Preheminence of Offices
Priest, Prophet-King-Hood too, their glorys rise
Conferrd on thee, my Lord, and all their Keyes
That open us thy shining Mysteries
Which do enflame our hearts their heads to run
Under the shining Wings of this bright Sun.

Lord lead my sight to thy Preheminence.
Raise thou in mee right feare of thee thereby.
My Love to thee advance till it Commence
In all Degrees of Love, a Graduate high.
When thy Preheminence doth ply this pin,
My Musick shall thy Praises sweetly bring.

41. Meditation. Heb. 5.8. He learned by the things which he suffered.

6.5m [July] 1701.

That Wisdom bright whose vastness for extent
Commensurates Dimension infinite
A Palace built with Saphir-Battlement
Bepinkt with Sun, Moon, Starrs, all gold-fire bright,

156

Plac'de man his Pupill here, and ev'ry thing,
With loads of Learning, came to tutor him.

But he (alas) did at the threashould trip
Fell, Crackt the glass through which the Sun should shine
That darkness gross his noble Soule doth tip.
Each twig is bow'd with loads of follies Rhime.
That ev'ry thing in tutoring, is a toole
To whip the Scholler that did play the foole.

The Case thus stands: Hence matters up arose
More sweet than Roses, and out-shine the Sun:
That Living Wisdom put on dying Cloaths:
In mortal roabs to Sorrows Schoole house run.
The Vessell full can hold no more, doth goe
To Schoole to learn, whose learning cannot grow.

Christ, where all Wisdom's Treasures hidden are,
Is Schollar, Suffering's his Tutor-Master:
Obedience, is his Lesson, which (as fair
As Light in th' Sun) flows from him, yea and faster.
But how should he learn any learning more
In whom all Learning's ever lodg'd before?

Surely it must be said, the Humane Hall,
Though furnished with all Ripe Grace, yet was
Not all ore Window, that no beame at all
Of further light could have into it pass.
He grew in Wisdom, Wisdom grew in him
As in's, though's Godhead other wayes did't bring.

Though Grace in Christ forever perfect was
And he e're perfectly was free from Sin
His progress yet in Knowledg needs must pass
The Passes, humane modes, admit the thing.
Hence learnd Obedience in his Suff'ring-Schoole.
Experience taught him (though a Feeble toole).

157

O Condescention! Shall the Heavens do
Low Conjues to the Earth? or Sun array
Itselfe with Clouds, and to a Glow worm go
For Light to make all o're the World light day?
That thou should learn in Sorrows Schoole, in whom
All learning is, and whence all learnings come?

Wonder, my Soule, at this great Wonder bright
And in this frame, Lord, let my heart to thee
On Angells Wings fly, out of Earths Eyesight.
Obedience learn in Sorrows Schoole of thee
Till right Obedience me hath handed in
Among thy Palace Songs thy praise to sing.

42. Meditation. Heb. 10.5. A Body hast thou prepared mee. σωμα δε κατηρτισω μοι

31.6m [Aug.] 1701.

I fain would prize thee, Lord, but finde the price
Of Earthy things to rise so high in mee
That I no pretious matter in my choice
Can finde within my heart to offer thee.
The price of worldly toyes is grown so deare,
They pick my purse. Thy Gaine is little there.

But oh! if thou one Sparke of heavenly fire
Wilt but drop on my hearth; its holy flame
Will burn my trash up. And refin'de desire
Will rise to thee in th'Curlings of the same,
As Pillars of Perfumeing incense rise,
And Surges bright of Glory, 'bove the Skies.

158

Oh! that my Soul was Walled round about
With Orient Pearle fetcht out of holy Mine
And made a Castle, where thy Graces stoute
Keep garison against my foes and thine.
Then they each peeping thought sent Scout of Sin
Would quickly take, and gibbit up therein.

But oh! the Swarms of enemies to thee
(Bold Sawceboxes) make in these quarters spoile,
Make insurrection 'gainst the motions free
Of thy good Spirit: Lord, come, scoure the Ile
Of these and quarter here each flourishing grace.
The Whole will then be in a Wealthy Case.

Thou for this end, a Body hadst preparde,
Where Sin ne'er set a foot, nor shewd its head
But ev'ry grace was in it, and Well far'de.
Whose fruite, Lord, let into my heart be shed.
Then grace shall grace my Soule, my Soule shall thee
Begrace, and shall thy gracefull Palace bee.

Thy Body is a Building all like mine,
In Matter, Form, in Essence, Properties.
Yet Sin ne'er toucht it, Grace ne'er ceast in't'shine.
It, though not Godded, next to th'Godhead lies.
This honour have I, more than th'Angells bright.
Thy Person, and my Nature do Unite.

Oh! Thanks, my Lord, accept this dusty thing:
If I had better, thou should better have.
I blush, because I can no better bring:
The best I do possess, I for thee save.
Wash in thy blood, my gift till white it bee:
And made acceptable to God by thee.

In humble wise I thee implore to make
Me, what thou, and thy Father ever love.
Empt me of Sin: Fill mee with Grace: and take

159

Up while I'me here, my heart to thee above.
My Soule shall sing Thanksgiving unto thee,
If thou wilt tune it to thy praise in mee.

43. Meditation. Rom. 9.5. God blessed forever.

26.8m [Oct.] 1701.

When, Lord, I seeke to shew thy praises, then
Thy shining Majesty doth stund my minde,
Encramps my tongue and tongue ties fast my Pen,
That all my doings, do not what's designd.
My Speeche's Organs are so trancifide
My words stand startld, can't thy praises stride.

Nay Speeches Bloomery can't from the Ore
Of Reasons mine, melt words for to define
Thy Deity, nor t'deck the reechs that sore
From Loves rich Vales, sweeter than hony rhimes.
Words though the finest twine of reason, are
Too Course a web for Deity to ware.

Words Mentall are syllabicated thoughts:
Words Orall but thoughts Whiffld in the Winde.
Words Writ, are incky, Goose quill-slabbred draughts,
Although the fairest blossoms of the minde.
Then can such glasses cleare enough descry
My Love to thee, or thy rich Deity?

Words are befould, Thoughts filthy fumes that smoake,
From Smutty Huts, like Will-a-Wisps that rise
From Quaugmires, run ore bogs where frogs do Croake,
Lead all astray led by them by the eyes.
My muddy Words so dark thy Deity,
And cloude thy Sun-Shine, and its Shining Sky.

160

Yet spare mee, Lord, to use this hurden ware.
I have no finer Stuff to use, and I
Will use it now my Creed but to declare
And not thy Glorious Selfe to beautify.
Thou art all-God: all Godhead then is thine
Although the manhood there unto doth joyne.

Thou art all Godhead bright, although there bee
Something beside the Godhead in thee bright.
Thou art all Infinite although in thee
There is a nature pure, not infinite.
Thou art Almighty, though thy Humane tent
Of Humane frailty upon earth did sent.

He needs must be the Deity most High,
To whom all properties essensiall to
The Godhead do belong Essentially
And not to others: nor from Godhead go
And thou art thus, my Lord, to Godhead joynd.
We finde thee thus in Holy Writ definde.

Thou art Eternall; Infinite thou art;
Omnipotent, Omniscient, Erywhere,
All Holy, Just, Good, Gracious, True, in heart,
Immortal, though with mortall nature here.
Religious worship hence belongs to thee
From men and angells: all, of each degree.

Be thou my God, and make mee thine Elect
To kiss thy feet, and worship give to thee:
Accept of mee, and make mee thee accept.
So I'st be safe, and thou shalt served bee.
I'le bring thee praise, buskt up in Songs perfum'de,
When thou with grace my Soule hast sweetly tun'de.

161

44. Meditation Joh. 1.14. The word was made Flesh.

28.10m [Dec.] 1701.

The Orator from Rhetorick gardens picks
His Spangled Flowers of sweet-breathd Eloquence
Wherewith his Oratory brisk he tricks
Whose Spicy Charms Eare jewells do commence.
Shall bits of Brains be candid thus for eares?
My Theme claims Sugar Candid far more cleare.

Things styld Transcendent, do transcende the Stile
Of Reason, reason's stares neere reach so high.
But Jacob's golden Ladder rounds do foile
All reasons Strides, wrought of theanthropie.
Two Natures distance-standing, infinite,
Are Onifide, in person, and Unite.

In Essence two, in Properties each are
Unlike, as unlike can be. One All-Might
A Mite the other; One Immortall fair.
One mortall, this all Glory, that all night.
One Infinite, One finite. So for ever:
Yet oned are in Person, part'd never.

The Godhead personated in Gods Son
Assum'd the Manhood to its Person known,
When that the Manhoods essence first begun
That it did never Humane person own.
Each natures Essence e're abides the same.
In person joynd, one person each do claim.

Oh! Dignifide Humanity indeed:
Divinely person'd: almost Deifide.
Nameing one Godhead person, in our Creed,

162

The Word-made-Flesh. Here's Grace's 'maizing stride.
The vilst design, that villany e're hatcht
Hath tap't such Grace in God, that can't be matcht.

Our Nature spoild: under all Curses groans
Is purg'd, tooke, grac'd with grace, united to
A Godhead person, Godhead-person owns
Its onely person. Angells, Lord its so.
This Union ever lasts, if not relate
Which Cov'nant claims Christs Manhood, separate.

You Holy Angells, Morning-Stars, bright Sparks,
Give place: and lower your top gallants. Shew
Your top-saile Conjues to our slender barkes:
The highest honour to our nature's due.
Its neerer Godhead by the Godhead made
Than yours in you that never from God stray'd.

Here is good anchor hold: and argument
To anchor here, Lord, make my Anchor stronge
And Cable, both of holy geer, out sent
And in this anch'ring dropt and let at length.
My bark shall safely ride then though there fall
On't th'strongest tempests hell can raise of all.

Unite my Soule, Lord, to thyselfe, and stamp
Thy holy print on my unholy heart.
I'st nimble be when thou destroyst my cramp
And take thy paths when thou dost take my part.
If thou wilt blow this Oaten Straw of mine,
The sweetest piped praises shall be thine.

163

45. Meditation. Col. 2.3. In whom are hid all the Treasures of Wisdom.

15.12m [Feb.] 1701.

My head, my Lord, that ivory Cabinet
'S a nest of Brains dust, dry, ne're yet could Ware
The Velvet locks of Vertue for its deck
Or golden Fleece of Wisdoms virdent hair.
The Scull without, not fring'd with Wisdom fleece.
The pan within a goose pen full of geese.

There Reason's wick yarn-like ore twisted Snarles
Chandled with Sensuall tallow out doth blaze
A smoaky flame upon its hurden harles
That Wil-a-Wisps it into boggy wayes.
Melt off this fat, my Reason make thy Candle
And light it with thy Wisdom's flames that spangle.

Thy Person's Wisdoms Sparkling Treasury:
Consisting of two natures: One of which
Runs parallell with blest infinity
All treasures here of Wisdom ever pitch.
Wise Counsills all, of everlasting date,
And Wisdom them t'effect, here sits in state.

Th'other's a Locker of a Humane frame
With richer than Corinthian Amber tills
And Shelves of Emralds. Here to deck the same
All Wisdom that's Created comes, and fills.
Created Wisdom all and all its Wealths
Of Grace are treasur'de in these Tills and Shelfes.

Like to a Sparkling Carbuncle up Caskt
Within a Globe of Chrystall glass most cleare
Fills 't all with Shine which through its sides are flasht

164

And makes all glorious Shine: so much more here
These treasures of thy Wisdom shine out bright
In thee. My Candle With thy Flame, Lord, Light.

Or as the Sun within its Azure bowre
That guilds its Chrystall Walls with golden rayes
It from its bowl like body, light out poures
Exiling darkness, making glorious dayes
All Wisdom so, and Wisdoms Treasures all
Are shining out in thee, their Arcinall.

Unlock thy Locker, make my faith Key here
To back the Wards. Lord ope the Wicket gate
And from thine Emrald Shelves, and Pinchase there
A beame of every sort of Wisdom take
And set it in the Socket of my Soule
To make all day within, and night controle.

And from these tills, and drawers take a grain
Of evry sort of Sanctifying grace
Wherewith impregnate thou the former beame.
Set in my Soule a lamp to light that place
That so these beames let in, may generate
Grace in my Soule, and so an Holy State.

If wisdom in the Socket of my heart
And Grace within its Cradle rockt do shine
My head shall ware a frindg of Wisdoms art.
Thy grace shall guild this pilgrim life of mine.
Thy Wisdom's Treasure thus Conferrd on mee
Will have my glory all Conferrd on thee.

165

46. Meditation. Col. 2.9. The Fulness of the Godhead dwelleth in him bodily.

10.3m [May] 1702.

I drown, my Lord. What though the Streame I'm in
Rosewater bee, Or Ocean to its brinkes
Of Aqua Vitae where the Ship doth swim?
The Surges drown the Soul, oreflowd, that sinks.
A Sea of Liquid gold with rocks of pearle
May drownd as well as Neptune's Fishy Well.

Thy Fulness, Lord, my Filberd cannot hold.
How should an acorn bowle the Sea lade dry?
A Red rose leafe the Suns bright bulk up fold?
Or halfe an Ants egge Canopy the Sky?
The world play in a Sneale horn Hide, and Seek
May, ere my thimble can thy fulness meete.

All fulness is in thee my Lord, and Christ.
The fulness of all Excellence is thine.
All's palac'de in thy person, and bespic'de.
All Kinds, and Quantities of't in thee shine.
The Fulness of the Godhead in respect
Unto the Manhood's in thy person kept.

Hence all the Properties, that Godhead hath,
And all their Godhead Operations brave,
Which are the Fulness Godhead forth display'th,
Thy person for their Temple ever have.
All always as transcendent Stones bright, set,
Encabin'd are in thee their Cabbinet.

Oh! what a Lord and Lordship's here my Lord?
How doth thy Fulness, fill thy Hall with Shine?

166

Some Rayes thereof my Cottage now afford
And let these golden rayes its inside line.
Thy Fulness all, or none at all, Will goe
Together, and in part will never flow.

All, Lord, or None at all! this makes mee dread.
All is so Good, and None at all so bad.
All puts faith to't: but none at all strikes dead.
I'le hope for all, lest none at all makes sad.
Hold up this hope. Lord, then this hope shall sing
Thy praises sweetly, spite of feares Sad Sting.

47. Meditation. Joh. 5.26. The Son hath life in himselfe.

12.5m [July] 1702.

Noe mervaile if my mite amaized bee
Musing upon Almighties Mighty ALL
In all its Fulness socketed in thee
As furniture, my Lord, to grace thy Hall.
Thy Work requires that so the Case should goe.
But oh! what Grace doth hence to Sinners flow?

I strike mine oare not in the golden Sea
Of Godhead Fulness, thine essentially.
But in the Silver Ocean make my way
Of All Created Fulness, thine Most high.
Thy Humane Glass, God wondrously did build:
And Grace oreflowing, with All fulness Filld.

Thou dost all Fulness of all Life possess.
Thy Life all varnisht is with virdent flowers
'Bove Sense and Reason in their brightest dress.
Lifes best top gallant ever in thee towers.
The Life of Grace that Life of Life within
Thy knot in heavenly Sparks is flourishing.

167

Besides thy proper Lifes tall fulness-Wealth,
There's Life in thee, like golden Spirits, stills,
To ery member of thy Mystick Selfe,
Through secret Chases into th'vitall tills
Or like the Light embodi'd in the Sun
That to each living thing with life doth run.

A Well of Living Water: Tree of Life
From whom Life comes to every thing alive:
Some Eate and Drink Eternall Life most rife.
Some life have for a while by a reprive.
Who in this well do let their bucket down
Shall never in the lake of Lethe drown.

Lord, bath mee in this Well of Life. This Dew
Of Vitall Fruite will make mee ever live.
My branch make green: my Rose ware vivid hew
An Holy and a fragrant sent out give.
My kirnell ripe shall rattle out thy praise
And Orient blush shall on my actions blaze.

48. Meditation. Rev. 1.8. The Almighty.

13.7m [Sept.] 1702.

O! What a thing is Might right mannag'd? 'Twill
That Proverb brain, whose face doth ware this paint.
(Might ore goe's Right) for might doth Right fulfill
Will Right revive when wrong makes Right to faint.
Might hatches Right: Right hatches Might, they are
Each Dam, and Chick, to each: a Lovely paire.

Then Might well mannag'd riseth mighty: yet
Doth never rise up to Almightiness.
Almightiness nere's in a mortall bit.

168

But, Lord, thou dost Almightiness possess.
Might in it's fulness: all mights Fulness bee
Of ery Sort and Sise stow'd up in thee.

But what am I, poor Mite, all mightless thing!
That cannot rive a rush, that I should e're
Adventure t'dress Almighty up, or bring
Almightiness deckt in its mighty geere?
Then spare my Stutting Stamring, inky Quill,
If it its bowells on thy Power distill.

My Mite (if I such Solicisms might
But use) would spend its mitie Strength for thee
Of Mightless might, of feeble stronge delight.
Its little ALL thy Sacrifice showld bee.
For thee't would mock at all the Might and Power
That Earth, and Hell possess: and on thee shower.

A Fig for Foes, for Divells, Hell, and all
The powres of darkness, thou now on my Side
Their Might's a little mite, Powers powerless fall.
My Mite Almighty will not let down slide.
I will not trust unto this Might of mine:
Nor in my Mite distrust, while I am thine.

Thy Love Almighty is, to Love mee deare,
Thy Grace Almighty mee to save: thy Truth
Almighty to depend on. Justice cleare
Almighty t'justify, and judge. Grace shewth.
Thy Wisdom too's Almighty all to eye,
And Holiness is such to sanctify.

If thy Almightiness, and all my Mite
United be in sacred Marriage knot,
My Mite is thine: Mine thine Almighty Might.
Then thine Almightiness my Mite hath got.

169

My Quill makes thine Almightiness a String
Of Pearls to grace the tune my Mite doth sing.

49. [Meditation.] Joh. 1.14. Full of Grace.

8.9m [Nov.] 1702.

Gold in its Ore, must melted be, to bring
It midwift from its mother womb: requires
To make it shine and a rich market thing,
A fining Pot, and Test, and melting fire.
So do I, Lord, before thy grace do shine
In mee, require, thy fire may mee refine.

My Flame hath left its Coale, my fire's gone t'bed:
Like Embers in their ashie lodgen gray.
Lord let the Influences of thy head
Most graciously remoove this rug away.
If with the Bellows of thy grace thou blow
My ashes off, thy Coale will shine, and glow.

Thy Clay, and Mine, out of one pit are dug:
Although with Spades of vastest differing kinde.
Thine all bright Godhead; mine of mortall Wood.
Thine shod with Glory; Mine with Sin all rin'de.
Thy Soule, and Mine made of one minerall
And each made regent o're their Clayie Hall.

But oh! alas! mine's Wall is worm-hold, and
My House and Household sogd with noisom Sin
And no reliefe can have in Creature's hand
While thine all Sparkling Shines without, and in,
Fild with all Grace, and Graces Fullness all
Adorning of thy Household and thy Hall.

170

But woe is mee. Unclean I am: my Slips!
Lord, let a Seraphim a live Coale take
Off of thine Altar, with it touch my lips.
And purge away my Sins for mercys sake.
I thus do pray finding thy Cask within
With Grace, and graces fulness fild to th'brim.

I empty, thou top full, of Grace! Lord, take
A Gracious Cluster of thy glorious grace
And busk it in my bosom, Sweet to make
It, and my life: and gracious, in thy face.
If thou with gracious Sweetness sweeten mee
My Life with Grace sweetly perfum'd shall bee.

Can I a graceless member be of thee,
While that thy hand's a Spring of Grace? and Heart
All gracious is to give? Then influence mee
With thy free Grace. Thou art my lovely marke.
When thy rich Grace doth tune my Song, sung high
Thy Glory then shall rise its melody.

50. Meditation. Joh. 1.14. Full of Truth.

27.10m [Dec.] 1702.

The Artists Hand more gloriously bright,
Than is the Sun itselfe, in'ts shining glory
Wrought with a stone axe made of Pearle, as light
As light itselfe, out of a Rock all flory
Of Precious Pearle, a Box most lively made
More rich than gold Brimfull of Truth enlaid.

Which Box should forth a race of boxes send
Teemd from its Womb such as itselfe, to run
Down from the Worlds beginning to its end.
But, o! this box of Pearle Fell, Broke, undone.

171

Truth from it flew: It lost Smaragdine Glory:
Was filld with Falshood: Boxes teemd of Sory.

The Artist puts his glorious hand again
Out to the Worke: His Skill out flames more bright
Now than before. The worke he goes to gain,
He did portray in flaming Rayes of light.
A Box of Pearle shall from this Sory, pass
More rich than that Smaragdine Truth-Box was.

Which Box, four thousand yeares, o'r ere 'twas made,
In golden Scutchons lay'd in inke Divine
Of Promises, of a Prophetick Shade,
And in embellishments of Types that shine.
Whose Beames in this Choice pearle-made-Box all meet
And bedded in't their glorious Truth to keep.

But now, my Lord, thy Humane Nature, I
Doe by the Rayes this Scutcheon sends out, finde
Is this Smaragdine Box where Truth doth ly
Of Types, and Promises, that thee out lin'de.
Their Truth they finde in thee: this makes them shine.
Their Shine on thee makes thee appeare Divine.

Thou givst thy Truth to them, thus true they bee.
They bring their Witness out for thee. Hereby
Their Truth appeares emboxt indeed in thee:
And thou the true Messiah shin'st thereby.
Hence Thou, and They make One another true
And They, and Thou each others Glory shew.

Hence thou art full of Truth, and full dost stand,
Of Promises, of Prophesies, and Types.
But that's not all: All truth is in thy hand,
Thy lips drop onely Truth, give Falshood gripes.
Leade through the World to glory, that ne'er ends
By Truth's bright Hand all such as Grace befriends.

172

O! Box of Truth! tenent my Credence in
The mortase of thy Truth: and Thou in Mee.
These Mortases, and Tenents make so trim,
That They and Thou, and I ne'er severd bee.
Embox my Faith, Lord, in thy Truth a part
And I'st by Faith embox thee in my heart.

51. Meditation. Eph. 1.23. Which is his body, the fulness of him that filleth all in all.

14.12m [Feb.] 1702.

My Heart, my Lord, 's a naughty thing all o're:
Yet if renew'd, the best in mee, 't would fain
Find Words to waft thy praises in, ashore,
Suited unto the Excellence in thee.
But easier 't is to hide the Sun up under
Th'black of my naile, than words to weald this Wonder.

Had I Corinthian Brass: nay Amber here
Nay Ophir Gold transparently refinde.
Nay, th'heavenly Orbs all Quintessenced clear,
To do the deed, 't would quite deceive my minde:
Words all run wast, so these a nit may Weigh:
The World in scale, ere I thy wealth display.

Then what doe I, but as the Lady Bee
Doth tune her Musick in her mudd wall Cell:
My Humming so, no musick makes to thee:
Nor can my bagpipes play thy glory well.

173

Amaizd I stand to see thee all Compleate:
Compleated by a body, thou makst neate.

Thy Church, (what though its matter of it here
Be brightest Saints, and Angells, all Compact
With Spirituall Glow, with grace out shining cleare
And brimfull full of what the World ere lackt)
Whom thou hast filld with all her fulness, shee
Thy fulness is, and so she filleth thee.

Oh! wondrous strange. Angells and Men here are
Incorporated in one body tite.
Two kinds are gain'd into one mortase, fair.
Me tenent in thyselfe my Lord, my Light.
These are thy body: thou their head, we see
Thou fillst them first, then they do fill up thee.

This gracious fulness thus runs to and fro
From thee to them: from them to thee again:
Not as the tides that Ebbe, as well as flow.
The Banks are ever Full, and so remain.
What mystery's here. Thou canst not wanty bee.
Yet wantest them, as sure as they want thee.

Necessity doth in the middle stand
Layes hands on both: constrains the body to
The head and head unto the body's band.
The Head, and Body both together goe.
The Head Compleats the body as its such:
The Body doth Compleate the Head, as much.

Am I a bit, Lord, of thy Body? Oh!
Then I do claim thy Head to be mine own.
Thy Heads sweet Influence let to mee flow,
That I may be thy fulness, full up grown.
Then in thy Churches fullness thou shalt be
Compleated in a Sense, and sung by mee.

174

52. Meditation. Mat. 28.18. All Power in Heaven, and Earth is given mee.

11.2m [Apr.] 1703.

What Power is this? What all Authoritie
In Earth and Heaven too? What Lord is here?
And given All to thee! Here's Majisty.
All Worldly Power hence slinks away for feare.
Then blush, my Soule that thou dost frozen ly:
Under the beams of such bright Majesty.

What flying Flakes of Rapid flames of Love
Scal'de from my heart by those bright beams that bed
Do in thy selfe, up mount to thee above
Oretoping golden mountains with their head.
But Why, my heart? O! why so drossy now;
When such Authority doth to thee bow?

One Sprig of this Authority doth beare
The Tree of Life, that spreads ore heaven quite
And Sinners sprinkles with its Sap t'make faire.
And with its juyce doth quench Gods wrath out right.
With God it maketh Reconciliation
By offering, and Holy Intercession.

Within whose Shade my sin scorcht Soule doth bathe
In Gods bright Sun shine, smiling heart-sweet beams.
Whose Rosie sents reviv'de my Spirits have.
Whose Spirits wash away my guilt and Stains.
Amongst whose leaves my heart doth shroude its head
And in whose buds my grounded hopes do bed.

O that I could once frown away my sloath:
And dart my dulness through with glouts that stroy!
That mine Affections, (O! their sluggish growth)

175

Might with Seraphick Wings, Lord, swiftly fly,
Unto thine Altar for an Holy Cure
Produced by a Coale thence took most pure.

When this is gain'd, a Golden Trumpet I,
All full of Grace shall be, wherein, in rayse
Of thy bright Priesthoods sweet Authority
My spirit trumpet shall, tun'd to thy praise
Till when let this unskilfull ditty still
Tunes in thine Eares, pipd through my sorry quill.

53. Meditation. Mat. 28.18. All Power is given me in Heaven, and in earth.

13th.4m [June] 1703.

Were not my fancy stagnate, and the Lake
Of mine affections frozen ore with ice
And Spirits Crampt, or else Catochizate
The sweet breath'd smells the briezes of the Spice
My Theme doth vent, would raise such waves upon
The Sea of Eloquence, they'd skip thereon.

Shall I be lumpish when such lightsom showers
Of livning influences still on mee?
Shall I be lowring, when such lovely flowers
Spring smiling up, and Court mee too for thee?
When such heart liv'ning glances breake and fly
Out through the Sides of thy Authority?

Oh! that this, Thine Authority was made
A Golden Anvill: and my Contemplation
A Smiting Hammer: and my heart was laid
Thereon, and hammerd up for emendation.

176

And anvilld stoutly to a better frame
To entertain thy rayes that round the same.

Thou hast the golden key, that doth unlock,
The heart of God: Wisdoms bright Counsills Tower
All Power Prophetick This the boundless Stock
Of Gods Designs displayes in Gospell Shower.
These gleames may liven our dead Spirits then,
File bright our rusty brains, and sharpen them.

Thou nothing but the Will of God declarst.
And nothing less: For thine Authority
Should be abusd; if not improov'd, or spar'd.
If't more or less than Gods good Will descry.
This cannot be abusd: We therefore must
The Lesson learn then setst, and therein trust.

But here is still another gleame out breakes,
All Royall Power in heaven, and earth do lodge
In thee, my Lord, this thou wilt not out leake
Nor smoother up: it will not hast nor dodge.
A right to mannage all things: therefore thou
Wilt thine secure, and make thy foes down bow.

Thou Law deliverst: Thine Authority
Cannot be idle; nor exceed the right.
Hence such as will not with thy rule Comply,
Thou with thy iron Scepter down wilt smite.
This Power will raise the dead, and judge all too.
His own will Crown with Life. To hell foes throw.

Lord let thy Doctrine melt my Soule anew:
And let thy Scepter drill my heart in mee:
And let thy Spirits Cotters pierce it through
Like golden rivits, Clencht, mee hold to thee.
Then thou and I shall ne'er be separate.
Thy Praise shall be my Glory sung in state.

177

54. Meditation. Matt. 28.18. All Power is given mee In Heaven, and in earth.

22th.6m [Aug.] 1703.

Untun'de, my Lord. My Cankard brassy wire
'S unfit to harp thee Musick. Angells pipes
Are squeaking things: soon out of breath. Desires
Exceed them; yet screwd highst up are but mites
To meddle with the Musicking thy glory.
What then's my jews trump meet to tune thy Story?

File off the rust: forgive my Sin, and make
My Heart thy Harp: and mine Affections brac'de
With gracious Grace thy Golden Strings to shake
With Quavers of thy glory well begrac'de.
Though small's my mite, its dusty Wings e're will
Sprindg out thy fame tun'de by thy Spirits Skill.

Three Shining Suns rise in the Chrystall Skies
Of Mankinde Orbs, and Orbs Angelicall.
Whose Rayes out Shine all pimping Stars that rise
Within these Spheres and Circuite through them all.
These do evigorate all Action done
By men and angells right, wherein they run.

The Shine of these three Suns is all the Same,
Yet sparkling differently according to
The Matter form'd therewith, and beares the Name
Authority, and by the Same doth goe,
Into a trine of Offices. Hence springs
Good warrant, for just Prophets, Priests and Kings.

These three are brightest Suns, held in the Skies
Or shining Orb of Man, or Angell kinde.

178

And all attain unto a Sovereign Sise
Of Shine, that hitherto ascend, we finde.
The brightest brightness, and the mighti'st Might
Is lodg'd in each one of these Balls of Light.

He that hath any one of these, doth weare
A Supreme Shine. But all these three Suns came
To no man; but alone unto thy Share,
My Lord, they fall. Thou hast the Sovereign name.
And all the glorious Sunshine of these three
Bright Suns, shines bright and powerfull out in thee.

Here's three fold glory, Prophet's, Priest's and King's
Trible Authority bestud thy Crown.
As Mediatour all that Pow're within
The Heaven, and Earth is thine. O bright Renown.
To view those glories in thy Crown that vapor,
Would make bright Angells eyes to run a-water.

O! plant mee in thy Priestly Sunshine, I
Shall then be reconcild to God. In mee
A beame of thy Propheticke Sun imploy.
'Twill fill my Spirits Eye with light to see.
Make in my heart thy Kingly Sunshine flame.
'Twill burn my Sin up, sanctify my frame.

My Gracious-Glorious Lord, shall I be thine?
Wilt thou be mine? Then happy, happy mee!
I shall then cloath'd be with the Sun, and shine,
Crown'd with tweelve Starrs, Moon under foot too see.
Lord, so be it. My rusty Wires then shall
Bee fined gold, to tune thee praise with all.

179

56. Meditation. Joh. 15.24. Had I not done amongst them the works, that none other man hath done, etc.

10.8m [Oct.] 1703.

Should I with silver tooles delve through the Hill
Of Cordilera for rich thoughts, that I
My Lord, might weave with an angelick skill
A Damask Web of Velvet Verse thereby
To deck thy Works up, all my Web would run
To rags, and jags: so snicksnarld to the thrum.

Thine are so rich: Within, Without. Refin'd.
No workes like thine. No Fruits so sweete that grow
On th'trees of righteousness, of Angell kinde
And Saints, whose limbs reev'd with them bow down low.
Should I search ore the Nutmeg Gardens shine
Its fruits in flourish are but skegs to thine.

The Clove, when in its White-green'd blossoms shoots,
Some Call the pleasentst sent the World doth show.
None Eye e're saw, nor nose e're smelt such Fruits
My Lord, as thine, Thou Tree of Life in'ts blow.
Thou Rose of Sharon, Vallies Lilly true
Thy Fruits most sweet and Glorious ever grew.

Thou art a Tree of Perfect nature trim
Whose golden lining is of perfect Grace
Perfum'de with Deity unto the brim,
Whose fruits, of the perfection, grow, of Grace.
Thy Buds, thy Blossoms, and thy fruits adorne
Thyselfe, and Works, more shining than the morn.

Art, natures Ape, hath many brave things done
As th'Pyramids, the Lake of Meris vast

180

The Pensile Orchards built in Babylon,
Psammitich's Labyrinth. (arts Cramping task)
Archimedes his Engins made for war.
Romes Golden House. Titus his Theater.

The Clock at Strasburgh, Dresdens Table-Sight
Regiamonts Fly of Steele about that flew.
Turrian's Wooden Sparrows in a flight.
And th'Artificiall man Aquinas slew.
Mark Scaliota's Lock, and Key and Chain
Drawn by a Flea, in our Queen Betties reign.

Might but my pen in natures Inventory
Its progress make, 't might make such things to jump

181

All which are but Inventions Vents or glory
Wits Wantonings, and Fancies frollicks plump.
Within whose maws lies buried Times, and Treasures
Embalmed up in thick dawbd sinfull pleasures.

Nature doth better work than Art: yet thine
Out vie both works of nature and of Art.
Natures Perfection and the perfect shine
Of Grace attend thy deed in ev'ry part.
A Thought, a Word, and Worke of thine, will kill
Sin, Satan, and the Curse: and Law fulfill.

Thou art the Tree of Life in Paradise,
Whose lively branches are with Clusters hung
Of Lovely fruits, and Flowers more sweet than spice
Bende down to us: and doe out shine the sun,
Delightfull unto God, doe man rejoyce
The pleasentst fruits in all Gods Paradise.

Lord feed mine eyes then with thy Doings rare,
And fat my heart with these ripe fruites thou bearst.
Adorn my Life well with thy works, make faire
My Person with apparrell thou prepar'st.
My Boughs shall loaded bee with fruits that spring
Up from thy Works, while to thy praise I sing.

58. Meditation. Math. 2.15. Out of Egypt have I called my Son.

5.10m [Dec.] 1703.

When in Italian flourisht hand I would
Lord, flourish up thy praise, my Quills too dry,
My Inke too thick and naught (though liquid Gold)
That will not write, this will not run, nay I

182

My Standish finde is empty, Paper loose
That drains all blotches from my inkie Sluce.

What shall I then, Lord, doe? Desist thy praise?
Thou Canst amend it. Steep my Stubborn Quill
In Zions Wine fat, mend my pen, and raise
Thy right arms Vean, a drop of'ts blood distill
Into mine inkhorn, make my paper tite
That it mayn't blot. In Sacred Text I write.

Christen mine Eyeballs with thine Eye Salve then,
Mine Eyes will spy how Isra'ls journying
Into, and out of Egypt's bondage Den
A Glass thy vissage was imbellisht in.
Hunger Constrains. Jacob to Egypt highs.
Herod Constrains and Christ to Egypt flies.

God Jacob calls. Jacobs Son Joseph there
Him brings and nourisht there, and God doth call
Jacobs Son Joseph, Jesus brings there, where
He nourisht him. This spills the Dragons gall
And broke that aching tooth that at him snapt
In Herods jaw bone and his Chops it flapt.

God Israel calls from Egypt: up he 'pears.
God calls his Son from Egypt: up he highs.
The Wilderness tries Isr'el 40 years.
Christ 40 days in Wilderness tride lies.
The Cockatrice's egg in Jewry hatcht
He shuns, and Nazareth doth him inlatch.

But Isra'ls coming out of Egypt thus,
Is such a Coppy that doth well Descry
Not onely Christ in person unto us.
But Spirituall Christ, and Egypt Spiritually.
Egyptian Bondage whence gates Israel shows
The Spirituall bondage whence Christs children goe.

183

The Bondage State to Sin and Satan stand,
In Peckled Black, red hellish Colours laid,
By wicked Pharao and his hellish hand
On Egypts Bondage in the brickiln trade.
God Israel Calls . . . Pharao and Egypt grin.
God calls the Soule. Satan now greatens Sin.

God miracles doth work. Wonders out fly,
Like flocks of birds with golden wings, and Claws.
For Israels Sake, Pharao and Egypt fry
In fiery Wrath. Israel attends Gods Cause.
So here, when once the Soule doth Gods call heare
Satan red mad doth rage. Wonders appeare.

Isra'l Complies: runs into fire by this,
Which Pharao's Wrath, and Egypts rage procure.
Now Farewell Goshen; Farewell Rameses.
Your Pleasures and Commotions we abjure.
So here the Soule attends Gods Call. Farewell
Worlds Smiling Sunshine. Tole your passing bell.

Out Israel comes to Succoth, and from thence
To Etham. God his banner ore them bright
Erects His Cloude and firy pillard fence
A Fence from foes. Lanthorn makes day of night.
Pharao, and's Peers, horse, hosts and Charet wheels
Rise and with flaming Swords persue at heels.

So here, the Soul Call'd to Effect out goes
To Succoth, to Gods tabernacles wings,
The firy flag, God, banner ore him throws
To keep, and Conduct him ins journeyings.
Though Hell is all in arms, persues him hard,
The Cloud and Fiery Pillar doe him guard.

Isra'l thus bannerd Hiroths mouth attempt
Whose teeth are Migdol, Baalzephon high.
And throate the red Sea, Pharao's host them pent

184

Behinde up, they then terrifide out Cry.
Moses his rod divides the red Sea so
They safely pass't but Pharao't ore doth flow.

So here the Soule on goes into the jaws
Of Worldly rage with mountains him do round.
Hells armies Chase to tare him with their paws.
The red Sea of Gods wrath seems quite to drownd.
He Cries, Christs Cross divides the Sea whereby
He passeth safe, and it his foes doth stroy.

Isra'l sings praise, but yet finds weeping Cheere.
Wilderness State is his and waters are
At Mara bitter. Yet God sheweth here
A tree whose wood did sweetly them repare.
So here the Soul sings praise in Christ, yet shall
The wilderness work griefe, but Christ makes all.

Isra'l to Elim comes. Sweet joyes here findes
Twelve Springs of Water Every tribe a Well,
And Seventy Palm trees fruitfull to their minde
A type that might things past, and future tell.
Twelve Patriarchs the wells they sprung from so,
And Seventy Elders that from them did flow.

So here the Soule in Christ at twelve wells, drinks
Of Living waters, twelve Apostles shewd
Dates bore by seventy Palms set at their brinks
The Seventy disciples, are this food.
The Holy Scriptures, and Christs Doctrine are
Waters these Wells, and Dates these Palm trees bare.

Hence Israel goes the red Sea back to see,
To minde him of the mercy shewn him there,

185

And thence into the Wilderness goes hee
Of Sin, where tried, and so to Sinai where
By open Covenant God Israel takes
His onely Church: and select peoples makes.

Gives him his Laws and ordinances just.
Erects his Worship, open fellowship
Holds with him in the same wherein he must
In the desert through various Changes trip
Some very sweet, some of a bitter hande,
Untill they Come to keep in Canaans land.

So here indeed, the Soul in Christ doth back
From Elim pass unto the Red Sea deare
Of Christ's rich blood the mercy of that track
To take more in as he about to viere
Thence through the Wilderness of Sin, to rise
In Covenant on Zion mount like wise.

And here enricht with Holy Oracles
And fellowship in holy worship so
Through interchanging Course, like miracles,
The Diaperd Encheckerd works must goe
Of Providences, Honycombs and Stings
Till here within Celestiall Canaan sings.

What Wisdom's here? My Lord, what Grace? What bright
Encheckerd Works, more rich than Rubies fair?
Doe thou my Soule with this Rich trade delight
And bring mee thus into thy promisd aire
Wherein my Virginalls shall play for joy
Thy Praise with Zions virgins Company.

186

59. Meditation. 1 Cor. 10.2. Baptized in the Cloud.

6.12m [Feb.] 1703.

Wilt thou enoculate within mine Eye
Thy Image bright, My Lord, that bright doth shine
Forth in the Cloudy-Firy Pillar high
Thy Tabernacles Looking-Glass Divine?
What glorious Rooms are then mine Eyeholes made.
Thine Image on my windows Glass portrai'd?

Oh! Pillar strange, made of a Cloude, and Fire.
Whose Stoole is Israels Camp, it sits upon.
Whose Skirts doe Canopy that Camp: Whose Spire
Doth kiss the Heavens, leading Israel on.
Sure't is Christ's Charret drawn by Angells high.
The Humane jacket, typ'te, of's Deity.

A Sun by night, to Dayify the dark.
A Shade by Day, Sunbeames to mollify.
The Churches Pilot out her way to mark:
Her Quarter Master quarters to descry.
Its Christ's Watch tower over his Churches Host,
With Angells kept. Tent of the Holy Ghost.

Christs Looking Glass that on his Camp gives Shine.
Whose backside's pitchy darkness to his foes.
A Wall of Fire about his Israel twines
To burn up all that offer to oppose:
The Mediatory Province in a Map.
The Feather in the Tabernacle's Cap.

Christ in this Pillar, Godhead-Man'd doth rise
The Churches King, to guid, support, Defend.
Her Priest to Cleanse her: in the Cloud to baptize.

187

And Reconcile with Incense that ascends.
Her Prophet too that Lights her in her way
By Night With Lanthorn Fire. With Cloud by day.

Then lead me, Lord, through all this Wilderness
By this Choice shining Pillar Cloud and Fire.
By Day, and Night I shall not then digress.
If thou wilt lead, I shall not lag nor tire
But as to Cana'n I am journeying
I shall thy praise under this Shadow sing.

60[A]. Meditation. Joh. 6.51. I am the Living Bread, that came down from Heaven.

16.2m [Apr.] 1704.

Count me not liquorish if my Soule do pine
And long for Angells bread of Heavens wheate
Ground in thy Quorns, Searcde in the Laws Lawn fine
And bakt in Heavens backhouse for our meate.
Ist die of Famine, Lord, My Stomach's weak.
And if I live, Manna must be my meate.

I'm sick; my sickness is mortality
And Sin both Complicate (the worst of all).
No cure is found under the Chrystall Sky
Save Manna, that from heaven down doth fall.
My Queasy Stomach this alone doth Crave.
Nought but a bit of manna can mee save.

This Bread came down from heaven in a Dew
In which it bedded was, untill the Sun
Remoov'd its Cover lid: and did it shew
Disht dayly food, while fourty years do run.

188

For Isra'ls Camp to feast upon their fill
Thy Emblem, Lord, in print by perfect Skill.

Thou in thy word as in a bed of Dewes
Like Manna on thy Camp dost fall and light
Hid Manna, till the Sun Shine bright remooves
The Rug, and doth display its beauty bright
Like pearly Bdellium White and Cleare to set
The Sight, and Appetite the same to get.

This is a Shining Glass, wherein thy face
My Lord, as Bread of Life, is clearly seen.
The Bread of Life, and Life of lively Grace
Of such as live upon't do flowrish Green.
That makes their lives that on it live ascend
In heav'nly rayes to heaven that have none end.

Refresh my Sight, Lord, with thy Manna's eye.
Delight my tast with this sweet Honied Cake.
Enrich my Stomach with this Cake bread high.
And with this Angells bread me recreate.
Lord, make my Soule thy Manna's Golden Pot
Within thine Arke: and never more forgot.

Here's food for ery day, and th'Seventh too:
(Though't never fell upon the Seventh day
But on the first, and ery week day new)
And now is on the Camp shour'd ery way.
Yet where it is not rightly usd it turns
To nauseous sent, and doth occasion worms.

It's first daye's Mess Disht up in Heavenly Dew.
Lord feede mee all wayes with't: it will enable
Mee much to live up to thy praise anew.
Angells delight, attending on this table.
If on this Angell fare I'm fed, I shall
Sing forth thy glory with bright Angells all.

189

60[B]. Meditation. Cor. 10.4. And all drunk the same spirituall drinke.

30.5m [July] 1704.

Ye Angells bright, pluck from your Wings a Quill.
Make me a pen thereof that best will write.
Lende me your fancy, and Angellick skill
To treate this Theme, more rich than Rubies bright.
My muddy Inke, and Cloudy fancy dark,
Will dull its glory, lacking highest Art.

An Eye at Centre righter may describe
The Worlds Circumferentiall glory vast
As in its nutshell bed it snugs fast tide,
Than any angells pen can glory Cast
Upon this Drink Drawn from the Rock, tapt by
The Rod of God, in Horeb, typickly.

Sea water straind through Mineralls, Rocks, and Sands
Well Clarifi'de by Sunbeams, Dulcifi'de,
Insipid, Sordid, Swill, Dishwater stands.
But here's a Rock of Aqua-Vitae tride.
When once God broacht it, out a River came
To bath and bibble in, for Israels train.

Some Rocks have sweat. Some Pillars bled out tears.
But here's a River in a Rock up tun'd
Not of Sea Water nor of Swill. Its beere.
No Nectar like it. Yet it once Unbund
A River down out runs through ages all.
A Fountain opte, to wash off Sin and Fall.

190

Christ is this Horebs Rock, the streames that slide
A River is of Aqua Vitae Deare
Yet costs us nothing, gushing from his side.
Celestiall Wine our Sinsunk souls to cheare.
This Rock and Water, Sacramentall Cup
Are made, Lords Supper Wine for us to sup.

This Rock's the Grape that Zions Vineyard bore
Which Moses Rod did smiting pound, and press
Untill its blood, the brooke of Life, run ore.
All Glorious Grace, and Gracious Righteousness.
We in this brook must bath: and with faiths quill
Suck Grace, and Life out of this Rock our fill.

Lord, oynt me with this Petro oyle. I'm sick.
Make mee drinke Water of the Rock. I'm dry.
Me in this fountain wash. My filth is thick.
I'm faint, give Aqua Vitae or I dy.
If in this stream thou cleanse and Chearish mee
My Heart thy Hallelujahs Pipe shall bee.

61. Meditation. Joh. 3.14. As Moses lift up the Serpent in the Wilderness so must the Son of man be lift up.

17.7m [Sept.] 1704.

My Mights too mean, lend your Angelick might
Ye mighty Angells, brightly to define.
A piece of burnisht brass, formd Serpent like
To Countermand all poison Serpentine.
No Remedie could cure the Serpents Bite
But One: to wit, The brazen Serpent's Sight.

191

Shall brass the bosoms poison in't Contain
A Counter poison, better than what beds
In Creatures bosoms? Nay, But its vertue came
Through that brass Shapt from God that healing sheds.
Its Vertue rode in th'golden Coach of th'eyes
Into the Soule, and Serpents Sting defies.

So that a Sight of the brazen Serpent hung
Up in the Banner Standard of the Camp
Was made a Charet wherein rode and run
A Healing vertue to the Serpents Cramp.
But that's not all. Christ in this Snake shapt brass
Raist on the Standard, Crucified was.

As in this Serpent lay the onely Cure
Unto the fiery Serpents burning bite,
Not by its Physick Vertue, (that is sure)
But by a Beam Divine of Grace's might
Whose Vertue onely is the plaster 'plide
Unto the Wound, by Faith in Christs blood di'de.

A Sight of th'Artificiall Serpent heales
The venom wound the naturall Serpent made.
A Spirituall Sight of Christ, from Christ down steals.
A Cure against the Hellish Serpents trade.
Not that the Springhead of the Cure was found
In Christs humanity with sharp thorns Crownd.

This Brazen Serpent is a Doctors Shop.
On ev'ry Shelfe's a Sovereign remedy.
The Serpents Flesh the Sovereign Salve is got
Against the Serpents bite, gaind by the eye.
The Eyebeames agents are that forth do bring
The Sovereign Counter poison, and let't in.

I by the fiery Serpent bitt be here.
Be thou my brazen Serpent me to Cure.
My Sight, Lord, make thy golden Charet cleare
To bring thy remedy unto my Sore.

192

If this thou dost I shall be heald: My wound
Shall sing thy praises: and thy glory sound.

62. Meditation. Can. 1.12. While the King sitteth at his table, my Spicknard sendeth forth the smell thereof.

18.9m [Nov.] 1704.

Oh! thou, my Lord, thou king of Saints, here mak'st
A royal Banquet thine to entertain.
With rich, and royall fare, Celestiall Cates,
And sittest at the Table rich of fame.
Am I bid to this Feast? Sure Angells stare,
Such Rugged looks, and Ragged robes I ware.

I'le surely come, Lord fit mee for this feast:
Purge me with Palma Christi from my Sin.
With Plastrum Gratiae Dei, or at least
Unguent Apostolorum healing bring.
Give me thy Sage, and Savory: me dub
With Golden Rod, and with Saints Johns Wort good.

Root up my Henbain, Fawnbain, Divells bit.
My Dragons, Chokewort, Crosswort, Ragwort, vice,
And set my knot with Honysuckles, stick
Rich Herb-a-Grace, and Grains of Paradise
Angelica, yea Sharons Rose the best
And Herba Trinitatis in my breast.

Then let thy Sweetspike sweat its liquid Dew
Into my Crystall Viall: and there swim.
And as thou at thy Table in Rich Shew
With royal Dainties, sweet discourse as King
Dost Welcome thine. My Spiknard with its Smell
Shall vapour out perfumed Spirits Well.

193

Whether I at thy Table Guest do sit,
And feed my tast: or Wait, and fat mine Eye
And Eare with Sights and Sounds, Heart Raptures fit,
My Spicknard breaths its sweet perfumes with joy.
My heart thy Viall with this spicknard fill.
Perfumed praise to thee then breath it will.

63. Meditation. Cant. 6.11. I went down into the Garden of Nuts, to see the fruits etc.

4.12m [Feb.] 1704.

Oh that I was the Bird of Paradise!
Then in thy Nutmeg Garden, Lord, thy Bower
Celestiall Musick blossom should my voice
Enchanted with thy gardens aire and flower.
This Aromatick aire would so enspire
My ravisht Soule to sing with angells Quire.

What is thy Church, my Lord, thy Garden which
Doth gain the best of Soils? Such Spots indeed
Are Choicest Plots empalde with Palings rich
And set with slips, herbs best, and best of seed.
As th' Hanging Gardens rare of Babylon
And Palace Garden of King Solomon.

But that which doth excell all gardens here
Was Edens Garden: Adams Palace bright.
The Tree of Life, and knowledge too were there
Sweet herbs and sweetest flowers all sweet Delight
A Paradise indeed of all Perfume
That to the Nose, the Eyes and Eares doth tune.

But all these Artificiall Gardens bright
Enameled with bravest knots of Pincks

194

And flowers enspangld with black, red and White
Compar'd with this are truely stincking sincks.
As Dunghills reech with stinking sents that dish
Us out, so these, when balanced with this.

For Zions Paradise, Christs Garden Deare
His Church, enwalld, with Heavenly Crystall fine
Hath every Bed beset with Pearle all Cleare
And Allies Opald with Gold, and Silver Shrine.
The shining Angells are its Centinalls
With flaming Swords Chaunting out Madrigalls.

The Sparkling Plants, Sweet Spices, Herbs and Trees,
The glorious Shews of aromatick Flowers,
The pleasing beauties soakt in sweet breath lees
Of Christs rich garden ever upward towers.
For Christ Sweet Showers of Grace makes on it fall.
It therefore bears the bell away from all.

The Nut of evry kinde is found to grow big,
With food, and Physick, lodgd within a tower
A Wooden Wall with Husky Coverlid,
Or Shell flesht ore, or in an Arching bower
Beech, Hazle, Wallnut, Cocho, Almond brave
Pistick or Chestnut in its prickly Cave.

These all as meate, and med'cine, emblems choice
Of Spirituall Food, and Physike are which sport
Up in Christs Garden. Yet the Nutmeg's Spice
A leathern Coate wares, and a Macie Shirt,
Doth far excell them all. Aromatize
My Soule therewith, my Lord, and spirituall wise.

Oh! Sweet Sweet Paradise, Whose Spiced Spring
Will make the lips of him asleep to tune

195

Heart ravishing tunes, sweet Musick for our king
In Aromatick aire of blesst perfume
Open thy garden doore: mee entrance give
And in thy Nut tree garden make me live.

If, Lord, thou opst, and in thy garden bring
Mee, then thy little Linet sweetly Will
Upon thy Nut tree sit and sweetly sing
Will Crack a Nut and eat the kirnell still.
Thou wilt mine Eyes, my Nose, and Palate greet
With Curious Flowers, Sweet Odors, Viands Sweet.

Thy Gardens Odorif'rous aire mee make
Suck in, and out t'aromatize my lungs.
That I thy garden, and its Spicie State
May breath upon with such ensweetned Songs.
My Lungs and Breath ensweetend thus shall raise
The Glory of thy garden in its praise.

64. Meditation. Can. 6.11. To see—if the Vine Flowrisht, and the Pomegranate bud.

2.2m [Apr.] 1705.

Oh! that my Chilly Fancy, fluttering soe,
Was Elevated with a dram of Wine
The Grapes and Pomegranates do yield, that grow
Upon thy Gardens Appletrees and Vines.
It shouldst have liquour with a flavour fraight
To pensil out thy Vines and Pomgranates.

But I, as dry, as is a Chip, scarce get
A peep hole through thy garden pales at these,
Thy garden plants. How should I then ere set
The glory out of its brave Cherry trees?

196

Then make my fancy, Lord, thy pen t'unfold
Thy Vines and Pomegranates in liquid gold.

Whence come thy garden plants? So brave? So Choice?
They Almugs be'nt from Ophirs golden land:
But Vines and Pomegranates of Paradise
Spicknard, Sweet Cane, and Cynamon plants here stand.
What heavenly aire is breezing in this Coast?
Here blows the Trade winde of the Holy Ghost.

Thy Pomegranates that blushy freckles ware
Under their pleasant jackets spirituall frize,
And Vines, though Feeble, fine, and flowrishing are
Not Sibmahs, but mount Zions here arise.
Here best of Vines, and Pomegranates up hight,
Yea Sharons Rose, and Carmels Lillies White.

These trees are reev'd with Gilliads balm each one
Myrrh trees, and Lign Aloes: Frankincense,
Here planted grow; heres Saffron Cynamon
Spicknard and Calamus with Spice Ensenc'd.
Oh fairest garden: evry bed doth beare
All brave blown flowers whose breath is heavenly aire.

Make me thy Vine and Pomegranate to be
And in thy garden flowrish fruitfully
And in their branches bowre, there then to thee
In sweetend breath shall come sweet melody.
My Spirit then engrapd and pomegranat'de
Shall sweetly sing thee o're thy garden gated.

65. Meditation. Can. 6.11. To see the Fruits of the Vally.

10.4m [June] 1705.

The Vines of Lebanon that briskly grew
Roses of Sharon in their flowrish fair,

197

The Lillies of the Vallies Beauteous shew
And Carmels Glorious Flowery Robes most rare
In all their lively looks blusht brisk, appeare
Dull Wan lookt things, Lord, to thy Gardens geere.

Engedi's Vineyard, that brave Camphire bower,
The Cypress Banks and Beds of bravery
And Eshcol's Grapes that royall juyce out shower,
And Wine of Hesbon in its flavor high
With Elevating Sparks stand shrinking, blush
To see the flowrish of thy Garden flush.

Mount Olivet with Olive Trees full green,
The flowrishing Almonds in their smiling ray
And Sibma's vaporing Wines that frolick seem
Are all unmand as tipsy, slink away
As blushing at their manners to behold
Thy Nut trees Gardens buds and flowers unfold.

Whose Buds not Gracious but pure Grace do shine.
Whose blossoms are not sweet but sweetness 'brace
Whose Grapes are not Vine berries, but rich Wine:
Whose Olives Oyle Springs be'n't, but Oyle of Grace.
When pound and presst, they Cordiall juyce bleed all
And Spirits Unction. Oh! Sweet Hony fall.

These Buds are better than blown Roses fair:
These Blossoms fairer bee than Carmels hew:
These Vines beare Grapes sweeter than Raisens are.
These Nuts are better than ere Nutmegs grew.
Olivets Olive's but a grease pots mate
To thy Nut Gardens Vine and Pomegranate.

In thy Nut Garden make my heart a Bed
And set therein thy Spicknard, Cypress, Vine
Rose, Olive, Almonds, Pares, Plumbs White, and Red,
Pomegranats, Spices, Frankincense divine.

198

If thou dost stud my heart with graces thus
My heart shall beare thee fruits perfumed flush.

Make thou my Soule, Lord, thy mount Olivet
And plant it with thy Olive Trees fair Green,
Adornd with Holy blossoms, thence beset
With Heavens Olives, Happy to be seen.
Thy Sacred Oyle will then make bright to shine
My Soul its face, and all the works of mine.

Set thou therein thy Pomegranate of State
Thy Spice Trees, Cloves and Mace, thy Cynamon.
Thy Lemons, Orenges, Nuts, Almonds, Dates,
Thy Nutmeg trees and Vines of Lebanon
With Lillies Violets Carnations rare.
My heart thy Spice box then shall breath sweet aire.

My Vine shall then beare Raisens of the Sun,
My Grapes will rain May Shower of Sacred Wine.
The Smiling Dimples on my Fruits Cheeks hung
Will as rich jewells adde unto their Shine.
Then plant my heart with thy rich fruit trees sweet
And it shall beare thee Fruits stew'd in sweet reech.

66. Meditation. Joh. 15.13. Greater Love hath no man than this That a man lay down his Life for his Friends.

19.6m [Aug.] 1705.

O! what a thing is Love? who can define
Or liniament it out? Its strange to tell.
A Sparke of Spirit empearld pill like and fine
In't shugard pargings, crusted, and doth dwell

199

Within the heart, where thron'd, without Controle
It ruleth all the Inmates of the Soule.

It makes a poother in its Secret Sell
Mongst the affections: oh! it swells, its paind,
Like kirnells soked untill it breaks its Shell
Unless its object be obtained and gain'd.
Like Caskd wines jumbled breake the Caske, this Sparke
Oft swells when crusht: untill it breakes the Heart.

O! Strange Strange Love! 'Stroy Life and't selfe thereby.
Hence lose its Object, lay down all't can moove.
For nothing rather choose indeed to dy,
And nothing be, than be without its love.
Not t'be, than be without its fanci'de bliss!
Is this Love's nature? What a thing is this?

Love thus ascending to its highest twig,
May sit and Cherp such ditties. Sing and dy.
This highest Note is but a Black-Cap's jig
Compar'd to thine my Lord, all Heavenly.
A greater love than such man ne'er mentain'd.
A greater Love than such thou yet hast gain'd.

Thy Love laid down thy Life hath for thy Sheep:
Thy friends by grace: thy foes by Nature's Crimes.
And yet thy Life more precious is and sweet
More worth than all the World ten thousand times.
And yet thy Love did give bright Wisdoms Shine
In laying down thy precious life for thine.

This Love was ne'er adulterate: e're pure.
Noe Whiffe of Fancy: But rich Wisdomes Beams,
No Huff of Hot affection men endure.
But sweetend Chimings of Celestiall gleams
Play'd and Display'd upon the golden Wyer
That doth thy Human Cymball brave, attire.

200

Thy Love that laid thy life all down for thine
Did not thereby destroy itselfe at all.
It was preserved in thy Selfe Divine
When it did make thy Humane Selfe down fall.
And when thy body as the Sun up rose
It did itselfe like flaming beames disclose.

Lord, let thy Love shine on my Soule! Mee bath
In this Celestiall Gleame of this pure Love.
O! gain my heart and thou my Love shalt have
Clime up thy golden Stares to thee above.
And in thy upper Chamber sit and sing
The glory of thy Love when Entred in.

67[A]. Meditation. Mal. 4.2. But unto you that Feare my name, shall the Sun of Righteousness arise.

21.8m [Oct.] 1705.

My China Ware or Amber Casket bright,
Filld with Ambrosian Spirits soakt and Bindg'd,
Made all a Mass of Quicken'd metall right,
Transparent Silver Bowles with flowers Enfringd
Sent to the Temple by king Ptolemy
Compard thereto are but vile Trumpery.

These Spirits, drawn by heavens Chymistry
And Casked up, with Cask Conspire into
A Lump of Sacred Fire that actively
About thy Sacred Selfe entwine and grow
So that this Cask bindgd with these Spirits rise
A fearer of Jehovah, holy wise.

201

In acting of the same with Holy Skill
And Sanctifying Sight as Shining Eyes
Some soure, and muddy Humors soon do still
When that the Glass is jumbled up arise
Or in its China ware some spot or Dimple,
Or Amber Cask unhoopt hath Crack or Wrinkle.

The Spirits and the Vial both are sick.
The Lump Consisting of them both so trim
Is out of trim, sore wounded to the quick
Distemperd by ill Humors bred therein.
Some poyson's in the golden Cup of wine,
That treason works against the king Divine.

I fain would purge the poison out, and Cleare
The liquor from the musty dregs therein.
The Bottle free from Crack, Dint, and bad geer,
The China Ware from Spot or Wrinkling
And all the Quickend Lump I fain would Cure
Of all ill Humors, Sickness, wound, or Sore.

But cannot do the same, yet this I finde,
To them that feare thy Name Lord, there doth rise
The Sun of Righteousness, (this Cheers my minde)
With healing in his Wings Physicianwise.
This yields reliefe. Some things in such as do
The Fear is bad: in them diseases grow.

Mine argument let winde into thine heart,
That hence I do assume seing its sure
None that do feare thee, perfect bee, each part.
I'm one of them or none of them I'm sure.
If one of them, my bad Distempers shall
Not it disproove. I don't excell them all.

They want a Cure: and so do I: I'm not
Pleasd with my mud: Sin doth not tickle mee.
The Wrinkles Crest, or Dints my ware hath got

202

My Sores and Sicknesses my Sorrows bee.
I'l strive against them till I'st strive no more.
While healing Wings abide, Ile not give o're.

The Objects of the Sun of Righteousness
Doth with its healing wing rise Cleare upon
Have need of healing. I do need no less.
Our wants for kinde are equall hereupon.
We both are of our sickness sick. Hence shown
We both are by the argument proovd one.

Hence this I pray, and pray no less than this.
Grant, Lord, mine Eyes with acute Sight not dim,
Thy Shining Sun of Righteousness may kiss
And broodled bee under its Healing Wing.
My Bird like to a Nighting gaile in th'Spring
With breast on sharpest thorn, thy praise shall sing.

68[A]. Meditation. Mal. 4.2. The Sun of Righteousness, etc.

16.10m [Dec.] 1705.

Methinks I spy Almighty holding in
His hand the Crystall Sky and Sun in't bright:
As Candle and bright Lanthorn lightening,
The World with this bright lanthorns flaming light
Endungeoning all Darkness underground,
Making all Sunshine Day Heavenward abound.

The Spirituall World, this world doth, Lord out vie:
Its Skie this Crystall Lanthorn doth orematch.
Its Sun, thou Art, that in'ts bright Canopy
Outshines that Candle, Darkness doth dispatch.

203

Thy Crystall Globe of Glorious Sunshine furld
Light, Life and heate in't Sundayeth the World.

The World without the Sun,'s as dungeon, darke.
The Sun without its Light would Dungeon spring.
The Moon and Stars are but as Chilly Sparks
Of Dying fire. The Sun Cheeres ery thing.
But oh thy Light, Lightsom, delightsom falls
Upon the Soul above all Cordialls.

All Light delights. Yet Dozde wood light is cold.
Some light hath heate yet Darkness doth it bound
As Lamp and Glowworm light. The Stars do hold
A twinkling lifeless Light. The Sun is found
A Ball of Light, of Life, Warmth to natures race.
But thou'rt that Sun, that shines out Saving Grace.

Doz'de wood-light is but glimmer, with no Smoke.
And Candle Light's a smoaky lifeless thing.
The light lodgd in the glowworm's peticoate
Is but a Shew. Star light's nights twinkling.
Moonlight is nightish, Sun makes day: these all
Without our Visive Organs lightless fall.

But thou, my Lord no Dozed Wood Shine art.
No Smoky Candle Light rose from thy Wick.
Thy Light ne'er linde the glowworms velvet part.
Thy Shine makes Stars, Moons, Sunlight darkness thick.
Thou art the Sun of Heavens bright light rose in
The Heavenly Orbs. And Heavens blesst glories spring.

Were all the trees on earth fir'de Torches made,
And all her Grass Wax Candles set on flame
This Light could not make day, this lightsom trade
Would be a darksom Smoke when Sun shines plaine.
But thy Shine, Lord, darkens this Sunshine bright,
And makes the Seing Organ, and its Light.

Within the Horizontall Hemisphere
Of this Blesst Sun, Lord, let mee Mansion have.

204

Make Day, thou Shining Sun, unto mee cleare
Thy Sorry Servant earnestly doth crave.
Let not the Moon ere intervene or fix
Between me and this Sun to make Ecclipse.

O! bright, bright Day. Lord let this Sun Shine flow.
Drive hence my Sin and Darkness greate profound
And up them Coffin in Earths Shade below
In darkness gross, on th'other side the ground.
Neer let the Soyle spew fogs to foile the Light
Of this Sweet Aire pregnant with Sunbeams bright.

How shall my Soule (Such thoughts Enravish mee)
Under the Canopy of this bright Day
Imparadisde, Lightend and Livend bee
Bathd in this Sun Shine 'mong bright Angells play
And with them strive in sweetest tunes expresst
Which can thy glorious praises sing out best.

67[B]. Meditation. Mal. 4.2. With Healing in His Wings.

10.12m [Feb.] 1705.

Doe Fables say, the Rising Sun doth Dance
On Easter Day for joy, thou didst ascende.
O Sun of Righteousness; tho't be a glance
Of Falshoods Spectacles on Rome's nose end?
And shall not I, furled in thy glorious beams,
Ev'n jump for joy, Enjoying such sweet gleams?

What doth the rising Sun with its Curld Locks
And golden wings soon make the Chilly world
Shook with an Ague Fit by night shade drops,
Revive, grow brisk, Suns Eyebright on it hurld?

205

How should my Soule then sick of th'Scurvy spring
When thy sweet medicating rayes come in?

Alas! Sweet Sun of Righteousness, Dost shine
Upon such Dunghills, as I am? Methinks
My Soule sends out such putrid sents, and rhimes
That with thy beams would Choke the aire with Stincks.
And Nasty vapors ery where, whereby
Thy rayes should venom'd be that from thee fly.

The Fiery Darts of Satan stob my heart.
His Punyards Thrusts are deep, and venom'd too.
His Arrows wound my thoughts, Words, Works, each part
They all a bleeding ly by th' Stobs, and rue.
His Aire I breath in, poison doth my Lungs.
Hence come Consumptions, Fevers, Head pains: Turns.

Yea, Lythargy, the Apoplectick Stroke:
The Catochee, Soul Blindness, Surdity,
Ill Tongue, Mouth Ulcers, Frog, the Quinsie Throate
The Palate Fallen, Wheezings, Pleurisy.
Heart Ach, the Syncopee, bad stomach tricks
Gaul Tumors, Liver grown; spleen evills Cricks.

The Kidny toucht, The Iliak, Colick Griefe
The Ricats, Dropsy, Gout, the Scurvy, Sore
The Miserere Mei. O Reliefe
I want and would, and beg it at thy doore.
O! Sun of Righteousness Thy Beams bright, Hot
Rafter a Doctors, and a Surgeons Shop.

I ope my Case to thee, my Lord: mee in
Thy glorious Bath, of Sun Shine, Bathe, and Sweate.
So rout Ill Humors: And thy purges bring.
Administer in Sunbeame Light, and Heate.

206

Pound some for Cordiall powders very small
To Cure my Kidnies, Spleen, My Liver, Gaul.

And with the same refresh my Heart, and Lungs
From Wasts, and Weakness. Free from Pleurisy
Bad Stomach, Iliak, Colick Fever, turns,
From Scurvy, Dropsy, Gout, and Leprosy
From Itch, Botch Scab. And purify my Blood
From all Ill Humors: So make all things good.

Weave, Lord, these golden Locks into a web
Of Spiritual Taffity; make of the same
A sweet perfumed Rheum-Cap for my head
To free from Lythargy, the Turn, and Pain,
From Waking-Sleep, Sin-Falling Mallady
From Whimsy, Melancholy Frenzy-dy.

Thy Curled Rayes, Lord, make mine Eare Picker
To Cure my Deafeness: Light, Ophthalmicks pure
To heate my Eyes and make the Sight the Quicker.
That I may use Sins Spectacles no more.
O still some Beams. And with the Spirits fresh
My Palate Ulcerd Mouth, and Ill Tongue dress.

And ply my wounds with Pledgets dipt therein.
And wash therewith my Scabs and Boils so sore,
And all my Stobs, and Arrow wounds come, bring
And syrrindge with the Same. It will them Cure.
With tents made of these Beams well tent them all.
They Fistula'es and Gangrenes Conquour shall.

Lord plaster mee herewith to bring soon down
My Swellings. Stick a Feather of thy Wing
Within my Cap to Cure my Aching Crown.
And with these beams Heale mee of all my Sin.
When with these Wings thou dost mee medicine
I'st weare the Cure, thou th'glory of this Shine.

207

68[B]. Meditation. Mal. 4.2. Ye shall go forth and grow as Calves of the Stall.

28.2m [Apr.] 1706.

My megre Soule, when wilt thou fleshed bee,
With Spirituall plumpness? Serpents flesh dost eat
Which maketh leane? Thy bones stick out in thee.
Art thou Consumptive? And Concoctst not meat?
Art not a Chick of th'Sun of Righteousness?
Do not its healing Wings thy ailes redress?

Hast not Chang'd place with Mercury? And made
Thy robes of Broadcloath of the Golden Fleece
Of Wooly Sun beams? (O! Warm Shining trade!)
Souls freshen sure in Cloaths of such a piece
And gloriously dance on these golden Cords.
Yet till a Cure is got, Griefe o're them Lords.

And if thou bruddled liest, (though Qualms arise)
Under the healing wings of this bright Sun
Of Righteousness, as Chicken Chearping wise
Under its Dam, the Cure is surely Done.
Some healing Beam a Certain med'cine brings
To all Distemper'd Souls under these wings.

This is the Heavenly Alkahest that brings
Lean Souls t'ore thrive all Pharao's fattest Ware.
Grow like the Stalled Oxe, or Fattlings
Plump, Fleshy, Fat, Slick, brisk, and rightly fair.
A spirituall fat of Collops, gracious greate
Shall Cloath the Whole and make it grace-Compleat.

Though th'Wicker bird Cage is of rusty Wyer:
This Sunshine will imbellish it and bright.
Though th'bird in't of immortall breed, much tire

208

These healing wings will make it fully ripe.
My little Pipkin Soule of heavenly Clay
Shall fatted to the brim with grace grow gay.

My Heade, O Sun, hide in thy healing Wing.
Thy Warmth will to my megre Soule flesh give.
My growth shall Beauty to thine Eyesight bring.
Thy Sight shall make me plump and pleasant live,
And all my Growth to thee shall bud with blooms
Of Praises Whistling in Angelick Tunes.

69. Meditation. Cant. 2.2. The Lillie of the Vallies.

30.4m [June] 1706.

Dull! Dull! my Lord, as if I eaten had
A Peck of Melancholy: or my Soule
Was lockt up by a Poppy key, black, sad:
Or had been fuddled with an Hen bane bowle.
Oh, Leaden temper! my Rich Thesis Would
Try metall to the back, sharp, it t'unfold.

Alas! my Soule, Thy Sunburnt Skin looks dun:
Thy Elementall jacket's Snake like pi'de.
I am Deform'd, and Uggly all become.
Soule Sicknesses do nest in mee: and Pride.
I nauseous am: and mine iniquites
Like Crawling Worms doe worm eat on my joys.

All black though plac'de in a White lilly Grove:
Not sweet, though in a bed of Lillies rowle,
Though in Physicians shop I dwell, a Drove
Of Hellish Vermin range all ore my Soul.
All Spirituall Maladies play rex in mee,
Though Christ should Lilly of my Vally bee.

209

But, Oh! the Wonder! Christ alone the Sun
Of Righteousness, that he might do the Cure
The Lilly of the Vallies is become
Whose Lillie properties do health restore.
It's glory shews I'm filthy: yet must spring
Up innocent, and beautifull by him.

Its Vally State and Bowing Head declare
I'm Haughty but must have a Humble minde.
Its Healing Virtue shew I'm sick: yet rare
Rich Remedies I'st in this Lilly finde.
Yea Christ the Lilly of the Vallies shall
Be to mee Glory, Med'cine, Sweetness, all.

The Lillies Beautie, and its Fragrancy
Shews my ill-favourdness, and Nauseous Stinck:
And that I must be beautifull, fully,
And breath a Sweetness that the aire must drink.
This Beauty, Odour, Med'cin, Humble Case
This Vallys Lilly shall my Soul begrace.

Lord, make me th'Vally where this Lilly grows.
Then I am thine, and thou art mine indeed.
Propriety is mutuall: Glorious shows
And Oderif'rous breath shall in me breed,
Which twisted in my Tunes, thy praise shall ring
On my Shoshannim's sweetest Well tun'de string.

210

70. Meditation. Col. 2.11.12. In whom also ye are Circumcised with Circumcision made without hands, in putting off of the sins of the flesh by the Circumcision of Christ, buried with him in baptism: etc.

25.6m [Aug.] 1706.

I humbly Crave this Riddle to unfold
Seing, Lord, thou madst man Compleate at first,
How comes't to pass When Natures egge, that holds
Her Chicken brake, the bird defilde out burst?
A Callous doth the Heart Disspiritualize
Till Gilgal's Razer doth it Circumcise.

Thy first Free Covenant, Calld not for this:
Thy Covenant of Graces Quilting kinde,
Shall it require a Seale that Cutting is?
That fleys the Skin off, that the heart doth rinde?
What is Rebellions Castle made the heart,
Filld up with filth, to be skin'd off? O sharp.

Hath Sin encrusted thus my heart? Sad! Sad!
And latcht my Lips? And Eares made deafe, and ditcht?
O! Lord! pare off, I pray, what ere is bad:
And Circumcise my Heart, mine Eares and Lips.
This in thy Circumcisions heart doth bed.
The Same in baptism is bosomed.

What must Christs Circumcision pacify
Gods Wrath? And's Blood of's Circumcision sore,
Bring Righteousness, Purge Sin, and Mortify
Proude Naughtiness? And wash with Grace mee o're?
And my Uncircumcisedness all slay?
That I might walke in glorious Graces way?

211

The Infant male must lose its Foreskin first,
Before Gods Spirit Workes as Pulse, therein
To sanctify it from the Sin in't nurst,
And make't in Graces Covenant to spring.
To shew that Christ must be cut off most Pure,
His Covenantall blood must be mans Cure.

And shall this sweet kinde Covenant of Grace
Ware on't a Seale so keen and Cutting sharp
When it its brightst Edition doth embrace?
No, no. Baptism is a better marke.
It's therefore Circumcision's Rightfull Heir
Bearing what Circumcision in't did beare.

Hence me implant in Christ, that I may have
His Blood to wash away the filth in mee.
And finde his Wounds that are so deep, the grave
Wherein my Sins ly dead and buri'de bee.
From which let such sweet Exhalations rise
As shall my Soule deck with an Holy guise.

Lord bed mee in thy Circumcisions Quilt.
My wounds bathe with New Covenantall blood.
My ears with Grace Lord syringe, scoure off guilt.
My Tongue With holy tasled Languague Dub.
And then these parts, baptisde thine Organs keep,
To tune thy Praise, run forth on golden feet.

212

71. Meditation. 1 Cor. 5.8. Let us keep the Feast, not with old Leven.

20.8m [Oct.] 1706.

Oh! What a Cookroom's here? all Deity
Thick blancht all ore with Properties Divine
Varnisht with grace that shineth gloriously.
Pollisht with glorious folds of brightest Shine
Enricht with Heavens Cookery the best
The Turtle Dove, and Paschall Lamb's here drest.

Oh! Dove most innocent. O Lamb, most White.
A spotless Male in prime. Whose blood's the Dier
That dies the Doore posts of the Soule most bright.
Whose body all is rost at justice's fire
And yet no bone is broken, though the Spit
Whereon its rost runs speare like, thorow it.

This Choicest Cookery is made the Feast
Where glories king doth entertain his Guests.
Where Pastie past is Godhead, filld at least
With Venison, of Paschall Lamb the best.
All spic'd and Plumb'd with Grace and disht up right
Upon Gods Table Plate Divinely bright.

This Spirituall Fare in Ordinances, and
The Wine bled from the Holy Grape, and Vine,
Thats on the Table orderd by God's hand
The Supper of the Lord, the feast Divine
God's Gospel Priests this to that Table beare
Where Saints are Guests and Angells waiters are.

213

The Wedden garment of Christs Righteousness
And Holy Cloathes of Sanctity most pure,
Are their atire, their Festivall rich dress:
Faith feeds upon the Paschall Lamb its sure
That on God's Porslain Dish is disht for them
And drinks the Cup studded with graces Gem.

Let at this Table, Lord, thy Servant sit,
And load my trencher with thy Paschall Lamb.
My Doore posts dy with the red blood of it.
The stroying angells weapon therewith sham
And let my Faith on thy rost mutton feed
And Drinke the Wine thy holy grape doth bleed.

Lord make my Faith feed on it heartily.
Let holy Charity my heart Cement
Unto thy Saints: and for a Cordiall high
Make mee partaker of thy Sacrament.
When with this Paschall bread and Wine I'm brisk
I in sweet Tunes thy sweetest praise will twist.

72. Meditation. Mar. 16.19. Sat down on the right hand of God.

15.10m [Dec.] 1706.

Enoculate into my mentall Eye
The Visive Spirits of the Holy Ghost
My Lord, that I may see the Dignity
Of thy bright Honour in thy heavenly Coast
Thou art deckt with as Sunshine bright displaid
That makes bright Angells in it, cast a Shade.

Enrich my Phansy with Seraphick Life,
Enquicknd nimbly to catch the Beams

214

Thy Honour flurs abroad: in joyous Strife
To make sweet Musick on such Happy Themes.
That in such Raptures, and Transports of joy,
To Honour kings I may my Phansy 'ploy.

At God's Right Hand! Doth God mans parts enjoy?
This with Infinity can never stande.
Yet so God sayes, His Son to Dignify
In manhood, said, sit at my right hand.
The manhood thus a brighter Honour bears
By Deity than Deity ere wares.

The Splendor of the matter of each Story
Of th'Heavenly Palace Hall all brightend cleare,
The Presence Chamber of the King of Glory
Common with thee, to Saints and Angells there.
They share with thee in this Celestiall Shine.
Although their Share is lesser far than thine.

Yet they in all this glorious Splendor bright,
So many Suns like, shining on each other,
Encreasing each's glory, fall down right
To kiss thy feet, whose Shine this glorie Covers.
Their brightest Shine, in Glory's highest Story,
Is t'stand before thee in thy bright-bright glory.

Thy Honour brightens theirs, as't on theirs falls.
Its Royall Honour thou inheritst, Cleare,
A Throne of Glory in bright glories Hall:
At Gods right Hand thou sits enthroned there.
The Highest Throne in brightest glory thou
Enjoyest. Saints, and Angels 'fore thee bow.

Come down, bright Angells, Now I claim my place.
My nature hath more Honour due, than yours:
Mine is Enthron'de at Gods Right-Hand, through Grace.
This Grace for mine and not for yours, endures.
Yours is not there, unless in part of mine,
As Species in their Genus do combine.

215

Hence make my Life, Lord, keep thine Honour bright.
And let thine Honour brighten mee by grace.
And make thy Grace in mee, thee honour right.
And let not mee thy Honour ere deface.
Grant me the Honour then to honour thee
And on my Bells thine Honour chimed shall bee.

73. Meditation. 1 Tim. 3.16. Received into Glory.

9.12m [Feb.] 1706.

Glory! oh Glory! Wonderfull, and more.
How dost thou Croude with all thy Ranks most bright?
Thou never playdst such Glorious Cast, before
Nor ever wor'st such flourishing delight.
Thy heart doth leape for joy, to have the gain
When thou Receivdst my Lord in Glories Flame.

Who can the Ranks of Glory ere relate,
As they stand up in Honours Palace Hall?
They sparkle Flashing spangles, golden flakes
Of burnisht shines, with lowly Conjues all
To kisse thy hand, my Lord, and hande thee in
To tend thee and attend thee, her head spring.

Glory was never glorifide so much,
She ne're receiv'd such glory heretofore.
As that that doth Embrace her, (it is such,)
As she unto my Lord, doth ope her doore.
When he receivd was into glory's Sphere
Glory then found her glory brightest were.

When unto Angell's Glory opens doore,
Or unto Saints, all to be glorifi'de,

216

She well bestows herselfe, t'enriche her Store:
Yet blushes much to eye thy Glories tide.
When she doth make herselfe thy Cloaths to bee,
She's cloathd with brighter glory far by thee.

The greatest glory glory doth enjoy,
Lies in her hanging upon thee Wherein
Glory that glorifies thee mightily,
Is far more glorifide. Hence Glories spring.
Now Graces Glory, Heavens Glory, and
Gloryes of Saints, and Angells, guild thy hand.

A Glorious Palace, a Bright Crown of Glory
A glorious train of Saints, and Angells Shine
And glorious exercise as sweetest posy,
Do sacrifice themselves unto thy Shrine.
They give their all to thee. And so receive
Therein from thee a much more brighter Wreath.

Let some, my Lord, of thy bright Glories beams,
Flash quickening Flames of Glory in mine eye
T'enquicken my dull Spirits, drunke with dreams
Of Melancholy juyce that stupify.
A Coale from thy bright Altars Glory sure
Kissing my lips, my Lethargy will Cure.

If Envy ere by Sanctifying Skill
Could gracious be, or be a Grace, I would
I could it on my Spirits Cold and Chill
Well Exercise, that Love thus ever should
Ly lockt by Melancholy's key up in my Heart.
And hardly smile when Glories beautyes dart.

Lord make thy beams my frost bit heart to warm.
Ride on these Rayes into my bosom's chill
And make thy Glory mine affections Charm.
Thy rapid flames my Love enquicken will.
Then I in Glories Tower thy Praise will sing
On my Shoshanims tun'd on ev'ry String.

217

74. Meditation. Phi. 3.21. His Glorious Body. τω σωματι της δοξης αυτου

6.2m [Apr.] 1707.

I fain would have a rich, fine Phansy ripe
That Curious pollishings elaborate
Should lay, Lord, on thy glorious Body bright
The more my lumpish-heart to animate.
But searching ore the Workhouse of my minde,
I but one there; and dull and meger finde.

Hence, Lord, my Search hand thou from this dark Shop
(Its foule, and wanteth Sweeping) up unto
Thy Glorious Body whose bright beames let drop
Upon my heart: and Chant it with the Show.
Because the Shine that from thy body flows,
More glorious is than is the brightest Rose.

Sun Shine is to this Glory but a Smoke.
Saints in their brightest Shines are clouds therein.
Bright Angells are like motes i'th'Sun unto't.
Its Beames gild heavens bright Hall, that's sparkling.
Of all Created Glory, that doth shine
Thy Bodies Glory is most bright and fine.

The Beauty of Humanity Compleate,
Where ery organ is adepted right,
Wherein such Spirits brisk, do act full neate
Make Natures operations fully ripe.
All Harmonizing in their actions done
That ery twig's with glorious blossoms hung.

And still more sweet: thou'rt with more glory deckt.
The Glory of ripe Grace of brightest kinde

218

Like lumps of living Fire, by nothing Checkt
Thrumping the Stars, as pinking things half blinde.
This makes thy Bodies glory Choice and fine,
A spirituall light in Corporall Lanthorn shine.

Yea, still more Glory. Oh! thy Humane Frame
Is th'brightst Temple of the Holy Ghost.
Whose Rayes run through the Whole in brightest flame.
Hence on thy body campeth Glories Hoast.
What more can still be said? I add but this.
That Glory bright thy Bodies Tilt-Clothe is.

Oh! Glorious Body! Pull my eye lids ope:
Make my quick Eye, Lord, thy brisk Glory greet,
Whose rapid flames when they my heart revoke
From other Beauties, make't for thee more sweet.
If such blest Sight shall twist my heart with thine,
Thy Glory make the Web, thy Praise the Twine.

75. Meditation. Phil. 3. ult. Our Vile Bodie το σωμα της ταπεινωσεως ημων

1.4m [June] 1707.

Oh! Strang, my Lord. Here's reason at a set.
Run out of 'ts Wits, construing Grace's Style.
Nay Shining Angells in an holy fret
Confounded are, to see our Bodies Vile
Made Cabinets of Sparkling Gems that far
Out shine the brightest shining heavenly Star.

Mudd made with Muscadine int' mortar Rich,
Dirt wrought with Aqua-Vitae for a Wall
Built all of Precious Stones laid in it, Which
Is with leafe gold bespangled, 'maizes all.

219

Yet this Amaizment's scarce a minutes Sise
Compar'd unto the matter 'fore our eyes.

Here is a Mudwall tent, whose Matters are
Dead Elements, which mixt make dirty trade:
Which with Life Animall are wrought up faire
A Living mudwall by Gods holy Spade.
Yet though a Wall alive all spruice, and crouce
Its Base, and Vile. And baseness keeps its House.

Nature's Alembick 't is, Its true: that stills
The Noblest Spirits terrene fruits possess,
Yet, oh! the Relicks in the Caldron will
Proove all things else, Guts, Garbage, Rotteness.
And all its pipes but Sincks of nasty ware
That foule Earths face, and do defile the aire.

A varnisht pot of putrid excrements,
And quickly turns to excrements itselfe,
By natures Law: but, oh! there therein tents
A sparke immortall and no mortall elfe.
An Angell bright here in a Swine Sty dwell!
What Lodge of Wonders's this? What tongue can tell?

But, oh! how doth this Wonder still encrease?
The Soule Creeps in't. And by it's too defil'd.
Are both made base, and vile, can have no peace
Without, nor in: and's of its Shine beguil'd.
And though this Spirit in it dwells yet here
Its glory will not dwell with such sad geere.

Both grac'd together, and disgrac'd. Sad Case.
What now becomes of Gods Electing Love?
This now doth raise the Miracle apace,
Christ doth step in, and Graces Art improove.
He kills the Leprosy that taints the Walls:
And sanctifies the house before it falls.

And nature here, though mean and base beside,
With marks and Stains of Sin, and Sin not dead,

220

Though mortifi'de and dying, in't reside,
With Graces precious Pearls its flourished.
And in our bodies very vile and base
Christ hath enthron'de all sanctifying Grace.

That these dark Cells, and Mudwalld Tents defild,
With nastiness should Cabinets be made
For th'Choicest Pearls in Glories ring enfoild
Out shining all the shining starry trade.
Its glorious Wonders, wrought by Graces hand,
Whereat bright Angells all amaized stand.

Oh! make my Body, Lord, Although its vile,
Thy Warehouse where Grace doth her treasures lay.
And Cleanse the house and ery Room from Soile.
Deck all my Rooms with thy rich Grace I pray.
If thy free Grace doth my low tent, perfume,
I'll sing thy Glorious praise in ery room.

76. Meditation. Phi. 3.21. Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like his Glorious body.

27.5m [July] 1707.

Will yee be neighbourly, ye Angells bright?
Then lend mee your Admiring Facultie:
Wonders presented stand, above my might.
That call from mee the highest Extasie.
If you deny mee this: my pimping Soule,
These Wonders pins up in an Auger hole.

If my Rush Candle on its wick ware flame,
Of Ignis lambens. Oh! bright garb indeed:
What then, when Flakes of flaming Glory train
From thy bright glorious bulk to 'ray my weed.

221

What my vile Body like thy Glorious, Formd?
What Wonder here? My body thus adornd!

What shall mine hempen harle wove in thy Loome
Into a web (an hurden web indeed)
Be made its Makers Tent Cloth? I presume.
Within these Curtains Grace keeps Hall, and breeds:
But shall my hurden-hangings ever ware
A bright bright Glory like thy body faire?

Meethinks thy smile doth make thy Footstoole so
Spread its green Carpet 'fore thy feet for joy.
And Bryers climb in t'bright Rose that flows
Out in sweet reechs to meet thee in the sky:
And makes the sportive Starrs play Hide-and-Seek
And on thy bodies Glory peeping keep.

And shall not I (whose form transformd shall bee
To be shap'te like thy glorious body, Lord.
That Angells bright, as Gasterd, gaze at mee
To see such Glory on my dresser board),
Transported be hereat for very joy,
Whose intrest lies herein, and gloriously?

What shall the frosty Rhime upon my locks,
Congeale my brains with Chilly dews, whereby
My Phansie is benumbd: and put in Stocks,

222

And thaws not into Steams of reeching joy?
Oh! strange Ingratitude! Let not this Frame
Abide, Lord, in mee. Fire mee with thy flame.

Lord, let thy glorious Body send such rayes
Into my Soule, as ravish shall my heart,
That Thoughts how thy bright Glory out shall blaze
Upon my body, may such Rayes thee dart.
My Tunes shall dance then on these Rayes and Caper
Unto thy Praise. When Glory lights my Taper.

77. Meditation. Zech. 9.11. The Pit wherein is no water.

5.8m [Oct.] 1707.

A State, a State, Oh! Dungeon State indeed.
In which mee headlong, long agoe Sin pitcht:
As dark as Pitch, where Nastiness doth breed:
And Filth defiles: and I am with it ditcht.
A Sinfull State: This Pit no Water's in't.
A Bugbare State: as black as any inke.

I once sat singing on the Summit high
'Mong the Celestiall Coire in Musick Sweet
On highest bough of Paradisall joy,
Glory and Innocence did in mee meet.
I, as a Gold-Fincht Nighting Gale, tun'd ore
Melodious Songs 'fore Glorie's Palace Doore.

But on this bough I tuning Pearcht not long:
Th'Infernall Foe shot out a Shaft from Hell,
A Fiery Dart pilde with Sins poison strong:
That struck my heart, and down I headlong fell.
And from the Highest Pinicle of Light
Into this Lowest pit more darke than night.

223

A Pit indeed of Sin: No water's here:
Whose bottom's furthest off from Heaven bright,
And is next doore to Hell Gate, to it neer:
And here I dwell in sad and solemn night,
My Gold-Fincht Angell Feathers dapled in
Hells Scarlet Dy fat, blood red grown with Sin.

I in this Pit all Destitute of Light
Cram'd full of Horrid Darkness, here do Crawle
Up over head, and Eares, in Nauseous plight:
And Swinelike Wallow in this mire, and Gall:
No Heavenly Dews nor Holy Waters drill:
Nor Sweet Aire Brieze, nor Comfort here distill.

Here for Companions, are Fears, Heart-Achs, Grief
Frogs, Toads, Newts, Bats, Horrid Hob-Goblins, Ghosts:
Ill Spirits haunt this Pit: and no reliefe:
Nor Coard can fetch me hence in Creatures Coasts.
I who once lodgd at Heavens Palace Gate
With full Fledgd Angells, now possess this fate.

But yet, my Lord, thy golden Chain of Grace
Thou canst let down, and draw mee up into
Thy Holy Aire, and Glory's Happy Place.
Out from these Hellish damps and pit so low.
And if thy Grace shall do't, My Harp I'le raise,
Whose Strings toucht by this Grace, Will twang thy praise.

224

78. Meditation. Zech. 9.11. By the Blood of thy Covenant I have sent forth thy Prisoners out of the Pit wherein is no water.

14.10m [Dec.] 1707.

Mine Eyes, that at the Beautious Sight of Fruite
On th'Tree of, Knowledge, drew black venom in
That did bemegerim my brains at root
That they turnd round, and tippled me int' Sin.
I thus then in t'Barath'rick pit down fell.
Thats Waterless and next doore is to Hell:

No water's here: It is a Springless Well.
Like Josephs Pit, all dry of Comforts Spring.
Oh! Hopeless, Helpless Case: In such I fell.
The Creatures buckets dry, no help can bring:
Oh, here's a Spring: Indeed its Lethe Lake
Of Aqua-Infernales: don't mistake.

This Pit indeed's Sins Filthy Dungeon State,
No water's in't, but filth, and mire, Sins juyce.
Wherein I sinke ore Head, and Eares: sad fate,
And ever shall, if Grace hath here no Sluce.
Its Well Coards whip Coards are: not Coards to draw
(Like Pully Coards) out of this Dungeons maw.

Yet in the upper room of Paradise
An Artist anvill'd out Reliefe sure, Good,
A Golden Coarde, and bucket of Grace Choice
Let down top full of Covenantall blood.
Which when it touches, oh! the happy Cry!
The doores fly ope. Now's jayle's Deliverie.

225

This is a Spring of Liquour, heavenly, Cleare.
Its Streams oreflow these banks. Its boundless Grace
Whose Spring head's Godhead, and its Channells where
It runs, is Manhood veans that Christ keeps Chase
For it, and when it makes a Springtide Flood
This Pit is drown'd with Covenantall blood.

And now the Prisoners sent out, do come
Padling in their Canooes apace with joyes
Along this blood red Sea, Where joyes do throng,
And sayling in the Arke of Grace that flies
Drove sweetly by Gailes of the Holy Ghost
Who sweetly briezes all along this Coast.

Here's Covenant blood, indeed: and 't down the banks
Of this dry Pit breakes: Also 'tis a key
T'unlock the Shackles Sin hung on their Shanks
And wash the durt off: send them cleane away.
The Pris'ners freed, do on this Red Sea swim
In Zions Barke: and in their Cabbins sing.

Lord let this Covenantall blood send mee
Poore Prisner, out of Sins dry Dungeon pound.
And on this Red Sea saile mee safe to thee
In which none Israelite was ever drown'd.
My Sayles shall tune thee praise along this coast
If waft with Gailes breath'd by the Holy Ghost.

226

79. Meditation. Can. 2.16. My Beloved is mine and I am his.

8.12m [Feb.] 1707.

Had I Promethius' filching Ferula
Filld with its sacred theft the stoln Fire:
To animate my Fancy lodg'd in clay,
Pandora's Box would peps the theft with ire.
But if thy Love, My Lord, shall animate
My Clay with holy fire, 'twill flame in State.

Fables fain'd Wonders do relate so strange
That do amuse when heard. But oh! thy Fame
Pend by the Holy Ghost, (and ne'er shall Change
Nor vary from the truth) is wonders flame
Glazde o're with Heavens Embelishments, and fan'd
From evry Chaff, Dust, Weedy Seed, or Sand.

What wilt thou change thyselfe for me, and take
In lew thereof my sorry selfe; whereby,
I am no more mine own, but thine, probate,
Thou not so thine, as not mine too thereby?
Dost purchase me to be thine own, thyselfe
And be'st exchange for mee, thyselfe, and wealth?

I'm Thine, Thou Mine! Mutuall propriety:
Thou giv'st thyselfe. And for this gift takst mee
To be thine own. I give myselfe (poore toy)
And take thee for myne own, and so to bee.
Thou giv'st thyselfe, yet dost thyselfe possess,
I give and keep myselfe too neretheless.

227

Both gi'n away and yet retain'd aright.
Oh! Strange! I have thee mine, who hast thyselfe,
Yet in possession Thou hast mee as tite,
Who still enjoy myselfe, and thee my wealth.
What strang appropriations hence arise?
Thy Person mine, Mine thine, even weddenwise?

Thine mine, mine Thine, a mutuall claim is made.
Mine, thine are Predicates unto us both.
But oh! the Odds in th'purchase price down laid:
Thyselfe's thy Price, myselfe my mony go'th.
Thy Purchase mony's infinitly high;
Of Value for me: mine for thee, 's a toy.

Thou'rt Heir of Glory, dost Bright image stand
Ev'n of the God of Glory. Ownest all.
Hast all Wealth Wisdom Glory, Might at hand
And all what e're can to mans Glory fall.
And yet thou givst thyselfe to purchase mee
Ev'n of myselfe, to give myselfe to thee.

And what am I? a little bit of Clay.
Not more, nor better thing at all I give.
(Though give myselfe) to thee as Purchase pay.
For thee, and for thy all, that I may live.
What hard terms art thou held unto by me.
Both in thy Sale, and Purchase, laid on thee?

But yet this thing doth not impov'rish thee
Although thou payest down thy glorious selfe.
And my down laying of myselfe I see
For thee,'s the way for mee to blessed wealth.
Thou freely givst what I buy Cheape of thee.
I freely give what thou buyst deare of mee.

The Purchasd Gift, and Given Purchase here
(For they're both Gifts, and Purchases) by each

228

For each, make each to one anothers deare,
And each delight t'heare one anothers Speech.
Oh! Happy Purchase. And oh! Happy Sale:
Making each others joye in joyous gales.

Let this dash out the snarling teeth that grin,
Of that Damnd Heresy, calld sherlosism,
That mocks, and scoffs the union (that blesst thing)
To Christs Blesst Person, Happy Enkentrism.
For if thats true, Christs Spouse spake false in this
Saying My Beloved's Mine, and I am his.

Hence, Oh! my Lord, make thou mee thine that so
I may be bed wherein thy Love shall ly,
And be thou mine that thou mayst ever show
Thyselfe the Bed my Love its lodge may spy.
Then this shall be the burden of my Song
My Well belov'de is mine: I'm his become.

229

80. Meditation. Joh. 6.53. Except you eate the flesh of the Son of Man, etc. ye have no Life in you.

6.1m [Mar.] 1707/8.

This Curious pearle, One Syllable, call'd LIFE,
That all things struggle t'keep, and we so prize
I'd with the Edge of sharpen'd sight (as knife)
My understanding sheath'th anatomize
But finde Life far too fine, I can not know't.
My sight too Dull; my knife's too blunt to do't.

And if you say, What then is Life? I say
I cannot tell you what it is, yet know
That Various kinds of Life lodg in my clay.
And ery kinde an Excellence doth show:
And yet the lowest sort so secret lies
I cannot finde it nor anatomize.

But here I finde, that all these kindes proove Stares
Whereon I do ascende to heaven to,
My Lord, thyselfe, and so do mock earths Snares
Those snick snarls, and thus my Soul Steps goe
From Vegetate to Sensitive thence trace
To Rationall, and thence to th'Life of Grace.

What though I know not what it is? I know,
It is too good to bee full known by any
Poor Perblinde man, that squints on things, although
It's Life, its quickening Life to very many,
Yea t'all th'Elect. It is a slip up bred
Of Godlike life, in graces garden bed.

230

Grace is the Pearle, the Mother Pearle of Pearles
In which this Pearle of Life is kirnell choice.
Christ dropt it in the Soule, which up it ferles
A Lignum Vitae's chip of Paradise.
Its Heart and Soule of Saving Grace outspred
And can't be had till Grace be brought to bed.

The Soule's the Womb. Christ is the Spermodote
And Saving Grace the seed cast thereinto,
This Life's the principall in Graces Coate,
Making vitality in all things flow,
In Heavenly verdure brisking holily
With sharp ey'de peartness of Vivacity.

Dead Looks, and Wanness, all things on them weare,
If this Life Quickens not, Things Spirituall Dead.
The Image too of God is grown thrid bare
If this Choice Life be n't with Christ's body fed.
All other lives dance on, in hellish wayes
Eternally, unless this Life out blaze.

Thou art, my Lord, the Well-spring of this life.
Oh! let this Life send Rivelets in my heart.
That I may by lifes streames in Holy Strife
Conquour that death, at whose dead Looks I start.
When of this Life my soule with Child doth spring
The Babe of Life swath'de up in Grace shall sing.

231

81. Meditation. Joh. 6.53. unless ye eat the Flesh of the Son of man, and drink his blood, you have no life in you.

2.3m [May] 1708.

I fain would praise thee, Lord, but often finde
Some toy or trinket slipping in between
My heart and thee, that whiffles hence my minde
From this I know not how, and oft unseen.
That such should interpose between my Soule
And thee, is matter for mee to Condole.

I finde thou art the Spring of Life, and Life
Is up Empon'd in thee, that's Life indeed.
Thou art Lifes Fountain and its Food. The Strife
Of Living things doth for Life Sake proceed.
But he that with the best of Lifes is spic'te
Doth eate, and drinke the Flesh, and blood of Christ.

What feed on Humane Flesh and Blood? Strang mess!
Nature exclaims. What Barbarousness is here?
And Lines Divine this sort of Food repress.
Christs Flesh and Blood how can they bee good Cheer?
If shread to atoms, would too few be known,
For ev'ry mouth to have a single one?

This Sense of this blesst Phrase is nonsense thus.
Some other Sense makes this a metaphor.
This feeding signifies, that Faith in us
Feeds on this fare, Disht in this Pottinger.
Faith feeds upon this Heavenly Manna rare
And drinkes this Blood. Sweet junkets: Angells Fare.

Christs works, as Divine Cookery, knead in
The Pasty Past, (his Flesh and Blood) most fine

232

Into Rich Fare, made with the rowling pin
His Deity did use. (Obedience prime)
Active, and Passive is the Food that all
That have this Life feed on within thy Hall.

Here's Meate, and Drinke for Souls to use: (Good Cheer,)
Cookt up, and Brewd by Pure Divinity
The juyce tund up in Humane Casks that ne'er
Were musty made by any Sluttery.
And tapt by Graces hand whose table hold
This fare in Dishes far more rich than Gold.

Thou, Lord, Envit'st me thus to eat thy Flesh,
And drinke thy blood more Spiritfull than wine.
And if I feed not here on this rich mess,
I have no life in mee: no life Divine.
The Spirituall Life, the Life of God, and Grace
Eternall Life, obtain in me no place.

The Naturall Life the Life of Reason too
Are but as painten Cloths to that I lack
The Spirituall Life, and Life Eternall View.
If none of mine, my Glorys face grows black.
And how should I upon this food ere feed,
If thou give unto me no vitall Seed?

Those Fruits (the Works) that gloriously do shine
Upon thy Humane Nature Flesh and Blood
From thy Divine, are th'Purchase price, and th'Fine
Set on our heads, and made our Spirituall Food.
Faith thats the feeding on these pleasant flowers,
Incorporates thy Flesh and Blood with ours.

Thy Flesh, and Blood and Office Fruites shall bee
My Souls Plumb Cake it eates, as naturally,
In Spirituall wise mixt with my soul, as wee
Finde food doth with the body properly.
So that my life shall be mentain'd and thrive
Eternally when Spiritually alive.

233

Oh! feed mee, Lord, on thy rich Florendine.
Made of the Fruites which thy Divinity
As Principall did beare, (more sweet than wine)
Upon thy Manhood, meritoriously.
If I be fed with this rich fare, I will
Say Grace to thee with Songs of holy Skill.

82. Meditation. Joh. 6.53. Unless yee eate the Flesh of the Son of Man, and drinke his blood, ye have no life.

27.4m [June] 1708.

My tatter'd Fancy; and my Ragged Rymes
Teeme leaden Metaphors: which yet might serve
To hum a little touching terrene Shines.
But Spirtuall Life doth better fare deserve.
This thought on, sets my heart upon the Rack.
I fain would have this Life but han't its knack.

Reason stands for it, moving to persue't.
But Flesh and Blood, are Elementall things.
That sink me down, dulling my Spirits fruit.
Life Animall a Spirituall Sparke ne'er springs.
But if thy Altars Coale Enfire my heart,
With this Blesst Life my Soule will be thy Sparke.

I'm Common matter: Lord thine Altar make mee.
Then sanctify thine Altar with thy blood:
I'l offer on't my heart to thee. (Oh! take mee)
And let thy fire Calcine mine Altars Wood,
Then let thy Spirits breath, as Bellows, blow
That this new kindled Life may flame and glow.

Some Life with Spoon, or Trencher do mentain
Or suck its food through a Small Quill, or Straw:

234

But make me, Lord, this Life thou givst, sustain
With thy Sweet Flesh, and Blood, by Gospell Law.
Feed it on Zions Pasty Plate-Delights:
I'de suck it from her Candlesticks Sweet Pipes.

Need makes the Old wife trot: Necessity
Saith, I must eate this Flesh, and drinke this blood.
If not, no Life's in mee that's worth a Fly,
This mortall Life, while here eats mortall Foode.
That sends out influences to mentaine,
A little while, and then holds back the same.

But Soule Sweet Bread, is in Gods Back house, made
On Heavens high Dresser Boarde and throughly bakd:
On Zions Gridiron, sapt in'ts dripping trade,
That all do live that on it do partake,
Its Flesh, and Blood even of the Deity;
None that do eat, and Drinke, it, ever dy.

Have I a vitall Sparke even of this Fire?
How Dull am I? Lord let thy Spirit blow
Upon my Coale, untill its heart is higher,
And I be quickned by the same, and Glow.
Here's Manna Angells food to fatten them.
That I must eate or be a witherd stem.

Lord, make my Faith thy golden Quill where through
I vitall Spirits from thy blood may suck.
Make Faith my Grinders, thy Choice Flesh to chew,
My Witherd Stock shall with frim Fruits be stuck.
My Soule shall then in Lively Notes forth ring
Upon her Virginalls, praise for this thing.

235

83. Meditation. Can. 5.1. I am come into my Garden, etc.

29.6m [Aug.] 1708.

A Garden, yea a Paradise indeed,
Of all Delightfull Beauteous flowers and sweet,
(A Cloud of rich perfume hence did proceed
From sweet breathd plants,) first Adam was to keep.
But sinning here he's from this Farm exilde,
And th'Farm, Lord, thou camst to, 's a Garden stylde

A Garden-Church, set with Choice Herbs and Flowers.
Here Lign-Aloes. And th'Tree of Life.
Here trees of Frankincense and Myrrh up towers.
Here's Sharons Rose and Lillie: Beauties Strife.
Here's Cassia, Cinnamon, Cloves, Nut Megs, Mace.
Sweet Calamus: and all Heavens herbs of Grace.

Here's Order Choice, Beds, Allies all in print.
Here bud sweet blushing Blossoms, sparkling brave
And Beautifull rich, spangled Flowers bepinckt
Which White, Red, Blushie, Cherry Cheek't Smiles have,
Making Celestiall aire their Civit Box
Of Aromatick Vapors: Spirituall Drops.

This Garden, Lord, thy Church, this Paradise
Thou comst into, with thy Choice Spirits Gales
Making all Plants of Grace gust out like Spice
Their sweet perfumed breath that us assailes.
And sacrifice their Spirits sweet upon
Their Beauties Altar to thee, Holy One.

This Garden too's the Soule, of thy Redeem'd:
When thou thy Spirits plants therein hast set
In their Conversion now most Choicely 'steemd

236

Embeautified with Graces bracelet.
If that my Soule thy Paradise once bee:
Thou wilt emparadise it e're with thee.

Make mee thy Garden; Lord, thy Grace my plant:
Make mee thy Vineyard, and my plants thy Vine:
Then come into thy Garden: View each ranck:
And make my Grape bleed in thy Cup rich wine.
When thou comest in, My Garden flowers will smile
And blossom Aromatick Praise the while.

84. Meditation. Can. 5.1. I have gatherd my Myrrh with my Spice.

17.8m [Oct.] 1708.

Hast made mee, Lord, one of thy Garden Beds?
And myrrhiz'd mee with bitter Exercise?
Stubd up the Brush, toore up the Turfy head?
And Combt it with thy Harrow teeth likewise?
Hast set therein thy Myrrhy Trees, that so
Sweet Spice might in this Garden bed forth flow?

This Bitter myrrh will keep Corruption out
Will kill the Worms that Worm hole do my heart:
Will breath sweet breath of rich perfumes about,
That sweetest Sents though bitter tast impart.
Such med'cine, Lord, I lack my Sin to calm,
To kill Corruption and my Soule Embalm.

But doth thy Myrrh tree Flowrish in my Soule?
Doth it bleed Myrrh, and Myrrhy blossoms beare?
Do thy Convictions bring mee to Condole
My Sinfulness with griefe, Hearts bitter fare?
And pickle up my Soule in teares whereby
My Sins are mortifi'de repentingly?

237

Is this the State, Lord, of my Garden Bed?
And com'st thou in thy Garden, Lord, anew?
And gatherst thou thy Myrrh that's therein bred
With thy Sweet Spices? Oh! this matter shew.
Thy bitter Myrrh that then my Sins doth quell,
Will mee revive with its sweet gracious Smell.

How graciously then dost thou deale with mee,
Wrapping this bitter myrrh in Odours sweet?
Tho'ts bitter rellish yet sweet sented wee
Do finde it: when our Senses do it greet.
Its bitter kills the Vermin in my Hive:
The Sweetness makes my inward man revive.

This myrrh in killing putrid vermin Sins,
Will keep my Soule from putrifying here,
Will ease the Conscience of its dreadfull Stings:
And sweeten all with its perfumed Cheere.
Thou art delighted in this Myrrh For Why?
Thou dost it gather with thy Spice, oh! Joy.

Then spice my Soule, Lord, with sweet myrrh that drops
Off of my Myrrh tree in thy garden Bed.
Thou gatherdst with thy Spice, this garden Crops
Thy Garden bore thee. Oh! Choice Crop it bred.
Apply this Myrrh on me, and on mee keep't.
My Soules Cure lies indeed in Bitter-Sweet.

If with thy Myrrh, thou curs't my mallody
Which hitherto hinders my Songs of Praise
And with its spicy gales that from it fly,
Thou dost perfume my Spirits, Songs to raise.
My Spirits stufft with sweetest joy will bring
Thy Glory tun'de on my perfumed String.

238

85. Meditation. Can. 5.1. I have eate my Hony Come with my Hony. I have drunk my Wine with my Milk.

26.10m [Dec.] 1708.

Oh! Angells, stand agastard at my Song;
The Aire scarce e're sedans such news as this.
The Soule Christs Spouse his garden Bed's become
Where Christ doth walk in Aromatick bliss.
Sin slaying Grace he gets as Myrrh and Spice.
Grace Nutritive's his Wine, Milk, Hony Choice.

Repentance, Patience, and Humility
And Graces such that mortify our Sin
Thou gatherst up as garden fruits with joy,
Thy bitter Myrrh and Sweet Spice note this thing.
The Exercising of these graces Choice,
Perfume thy Ambient aire with Holy Spice.

Faith, Hope, and Love with Heavenizing Joy.
These graces Nutritive to Souls arise
As Honey in its Comb, deliciously
Unto thy Palate in their Exercise
Thou in the Garden eats as Hony Good,
And drinkst as wine and milk, sweet Sillibub.

Hast set these Slips, Lord, of the Holy Ghost
In me thy gardens bed? Do they grow there
And bear thee spirituall fruits the which thou dost
Delight thy Palate with, as Choicest Cheere?
Oh! Do these graces that thou sets in mee
Thy Hony, Wine, and Milk Cook up for thee?

Who could believe it, if thou hadst not said
I'm come into my Garden, in its Shine

239

Have got my myrrh with Spice up. (Oh! sweet trade)
My Hony ate and drunk with milk my Wine?
Hast Eate and drunk my Holy Fair and Good?
Hony ints Comb, and Winemilk Sillibub?

What thing is this? How sweet? How Good? How brave?
Oh! Leape my Soule for joy: art thou become
A Spice bed in Christ's Garden where each Wave
Of spiced aire brieze all his Walks along:
Oh! dress thy Garden, Lord; it fatten well
That I its bed may with such Fruits excell.

Be thou my Gardener, Lord, make my Soule
Thy Gardens Knot. Thy Grace my plants set there.
And make my fruits, thy Myrrh and Spice out rowle,
My Hope, Faith, Charity, thy Chiefe good cheere.
Then Hony, Wine, and Milk Well Spic'de by mee
Shall disht with Praise, thy entertainment bee.

86. Meditation. Can. 5.1. Eat Oh! Friends. Drink, yea drink abundantly Oh! Beloved.

21.12m [Feb.] 1708.

Sometimes, my Lord, while that my Soule enwarms
Heroicks to thy Violl, I did finde
My heart enchanted with thy Ambient Charms,
That like an Angell, agitate my minde,
Soaring't as on seraphick wings on high.
But now, like lead, I Cold, and Heavy lie.

Lord, touch it with thine Altars quick, live Coale,
And then my Spirits, (oh! how brisk? How Quick?)
Will sweetest melody upon thee rowle.

240

Their Tunes shall with thy praises frisk and skip.
When on thy Sillibubb I sup and bib,
Thy wine and milk will make my Notes run glib.

But is it thus? Do graces blossoms grow
As Myrrh? And Spice? Hony? And Hony Comb?
Yea Wine, and Milk, which as they overflow?
For thee, thou eatst, and drinkst, and sayst come come
Furnish my Table with the same I'l cry
Eat here my Friends, drink, drinke abundantly?

Wilt thou me spice with spice that spiceth thee?
Shall I eat of the Hony Comb thou eatst?
Shall I drinke of the Cup thou drinkst of? See!
Drink of thy Wine and Milk! eat of thy meats?
What Love? What Honour? Shall I have such share
And hearty welcome of thy Trencher fare?

Oh that the Quintessence, Lord, of mee here
In the pure Spirits then of Zions Wine
Extracted were all into Praise most cleare
I'd raise to thee Up Praise. Id all be thine.
Could I refine myselfe thus melt to praise
All should be thine on this account, and blaze.

Then make mee, Lord, one of thy garden beds
The Herb of Trinity set in my Heart.
Herb True Love. Herb of Grace with Rosie Sheds,
Which springing up may beauties sweet impart.
Then I shall yield thee Hony, Milk and Wine:
And Spice too, sweet to thee, and t'sweeten thine.

Mee gracious make, then Graces fruits I'st beare.
Which thou, Lord, callst thy Myrrh, thy Spice and Milk
Thy Wine thy Hony too, of which a Share
To mee to wonderment, impart thou wilt.
Eate at thy Table, and drinke too shall I?
Then o're this Feast, I will say grace for joy.

241

87. Meditation. Joh. 10.10. I am come that they might have Life.

17.2m [Apr.] 1709.

Life! Life! What's That? It is a Taske too hard
For my Goose Quill with 'Bellisht Definitions
To set it out: It would thereby be marrd:
My inke would black it, though a gold Edition.
Its Natures Principall, that makes all brisk,
Peart, Flowerish, Glorious where it consists.

Its such a Thing that makes all things in which
It doth embower, and while they're with it fraught
To be full Worthy, Beautifull and Rich
While in them. But when Gone, they're good for naught.
Where ere it is, its th'chiefest excellence:
And where it is not, is no Worth, nor Sense.

Its such a thing, that all things else attende.
Earths Golden Fleece, and Flourish, Fruits, and Flower
Of ery sort, their sweet Consent do sende,
To Honour, and mentain it in its Tower.
Heaven smiles on't and in 'ts Crystall Candle Stick
Stand Sun, Moon, Stars blazing to Lighten it.

It from the Worlds Birth runs unto its End
Along Lifes Channells of each sort of things
And all their peart Eyde beauty doth them send.
What of all worldly Glory is the Spring,
Whose brightest Flower of all this Beauty bright
Is Humane Life. Oh! a most beautious sight.

This Life adepts mans Person to be made
All Glorious with shining Grace indeed,

242

And in this glory in Gods Holy trade
Of Grace unto his Glory to proceed.
But oh! Sin fould this Glory: Man hath lost it:
Death by a Sinfull Morsell killd and crost it.

But oh! what Grace, my Blessed Lord, hast thou?
What vallue sets't thou on mans life, now vile?
Prize it thou dost 'bove all the world, that Now
To save't from Death, thou leapest ore the Stile,
Dy'dst in our Stead, that wee might still have Life
Appeasing Justice, Ending thereby Strife.

But oh! how precious is this Life of Man,
Seing thou cam'st from heaven for this end
That we might live, Do Satan what he can,
Myselfe to thee, my Lord, I therefore give.
Give me, Lord, Life and Grace to boot then I
Will give My Life and Selfe to thee with Joy.

89. Meditation. Joh. 10.10. I am come that they might have Life.

12.4m [June] 1709.

What Birth of Wonders from thy Fingers ends
Dropt, when the World, Lord, dropt out of the Womb
Of its Non-Entity for to attende
Thy Will its Cradle. And its Midwife Strong.
Non-Entity in Travail full did bare
The World, big belli'd with all Wonders rare.

The Infant born, in'ts Cradle dorment lay,
As Dead, yet Capable of Ery Form.
A jumbled Lump of all things ery Way
Not any single birth of its yet born,

243

But when this Lump einjoy'd a Vitall Heate
All Kinds of things did from its belly leape.

Life Vegetative now hatcht in the Egge,
Flourishing some things nobler than the rest.
Life sensitive gives some of these its Head,
Inspiring them with honour next the best.
And some of which Life Rationall Enfires,
Cloathd with a Spiritualizing Life, aspires.

This Life thy Fingers freely dropt into
The Humane shaped Elements and made
The same Excell the Rest and nobler goe
Enspirited with Heavenizing trade.
But man by Sin hath lost all life, and marr'd
Himselfe eternally. Death's his reward.

But thou my Lord, before its Execution
Didst Step from heaven down Death to deterr
And that we might have life: making Solution
Unto the Creditor, dost Grace Conferr,
Oh! what a thing is life then. Choice? how Good,
In that thou camst to buy it with thy blood?

Life Naturall indeed is in the Bill
Thou with thy Father drewst up, it to buy.
Life Spirituall much more; which ever Will
As Heaven doth Earth, all Naturall Life out Vie.
Life Naturall is Common makes to live
Things Vegetative, and things Sensitive.

The Spirituall Life is never founde but where
Life Naturall indeed doth make its nest,
Which builds as well in Bruits and Wicked geers
As in God's Children, and in holy breasts.
But Spirituall Life falls onely to Gods Sons
And Out in Holy Conversation runs.

244

It doth Saints Souls and Conversation gild
With Godlike Glory of a Gracious Shine
Brightens its Superstructure where it builds
A Lofty Tower of Holy Life Divine.
The Richest Jewell in the Cabinet
Of Nature made, this Spirituall Life is set.

The Spirituall Life is nighst Gods Life in kinde.
In Godlike Properties it doth Consist.
Hence't glorifies the Soule and Life with it lin'de.
Lord, in my Soul and Life this life entwist.
Thou cam'st that I might live thus. Then grant me
This Life. And I shall Glory beare for thee.

90. Meditation. Joh. 10.28. I give unto them Eternal Life.

14.6m [Aug.] 1709.

Eternal Life! What Life is this, I pray?
Eternity snick snarls my Brains, thought on:
Its the Arithimaticians Wrack each way.
It hath begining, yet it end hath none.
He that hath been ten thousand years therein,
'S as far from 'ts end, as when they did begin.

Eternity indeed is Adjunct to
The Life of Man. Of all men Good, and Bad.
As to Deaths Darksom Entery they goe
They e're shall live and joyous be, or sad.
Eternall life, then is dicotamizd
Into a Life of Joy or miseries.

This last is Calld Everlasting Punishment
Or Everlasting sad Distruction,

245

Or second Death. Not Life. Its Life all shent
Of Good, and filld with Deaths Edition.
This though the Worms alive, is Living Death,
A thousand times worse than to have no breath.

Eternall Life then's in a right Sense this.
That All things blissfull do to it belong
Life Naturall, and Spirituall Life's in bliss
Eternizde in Eternall Joyes that throng.
Though all by Nature Death indeed doth fine.
Yet, Lord, thou giv'st Eternall Life to thine.

Oh! what a Lord is mine? How rich? that he
Gives his, Eternall Life: that doth Contain
All Heaven and its Glory, Bliss, and Glee
Within it, Hee is Rightfull Lord of th'Same.
For none can give that which he never had:
Wheather that gift he gives be good, or bad.

And though he give this Gift so rich to his
His Wealth and Glory's not thereby Diminisht.
He hath the Spring of Life, and Life of bliss.
When they their Pilgrimage have fully finisht,
Out of His Spring of life and Bliss that flowth,
Confer Eternall Life on them he doth.

Life Naturall (although Essentiall to
All Living things) and Spirituall Life indeed,
Peculiar to Rationalls also
Containd are in Christs Gift as in a Seed,
Are both Adjuncted with Eternity
In that he gives them them Eternally.

Ripe Grace in all its Orient Blossoms bright
Ripe Glory in its flower of brightest Shine,
Ripe joy upon the highest branch full ripe
Are in this Life Eternall made most fine,
All blanched o're in orient Glory all
Do send their Shining Rayes on them to fall.

246

Oh! Boundless Sea, and Bottomless of Love,
Confer'd on Saints. Oh! richest gift ere gi'n!
Worth more than thousands Worlds: all Heaven above,
Whole Heavens of Love; and God to boot therein:
God, Bliss, Joy, Glory, Eternal Life enjoy'de
Oh! Happiness! Saints Happy shall abide.

Hence, Lord, I kiss thy Feet, and humbly Cry
Give mee this Gift, Eternall Life I pray.
'Twill gild my Harp O're very gloriously,
And spiritualize my Strings thy tunes to play.
Life Naturall's the Base: the Spirituall is
The Meane: the Tenour is Eternall Bliss.

Lord, make my Person, subject of thy Gift
Eternal Life its Adjunct gi'n by thee.
My Person then, thy Well-Tun'de Harp shall lift
Thy Praises up in Tunes sung forth by mee.
Then on my Spirituall Wiars harmoniously
Thy Sweetest Tunes shall ring Eternall Joy.

91. Meditation. Matth. 24.27. So also shall the coming of the Son of Man be.

2.8m [Oct.] 1709.

What once again, My Lord, allowst thou mee,
Ev'n Mee, poore Dusty thing, thus to enjoy,
With Thee, ev'n thee, 'fore whom, 't's said, Bow the Knee
Ye Angells bright, Communion Graceously?
Thou art so glorious, thy Very Feet
Its glory to the Angells bright to greet.

And shall I on thy Table Fare, Lord, feed,
That is Cookt up by much more Whiter hands
Than ever Angells usd? Thy flesh indeed

247

Is meate, and Blood is Drink and on it stands.
The Waiters are bright Angells all in Shine
Of their White, Holy, Sapphick Robes Divine.

The thoughts hereof entring upon my Heart
Nigh sink, and drown my fainty Soule ev'n in
The Ocean Sea of Flaming Joy best part.
As she attempts Magnificat to sing
And plunging down and up herein, oft Cries,
As she pops up her head, Raptures of Joyes.

And now, my Lord, me with thy foode sustain:
Mee in good liking make, yea Fat, and fine,
To wait on thee when thou hast come again:
For Come thou wilt, and kindely visit thine.
Thou lov'dst our Nature that its blossoms hang
In thy Description. Hence the Son of Man.

Thou art Continually a Comming, its true,
In Providences Some, that scowle and lower,
That Thunder sharp and fiery lightening spew.
Yet Roses Some, and Mary golds out shower.
Thou comst in Ordinances too: and dost
The golden gifts give of the Holy Ghost.

But still, besides this, there's another which
Our text Embellisheth in glory bright.
Part of thy Exaltations Glory rich
When thou comst with all Angells train of Light.
Then by thy present Comings furnish mee
That I when thou shalt come, may wait on thee.

Hence loade my Trencher with thy Flesh Divine:
Its Angells foode. My Soule doth almost sink:
And press thy Grape into my Cup: Rich Wine.
Lord make thy Blood indeed, my dayly drinke.
When with thy Fare my Vessels fill to th'brim,
Thy Praise, on my Shoshannims, Lord, shall Ring.

248

92. Meditation. Math. 24.27. So also shall the Coming of the Son of Man be.

27.9m [Nov.] 1709.

It grieves mee, Lord, my Fancy's rusty: rub
And brighten't on an Angells Rubston sharp.
Furbish it with thy Spirits File: and dub
It with a live Coale of thine Altars Spark.
Yea, with thy holly Oyle make thou it slick
Till like a Flash of Lightning, it grow Quick.

My Heart may ake to finde so bright a Theme
Which brighten might even Angels wits, to bee,
By my thick, Rusty Fancy and dull Veane
Barbd of its brightsom sparkling Shine by mee.
Quicken my Fancy Lord; and mend my Pen:
To Flowerish up the same, as brightest Gem.

What is thy Humane Coach thy Soule rides in,
Bathing in Bright, Heart ravishing glory all
In Gods Celestiall splendent Palace trim,
Full of it's Fulgient Glory of that hall?
And wilt thou from this glorious Palace come
Again to us on earth, where Sinners throng?

Methinks I see, when thou appearest thus,
The Clouds to rend, and Skies their Crystall Doore
Open like thunder for thy pass to us
And thy Bright Body deckt with Shine all Ore
Flash through the Same like rapid Lightening Waver
That gilds the Clouds, and makes the Heavens Quaver.

Proud Sinners now that ore Gods Children crow
Would if they could creep into Augur holes,

249

Thy Lightening Flashing in their faces so,
Melts down their Courage, terrifies their Souls.
Thy Rapid Lightning Flashes pierce like darts
Of Red hot fiery arrows through their hearts.

Now Glory to the Righteous is the Song.
Their dusty Frame drops off its drossiness
Puts on bright robes, doth jump for joy, doth run
To meet thee in the Clouds in lightning Dress.
Whose nimble Flashes dancing on each thing
While Angells trumpet-musick makes them sing.

Make Sanctifying Grace, my tapestry,
My person make thy Lookinglass Lord, clear
And in my Looking Glass cast thou thine Eye.
Thy Image view that standeth shining there.
Then as thou com'st like Light'ning, I shall rise
In Glories Dress to meet thee in the Skies.

93. Meditation. Joh. 14.2. In my Fathers house are many Mansions.

22.11m [Jan.] 1709.

Could but a Glance of that bright City fair,
Whose walls are sparkling, Pretious Stones, whose Gates
Bright pollisht Splendent Pearls, Whose Porters are
Swash Flaming Angells, and Whose Streets rich Plates
Of pure transparent Gold, mine Eyes enjoy,
My Ravisht heart on Raptures Wings would fly.

My Lumpish Soule, enfir'd with such bright flame
And Quick'ning influences of this Sight
Darting themselves throughout my drossy frame
Would jump for joy, and sing with greate delight

250

To thee, my Lord, who deckst thy Royall Hall,
With glorious Mansions for thy Saints even all.

Thy Lower House, this World well garnished
With richest Furniture of Ev'ry kinde
Of Creatures of each Colours varnished
Most glorious, a Silver Box of Winde.
The Crystall Skies pinkt with Sun, Moon, and Stars
Are made its Battlements on azure Spars.

But on these Battlements above, thoust placdst
Thy Upper House, that Royall Palace town,
In which these Mansions are, that made thou hast
For Saints and Angells Dwellings of renown.
Should we suppose these mansions, Chambers neate
Like ours, 't would sordid be, not fit this Seate.

But if these Mansions, built so very bright
Beyond the worlds Bright Battlements, yet should
Be of materialls Celestiall right
Streets of such Houses, of transparent gold
For Saints and Angells to possess in Glory's
Would they unfit thy Upper House as Stories.

Though we can't ken these Mansions, now, yet this
Our Faith doth dwell upon while on this Shore
That there are Mansions, in Celestiall Bliss
For Saints and Angells t'dwell in evermore.
Then cheer up, Soule, and take the Kings path brave
Unto these Mansions promises do pave.

Bright Jasper Hall Walld with translucid gold,
Floors pav'd with Pearls, to these are durty Sells.
Then what bright lives ought all men here uphold
That hope within these mansions ere to dwell?
Adorne my Soule, Lord, with thy Graces here
Till by their Shine, I'm fitted to dwell there.

251

Let as I bring thy Glory home, in mee
Grace shine, and me thy paths tread pav'de with jems,
Unto thy house, wherein these Mansions bee,
And let mee dwell within their Curtain Hems.
Thy Praise shall then my Virginalls inspire
To play a Michtam on her golden wyer.

94. Meditation. Joh. 14.2. In my Fathers House are Many Mansions.

19.1m [Mar.] 1709/10.

Celestiall Mansions! Wonder, oh my Soul!
Angells Pavillions surely: and no Halls
For Mud walld Matter, wherein Vermins rowle,
Worm eaten'd ore with Sin, like wormhold Walls.
Shall Earthen Pitchers set be on the Shelfe
Of such blesst Mansions Heavenly Plate of Wealth?

May I presume to screw a single thought
Well splic'de with Saving Faith, into my Heart,
That my poore Potshread, all o're good for nought
May ever in these Lodgens have a part
The influences of the Same would fly
With rapid flashes through my heart of joy.

Oh! that thy Spirit would my Soule Inlay
With such rich lining, Graces Web, that would
While in my Loom, me in these Tents convay,
And that thy Sovereign Love might ever hold
Me in the paths that to these Mansions bring,
That I might ever dwell with thee therein.

252

Oh! that my Meditations all were frindg'd
With Sanctifying Gifts: and all my wayes
Borderd were with Obedience rightly hindg'd
Lord on thy word thy Honour bright to raise.
Oh! that my Paths were pavde with Holiness
And that thy Glory were their shining dress.

Array me, Lord, with such rich robes all ore
As for their Matter, and their modes usd are
Within these Mansions. Dye them all therefore
Deep in thy blood: to make them gracious Ware.
If with thy precious robes will't dress me here
My present tunes shall sing thy praise when there.

95. Meditation. Joh. 14.2. I go to prepare a place for you.

14.3m [May] 1710.

What shall a Mote up to a Monarch rise?
An Emmet match an Emperor in might?
If Princes make their personall Exercise
Betriming mouse holes, painting with delight!
Or hanging Hornets nests with rich attire
All that pretende to Wisdome would admire.

The Highest Office and Highst Officer
Expende on lowest intrest in the world
The greatest Cost and wealthiest treasure far
Twould shew mans wisdom's up in folly furld.
That Humane Wisdom's hatcht within the nest
Of addle brains which wisdom ne'er possesst.

But blush, poor Soule, at th'thought of such a thought
Touching my Lord, the King of Kings most bright
As acting thus, for us all over nought,

253

Worse than poor Ants, or Spider catchers mite
Who goes away t'prepare's a place most cleare
Whose Shine o're shines the shining Sunshine here.

Ye Heavens wonder, shall your maker come
To Crumbs of Clay, bing'd all and drencht in Sin
To stop the gap with Graces boughs, defray
The Cost the Law transgresst, doth on us bring?
Thy head layst down under the axe on th'block
That for our Sins did off the same there lop:

But that's not all. Thou now didst sweep Death's Cave
Clean with thy hand: and leavest not a dust
Of Flesh, or Bone that there th'Elect dropt have,
But bringst out all, new buildst the Fabrick just,
(Having the Scrowle of Gods Displeasure clear'd)
Bringst back the Soule putst in its tent new rear'd.

But thats not all: Now from Deaths realm, erect,
Thou gloriously gost to thy Fathers Hall:
And pleadst their Case preparst them place well dect
All with thy Merits hung. Blesst Mansions all.
Dost ope the Doore lockt fast 'gainst Sins that so
These Holy Rooms admit them may thereto.

But thats not all. Leaving these dolefull roomes
Thou com'st and takst them by the hands, Most High,
Dost them translate out from their Death bed toombs,
To th'rooms prepar'd filld with Eternall joy.
Them Crownst and thronst there, there their lips be shall
Pearld with Eternall Praises that's but all.

Lord Let me bee one of these Crumbs of thine.
And though Im dust adorn me with thy graces
That though all flect with Sin, thy Grace may shine
As thou Conductst me to these furnisht places.
Make mee, thy Golden trumpet, sounded bee,
By thy Good Spirits melody to thee.

254

96. Meditation. Cant. 1.2. Let him kiss me with the Kisse of his mouth.

9.5m [July] 1710.

What placed in the Sun: and yet my ware,
A Cloud upon my head? an Hoodwinke blinde?
In middst of Love thou layst on mee, despare?
And not a blinke of Sunshine in my minde?
Shall Christ bestow his lovely Love on his,
And mask his face? allowing not a kiss?

Shall ardent love to Christ enfire the Heart?
Shall hearty love in Christ embrace the Soule?
And shall the Spirituall Eye be wholy dark,
In th'heart of Love, as not belov'd, Condole?
In th'midst of Loves bright Sun, and yet not see
A Beame of Love allow'd to lighten thee?

Lord! read the Riddle: Shall a gracious heart
The object of thy love be sick of Love?
And beg a kiss under the piercing Smart,
Of want thereof? Lord pitty from above.
What wear the Sun, without a ray of light?
In midst of Sunshine, meet a pitchy night?

Thy foes, whose Souls Sins bowling alley's grown
With Cankering Envy rusty made, stand out
Without all Sense of thy Sweet Love ere shown
Is no great wonder. Thou lov'st not this rout.
But wonder't is that such that grudge their hearts
Hold love too little for thee, should thus smart.

Nay, nay, stand Sir: here's wisdom very cleare.
None sensibly can have thy love decline:
That never had a drop thereof: nor ere

255

Did tast thereof. This is the right of thine.
Such as enjoy thy Love, may lack the Sense
May have thy love and not loves evidence.

Maybe thy measures are above thy might.
Desires Crave more than thou canst hold by far:
If thou shouldst have but what thou would, if right,
Thy pipkin soon would run ore, breake, or jar.
Wisdom allows enough: none t'wast is known.
Because thou hast not all, say not, thoust none.

Christ loves to lay thy Love under Constraint.
He therefore lets not's Love her Candle light,
To see her Lovely arms that never faint
Circle thyself about, with greate Delight.
The prayers of Love ascend in gracious tune
To him as Musick, and as heart perfume.

But listen, Soule, here seest thou not a Cheate.
Earth is not heaven: Faith not Vision. No.
To see the Love of Christ on thee Compleate
Would make heavens Rivers of joy, earth overflow.
This is the Vale of tears, not mount of joyes.
Some Crystal drops while here may well suffice.

But, oh my Lord! let mee lodge in thy Love.
Although thy Love play bow-peep with me here.
Though I be dark: want Spectacles to prove
Thou lovest mee: I shall at last see Clear.
And though not now, I then shall sing thy praise.
In that thy love did tende me all my dayes.

256

97. Meditation. Can. 1.2. Let him kiss me with the Kisses of his mouth.

3.7m [Sept.] 1710.

My onely Lord, when with no muddy Sight,
Mine Eyes behold that ardent Flame of Love,
Thy Spouse, when that her day Light seemed night
In passionate affection seemd to move.
When thou to her didst onely Cease to show
Thy sweet love token: makes me cry out, Oh!

Although in trying, I through grace can finde
My heart holds such Conclusions in't, that I
Account this World, Silver, and Gold, refinde
Pearles, Pretious Stones, Riches, and Friends a toy.
Methinks I could part with them all for thee
Yet know not what I should if tri'de should bee.

I dare not say, such ardent flames would rise
Of true Loves passion, in its Blinks or Blisses,
As in thy Holy Spouse's heart that cries
Oh! let him kiss mee with his orall kisses.
Should he but stop such acts of love and grace
Making dark Clouds mask up his brightsom face.

If such strong Flame of Love, be made the mark
And Cata Pantos of true Love, then who
Can prove his marriage knot to Christ in's heart

257

That doth not finde such ardent flames oreflow?
When thy bright Sun-Shine Face doth weare a Cloude
Methinks my Soule in Sorrows thicket shroudes.

Yet pardon, Lord, give me this word again:
I feare to wrong myselfe, or Gracious thee.
This I can say, and can this say mentain,
If thou withdrawst, my heart soon sinks in mee.
Though oftentimes my Spirits dulled, grow,
If so I am, I am not alwayes soe:

When thou dost shine, a Sunshine day I have:
When I am cloudy then I finde not thee:
When thou dost cloud thy face, thy Face I crave.
The Shining of thy face enlivens mee.
I live and dy as Smiles and Frowns take place:
The Life, and Death of Joy Lodge in thy face.

But yet methinks my pipkin is too small.
It holds too little of Loves liquour in't.
All that it holds for thee seems none at all.
Thou art so dear, it is too cheape a Drink.
If I had more thou shouldst have more of mee
If Better, better too. I all give thee.

If thou, my Lord, didst not accept a mite
More than a mountain, if the mite doth hold
More than a mountain of the heart Love right
I should be blankt, my heart would grow so cold.
A Quarter of a Farthen halfe a mite
Of Love thou likest well, its heart delight.

Then let thy Loveliness, Lord touch my heart.
And let my heart imbrace thy loveliness:
That my small mite of Love might on thee dart,
And thy great selfe might my poor love possess.
My little mite of Love shall musick sweet
Tune forth on thee, its harp, that heaven shall greet.

258

98. Meditation. Can. 1.2. Thy Love is better than Wine.

29.8m [Oct.] 1710.

A Vine, my Lord, a noble Vine indeed
Whose juyce makes brisk my heart to sing thy Wine.
I have read of the Vine of Sibmahs breed,
And Wine of Hesbon, yea and Sodoms Vine,
All which raise Clouds up when their Liquour's High
In any one: but thine doth Clarify.

The Choicest Vine, the royallst grape that rose,
Or ere in Cana'ns Vinyard did take Root,
Did Emblemize thy selfe the True Vine those
Are not like thee for Nature, nor for fruite.
Thy noble royall nature Ever blesst
Produceth spiced juyce by far the best.

The Vine deckt in her blosom frindge the Aire
With sweet perfume. O! Smell of Lebanon!
Her Grapes when pounded and presst hard (hard fare)
Bleed out both blood and Spirits leaving none
Which too much tooke, the brain doth too much tole,
Tho't smacks the Palate, merry makes the Soule.

But oh! my Lord, thou Zions Vine most deare,
Didst send the Wealthi'st juyce and Spirits up to
Thy Grape which prest in Zions Wine fat Geere
Did yield the Welthi'st wine that ere did flow.
Its Loves Rich liquour spice't with Grace even thine,
And thus thy love is better far than wine.

This Wine thy Love bleeds from thy grape, how sweet?
To spiritualize the life in every part.
How full of Spirits? And of a spirituall reech,

259

To th' blood and Spirits of the gracious heart?
How warming to the Chilly person grown?
And Cordiall to spirituall feeble one?

How sweet? how warm? how Cordiall is thy Love
That bleeds thy grapes sweet Juyce into the Soule?
How brings it Grace, and Heaven from above.
And drops them in the Heart its Wassell bowle?
Wine th'Nectar of all juyces with its sapor
Compared to thy love is but a Vaper.

Its not like other wine which took too much,
Whose Spirits vapor. And do wise men foole.
But this the more is tooke, the Better such
Servants and Service best, best grace the Schoole.
Lord tun this Wine in me and make my Savour
Be ever richly filled with its flavour.

Lord make mee Cask, and thy rich Love its Wine.
Impregnate with its Spirits, Lord, my heart.
And make its heat my heart and blood refine,
And Sweetness sweeten me in ery part.
Give me to drinke the juyce of this true Vine
Then I will sing thy Love better than Wine.

99. Meditation. Isa. 24.23. He shall walk before his Ancient gloriously.

24.10m [Dec.] 1710.

Glory! what art? O! Sparkling Spark all bright,
Thy Shining Robes all gallantry do ware
Dazling the Eye of such as have the Sight
Of anyone deckt with thy Sparklings rare.

260

Guilding the Ambient aire with golden shine
In which its Subjects stande in glory fine.

This pale-fac'de Moon that Silver Snowball like
That Walkes ints Silver Glory, paints the Skies
The tester of the Bed, where day and night
Each Creature Coverd ore with glory lies,
She with her Silver Rayes envarnish doth
In Silver paint, the Skies as out she go'th.

But oh! the Sun, that golden Ball of Glory
That Walkes in his Celestiall Galleries
In flaming Broad cloth wove, in th'Highest Story,
Of Glories Rayes, and aires fine twine webwise
Doth make her golden Beams, her tapestry
Which gilds the heavens ore, hung out on high.

But all this glory pleasent to behold,
Is but a drop of ink compar'd with thine,
My Deare-Dear Lord whose Sparkling glory would
Enravish all that sees but halfe its Shine.
The bodies eyes want Strength to beare the Sight
From sinking when a beam of't on't doth Light.

Thy elementall Frame, that China Dish,
Varnisht with nature's rich perfection o're,
The top of beauty, humane nature's bliss,
Most naturally deckt with all beauties glore,
A Crystall Glass, Transparent Silver bowle.
Or Golden Tabernacle of the Soule.

Eyes ne'er beheld Humanity so brave,
So Beautifull a piece of manhood-frame.
Filld all with graces glory, whose bright Wave
Is dasht all ore, with orientall flame.
A Golden Viol full of gracious Grace
Whose flashing Shine out shines the Angells face.

261

Hence ery thought that in thy heart was hatcht.
And ery word that from thy lips did fall
And ery act thy person ere dispatcht,
Came glorifide with graces glory all
That eyes enlighten'd with thy glory, said
We saw his glory as God's Son's, displaid.

When thou the Curtain backtst a little t'shew
A little flash of thy greate glory bright
Thy Countenance did shine like lightning: true,
Thy Raiment was as white as Snow, or light.
Angells adore and Saints admire thy brightness
And hunger to bee filled with thy likeness.

Lord, make me with thy likeness like to thee.
Upon my Soule thy Shining Image place.
And let thy glorious grace shine bright in mee.
Enlay my thoughts, my words, and Works with Grace.
If thou wilt dub mee with bright gracious geere,
I'le sing thee Songs of Grace in Glories Spheare.

100. Meditation. Isai. 24.23. The Lord of Hosts shall reign in Mount Zion and in Jerusalem and before his Ancients gloriously.

18.12m [Feb.] 1710.

Glory, What art thou? tell us: Dost thou know?
Its native to our nature to desire
To weare thy Shine. Our Sparkling Eyes bestow
Their kisses on the Cheeks thou dost attire.
Our Fancies fed therewith grow lively briske.
Acts always lodged in happy glances frisk.

262

Then Glory as a Metaphor, Il 'tende
And lay it all on thee, my Lord! to bring
My Heart in Flames of love, its rayes out send
Whose Curled tops shall ever to thee cling.
But all the glory Sunbeams on them beare
Is but a Smoaky vapour to thy Weare.

To see thee king it in mount Zion bright
And in Jerusalem, wherein the Shine
Of thy Right Scepter pinkt with Starrs of Light
Thy Gospell Law, and Miracles Divine,
Enravish may my Soule untill it flies
To thee upon the Wings of Extasies.

To see thee thron'de in Spirituall Zion Bright,
Where Sanctifying Grace doth gild the Throne
Raisd in the heart In which thou sitst as Light
And swayst the Realm of thoughts, now gracious grown
Where Sins arraignd are sentenced and slain
Will hearts with rapid raptures entertain,

To see thee reign in Heavenly Zion, Oh!
Wherein the Throne of Glory all beset
With Sparkling Angells round about it throw
Bright flashes of their glory as they step
Thee to attend, exceeds all Sight each way
And make might to my Soule, all Heavenly day.

The Suns bright Glory's but a smoky thing
Though it oft 'chants mans fancy with its flashes.
All other glories, that from Creatures spring
Are less than that: but both are sorry Swashes.
But thine is purely bright, and spotless cleare
That will inravish in the Heavenly Sphere.

Then set thy Throne, Lord, in my Souls bright Hall:
And in thy throne let Grace enthroned bee
And let thy Grace gild ore thy Palace Wall

263

And let thy Scepter sway and rule in mee.
While in my heart thou'rt thron'd my Quill shall greet
Thyselfe with Zions Songs in musick Sweet.

101. Meditation. Isai. 24.23. Then shall the Moon be Confounded, and the Sun ashamed when the Lord of host shall rain in Mount Zion—Gloriously.

15.2m [Apr.] 1711.

Glory, thou Shine of Shining things made fine
To fill the Fancy peeping through the Eyes
At thee that wantons with thy glittering Shine
That onely dances on the Outside guise
Yet art the brightest blossom fine things bring
To please our Fancies with and make them sing.

But spare me, Lord, if I while thou dost use
This Metaphor to make thyselfe appeare
In taking Colours, fancy it to Choose
To blandish mine affections with and Cheare
Them with thy glory, ever shining best.
Thus brought to thee so takingly up dresst.

May I but Eye thy Excellency's guise
From which thy glory flows, all sparkling bright
Th'Property of all thy Properties
Being both inside, and their Outside Light
The flowing flakes of brightest glories flame
Would my affections set on fire amain.

Thy Holy Essence, and its Properties
Divine and Human all this Glory ware.

264

Thou art Bright Sun Glorie the Beams our Eyes
Are gilded with which from its body are.
Magnetick vertue raising Exhalation
Out of the humble soule unto thy Station.

My blissful Lord, thou and thy properties
And all thy Adjuncts that upon thee throng
Enbedded altogether up arise
And moulded up into a Splenderous Sun
And in thy Kingly Glory out do shine
In Zions mount, outshineing Glories line.

Created Glory dangling on all things
Of brightest sweet breathd flowers and Fields and glaze
The spurred starry Tribes whose sparkling wings
Flur glory down in Shining Beames and Rayes
Do blush and are asham'd of all their grace
Beholding that bright Glory of thy Face.

The Silver Candlesticks of th'heaven bright,
Bearing the Blazing torches round about
The Moon and Sun the Worlds bright Candle's light
These Candles flames thy Glory blows all out.
These Candle flames lighting the World as tapers,
Set in thy Sunshine seem like smokie vapors.

The Glory bright of Glorified Saints
And brightest Glory sparkling out with grace
Comparde with thine my Lord is but as Paint
But glances on them of thy glorious Face.
Its weak reflection of thy glories Shine,
Painting their Walls not to compare with thine.

But, Lord, art thou deckt up in glory thus?
And dost thou in this Glory come and Wooe
To bring our hearts to thee compelling us
With such bright arguments of Glories hew?
Oh! Adamantine Hearts if we withstand
Such taking Charming pleas in Glories hand.

265

Thy splendid glory lapt in Graces mantle
Confer on mee Lord, with thy gracious hand.
Let not my feet upon such glory trample
But make me for thee and thy Glory stand.
If that thy Gracious Glory win my Heart
Thy Glory's Grace I'le on Shoshannims harp.

102. Meditation. Mat. 26.26. While they were Eating, he took Bread and Blessed etc.

10.4m [June] 1711.

What Grace is here? Looke ery way and see
How Grace's Splendor like the bright Sun, shines
Out on my head, and I encentred bee
Within the Center of its radien lines,
Thou glories King send out thy Kingly Glory
In shining Institutions laid before mee.

The Basis of thy gracious functions stands
Ensocketted in thy Essentiall Grace
As its foundation, Rock (not loose loose Sands)
Bearing the Splendor of this shining face
Th'New Covenant, Whose Articles Divine
Do far surmount lines wrote in Gold for Shine.

And as the King of Zion thou putst out
Thy Institutions, Zions Statutes, th'Laws
Of thy New Covenant, which all through out
Thy bright Prophetick trumpet sounds, its Cause.
To this New Covenant, thou sets thy hand
And Royall Seale eternally to stand.

266

A Counterpane indented right with this
Thou giv'st indeed a Deed of Gift to all
That Give to thee their Hearts, a Deed for bliss.
Which with their hands and Seales they sign too shall.
One seale they at the Articling embrace:
The other oft must be renew'd, through grace.

Unto the Articles of this Contract
Our Lord did institute even at the Grave
Of the Last Passover, when off its packt.
This Seale for our attendance oft to have.
This Seal made of New Cov'nant wax, red di'de,
In Cov'nant blood, by faith to be appli'de.

Oh! this Broad Seale, of Grace's Covenant
Bears, Lord, thy Flesh set in its rim aright.
All Crucifide and blood, (Grace hath no want)
As shed for us, and on us us to White.
Let's not neglect this gracious law nor breake
But on this Flesh and blood both drinke and Eate.

Seing thou, Lord, thy Cov'nant writst in blood
My blood red Sins to blot out quite from me
Bathe thou my Soule in this sweet gracious flood,
Give me thy Grace that I may live to thee.
My heart, thy harp, make, and thy Grace my string.
Thy Glory then shall be my Song I'l sing.

103. Meditation. Mat. 26.26. As they were eating he tooke bread etc.

12.6m [Aug.] 1711.

The Deity did call a Parliament
Of all the Properties Divine to sit

267

About mankinde. Justice her Law out went.
All Vote man's life to stand or fall by it,
But Grace gave band securing Gods Elect.
Justice, if Wisdom tended Grace, accepts.

Man out doth come, and soon this Law disgrac't.
Justice offended, Grace to worke doth Fall
And in the way of Purest wisdom, traced
New Covenants man and to return him calls.
Erects New Cov'nant worship suited to
His present State to save him from all Woe.

And in this Course Glory to offer bright
Through Graces Hand unto Almighty God
Her Credits Good. Justice therein delights.
Rests in her Bill yet Grace prepares a Rod
That if her subjects her sweet rules neglect,
She with her golden rod may them Correct.

New Covenant worship Wisdom first proclaims
Deckt up in Types and Ceremonies gay.
Rich Metaphors the first Edition gains.
A Divine key unlocks these trunks to lay
All spirituall treasures in them open Cleare.
The Ark and Mannah, in't, Christ and Good Cheere.

This first Edition did the Cov'nant tend
With Typick Seales and Rites and Ceremonie
That till the Typick Dispensations end
Should ratify it as Gods Testimony.
'Mong which the Passover (whose Kirnell's Christ)
Tooke place with all its Rites, graciously spic't.

But when the Pay day came their kirnells Pickt.
The Shell is cast out hence. Cloudes flew away.
Now Types good night, with Ceremonies strict,
The Glorious Sun is risen, its broad day.
Now Passover farewell, and leave thy Place.
Lords Supper seales the Covenant of Grace.

268

But though the Passover is passt away.
And Ceremonies that belong'd to it,
Yet doth its kirnell and their Kirnell stay
Attending on the Seale succeeding it.
The Ceremony parting leaves behinde
Its Spirit to attend this Seale designd.

As it passt off, it passt its place o're to
The Supper of the Lord (Choice Feast) to seale
The Covenant of Grace thus, even so
The Ceremoniall Cleaness did reveale
A Spirituall Cleaness qualifying all
That have a Right to tend this Festivall.

All must grant Ceremonies must have Sense.
Or Ceremonies are but senseless things.
Had God no reason when, for to dispense
His Grace, he ope'd all Ceremoniall Springs?
The reason why God deckt his sacred Shine
With Senseless Ceremonies, here Divine.

A Typick Ceremony well attends
A Typick Ordinance, these harmonize.
A Spirituall Ordinance the Type suspendes
And Onely owneth Spirituall Qualities
To have a right thereto. And this the Will
The dying Ceremony made, stands still.

Morall, and Ceremoniall cleaness, which
The Pascall Lamb requir'd Foreshow the Guests
Must at the Supper Seale with Spoiles be rich
Of Sin and be with Saving Grace up dresst.
God Chose no Ceremonies for their sake
But for Signification did them take.

Give me true Grace that I may grace thy Feast.
My Gracious Lord, and so sit at thy Table.

269

Thy Spirituall Dainties this Rich Dress at least
Will have the Guests have. Nothing less is able
To prove their right to't. This therefore bestow.
Then as I eate, my lips with Grace shall flow.

104. Meditation. Matth. 26.26.27. He tooke Bread.—And he also tooke the Cup

30.7m [Sept.] 1711.

What? Bread, and Wine, My Lord! Art thou thus made?
And made thus unto thine in th'Sacrament?
These are both Cordiall: and both displai'd
Food for the Living. Spirituall Nourishment.
Thou hence art food, and Physick rightly 'pli'de
To Living Souls. Such none for dead provide.

Stir up thy Appetite, my Soule, afresh,
Here's Bread, and Wine as Signs, to signify
The richest Dainties Cookery can Dress
Thy Table with, filld with felicity.
Purge out and Vomit by Repentance all
Ill Humours which thy Spirituall Tast forestall.

Bread, Yea substantiall Bread dresst daintily
Gods White bread made of th'kidnie of Wheate
Ground in his Mill to finest Flowre, we spy,
Searc'de through his strict right Bolter, all compleate
Moulded up by Gods hand and baked tite
In Justices hot oven, Gods Cake-bread white.

It is Gods Temple bread; the fine Flower Cake.
The pure Shew Bread on th'golden Table set,
Before the Mercy-Seate in golden Plate,
Thy Palate for this Zions Simnill whet.

270

If in this oyled Wafer thou dost eate
Celestiall Mannah, Oh! the Happy meate.

But that's not all. Here's wine too of brave State.
The Blood, the pure red blood of Zions Grape
Grounde in the Mill of Righteousness to 'bate
Gods firy wrath and presst into the Shape
Of Royall Wine in Zion's Sacred bowles
That Purges Cleanse and Chearish doth poore Soules.

This Bread, and Wine hold forth the selfe same thing
As they from their first Wheat and Vine made flow
Successively into their Beings, bring
The manner of Christs Manhood and forth show
It was derived from th'head Humanity
Through Generations all successively.

And as this Bread and Wine receive their forms
Not fram'd by natures acting, but by Art.
So Christs Humanity was not ere born
By natures Vertue which she did impart.
But by Almighty power which acted so
Transendently, did nature overdoe.

These two are of all food most Choice indeed
Do Emblemise Christ's Elementall frame
Most Excellent and fine, of refinde Seed,
With Sparkling Grace deckt, and their Works in flame
As grafted in and flowing from his Nature
And here is food of which his are partaker.

Bread must be broke and Eate Wine pourd out too
And drunke and so they feed and do delight.
Christ broken was upon Gods wheele (its true)
And so is spirituall bread that feeds aright
And his Choice blood shead for our Sins is made
Drinke for our Souls: a Spirituall Drinke displaid.

Food though its ne're so rich, doth not beget
Nor make its Eaters; but their Lives mentain.

271

This Bread and Wine begets not Souls; but's set
'Fore spirituall life to feed upon the Same.
This Feast is no Regenerating fare.
But food for those Regenerate that are.

Spit out thy Fur, my Tongue; renew thy Tast.
Oh! whet thine Appetite, and cleanly brush
Thy Cloaths and trim thy Soule. Here food thou hast
Of Royall Dainties, that requires thee thus
That thou adorned be in Spirituall State:
This Bread ne're moulds, nor wine entoxicate.

They both are Food, and Physick, purge out Sin
From right Receivers. Filth, and Faults away:
They both are Cordialls rich, do Comfort bring.
Make Sanctifying Grace thrive ery day,
Making the spirituall man hate spirituall sloath
And to abound in things of Holy growth.

Lord, feed me with th'Bread of thy Sacrament:
And make me drinke thy Sacramentall Wine:
That I may Grow by Graces nourishment
Wash't in thy Vinall liquour till I shine,
And rai'd in Sparkling Grace unto thy Glory,
That so my Life may be a gracious story.

105. Meditation. Matt. 26.26. Jesus tooke Bread and blessed it, and brake it.

23.10m [Dec.] 1711.

If I was all well melted down, refinde
In graces Furnace and run in the mould

272

Of bright bright Glory, that with Glory shinde
More bright than glory doth, my Lord I would
Crown thee therewith thou shouldst have all, except
The dross I in refining did eject.

Hast thou unto thy Godhead nature tooke
My nature and unto that nature joyn'de
Making a Union thereby, whose root
Too deep's for reasons delving toole to finde,
Which is held out thus by thy Taking Bread,
In this sweet Feast in which our Souls are fed?

This Union, that it is, wee clearely see
But se not How, or What it is; although
We stande and gaze on't, at't amazed bee.
But Why it is Grace graciously doth show.
These natures thus United have (as't shown)
Each done by each, what neither could alone.

The Reason of it Grace declares, whose hand
This Union made; its made (and thinke hereon)
That so our Nature Cansell might that Bande.
She'd forfeited, and Justice sude upon.
For natures Purse could not the Fine defray.
Hence she had Gold from Godheads Mint to pay.

This Mystery more rich than massy gold
Our Lord lapt up in a Choice napkin fine
Of Heavenly trade an Ordinance that hold
The same out doth to us all sweet, Divine,
That this might live, he in his Dying night
Portraide it on his Supper last, as light.

To shew that he our nature took, he then
Tooke breade, and wine best Elementall trade,
Designed as the Sign thereof. Which when
He had his blessing over it display'de
To shew his Consecration, then it brake,
To signify his Sufferings for our sake.

273

Hence in this Bread, and Wine thou dost present
Thyselfe, my Lord, Celestiall Food indeed,
Rich spirituall fare Soul-Food, Faiths nourishment,
And such as doth all Saving Graces feed.
For which an Heavenfull of thanks, all free,
Is not too much my Lord to render thee.

Yet my poore Pipe can hardly stut a tune
Above an hungry thanks unto thy name
For all this grace, My Lord, My heart perfume
With greater measures, till thy Grace out flame
And leade mee on in Graces path along
To Glory, then I'l sing a brighter song.

106. Meditation. Matth. 26.26.27—take Eate—Drinke yee.

17.12m [Feb.] 1711.

I fain would Prize, and Praise thee, Lord, but finde
My Prizing Faculty imprison'd lyes.
That its Appreciation is confinde
Within its prison walls and small doth rise.
Its Prizing Act it would mount up so high
That might oremount its possibility.

I fain would praise thee, but want words to do't:
And searching ore the realm of thoughts finde none
Significant enough and therefore vote
For a new set of Words and thoughts hereon
And leap beyond the line such words to gain
In other Realms, to praise thee: but in vain.

Me pitty, parden mee and Lord accept
My Penny Prize, and penny worth of Praise.
Words and their Sense within thy bounds are kept
And richer Fruits my Vintage cannot raise.

274

I can no better bring, do what I can:
Accept thereof and make me better man.

With Consecrated Bread and Wine indeed
Of Zions Floore, and Wine press me sustain.
These fruits thy Boddy, and thy blood doth breed
Thy Pay and Purchase for mee mee to gain.
Lord make thy Vitall Principall in mee
In Gospellwise to eate and drink on thee.

These acts of mine that from thy Vitall Spark
In mee being to thyself, my Lord, my Deare,
As formative in touching thee their marke
Of this thy Sacrament, my Spirituall Cheere.
Life first doth Act and Faith that's lifes First-born
Receiving gives the Sacramentall form.

Hence its as needfull as the forme unto
This Choice formation Hypocrites beg on.
Elfes Vizzarded, and Lambskinde Woolves hence goe.
Your Counterfeted Coine is worse than none.
Your gilding though it may the Schoole beguile
The Court will Cast and all your gilt off file.

Morality is here no market ware,
Although it in the Outward Court is free.
A State of Sin this Banquet cannot beare.
Old and New Cov'nant Guests here don't agree.
The Wedden Robe is Welcome, but the back
This Supper cloaths not with, that doth it lack.

275

Food is for living Limbs, not Wooden legs:
Life's necessary, unto nourishment.
Dead limbs must be cut off: the Addle Eggs
Rot by the heat the dam upon them spent.
A State of Sin that takes this bread and Wine
From the Signatum tareth off the Signe.

A Principle of life, to eate implies,
And of such life that sutes the Foods desire.
Food naturall doth naturall Life supply.
And spirituall food doth spirituall life require.
The Dead don't eate. Though Folly childish dotes
In th'Child that gives his Hobby horses oates.

To Eat's an Act of life that life out sent
Employing Food. Life's property alive
Yet acts uniting with foods nourishment
Which spreads o're nature quite to make it thrive.
Life Naturall and Spirituall Life renewd
Precedes their Acts, their Acts precede their food.

Then form mee Lord, a former here to bee
Of this thy Sacrament receiving here
And let me in this Bread and Wine take thee:
And entertain me with thy Spirituall Cheer.
Which well Concocted will make joy up start,
That makes thy praises leape up from my heart.

107. Meditation. Lu. 22.19. This do in remembrance of Mee.

13.2m [Apr.] 1712.

Oh! what a Lord is mine? There's none like him.
Born heir of th'Vastest Realms, and not Confinde,

276

Within, nor o're the Canopy or rim
Of th'Starry Region, and as vastly kinde.
But's bright'st Dominion gloriously lies
In th'Realm of Angells above the Starry Skies.

When man had sin'd he saw that nothing could
In all's Dominnion Satisfaction make
To milke white Justice, but himselfe, who should
Then Drinke Deaths health, he did the matter take
Upon himselfe by Compact, new and good
On such Conditions that requir'd his blood.

Yet entred he in Cov'nant with God,
The Father for to do the thing himselfe
Which to perform he took a Humane Clod
In union to his Godhead, it enwealth,
That he might in it fully pay the Score
Of's fallen friends, and them from death restore.

And having in our nature well sufficde
The hungry law, with active Righteousness
His life did pay our debt. Death him surprizde.
His blood he made the Law's sufficing mess.
With Active and with Passive duties hee
Balanc't th'accounts, and set the Captives free.

But drawing nigh upon Death's Coasts indeed
He made his Will bequeathing legacies
To all his Children, a Choice Holy seed
As they did up in Covenant new arise.
He his last Night them feasts and at that meale
His Supper institutes his Cov'nant Seale.

Four Causes do each thing produc'd attend:
The End, Efficient, Matter and the Form.
These last th'Efficient passt through to the End,
And so obtains the same the babe is born.
So in this Supper causes foure attend
Th'Efficient, Matter, Form, and now the End.

277

The Primall End whereof is Obsignation
Unto the Covenant of Grace most sweet.
Another is a right Commemoration
Of Christs Rich Death upon our hearts to keep
And to declare his own till he again
Shall come. This Ordinance doth at these aim.

And Secondary Ends were in Christ's Eye
In instituting of this Sacrament,
As Union, and Communion Sanctity
Held with himselfe by these usd Elements
In Union and Comunion which are fit,
Of Saints Compacted in Church Fellowship.

But lest this Covenant of Grace should ere
Be held by doubting Saints all Violate
By their infirmities as Adams were
By one transgression and be so vacate
Its Seale is food and's often to be usd,
To seale new pardons freshening faith, misusd.

Then make me, Lord, at thy Sweet Supper spy
Thy graces all well flourishing in mee.
And seale me pardon up and ratify
Thy Covenant with mee, thus gracious bee.
My Faculties all deckt with grace shall Chime
Thy praise, with Angells and my grace shall shine.

108. Meditation. Matt. 26.26.27. Jesus took bread—and he took the Cup

8.4m [June] 1712.

What Royall Feast Magnificent is this,
I am invited to, where all the fare

278

Is spic'd with Adjuncts, (ornamentall bliss)
Which are its robes it ever more doth ware?
These Robes of Adjuncts shining round about
Christs golden Sheers did cut exactly out.

The Bread and Wine true Doctrine teach for faith
(True Consequence from Truth will never ly)
Their Adjuncts teach Christs humane nature hath
A Certain place and not Ubiquity.
Hence this Condemns Ubiquitarians
And whom deny Christs Manhood too it damns.

It Consubstantiation too Confounds.
Bread still is bread, Wine still is wine its sure.
It Transubstantiation deadly wounds.
Your touch, Tast, Sight say true. The Pope's a whore.
Can Bread and Wine by words be Carnifide?
And manifestly bread and Wine abide?

What monsterous thing doth Transubstantiation
And Consubstantiation also make
Christs Body, having a Ubique-Station,
When thousands Sacraments men Celebrate
Upon a day, if th'Bread and wine should e're
Be Con---, or Trans-Substantiated there?

If in Christs Doctrine taught us in this Feast,
There lies No ly. (And Christ can never ly)
The Christian Faith cannot abide at least
To dash out reasons brains, or blinde its eye.
Faith never blindeth reasons Eye but cleares
Its Sight to see things quite above its Sphere.

These Adjuncts shew this feast is ray'd in ware
Of Holiness enlin'de with honours Shine.
Its Sabbath Entertainment, spirituall fare.
It's Churches banquet, Spirituall Bread and Wine.
It is the Signet of the Kings right hande,
Seale to the Covenant of Grace Gods bande.

279

The Sign, bread, made of th'kidnies of Wheate
That grew in Zions field: And th'juyce we sup
Presst from the grape of Zions Vine sweet, great
Doth make the Signall Wine within the Cup.
Those Signals Bread and Wine are food that bear
Christ in them Crucified, as spirituall fare.

Here is a feast indeed! in ev'ry Dish
A Whole Redeemer, Cookt up bravely, Good,
Is served up in holy Sauce that is,
A mess of Delicates made of his blood,
Adornd with graces Sippits: rich Sweet-Meats.
Comfort and Comforts sweeten whom them eats.

Lord, Make thou me at this rich feast thy Guest
And let my food a whole redeemer bee.
Let Grace Carve him for mee in ev'ry mess:
And rowle her Cuttings in this Sawce for mee.
If thou me fatten with this Faire While here.
Here after shall thy praise be my good Cheere.

109. Meditation. Mat. 26.26.27: And gave it to his Disciples.

3.6m [Aug.] 1712.

A Feast is said to be for Laughter made.
Belshazzars Feast was made for Luxury.
Ahashueru's feast for pomp's displayde.
George Nevill's Feast at Yorks, for gluttony.

280

But thou my Lord a Spirituall Feast hast dresst
Whereat the Angells gaze. And Saints are Guests.

Suppose a Feast in such a Room is kept
Thats deckt in flaming Guildings every where,
And richest Fare in China Chargers deckt
And set on golden Tables. Waiters there
In flaming robes waite pouring Royall wine
In Jasper Cups out. Oh! what glories shine?

But all this Glorious Feast seems but a Cloud,
My Lord, unto the Feast thou makst for thine.
Although the matters thou hast thine allowd,
Plain as a pike Staffe bee, as Bread and Wine,
This feast doth fall below thine, Lord, as far
As the bright Sun excells a painted Star.

Thine is a Feast, the Funerall feast to prize
The Death, Oh! my Redeemer, of the Son
Of God Almighty King of Heaven and'ts joys,
Where spirituall food disht on thy Table comes.
All Heavenly Bread and Spirituall Wine, rich rare,
Almighty gives, here's Mannah, Angells Fare.

This Feast indeed yields gracious Laughing ripe
Wherein its Authour laugheth Hell to Scorn:
Lifts up the Soule that drowns in tears, a wipe
To give th'old Serpent. Now his head piece's torn.
Thou art, my Lord, the Authour, and beside
The Good Cheer of this Feast, as Crucifide.

The Palace where thou this dost Celebrate
Is New Jerusalem with Precious Stones
Walld in: all pavde with Gold: and Every Gate,
A precious pearle: An Angell keeps each one.
And at the Table head, more rich than gold,
Dost sit thyselfe, and thy rich fare unfold.

281

Thy Table's set with fare that doth Excell
The richest Bread, and Wine that ever were
Squeezd out of Corn or Vines: and Cookt up well.
Its Mannah, Angells food. Yea, Heavens Good Cheer.
Thou art the Authour, and the Feast itselfe.
Thy Table Feast hence doth excell all wealth.

Thou sittest at the table head in Glory,
With thy brave guests With grace adornd and drest.
No Table e're was set like thine, in Story,
Or with such guests as thine was ever blesst,
That linings have embroider'd as with gold,
And upper robes all glorious to behold.

They'r Gods Elect, and thy Selected Ones,
Whose Inward man doth ware rich robes of Grace,
Tongues tipt with Zion Languague, Precious Stones.
Their Robes are quilted ore with graces lace.
Their Lives are Checker work of th'Holy Ghost.
Their 'ffections journy unto Heavens Coast.

The Subjects that at first sat at this feast
With Christ himselfe, faithfull Disciples were
Whose gracious frames 'fore this time so increast
Into Apostleship that brought them here.
Who when Christ comes in Glory, saith, they shall
Sit with him on twelve thrones in's Judgment hall.

These sample out the Subjects and the Guests
That Welcome are unto this Table bright,
As Qualifide Disciples up well drest
In Spiritual apparell whitend white
Else Spot there's in this feast. They cannot thrive
For none can eate, or ere he be alive.

Thou satst in flaming Grace at table head.
Thy flaming Grace falling upon the rest
That with thee sat, did make their graces shed
Their Odours out most sweet which they possesst.

282

Judas that graceless wretch packt hence before.
That onely gracious ones enjoyd this Store.

Lord Deck my Soule with thy bright Grace I pray:
That I may at thy Table Welcome bee,
Thy hand Let take my heart its Captive prey
In Chains of Grace that it ne're slip from thee.
When that thy Grace hath set my heart in trim
My Heart shall end thy Supper with an Hymn.

110. Meditation. Matt. 26.30. When they had sung an Hymn.

5.8m [Oct.] 1712.

The Angells sung a Carole at thy Birth,
My Lord, and thou thyselfe didst sweetly sing
An Epinicioum at thy Death, on Earth
And order'st thine, in memory of this thing
Thy Holy Supper, closing it at last
Up with an Hymn, and Choakst the foe thou hast.

This Feast thou madst in memory of thy death
Which is disht up most graciously: and towers
Of reeching vapours from thy Grave (Sweet breath)
Aromatize the Skies. That sweetest Showers
Richly perfumed by the Holy Ghost,
Are rained thence upon the Churches Coast.

Thy Grave beares flowers to dress thy Church withall.
In which thou dost thy Table dress for thine.
With Gospell Carpet, Chargers, Festivall
And Spirituall Venison, White Bread and Wine
Being the Fruits thy Grave brings forth and hands
Upon thy Table where thou waiting standst.

283

Dainties most rich, all spiced o're with Grace,
That grow out of thy Grave do deck thy Table
To entertain thy Guests, thou callst, and place
Allowst, with welcome, (and this is no Fable)
And with these Guests I am invited to't
And this rich banquet makes me thus a Poet.

Thy Cross planted within thy Coffin beares
Sweet Blossoms and rich Fruits, Whose steams do rise
Out of thy Sepulcher and purge the aire
Of all Sins damps and fogs that Choake the Skies.
This Fume perfumes Saints hearts as it out peeps
Ascending up to bury thee in th'reechs.

Joy stands on tiptoes all the while thy Guests
Sit at thy Table, ready forth to sing
Its Hallilujuhs in sweet musicks dress
Waiting for Organs to imploy herein.
Here matter is allowd to all, rich, high,
My Lord, to tune thee Hymns melodiously.

Oh! make my heart thy Pipe: the Holy Ghost
The Breath that fills the same and Spiritually.
Then play on mee thy pipe that is almost
Worn out with piping tunes of Vanity.
Winde musick is the best if thou delight
To play the same thyselfe, upon my pipe.

Hence make me, Lord, thy Golden Trumpet Choice
And trumpet thou thyselfe upon the same
Thy heart enravishing Hymns with Sweetest Voice.
When thou thy Trumpet soundst, thy tunes will flame.
My heart shall then sing forth thy praises sweet
When sounded thus with thy Sepulcher reech.

Make too my Soul thy Cittern, and its wyers
Make my affections: and rub off their rust
With thy bright Grace. And screw my Strings up higher

284

And tune the same to tune thy praise most Just.
Ile close thy Supper then with Hymns, most sweet
Burr'ing thy Grave in thy Sepulcher's reech.

111. Meditation. 1. Cor. 10.16. The Cup of blessing which wee bless, is it not the Comunion of the body of Christ? etc.

7.10m [Dec.] 1712.

Oh! Gracious Grace! whither soarst thou? How high
Even from thy root to thy top branch dost tower?
Thou springst from th'essence of blesst Deity
And grow'st to th'top of Heavens all blissfull flower.
Thou art not blackt but brightend by the Sin
Of Gods Elect, whom thou from filth dost bring.

Thou Graces Egg layst in their very hearts
Hatchest and brudl'st in this nest Divine
Its Chickin, that it fledge. And still impartsts
It influences, through their lives that shine.
Them takest by the hand, and handst them o're
The Worlds wild waves to the Celestiall Shoare.

And as thou leadst them 'long the way to glory
Thou hast the Wells of Aqua Vitae cleare.
For them to take good drachms of (Oh! blesst Story)
And Inns to entertain them with good Cheere.
That so they may not faint, but upward grow
Unto their ripeness, and to glory Soe.

285

They take a drachm of Heavenly Spirits in,
From every Duty. Here is blessed Ware.
Thou hast them draughts of Spiritual Liquour gi'n
And ev'ry Sabbath tenders us good fare,
But Oh! the Supper of our Lord! What joy?
This Feast doth fat the Soul most graceously.

Theandrick Blood, and Body With Compleate
Full Satisfaction and rich Purchase made
Disht on this golden Table, spirituall meate
Stands. And Gods Saints are Welcom'd with this trade
The Satisfaction, and the Purchase which
Thy Blood and Body made, how Good,? how rich?

Oh! blesst effects flow from this table then.
The feeding on this fare and Spiritually
Must needs produce a Spirituall Crop for them
That rightly do this table fare enjoy
Whatever other Ordinances doe!
This addeth Seale, and Sealing wax thereto.

This is a Common that consists of all
That Christ ere had to give. And oh! how much!
Of Grace and Glory here? These ripe fruits fall
Into Saints baskets: they up gather Such.
All fruits that other ordinances which
Are Edifying, Do this Feast enrich.

But still besides these there are properly
Its own effects which it doth beare and hath.
Its Spirituall Food that nourisheth spiritualy.
The new born babe to thrive in using Faith
The Soule it quiets: Conscience doth not sting.
It seales fresh pardon to the Soul of Sin.

It maketh Charity's sweet rosy breath
Streach o're the Whole Society of Saints.
It huggeth them. That nothing of the Earth

286

Or its infection its affections taints.
Grace now grow strong, Faith sturdy. Joy, and Peace
And other Vertues in the Soule encrease.

Gods Love shines brighter now upon the heart:
In that he seals Christ Dying with a Feast
Wherein he smiles doth on the Soul impart:
With all Christs Righteousness: Joy now's increast.
The Soul grows valient and resists the foe.
The Spirituall Vigour vigorous doth grow.

Lord, on thy Commons let my Spirits feed
So nourish thou thy new Born babe in mee.
At thy Communion Table up mee breed
Communicate thy Blood and Body free.
Thy Table yielding Spirituall Bread, and Wine
Will make my Soul grow brisk, thy praise to Chime.

112. Meditation. 2 Cor. 5.14. If one died for all then are all Dead.

15.12m [Feb.] 1712.

Oh! Good, Good, Good, my Lord. What more Love yet.
Thou dy for mee! What, am I dead in thee?
What did Deaths arrow shot at me thee hit?
Didst slip between that flying shaft and mee?
Didst make thyselfe Deaths marke shot at for mee?
So that her Shaft shall fly no far than thee?

Di'dst dy for mee indeed, and in thy Death
Take in thy Dying thus my death the Cause?
And lay I dying in thy Dying breath,
According to Graces Redemption Laws?
If one did dy for all, it needs must bee
That all did dy in one, and from death free.

287

Infinities fierce firy arrow red
Shot from the splendid Bow of Justice bright
Did smite thee down, for thine. Thou art their head.
They di'de in thee. Their death did on thee light.
They di'de their Death in thee, thy Death is theirs.
Hence thine is mine, thy death my trespass clears.

How sweet is this: my Death lies buried
Within thy Grave, my Lord, deep under ground,
It is unskin'd, as Carrion rotten Dead.
For Grace's hand gave Death its deadly wound.
Deaths no such terrour on th'Saints blesst Coast.
Its but a harmless Shade: No walking Ghost.

The Painter lies: the Bellfrey Pillars weare
A false Effigies now of Death, alas!
With empty Eyeholes, Butter teeth, bones bare
And spraggling arms, having an Hour Glass
In one grim paw. Th'other a Spade doth hold
To shew deaths frightfull region under mould.

Whereas its Sting is gone: its life is lost.
Though unto Christless ones it is most Grim
Its but a Shade to Saints whose path it Crosst,
Or Shell or Washen face, in which she sings
Their Bodies in her lap a Lollaboy
And sends their Souls to sing their Masters joy.

Lord let me finde Sin, Curse and Death that doe
Belong to me ly slain too in thy Grave.
And let thy law my clearing hence bestow
And from these things let me acquittance have.
The Law suffic'de: and I discharg'd, Hence sing
Thy praise I will over Deaths Death, and Sin.

288

113. Meditation. Rev. 22.16. I am the Root and Offspring of David.

12.2m [Apr.] 1713.

Help, oh! my Lord, anoint mine Eyes to see
How thou art Wonderfull thyselfe all ore,
A Common Wealth of Wonders: Rich Vine tree
Whose Boughs are reevd with miracles good Store.
Let thy Sweet Clew lead me thy Servant right
Throughout this Labyrinth of Wonders bright.

Here I attempt thy rich delightfull Vine
Whose bowing boughs buncht with sweet clusters, ripe
Amongst the which I take as Cordiall wine
This Bunch doth bleed into my Cup delight.
It Cramps my thoughts. What Root, and Offspring too
Of David: Oh! how can this thing be true?

What top and bottom, Root and Branch unto
The selfe same tree how can this be? oh-fiddle!
It cannot be. This thing may surely goe
As harder far to read than Sampsons Riddle.
A Father and a Son to th'selfe same man!
This wond'rous is indeed: read it who can.

The Root the tree, the Tree the branch doth beare.
The tree doth run between the branch, and Root.
The root and branch are too distinct a pair
To be the same: Cause and Effect they sute.
How then is Christ the Root, and Offspring bright
Of David, Shew, come, read this riddle right.

Lend me thy key, holy Eliakim,
T'unlock the doore untill thy glory shine.

289

And by thy Clew me thorow lead and bring
Cleare through this Labyrinth by this rich twine.
Posamnitick's Labyrinth now doth appeare
An Easy thing unto the passage here.

But this doth seem the key unto the Lock.
Thy Deity, my Lord, is Davids root:
It sprang from it: its rooted on this rock.
Thy Humane nature is its Offspring-Sute.
Thy Deity gave David Being, though
Thy Humane Being did from David flow.

Hence thou both Lord, and Son of David art,
Him Being gav'st, and Being tookst of him.
This doth unbolt the Doore, and light impart
To shew the nature of this wondrous thing.
Hence two best natures do appeare to stand
United in thy Person hand in hand.

My blessed Lord, thou art like none indeed.
Godhead, and Manhood harmonize in thee.
Hence thou alone wee mediator read,
'Tween God, and Man, and setst Gods Children free
From all Gods wrath, and wholy them restore
Into that Favour, which they lost before.

Hence give thou me true Faith in thee to have:
Make me thy branch, be thou my root thyselfe,
And let thy Grace root in my heart, I Crave
And let thy purchase be my proper Wealth:
And when this Sweet hath in my heart full Sway
My sweetest musick shall thy praise display.

290

114. Meditation. Rev: 22.16. The bright and morning Star.

9.6m [Aug.] 1713.

A Star, Bright Morning Star, the shining Sun
Of Righteousness, in Heaven Lord thou art.
Thou pilotst us by night, which being run
Away, thou bidst all darkness to depart.
The Morning Star peeps up an usher gay
'Fore th'Sun of Righteousness to grace the day.

All men benighted are by fall, and Sin:
Thou Graces pole star art to pilote's from it:
The night of Sorrow and Desertion spring,
Thou morning Starr dost rise, and not a Comet.
This night expired now, is dead and gone:
The Day Spring of sweet Comfort cometh on.

The Morning Star doth rise, Dews gracious fall:
And spirituall Herbs, and sweet Celestiall flowers
Sprinkled therewith most fragrantly do call
The Day Star up, with golden Curls, and Towers
Put back the Curtains of the azure skies
And gilde the aire while that the Sun doth rise.

The night of Persecution up arose.
Not Even, but the morning star there to
Soon riseth: vant ill looks: the last Cock Crows
The Morning Star up: out the Sun doth go.
Farewell darke night, Welcome bright gracious day.
As Joy Divine comes on, Griefe goes away.

This world's a night-shade, or a pitchy night,
All Canopi'de with storms and Cloudes all darke.
Sending out thunders, Lightnings and with might,

291

But thou our Pole star art, which we must marke.
While th'morning Star hands dawning light along:
Let Grace sing now, Birds singing time is come.

Whilst thou, my Pole-star shinst my Lord, on mee
Let my poore pinnace saile thereby aright,
Through this darke night untill its harbor bee
The Daystars bay, the spring of dayly light,
The Usher bidding of the night, good night
And Day, Good morrow lightend with delight.

If I by thee, my Pole star, steere aright
Through this dark night of foule hard weather here
My Vessell safely to the harbour bright
Of thee, my Morning Star, ere shining clear.
I then shall soon Eternal Day possess
Wherever shines the Sun of Righteousness.

Grant me, my Lord, by thee, my Star to steere.
Through this darke vale of tears untill I meet,
Thee here my morning Star outshining cleare,
Shewing my night is past, and day doth peep.
When thou my Sun of Righteousness makst day.
My Harp shall thy Eternall praise then play.

Thou Jacobs Star, in's Horizon didst rise.
And fix't in Heaven, Heavens Steeridge Star.
To steer poor sinners out from Enemies
Coasts unto Graces Realm, (Best State by far).
Thou sentst a star in th'East to lead Wise men
Thence to thyselfe, when born in Bethlehem.

The golden locks of this bright star, I pray,
Make leade us from sins quarters to the Coast
Of Graces tillage: darkness from, to th'Bay
Of Consolation and the Holy Ghost.
And from this Vale of tears to Glory bright
Where our tunde breath shall ne're be Choakt by th'night.

292

115. Meditation. Cant. 5:10. My Beloved.

4.7m [Sept.] 1713.

What art thou mine? Am I espousd to thee?
What honour's this? It is more bright Renown.
I ought to glory more in this sweet glee
Than if I'd wore greate Alexanders Crown.
Oh! make my Heart loaded with Love ascend
Up to thyselfe, its bridegroom, bright, and Friend.

Her whole delight, and her Belov'de thou art.
Oh! Lovely thou: Oh! grudg my Soule, I say,
Thou straitend standst, lockt up to Earths fine parts
Course matter truly, yellow earth, Hard Clay.
Why should these Clayey faces be the keyes
T'lock, and unlock thy love up as they please?

Lord, make thy Holy Word, the golden Key
My Soule to lock and make its bolt to trig
Before the same, and Oyle the same to play
As thou dost move them off and On to jig.
The ripest Fruits that my affections beare
I offer, thee. Oh! my Beloved faire.

Thou standst the brightest object in bright glory
More shining than the shining sun to 'lure.
Unto thyselfe the purest Love. The Stories
Within my Soul can hold refinde most pure
In flaming bundles polishd all with Grace
Most sparklingly about thyselfe t'imbrace.

The most refined Love in Graces mint
In rapid flames is best bestowd on thee
The brightest: metall with Divinest print

293

Thy tribute is, and ever more shall bee.
The Loving Spouse and thou her Loved Sweet
Make Lovely Joy when she and thee do meet:

Thou art so lovely, pitty 'tis indeed
That any drop of love the Heart can hold
Should be held back from thee, or should proceed
To drop on other Objects, young, or old.
Best things go best together: best agree:
But best are badly usd, by bad that bee.

Thou all o're Lovely art, Most lovely Thou:
Thy Spouse, the best of Loving Ones: Her Love,
The Best of Love: and this she doth avow
Thyselfe. And thus she doth thyself approve.
That object robs thee of thy due that wares
Thy Spouses Love. With thee none in it shares.

Lord fill my heart with Grace refining Love.
Be thou my onely Well-Belov'd I pray.
And make my Heart with all its Love right move
Unto thyselfe, and all her Love display.
My Love is then right well bestow'd, alone
When it obtains thyselfe her Lovely One.

My Best love then shall on Shoshannim play,
Like David her Sweet Musick, and thy praise
Inspire her Songs, that Glory ever may
In Sweetest tunes thy Excellency Glaze.
And thou shalt be that burden of her Song
Loaded with Praise that to thyselfe belong.

294

116. Meditation Can. 5.10. My Beloved is White, and Ruddy, the Chiefest among ten thousand.

21.9m [Nov.] 1713.

When thou, my Lord, mee mad'st, thou madst my heart
A Seate for love, and love enthronedst there.
Thou also madst an object by thy Art
For Love to be laid out upon most Cleare.
The ruling Stamp of this Choice object shows
God's Beauty, beautifuller than the rose.

I sent mine Eye, love's Pursevant, to seek
This Object out, the which to naturall
I found it mixt with White and Red most sweet.
On which love naturall doth sweetly fall.
But if its spirituall, then Orient Grace
Imbellisheth th'object in this Case.

Such Beautie rose in Sharon's Rose and keeps
Its pleasing blushes of pure White, and Red
Where spirituall blossoms give their Spirituall Reech,
And on thy Spirituall Countenance do bed.
Thou art this Rose Whose rosy Cheeks are found
In purest White and Red of Grace abound.

295

Thou art arrayed in Gods Whitest Lawn
And with the purest ruddy looks Sweet Rose,
White Righteousness, And Sufferings too out drawn.
Thy purest blood thy blessed veans did lose
Was Lasht, Gasht slain paying our debts in which
Thy beauty rose unto the highest pitch.

Hence purest White and red in Spirituall Sense
Make up thy Beauty to the Spirituall Eye.
Thus thou art object to love Spirituall. Hence
The Purest Spirituall Love doth to thee high.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]

Thou art the loveli'st object over spread
With brightest beauty Object ever wore
Of purest flushes of pure white and red
That ever did or could the Love allure.
Lord make my Love and thee its Object meet
And me in folds of Such Love raptures keep.

Oh! thou most beautiful of Objects gay
Dart out thy Heavenly beams into my breast.
And make thy Beauty Lord, thy Golden key
For to unlock and open right my Chest
Loves Cabinet and take the best thyselfe
Of all my Love therein. Its all thy Wealth.

When I bring forth the best of Love to thee
And poure its purest Streams all reeching Warm
The best of Love, and Beautiest object bee
Then met together, Love by Beauties Charm
Embrace thyselfe in her pure milke white Hands
Thy Holy Beauty lays my love in bands.

Thy beauty then shall weare the best of mee.
My Love shall then the best of Beauties have.

296

My Love's my best, thy Beauty's best in thee.
For thy Best Beauty, my best love I save.
While my best love doth thy best beauty greet
My purest Love shall sing thy Beauty sweet.

117. Meditation. Cant. 5.10. The Chiefest among ten thousand. [HEBREW]

[HEBREW] vir illustrus e myriade: Jerom Electus e millebus. Electus ex insignis supra decem. Mar. Standard bearer above ten thousand or the Choice one of ten thousand.

17.11m [Jan.] 1713.

A King thou art, my Lord, yea King of Kings.
All Kings shall truckle and fall fore thee down.
Thou hast a Kingdom too Whose great bell rings
A Passing peale to Worldly Kings and Crowns.
Thou art the King of Saints and Angells bright.
Thou art the King of Glory, and all Light.

Thy Kingdom is with walls encircled
Stronger than Walls of Brass or Solid Gold.
Its walld about with fire: Stones Cemented
With all the Promises Gods booke doth hold.
And all its buildings laid upon the Rock
Eternall: that Hell gates can't make them shock.

Thou hast a Throne, Crown, Scepter, Mace all Rich
Richer than golden Crowns, pearld all about.
Thou hast a Body of just Laws, all Which
Transcend all Lawes that ever Kings put out.

297

Thou also hast both Foes and Enemies
That up against thee and thy Realm arise.

Thou hast a Standard and a Banner greate.
Thy Gospell and all Gospell Grace, its flag:
Thy Standards Colours blancht with Grace compleat
Enrich thy Banner doth (that is no rag).
Thou hast a Drum thou beatest up apace
For Volunteers, that thou enlists with Grace.

Thy Souldiers that unto thy Standard high
Deckt in thy Colours up thou trainst aright
To hande their weapons well and dextrously
And rightly use shield Arrow, Sworde and Pike.
And lead'st them out against thy foes, the King
Abaddon, Divells, Wicked Ones and Sin.

Their glittering Swords and Spears Edgd sharp with Grace
Wherewith they are well arm'd do surely bring
Thy Adversaries under and apace
Their hearts do pierce that foes do rise to Ring;
And from the fight to th'Throne triumphantly
Them leadest while Drums beat and Colours fly.

All these thy men under thy flag that fight
In ranke and file, and Graces Exercise
In all the way go 'till they Come aright
Unto thy Palace back triumphing wise
Their Colours on their golden Streamers flying
Do with thy glorious selfe there enter, joying.

Under thy Banner Lord, enlist thou mee.
Make me to ware thy Colours, saving grace.
Them flourish in my Life, and make thou mee
To beare thy Standerd and thy Banner trace
And so me to thy Palace Glory bring
Where I thy Standards Glory ere may sing.

298

118. Meditation. Can. 5.11. His Head is most fine Gold.

14.1m [Mar.] 1713.

Oh! Hide bound Heart. Harder than mountain Rocks
Can not one beam of this bright golden Head
Have enterance, thats trim'd with black Curld Locks
In all its vigrous green up flowerished
My Child affections thus to touch and thaw.
And to thy golden head their Spirits draw?

The stateliest Head that ever body Bore
Not gilt but finest gold, of Heavens Gold.
The golden Head that Neb'chadnezzer wore
Was but a durt ball to't of tainted mould.
It's true indeed, I call't not Deity,
But a Bright Emblem of bright Majesty.

This Golden head holds Sovereignity
And Sovereignity being relative
Constrains a golden body Worthily
Both politick and properly native.
The Best of Humane Bodies Golden should
And politicke, ere weare this head of gold.

These Bodies fitted to this Golden Head
Must needs be golden. Oh the best of all!
Because it is their Sovereign: and doth bed
And board the best things in its golden Hall.
Faith, Hope and Charity and all graces still
Out from this Head, and every member fill.

299

The Brains that in this golden brain Pan dwell
Must needs be golden, Golden Wisdom breed.
Its Eyes weare Golden Apples. Th'Senses Cell
Is all fine Gold, all Golden trade indeed.
If Wisdom's Palace is the finest Gold,
Then Golden laws and statutes hence behold.

Hence Golden influences out are sent
To Every member of this Golden Head
The Body Naturall, Whose acts intent
Upon their Golden Rule are Golden bread
And hence a golden life my Lord did lead,
From top to toe, most gloriously displayd.

Also the Body Politick, the Realm
Having its members every one possess
These golden influences from their Helm
Do make all golden motions ever fresh.
Hence th'golden Laws with Golden influences
A golden race produce and in all senses.

Thy Golden Head a golden Kingdom hath
To which it Golden Statutes out doth give
And golden influences it display'th,
That make the Subjects golden lives to live,
And by these golden Laws thy walke to hold
Thy glorious City to, whose Streets pure gold.

Oh! glorious Lord, make mee make thy Gold Head
To bee my Sovereign, and make thou mee
A member of thy Golden body led
By its blesst Golden Lines that lead to thee
That as my Life thy lines do parallell,
My Harp shall play: thy Golden head Excell.

300

119. Meditation. Can. 5.12. His Eyes are as the Eyes of Doves by Rivers of Waters washed with milk, and fitly set.

9.3m [May] 1714.

My Lord, (my Love,) what loveliness doth ly,
In this pert percing fiery Eye of thine?
Thy Dove like Eyes ore varnish gloriously
Thy Face till it the Heavens over shine.
No Eye did ever any face bedight
As thine with Charming Beauty and Delight.

No Eye holes did at any time enjoy,
An apple of an Eye like this of thine
Nor ever held an Apple of an Eye
Like that thine held. Apple and Eye hole fine
Oh! How these Apples and these Eye holes fit,
Its Eye Omniscient on its fulness sits!

Never were Eyeballs so full trust with might
With such rich, sharp, quick visive Spirits tite
Nor gave such glances of such beauty bright
As thine, my Lord, nor wore so smart a Sight.
All bright, All Right, all Holy, Wise, and Cleare
Or ere discover did such beauty here.

Look here, my Soule, thy Saviours Eye most brisk
Doth glaze and make't most Charming beauty weare
That Ever Heaven held or ever kisst.
All Saints, and Angells at it Gastard stare.
This Eye with all the beauties in his face
Doth hold thy heart and Love in a blesst Chase.

Lord let these Charming Glancing Eyes of thine
Glance on my Souls bright Eye its amorous beams

301

To fetch as upon golden Ladders fine
My Heart and Love to thee in Hottest Steams.
Which bosom'd in thy brightest beauty cleare
Shall tune the glances of thy Eyes Sweet Deare.

120. Meditation. Can. 5.13. His Cheeks are as a Bed of Spices, as sweet Flowers etc.

4.4m [June] 1714.

My Deare-Deare Lord! What shall my speech be dry?
And shall I court thee onely with dull tunes?
When I behold thy Cheekes like brave beds ly
Of Spices and sweet flowers, reechs of Perfumes?
Sweet beauty reeching in thy Countenance
Oh! amorous Charms: that bring't up in a Trance!

Oh! brightest Beauty, Lord, that paints thy Cheeks
Yea sweetest Beauty that Face ere did ware,
Mans Clayey Face ne're breathd such ayery Reechs
Nor e're such Charming Sweetness gave so fair.
If otherwise true Wisdoms voice would bee,
That greater Love belong'd to these than thee;

If so, Love to thyselfe might slacke its pin
And Love to Worldly Gayes might screw up higher
Its rusty pin, till, that her Carnall String
Did raise Earths Tunes above the Heavenly Quire.
Shall Vertue thus descend, and have Disgrace?
Shall brightest beauty have the lowest place?

Shall dirty Earth out shine the Heavens bright?
Our Garden bed out shine thy Paradise?
Shall Earthy Dunghills yield more sweet Delight?
Be sweeter than thy Cheeks like beds of Spice?

302

Are all things natur'de thus and named wrong?
Hath God that made them all made all thus run?

Where is the thought that's in such dy pot di'de?
Where is the mouth that mutters such a thing?
Where is the Tongue that dare such Speech let slide?
As Cramps the Aire that doth such ditties ding
Upon the Ear that wound and poison doe?
Thy Auditory Temple where they goe?

Such things as these indeed are Hells black Smoke
That pother from its Chimny tunnells vile
To smut thy perfect beauty, Damps thence broke
Out of the Serpents Smokehole, to defile
And Choake our Spirituall Smell and so to Crush
Thy sweet perfum out of these briezes thus.

But Oh! my Lord, I do abhorr such notes
That do besmoot thy Beautious Cheeks like Spice.
Like Pillars of perfume; thy Cheeks rich Coats,
Of purest Sweetness, decke't in's beauty Choice.
My bliss I finde lapt in my Love that keeps
Its Station on thy sweet and Beautious Cheeks.

Lord lodge my Eyes upon thy Cheekes that are
Cloathd ore with orient beauty like as't were
A Spice bed shining with sweet flowers all fair,
Enravishing the very Skies so Cleare
With their pure Spirits breathing thence perfumes
Orecoming notes that fill my Harpe with tunes.

303

121. Meditation. Cant. 5.13. His Lips are like Lillies, dropping sweet smelling Myrrh.

28.9m [Nov.] 1714.

Peart Pidgeon Eyes, Sweet Rosie Cheeke of thine
My Lord, and Lilly Lips, What Charms bed here?
To spiritualize my dull affections mine
Until they up their heads in Love flames reare.
The flaming beames sent from thy beautious face
Transcend all other beauties, and their grace.

Thy Pidgen Eyes dart piercing, beames on Love.
Thy Cherry Cheeks sende Charms out to Loves Coast.
Thy Lilly Lips drop myrrh down from above
To medicine our spirituall ailes, great host.
These spirituall maladies that do invest
The spiritual man are by thy myrrh redresst.

Art thou the Myrrh tree Lord? Thy mouth the Sorce,
Thy Lilly Lips the bancks, the rivers too
Wherein thy Myrrhie Juyce as water-Course
Doth glide along? And like Choice waters flow?
Lord make thy lilly Lips to ope the Sluce
And drop thy Doctrine in my Soule, its juyce.

These golden Streams of Gospell Doctrine glide
Out from thy Lilly Lips aright, my Lord,
Oh! Spirituall myrrh! and raise a Holy Tide
Of flowing Grace, and graces Sea afford.
This is the Heavenly Shoure of Myrrh that flows
Out of this Cloude of Grace thy Lips disclose.

That Grace that in thy lips is powered out
So that these lillie Lips of thine ere bee

304

The graceous Flood gate whence thy graces spout.
My Lord, distill these drops of Myrrh on mee,
If that thy lilly Lips drop on my heart
Thy passing myrrh, twill med'cine ev'ry part.

If that these Lilly Lips of thine drop out
These Myrrhie drops into mine hearts dim Eye
And are to mee rich Graces golden Spout
That poure out Sanctifying Grace Oh! joy.
This myrrh will medicine my heart that falls
Out of thy Lilly Lips, on graces Hall.

When these thy Lips poure out this myrrh on mee,
I shall be medicinde with myrrhed Wine
And purifide with oyle of Myrrh shall bee
And well perfumde with Odours rich divine.
And then my life shall be a Sacrifice
Perfum'de with this sweet incense up arise.

122. Meditation. Cant. 5.14. Thy hands are as gold rings [HEBREW] Orbs set [HEBREW] filld with Berill.

30.11m [Jan.] 1714.

My Deare! Deare Lord! While mine Affections act,
Upon thyselfe, no better words I have
To set them out than this Word Deare, that lack
Doth length and breadth to show them. Hence I crave
Thy Pardon Cause such feeble terms I use
Whose Selvedge, Hem, and Web weare Sorry Shews.

305

I also crave thy pardon still because
My Muses Hermetage is grown so old
Her Spirits shiver doe, her Phancy's Laws
Are much transgresst. She sits so Crampt with cold.
Old age indeed hath finde her, that she's grown
Num'd, and her Musicks Daughters sing Ahone.

But is the Shine thus of thy Precious hands
Whose fingers each are girdled rich all round
With Rims of Gold, all Decorated stand,
Puncht with green Berill which therein abound,
Do by their vivid glances make alive
My frozen Phancy, that it doth revive.

Thy Hands wherein's thy mighty power displaide,
Hold out afore us, thy brave Operation
Of Mediatory Acts, most golden trade
Of Spirituall Luster, in thy Holy Station
May my Chil'd Spirits into raptures put
Of right delight of an Extatick Cut.

But yet methinks the glory of thy hands
As handling thy mediatoriall Acts
Metaphorized here too faintly stands
Englishd (gold rings) for th'Hebrew terms exact.
For in our text the Hebrew predicates
Thy hands as Golden Orbes of Berill mates.

But now, my Lord, are thy brave hands, so bright
The golden Orbs Celestiall filld up cleare
With this brave Oyle-green Berill all delight
With all rich Grace of graces Charter Deare?
Are all th'Celestial Orbs of Graces right
The Spirits predicate of thy hands tite?

In that thy hands this golden Orb is made
This Orbe is emblem of the Sphere of Grace:

306

And doth Contain thy mediatory Trade,
Redemption of thy blesst Elected race.
And Application too, to them, do stand
With grace laid on, thee on the same to hand.

What are thy hands the golden Orbs of Grace?
Then they must be the Spirits nest also
Wherein the Spirit doth an holy race
Hatch, and doth rain Sweet Shoures for grace apace
And hands that hand thy Spouse up, tenderly
To thy Bride Chamber of Eternall joy.

Lord! let these golden Orbs thy hands that have
All Graces Operations in them cleare
Bestow thy Holy Berill green and brave
Upon my Soule, and rain Sweet Dews down there.
Upon my Heart and make the Application
Of thy rich Grace, and mee its Habitation.

And let this golden Sphere of Grace shoure down
Celestiall Showers of Grace on mee I pray,
And let thy golden hands me lead and Crown
With glory's Diadem in Graces way.
Then as I Crownd in Glories Orb do stand
I'le sing the golden glory of thy Hand.

123[A]. Meditation. Cant. 5.14. His Belly: (i.e. Bowells) is as bright Ivory overlaid with Saphires.

3.2m [Apr.] 1715.

The Costli'st Gem kept in Christs Ivory Box
O're laid with Saphires such none else ere had,
Christs Key of grace this Cabinet unlocks
And offers thee. Why then art thou so sad?

307

Such bright Affection in's bright bowells boiles
Up to thyself, may, glaze thy Cheeks with Smiles.

That Precious Gem yea preciousest of all
Embedded in Christs bowells as they shine
Ore Covered with asure Saphirs, Call
To welcome it with brightsome looks of thine.
Oh Happy thou! waring the brightest thing
That Christs bright bowells alwayes weare within.

Then why shouldst thou, my Soule, be dumpish sad,
Frown hence away thy melancholy Face.
Oh! Chide thyselfe out of this Frame so bad
Seing Christs precious bowells thee Embrace.
One flash of this bright Gem these bowells bring
Unto thyselfe, may make thy heart to singe.

Thy Ivory Chest with Saph'rine Varnish fine
Ope Lord, give me thy Bowells Gem all deare.
My lumpish Lookes shall then yield smiles and shine.
Thy brightsomness shall make my looks shine cleare.
If that love in thy Ivory Chest is mine
My Countenance thy bowells Love shall Chime.

123[B]. Meditation Cant. 5.15. His Legs are as Pillars of Marble set (founded) on Sockets [[HEBREW] Bases] of fine Gold.

4m [June] 1715.

My Search, my Lord, now having passed o're
The province of my Soule, to finde some geere

308

That for thyselfe is fit to set before
And Wellcome thee withall, But no good Cheare
I in my Cogitations Orb can finde:
Whose limits are too little for my minde.

My barren Heart is such an hungry Soile
No Fruits it yields meet for thyselfe, my King,
Either for food or Raiment, but defile
What they come nigh. Parden then, what I bring.
Fain I would brighten bright thy glory, but
Do feare my Muse will thy bright glory smoot.

Thy Spirits Pensill hath thy Glory told
And I do stut, commenting on the Same,
While some bright flashes of thy glory, Would
If touch my Windows, guild my glasses flame.
This Pensill Rapts thee up in Glorys fold
From thy gold head quite to thy Feet of gold.

Thy legs like Marble Pillars streight strong, bright,
Do beare and Carry all thy Bodie too,
That founded are upon thy Feet upright
As golden Socks or Sockets, Tressles true
Do fitly hold out that strong might of thine
That bears up, and mentains thy Realm and'ts Shine.

They shew thy mighty Strength, that doth mentain
Thy Kingdom's Upright, Stately, Welthy, and
Majesticke Righteous, Glorious right and Gain,
All Conquering and Evermore shall stand,
And though thy Marble legs with feet of gold
Treade on the dirty ground, most pure they hold.

Thy Marble Pillar-Legs on golden Feet
Beare up and Carry on thy Realm in State.
Among thy golden Candlesticks most sweet
Thou Walkst thereon and breakst all that thee hate.
These are the Pounderall wherewith thy foe
Whether Sins, or Divells dasht to pieces goe.

309

O! let these marble legs and golden feet
That do uphold, and Carry on aright
Thy blessed kingdom as it is most meet
And make its shining glory shine most bright
And make my heart unlock its box of Wealth
And thence its Love, thy treasure, send thyselfe.

Oh! that this Stately, Wealthy Glorious Might
Of thine, my Lord, inchant my heart might so
That all my heart and hearty Love most right
Leap thence and lodge might in thy heart and go
And on thy golden head sit singing sweet
The Glory of thy Legs and golden feet.

125. Meditation. Cant. 5.15. His Countenance is like Lebanon, Excellent as the Cedars.

6.6m [Aug.] 1715.

Lead me, my Lord upon mount Lebanon,
And shew me there an Aspect bright of thee.
Open the Valving Doors, when there upon
I mean the Casements of thy Faith in mee.
And give my Souls Cleare Eye of thee a Sight
As thou shinst its bright looking Glasses bright.

If I may read thee in its name thou art
The Hill, it metaphors, of Frankincense,
Hence all atonement for our Sins thy heart
Hath made with God: thou pardon dost dispense.
So thou dost whiten us, who were all O're
All fould with filth and Sin, all rowld in goare.

310

What Costly Stones, red Marble, Porphory
And Cedars Choice in Lebanon abound
What Almugs and what Vines deliciously
That smell, are in this Lebanon then found?
All Grace and gracious Saints are hereupon
Compared to the Smell of Lebanon.

When thou hast cleard my Faiths round appled Eye
My Souls peirt Eye and Lebanon display
Her Glory and her Excellency high
In sweet perfumes and gaudie bright array
And all grow tall, strong, fragrant up from thee
And of these Cedars tall I sprung one bee.

Then I shall see these precious square wrought Stones
Are to thy Zion brought, foundations laid,
And all these Cedars Choice, of Lebanon
Are built thereon and Spirituall Temples made.
And still thy Spirits Breathings makes them grow
And forth they flowrish, and their Smell doth flow.

Lord let me stand founded on thee by grace
And grow a Cedar tall and Upright here.
And sweeten me with this sweet aire apace
Make me a grape of Leb'nons Vine up peare.
Let me then see Thy Glory Lebanon
And yield the Smell of those sweet vines thereon.

My Circumcised Eare, and Souls piert Eye,
Having their Spirituall Casements opening
And thou displaying thy bright majesty
Thy Shine and Smell of Lebanon Crowd in
At these gold-Casements of mine Ears and Eyes.
They'l fill my Soul with Joyous Extasies.

Lord, make thine Aspect then as Lebanon.
Allow me such brave Sights and Sents so sweet
Oh! Ravishing Sweet pour'd out my Soule upon.

311

Fill all its empty Corners and there keep
That so my breath may sing thy praise divine
All smelling of thy Lebanons rich wine.

126. Meditation. Cant. 5.16. His Mouth is most sweet.

[HEBREW] Palate or Wind pipe, latine Guther

9.8m [Oct.] 1715.

My Lord, my Love, my Sov'reign, and Supreme,
Thy Word's my Rule, thy Law's my Lifes sweet line.
All Law subordinate not to this Beame
No right contains: but is of Sodoms Shrine.
Thy mouth's most sweet, the Winde pipe of thy Lungs
Conveighs all Sweetness from thy Heart that throngs.

The Spring of Life, and all life's Sweetness Choice
Hatcht in thy Heart. (Oh! how sweet is this Chest?)
Comes bubbling up this path of Breath and Voice?
This Highway is the through fare of thy Breast:
Wherein its Vitall Breath runs in, and out
Well loaded with sweet languague all about.

The golden Current of Sweet Grace sprung in
Thy Heart, Deare Lord comes Wafting on thy Tast
Sweetning thy Palate passing by its ring,
And rowling in our borders thus begrac'te.
Come tast and see How sweet this Current is.
Oh! sweet breath passage. Sweetend sweet as bliss.

The golden mine of Sanctifying Grace
That in thy heart is glorious indeed

312

In Golden Streames come flowering out apace
Through thy rich golden pipe, and so in Speed,
As golden liquour, running thence all ore
Into thy Spouse's heart from Graces Store.

That golden Crucible of Grace all sweet,
Is thy sweet Heart, The golden pipe of Fame
Is thy sweet Windpipe, where thy Spirits reech
Comes breizing sweet perfumes out from the Same.
This is the golden gutter of thy Lungs
And through thy mouth, by th'Palate sweetly runs.

Thy Palate hence not sweet but Sweetness is
It being made the thorough faire or way
Of all that Sweetness of thy heart, and bliss
That from thy heart to us thou dost Conveigh.
How sweet then must thy Holy mouth neede bee
Through which thy sweetning heart breath comes from thee?

Lord, make my Palates Constitution right
Like to thy Palates Constitution fine.
That what comes from thy heart in heart delight
Sweet to thy Palate may thus sweeten mine.
Then what disrellish to thy Palate shall
Shall to my Palate be disrellisht all.

Then what shall to thy tast be sweet indeed
Shall be most sweet unto my tast likewise.
What bitter to thy Palate doth proceed
Shall to my Palate bitter up arise.
Thy Hearts sweet steame that doth thy Palate greet
Will make my Tast with thy heart Sweetness sweet.

Those Hony falls that in thy heart rise high
Of Grace, and through the pipes of thy pure Lungs
Are brought into thy mouths bright Canopy
And on my Garden herbs are shower'd in throngs
Will sweeten all my flowers and herbs therein
And make my Winde Pipe thy sweet praises sing.

313

127. Meditation. Cant. 5.16. He is altogather Lovely [HEBREW] all of him, or of his eius vel ipsius totum is desirable.

4.10m [Dec.] 1715.

My Lord, when thou didst form mankinde the hand
Of thine Omnipotency then did hold
The Vessell rightly well Engravd, and cleansd
From dust right stild Omnisciencies Mould,
Wherein mankinde was run and shapt most bright
With Properties, that fix on Objects right.

Hence I have power to Love and to desire.
These brave Affections Choose such Objects which
Desirable and Lovely are t'infire
These bright affections that upon them pitch.
Such objects found by these affections sweet,
Desire draws in, and Love goes out to meet.

Of all things in the Orbs of Entity
Such as are best deckt up with such attire
Do these affections onely satisfy,
Whichever to the best of things aspire:
Though these may in some few things here up thrive
They're in thee, Lord, Super-superlative.

Some things there bee within this Orb full fine,
And be desirable. Yet nothing here
Do all desirable, and Lovely shine
But all of thee, and thine most Lovely clear

314

For Excellency in thee's the Foundation
That to Desire and Love yieldes firmest Station.

Thou altogether Lovely art, all Bright.
Thy Loveliness attracts all Love to thee.
Yea all of Thee and Thine is Fair and White
Together or apart in highst degree.
Thy Person, Natures Properties all thine
Thy Offices, and Acts most lovely shine.

Rich Personated Deity most bright,
Milk white Humanity by God begot
Deckt with transplendent Graces shining Light
And Sparkling Operations without Spot,
All Gods Elect, Angells and Saints All thine,
Thy Word and Ordinances most Divine.

A Spirituall ministry of Gracious Ware:
A path of Holiness: Blesst Conduct in't.
A way of Right pav'de ore beyond Compare
To thy Celestiall blissfull Palace mint
Wherein thou intertainst thy Saints in joy
Oh. Loveliness. Desirable and high.

All thee, and all of thee and thine arise
Thus Lovely and Desireable appeare
The Object of All Love, and purest joyes
Exactly minted in Love's mold most cleare.
Be thou the Object then that I attire
With my best Love, and loveliest desire.

Then thou desirable and Lovely Rose
Each part alone, or altogether art.
Oh! make thy Takingness that thus oreflows
Take to thyselfe my love and all my heart.
Then my Desire and Love shall sing this Story
That all of thee is Lovely, in thy Glory.

315

128. Meditation. Cant. 6.1. Whither is thy Beloved gone, Oh! thou Fairest among Women? etc.

12.12m [Feb.] 1715.

My Deare-Deare Lord, my Heart is Lodgd in thee:
Thy Person lodgd in bright Divinity
And waring Cloaths made of the best web bee
Wove in the golde Loom of Humanity.
All lin'de and overlaide with Wealthi'st lace
The finest Silke of Sanctifying Grace.

Hence ev'ry minim of thy Humane Frame.
Deckt up with Nature's brave perfections right,
And Decorated with rich Grace, Whose Flame
In Sparkling Shines do ravish with delight
So that thy Nature, and its Acts all shine
And never miss the Right an Haire breadth fine.

Thy Soule Divine arrayde in Splendent Grace,
The Spirituall Temple pinckt with precious Stones:
Like Sparks of Glory glaze thy Spirits Face
And glorious make thy Will with graces tones.
Not one black title ere is in it found
To dim the Shine that in it doth abound.

Thy Soules a Spirituall Treasury, in Which
Are Precious Stones and Spirituall Jewells laid
The Spirits Spicery the gold mine rich
Of Precious Grace. And Graces Sugar Trade,
The Warehouse of all Humane thoughts well Wrought
In which there never came an Evill thought.

316

Thy Eares and Nose ware Graces Jewells bright.
Thy Sight walks out in Graces Paradise:
Thy Smell is Courted with perfum'de delight.
Thy Garden Flowers breath sweeter breath than Spice:
But if the Serpent on these objects spit
Sighs from thy Soul blow hence the venom quick.

Thy Feet o're burnished with glorious Grace
Make all right Steps and not one strey awry
Leave Every foot step guilt with grace, a trace
And golden track unto Celestial Joy.
Thy Tongue's tipt with sweet Heavenly Rhetorick
Ne're spake amiss. Grace from thy lips doth skip.

Thy Hands, milk white, were never yet beguil'd
In Graces Almond milke washt ware no Spot.
Thy fingers never toucht what Sin defilde.
Grace at thy fingers ends doth ever drop.
Thy Head's a golden Pot of Manna fine
A Silver Tower of Gospell Weapons Prime.

Oh! what a glorious Lord have I? See here
When in the Gospell Glass his Beams dart on
The Bride's twelve bridemaids looking on him cleare
And make them ask, Where, Whither is he gone?
Oh! Whither's thy Beloved bright declinde
Declare, thou fairest of All Woman kinde.

Our heart is ravisht with his glory bright.
Oh! Whither Whither is he turned aside?
Wee now indeed do greatly wish we might
Him seeke with thee, His Spouse and blessed Bride!
That happiness lodg'd in his Glorious face
Will thence when seen slide int'our Hearts with Grace.

Lord, let thy Glorious Excellencies flame
Fall through thy Gospells Looking Glass with might,

317

Upon my frozen heart, and thaw the Same
And it inflame with flaming Love most Light
That in this flame my heart may ride to thee,
And sing thy Glories Praise in Glories glee.

129. Meditation. Can: 6.2. My Beloved is gon into his Garden.

25.1m [Mar.] 1715/6.

My Glorious Lord. What shall thy Spouse, descry
That flaming, Glorious Beauty, Rich, Divine,
Before mine Eyes? And shall my heart out cry
Where's thy Beloved gone hence with his Shine?
That I may seeke him or shall she me sham,
When saying; to his garden which I am?

This Garden which he's gone to can it bee
Thyselfe thou fairest of all Women kinde
Can he go from, and yet abide with thee?
It must be so, if th'Garden's his designd.
It rather shews where his he entertains
Than th'Sense that saith, and that unsaith the same.

Garden delights when he therein descends
He makes his entertainments sweet for all,
These dainty Dishes disht up for Choice friends
Who enter there attendents to his Call.
Eyesight Delights and blushy Rosey Flowers
Clouds aromatick lodge in our Warm Towers.

Heart Ravishments: Delightful joyes unto
The highest inchantings of Nose Eares and Eyes
With spirituall tunes, Perfumes and Beauties show

318

Enriched all with all Celestiall joyes,
The sweet sweet Gales of the sweet spirits sweet Air
With which Clouds aromatick can't compare.

Lord! let thy Holy Spirit take my hand
And opening thy Graces garden doore
Lead mee into the Same that I well fan'd
May by thy Holy Spirit bee all ore
And make my Lungs thy golden Bagpipes right
Filld with this precious Aire, thy praises pipe.

130. Meditation. Cant. 6.2. My Beloved is gone down into his Garden, to the Beds of Spices.

20.3m [May] 1716.

My sweet-sweet Lord who is it, that e're can
Define thyselfe, or Mine affections strong
Unto thyselfe with inke? Who is the man
That ever did, or can these riches Sum?
Thy Sweetness no description can define
Nor Pen and Inke can my hearts Love out line.

The Breathings of thy Spice beds Gardens Spot,
And of thy sweet sweet flowers stowd in th'Aire
This sweet breath breatht out from thy Garden knot
Perfume the Skies and all their riches fair.
Thy Garden Bed thy Civet Box gives vent,
To th'Gales of Spiced Vapors, sweetest Sent.

Thy Bed of Spices in thy Garden Spots,
Perfumes most sweetly as they are inspir'd.
With thy rich Spirits breath, thy flower Pots

319

Breathe out such Sweetness, that's by Saints desir'd
Ascending up in gracious exercise
Making these beds of Spices thy sweet Joyes.

Thou dost delight to visit these, and make
These spicy beds thy blissfull Couches bright
And Visits them even from thy Palace Gate
And walkst their alies with most sweet delight.
This Sweetness that perfumes bright Glory clear
Perfumes thy joyes, perfumed joyes are here.

And all the Sweetness of these Beds of Spice
Doth Spiritually perfume these beds of Saints
That they breath in and out perfume, whose price
Excells all precious jewells, never faints.
Set me a Lilly in, thy Bed of Spice,
With sweetend breath, my Lord e're to rejoyce.

If thou allowst me setting in this Bed
Of Spices set in spirituall ranks therein
With Gusts of Spirituall Odors ever fared,
(Oh! sweet perfum! oh blessed blissfull thing)
I shall suck in and out as sweetend fare,
As ever did perfume the Clear cleare Aire.

Lord, make my sweetned Lungs out sweet Breath send.
'Twill make thy Spice Beds still more sweet to bee.
This Aire all sweetned will its sweetness lend,
And make my heart thereby more sweet for thee.
I shall breath Sweetness in and out to thee
And in my Spicy Lodgen will lodge thee.

The gales of Graces breath shall rise most sweet
To thee, my Lord; me sweet with Graces Spice.
A mutuall sweetness then shall be the reek
Thy Garden aire that Carrys there, my voice.
Then shall my tongue thy Sweetend praises sing
In tunes perfumed, thus in ery String.

320

131. Meditation. Cant: 6.2. To the Beds of Spice to feed in the Garden, and to gather Lillies.

15.4m [June] 1716.

Dull, Dull, my Lord, my fancy dull I finde.
Hast thou allowd no Grindlestone at all,
Unto thy Zion Fancies dull to grinde
And make sharp edged when that thou dost call
Thy Servants up to carry on thy worke
That from the Same they may not ever shurk?

Will not the Vine of Lebanon yield Wine,
To quicken up my Spirits? Or have I
Not tasted of thy Wine, for to refine
My Fancy at thy feast and't vivify?
How should my heart vent bitter groans, to finde
Such spirituall deadness deadening my minde?

Dost thou come down into thy garden brave
To feed and gather Lillies, fragrant, bright?
Shall I no Bed of Spice, or Spices have
Rise up to entertain thee with Delight?
Nor shall thy Spicy Garden green, and Vine
Hence entertain thee with her Lilly-Shine?

If thou feedst on my Spice, my Spice must flow;
Then thou wilt feed my Soull on Spice Divine:
Com'st thou to get thy Lillies? Get me so.
Then I shall be well fed, and made all fine.
Thine Ordinances then brieze Spicy gailes
Filling of thy, and my Delights the Sails.

The Clouds of Grace in thy New Covenant Skie
By thy Descent tapt 'still down on this plot,

321

Their sweet Spice Showers of Precious grace, whereby
Sweet Showers of Grace upon thy Garden drop:
And graces golden Pestill too doth pound
Her Herbs, and Spices, that sweet Smells abound.

Here thus is Entertainment sweet on this.
Thou feedst thyselfe and also feedest us,
Upon the spiced dainties in this Dish.
Oh pleasant food! Both feed together thus;
Well spicde Delights do entertain thee here.
And thou thine entertain'st with thy good Cheare.

And yet moreover thou in thy Spice beds dost
Thy Elect Lillies gather and up pick
Out of the throng of Stinking Weeds: and stowst
Their natures with thy holy graces thick.
That they of Lillies are made lillies fresh
Which thou dost gather glories Hall to dress.

If thou, my Lord, thy Spice bed make my Heart
My Heart shall welcome thee with spic'de joy.
If I'm thy lilly made by Grace's Art
I shall adorn thy Palace fragrantly.
And when thou mee thy spic'de bed interst in
I'le thee on my Shoshannim Spic'de Songs sing.

132. Meditation. Can. 6.3.—He feeds among the Lillies.

9th. 7m [Sept.] 1716.

Pardon my Lord, I humbly beg the Same
Of thy most blessed Gracious selfe thy hand.
For if I nothing touch thy glorious name
Showing its praise I shall unworthy stand.

322

And if I 'tempt to celebrate thy fame
It is too bright: my jagging pen will't stain.

The words my pen doth teem are far too Faint
And not significant enough to shew
Thy Famous fame or mine affection paint
Unto thy famous Selfe in vivid hew.
My jarring Pen makes but a ragged line
Unfit to be enricht with glories thine.

But thus I force myselfe to speake of thee.
If I had better thou shouldst better have.
It grieves me I no better have for thee
Finding thou art the Lilly growing brave
Even of the Vally rich where lillies grow
Of Graces Bright making a gracious Show.

These Lillies White all glorious shining bright
Mongst which thou feeding art sweet breathing flower
That Entertain thy Sight and Smell most right
With Sweetest Splender of rich Grace in power.
I hope I am one of these Lillies pure
Whose breath and Beauty do thy joy procure.

Lord make my Heart the Vally, and plant there
Thyselfe the Lillie there to grow. No Scorns
Shall me amuse, if I'me thy Lilly clear,
All though I be thy Lilly midst of thorns.
If I thy Lilly Fair and Sweet be thine
My heart shall be thy Harbor. Thou art mine.

If I thy Vally, thou its Lilly bee.
My Heart shall be thy Chrystall looking Glass
Shewing thy Lillies Face most cleare in mee
In shape and beauty that doth brightly flash.
My Looking Glass shall weare thy Lillies Face
As tis thy Looking Glass of Every Grace.

323

My Heart shall then yield thee the Object right
Of both thy Spirituall Sight and Smell most clear
Standing inrounded in in sweet delight.
Thou growing Lilly in't dost feed too there
Thus in the Vally and growst very cleare
And fill my Vally with perfumed fare.

Make mee thy Lilly, Lord and be thou mine.
Be thou the Lilly, me its vally right.
Thou th'Lillie then shalt make my Vallys shine
Thou feeding mongst the lillies, with delight.
I then shall weare thy Lillies Whitness fair.
My Lungues like bellows shall puff out sweet air.

My Vally then shall filld be with Sweet air.
My Songs shall blow out Sweetend breath therein
That shall perfume the very aire that wears
The aromatick breaths breathd out most thin.
If thou my Lilly, I its Vally bee.
My Breath shall Lilly tunes sweet sing to thee.

133. Meditation. Cant. 6.2. I am my beloved and my beloved is mine.

11.9m [Nov.] 1716.

Ye Daughters of Jerusalem I pray
Delude you not yourselves, think not
To steale from me my Souls beloved away.
I my Beloveds am, and he my lot.

324

He and his All yea all of him, is mine
His Person, offices, his Grace and Shine.

The Bridsgrooms all the Brids, his all is hers.
He's not partable nor by parts give out;
Who hath him hath him all, all bright no blurs.
He's what's hers. Or She's all him without.
He faithfull to his Spouse will ever bee.
He'l not bag such that to him spoused flee.

Ye Daughters of Jerusalem ne'er please
Your fancies with such thoughts as tell you do
That you may rob me of my Lord, and seize
Him for your own, oh never deale not so.
The Bridsgroom, and his bride are Relates sure
That never Separation can endure.

Christ will not play the knave to shab me thus,
Though knavishness of such sort youths oft Use:
And youthish Damsells to do so don't blush
Yet shamefull't is and grossly to abuse.
Your Virgin beauty will not taking bee
Him by his Eyes t'inchant his love from mee.

Whom Christ espousseth is his Spouse indeed.
His Spouse or bride no Single Person nay.
She is an agrigate so doth proceed
And in it sure and cant be stole away.
And if you thus be members made of mee
He'l be your Bridegroom, you his Spouse shall be.

Thus you in me enjoynd shall be made bright
And thus united, his Choice Spouse be made.
You'll be his Bride, the Bridegrooms Great delight
And thus we both shall be most True displaid.

Oh! Daughter then ye of Jerusalem
Rest not in your Degenerate case at all.

325

With all your Soul endevour allwayes then
To be espousd in heart to Christ, so shall
Then my beloved in his glory bright
Discoverd be shall be your hearts delight.

Then my Beloved your beloved shall bee
And both make him one Spouse enrichd with Grace
And when dresst up in glory and bright glee
Shall sing together fore his blessed face
Our Weddin Songs with Angells mild [OMITTED]
In ravishing notes throughout Eternity.

134. Meditation. Cant. 6.4. Thou art beautiful as Tirzah Oh my Love Comely as Jerusalem.

26. 1716.

Thou fairest of the Fairest kinde alive
Thy Beauty doth ascend above Compare
Thy Shining face Super Superlative
Like to Jerusalem most comely fair.
Thy brightness and thy Comeliness shinst like
Most Happy Brides the bravest Beauty bright.

That eye that never did want sight to see,
Nor to see into the Nature of what's seen
Inravisht with thy Beauty's glorious glee.
Hath seen't and sets upon it highst Esteem.
Though by Comparison its not to lower
Its excellence but raise our 'steem on't more.

Oh bright bright Beauty all of glorious Grace
How doth its beams dance on thy Cheeks all cleare

326

Setting both beauty and terrour on thy face
Pleasant in Christs Eye and terrour to's foes all here
A pleasing Shine to Christ and yet sendst darts
Of Terrour terrifying Wicked hearts.

Hence thou enjoyst a rich Sunshining Grace
Which most bright beams of beauty ere can play
Most gloriously th'alurements of thy face,
Making the same Christ flower knot thereof gay
That in this beautious rich thou reeching stand
That Christ doth Come and take thee by the hand.

And to himselfe presents thee pleasantly
A glorious bride without all Spot or blame
His Eyes and hearts delight eternally
Oh Bride most beautifull of blissfull fame.
The Hearts delight Christ wears thee in his heart
His Eyes delight that ne're doth from thee part.

Thy Beauty is made of Heavenly Paint all Grace
Of Sanctity Holy Within and Out
A Bride most bright for the King of Glorys face
Whose beauty laid in Heavenly Colours about
That ravish doth the Eyes of Angells which
Can't but gaze on't and all amaizd at it pitch.

And lest perchance any wrinckle on it light
Or any freckle on thy beautious face
The Silk and Satin Robes, than milk more white
Oh Christ's own Righteousness o're all hath place.
Hence all thy Beauty fits thee for Christ's Bed
And he will Cover thee with's White and Red.

327

135. Meditation. Can. 6.4. Terrible as an Army with banners.

14.11m [Jan.] 1716.

Thou far the fairest of all female dress
Whose spirituall beauty doth arise with Shine
Of th'Beams of the blesst Son of Righteousness,
Glazing thy face with glory all Divine.
All Sparkling Glory like as Moses Face
Shining was dreadfull so is thine with grace.

Thy Intellects a Saphrin Socket bears
Christ's flaming Torch of Grace that sanctifies.
Thy Will Christs Cabinet of Rich Grace Wares
Top full of Grace of Every Sort and Sise.
Thy Body's like a golden Lanthorn trim
Through which the lamps of Grace shine from within.

Thine Eye balls rowle like fiery balled Sparks
That graces beams like fiery arrows fling
Whose fiery bullets, graces flaming Darts
Most terrible to such as rowle in Sin.
Thy Mouths Christs Morter piece lets granades fly
Of th'holy Ghost all wicked ones to 'stroy.

Nay still the more Artiliry is there.
A Brazeel Bow's thy mouth, thy Tong's the String
That shoots his Arrows pild, both in and through
The Sinners Soules that make deep wounds therein.
Yet more, thy mouth doth use his furbusht Sword
By thy bright tongue in truth, his dreadfull word.

Christs golden Canon Balls that dash asunder,
Whereby thou Satans garrisons dost bomb.

328

Thy hands cast out like lightening sharp and Thunder
And herewith thou dost Satan's Souldiers Thump.
Thy Mouth thy Tongue, thy Eyes and Face are steeld
With terrour when thou meets the foe in th'field.

And thou art armed in thy Coate of Male
Made all of Graces golden Wyer bright
By th'best of artist ere in Heavens pale
Thy holy Ghost that made it strong and tite.
No Arrow that the foe let flies can dint
Or pierce it through or break thereof a link.

Thou'rt rightly trained by thy Captain who
Hath rightly learnt thee words of his command
Them well doth like and Fiter than the foe
And makst good use of th'Weapons in thy hand.
Thy Helmet Hope, thy Belt Christ's Truth, thy Shield
Of Faith all right, thy Fortitude have steeld.

Thy Excellency gracious hath thee made
Full Terrible, in fight while thou art Eying
Thy bright bright Captain whose rich Skill displaid
Leading thee home with Songs and Colours flying.
And thus thou terrible in gracious manners
Appearest like an Armed troop in Banners.

329

136. Meditation. Cant. 6.5. Turn away thine Eyes from mee. For they have Over come mee.

6.3m [May] 1717.

Oh! what a word is this thy Lips Let fall.
Here in these drops of Honey dews whereby
Thou dost bedew mine Olive Copses all
Within the garden of my Soul, oh joy?
Its such a word so wondrous and so high
Hadst not thou said it, sure 'twas blasphemy.

How shouldst it be that thou should charge thy Spouse
To turn away her glancing face from thee?
Whose Charming glances are quick Flames to rouse
The dull affections rich flaming Glee
And these glances which most delightful be
That thou should say they overcome have mee.

What do these Eyes then raise thy Joys so much
And do they so dilate thy Spirits pure
To such a breadth though thou dost joy in such,
Thy Spirits run so from thy heart, its sure
[OMITTED] then robs thy heart of all
Its Vitall Spirits that it fainting falls?

O wondrous Beauty that doth sorely Cramp
Our Wondring Faculty and make it strain
Untill it feeble grows and groweth faint
If such Eyes Sparkling start us with their flame!
Art thou my Lord who are too strong for all
Orecome hereby when they upon thee fall?

330

But yet this thy Serprize seems Rationall
In some respect seing thy glorious selfe
Stands graciously portrayed Ever shall
Within thy Spouses Eyes with richest Wealth
That Grace's Gold mine hath, so that it seems
Thou must these Eyes esteem, ere thy heart 'steems.

Seeing thy Spouse that doth consist of all
Gods blesst Elect regenerate within
The tract of time from first to last send shall
From her bright Eyes her gracious beams and fling
I wonder't would be topping very high
If that such Eyes should not advance thy joy.

Then let the Beams of my Souls eye ev'n meet
The brightsome Beams of thy blesst Eye my Lord,
And in their meeting let them sweetly greet
And back return laded as each affords.
Mine then return'd well loaded with thine flame
Shall tune my harp to sing thy glories fame.

My Soul then quickend by thy beames brought in
By my Souls Eye beams and glaz'd be thereby
With glorious Grace that will mee make more sing
Thy praise my Lord, then shall thou have more joy.
My Soul strung with thy grace as golden Wier,
Will by its musick Raise thy joy the Higher.

331

137. Meditation. Cant. 6.5. Thy hair is like a flock of Goats that graze on mount Gilliad.

14.7m [Sept.] 1717.

How precious are thy thoughts my Lord, to mee!
Oh that my thoughts on mee were Crystallizd,
Within the same, like Gems that sparkling bee,
Like Gilliads Flock of Goats by his so prizde,
A precious remedy for th'Souls Distempers.
A spirituall Cure on which my Soule adventures.

How doth this praise thy Spouse whose Hair doth shine
How like a flock of Goats that Gilliad graze
And by their keepers set and Order'd fine
And stately go in their slick Glory rayes,
These hairs assembled like a flock in fold
On Gilliads top, there feeding on to hold.

Thy Gilliads top Thy Testimonies place,
In Zions mount thy testimonies there
Thy spirituall pasture whose frim grass is Grace.
The Spouses Hairs, thy flock, feed on this Cheere.
With Grace thou feedst and fatst thy flock and down
Dost make them ly. And in these folds them Crown.

In the High places of the City where
Wisdome lifts up her Voice and food in't gives
Unto the Flock upon her head and there
Administers them grace that they may live.

332

These Spirituall Hairs do ware a spirituall grace
Feeding in Graces pastures thrive apace.

Are these thy Spouses Curled hairs trimd fine
Adorning her all in rich Graces Shine
Like Gilliads Flocks that Graze her Sweet herbs prime?
Make me then one of them an hair of thine,
Fed in thy fold. Assemblies pure and fair
With Spirituall Crisping pins adorning hair.

If thou dost make mee thus one of the Hairs
Even of thy Spouse and in thy 'Semblies sit
Me with thy Spirits Crisping pins prepare
Me as a Curled lock thy glory t'hit.
I'st honour then thy Spouse and thee also
As I like one of Gilliads flock do grow.

138. Meditation. Can. 6.6. Thy Teeth are like a flock of Sheep that come Up from Washing whereof every one bears twins.

25.9m [Nov.] 1717.

My blessed blessing Lord I fain would try
To heave thy Glory 'bove the Heavens above,
But finde my lisping tongue can never prie
It up an inch above this dirt nor move.
Thy brightsom glory o're this dirty slough
We puddle in below and Wallow now.

But though I can but stut and blur what I
Do go about and so indeed much marre

333

Do thy bright Shine: I fain would slick up high
Although I foul it by my pen's harsh jar.
Pardon my faults: they're all against my Will.
I would do Well but have too little Skill.

What Golden words drop from thy gracious lips,
Adorning of thy Speech with Holy paint,
Making thy Spouses teeth like lambs that skip,
Oh flock of Sheep that come from Washing quaint.
Each bearing twins a pleasant sight to spy
Whose little lambs have leaping play and joy.

[OMITTED]
[OMITTED] a flock of pure Washt Sheep more white:
[OMITTED] borne babe and Church that hath relief
Whose name is in the book of Life wrote right
The New born Soule and that Society
I such espoused to my Lord most High.

What are these Teeth? Pray show, Some do suppose
They are the Spouses Military armes:
The Arguments that do destroy her Foes:
And do defend the Gospell truths from harms,
But Teeth in Sheep are not their Wepon though
The Lions teeth and Cur dogs teeth are so.

And others do say they note Christ's ministers:
That dress the Spouses food. Yet such seem Cooks.
When these are 'ployd like teeth 'bout meat as its dresser.
Yet still this seems a lesson not in books.
Methinks Christs Ministers may rather beare
The name of Cooks, than Teeth that eat the fare,

Hence methinks they the righter judge, that hold
These Teeth import true Faith in Christ alone
And Meditation on the Gospell, should
Be signifide thereby to every one.

334

Teeth are for the eating of the Food made good
And Meditation Chawing is the Cud.

The proper use of Teeth gives the first stroke
Unto the Meat and food we feed upon
And fits it for the Stomach there to sooke
In its Concoction for nutrition.

And Meditation when 'tis Concocted there
Take's its rich liquour having nurishment,
And distributes the same Choice Spirituall Cheer
Through all the new man by its instrument,
And hence that means of Grace doth as I thinke
Give nurishment hereby as meate and drinke.

This Faith and Meditation a pair appears
As two like to the two brave rows of Teeth
The Upper and the neather, well set cleare
Exactly meet to chew the food, beliefe.
Both eate by biting; meditation
By Chewing Spiritually the Cud thereon.

[OMITTED] two those two exactly answer right
[OMITTED] Grindeing them and operation
Those in a naturall Sense in spirituall [OMITTED]
These two, and so they pare, each on their station.
The fore and hinder teeth, that bite and Grinde,
So Spiritually these bite and Chew in minde.

They paire each other too, in whiteness cleare
As those like Olivant, these sparkling show
With glorious Shine in a most brightsome geare
Of spirituall whitness that exceeds pure Snow.
Christ's milk white Righteousness and splendent Grace
Faith doth and Meditation ever trace.

335

139. Meditation Cant. 6.[7.] Like a piece of a Pomegranate are thy Temples within thy Locks.

My Deare, Deare Lord, oh that my Heart was made
Thy Golden Vessel filld with Graces Wine
Received from thy Fulness and displaide
Even by thy Spouse in her sweet Wine cup fine
Unto thy blessed selfe to drinke at Will,
Of her Sweet Wine unto thy very fill.

Thy Love that's in thy Spouses Countenance
Is so delighted with her Temples State,
The Seate of Modesty that in't doth glance,
Her Temples like a piece of Pomegranate
That with Arteriall blood blossom with blushes,
That in her Temples yield do spirituall flushes.

The Temples where's the purest blood indeed
Impregnate with the working Spirits ripe.
That Warm and work the Brains as they proceed,
Even from the Heart through the Arteriall pipe.
Hence modest Looks and head that contemplate
The Temples proper exercise and State.

The Temples like a piece of Pomegranate
Import thy Spirituall Beauty and Spirits high
In purest heart blood through th'Arteriall Gate
Into the Head. Hence these thy Visage dy
Pomegranat like with Ruby blushes Stains
And sharpen do thine Eyes with Spirituall Strains.

And through thy Temples Silver Wickets go
Int' Contemplations Temple brave and there

336

In Spirituall Contemplations labour do
On Christs rich Grace, and Glory every where,
And how to manage well in Grace's wayes
Sin to destroy. God's Ordinances raise.

140. [Meditation.] Cant. 6.7. As a piece of a Pomegranate are thy Temples within thy Locks.

24.9m [Nov.] 1717.

My all Deare Lord, I fain would thee adore
But finde my Pen and Inke too faint to do't.
And all my Praise with which my heart runs ore
Unto thyself is but a poor dull note,
That thou in thy great love thy blesst Delight
Should set upon thy Spouse and to such hight.

Them thou here thus dost Court saying even thus,
Like to a piece of a Choice Pomegranate
Thy Temples shine and glaze thy Cheeks that blush,
With their Arteriall heart blood, modest state,
Whose Vitall heate and Spirits in these pipes
Make peart thy Countenance in gracious plites.

Th'Arteriall pipes that from thy heart do run
Conveigh unto thy Temples the best Cheare
Of Hearty Spirits that to thy Temples come,
And dy them like a pomegranate looks cleare,
And make thy Cheeks to ware a Scarlet Maske
Of Modest blushes, on thy Cheeks well dasht.

337

Thy Countenance hence is the Looking Glass
Into thy heart wherein in cleare cleare shapes
Appear doth Choice Humility that doth pass
Most Currant coin in Graces Markets, Mates.
These pomegranated Temples exercise
A contemplation of a Spirituall Guise.

A Spirituall Beauty on the Spouse hence flames
Thats Emblemized by the Pomegranate
Unto us on the temples by its grains
Wearing a scarlet dy upon their Shape
All holding out a Spirituall Beauty fresh
And Chiefly to Christ's Eye in loveliness.

My Lord my Temples pomegranate make thus
That I may ware this Holy Modesty
Upon my Face maskt with thy Graces blush,
That never goes without Humility.
Thy lovely object then all grace shall bee
Shall Humbly sing forth graces notes to thee.

141. Meditation Cant. 6.8.9. There are threescore Queens, and fourscore Concubines, and Virgins without number.

2.1m [Mar.] 1717/8.

My Only Dear, Dear Lord, I search to finde
My golden Arck of Thought, thoughts fit and store:
And search each Till and Drawer of my minde
For thoughts full fit to Deck thy kindness o're,
But find my foreheade Empty of such thoughts
And so my words are simply ragged, nought.

338

Thoughts though the fairest Blossoms of my minde
Are things too loose and light t'strew at the gate
Of thy bright Palace. My words hence are winde
Moulded in print up thee to decorate.
Hence th'glory of thy Love Whose Sunshine here
I shall but darken with my dusty geere.

Hence I do humbly stand, and humbly pray,
Thee to accept my homely Style although
Its too too hurden a bearing blancket, nay
For to lap up thy Love in, it to show.
When spruiced up therein, it seems like thatch
Upon a golden Palace (Dirty slatch).

Thy Love dropt on thy Spouses Loveliness
Out measures all Dimention ne'er so wide.
Nay Angills pen can't pencill out its dress
Nor can its length or breadth ere out describe:
They never can thy gloryous Love out lay
Whose brightness doth out shine the brightest day.

All Virgins in their Virginall Attire:
Ladies of Honour eighty in array,
And threescore Queens robde shining out like fire
Can never match thy Spouses Beauty gay.
Though these for Number and for Glory rise
In sparkling glory get not to her Sise.

Thy boundless Love thy Spouses boundless prove
Doth take up all and in't did ever latch.
Oh Boundless Loveliness, and boundless Love
You neither either ever over match.
Yet know this thing, thy Boundless Love hath made
This Loveliness thus boundless where its laid.

Oh! let thy boundless Love my Lord, a Kiss
Bestow on me and joyn me to thy Dove
That is but one, Whose members have such Bliss.

339

And in its blissfull beams I'st ever move.
My portion then shall far excell the Share
Those Queens and Concubines and Virgins weare.

If one bright beam of this thy boundless Love
Do light on me, enlightend I shall bee
To Cooe thy praise as joyned to thy Dove
And double back thy Love with songs to thee.
Thy Love I'le thus requite with Songs Ile sing
Unto thy lovely selfe, under loves Wing.

142. Meditation. Can. 6.9. My Dove is One the onely One of her mother the Choice One of her that bare her etc.

4.3m [May] 1718.

What shall I say, my Deare Deare Lord? most Deare
Of thee! My choisest words when spoke are then
Articulated Breath, soon disappeare.
If wrote are but the Drivle of my pen
Beblackt with my inke, soon torn worn out unless
Thy Holy Spirit be their inward Dress.

What, what a Say is this. Thy Spouse doth rise.
Thy Dove all Undefiled doth excell
All though but one the onely in thine Eyes
All Queen and Concubines that bear the bell.
Her excellence all excellency far
Transcends as doth the Sun a pinking Star.

She is the Onely one her mother bore
Jerusalem ever above esteems
Her for her Darling her choice one therefore

340

Thou holdst her for the best that ere was seen.
The Sweetest Flower in all thy Paradise
And she that bore her Made her hers most Choice.

That power of thine that made the Heavens bow,
And blush with shining glory ever cleare
Hath taken her within his glorious brow
And made her Madam of his Love most Deare
Hath Circled her within his glorious arms
Of Love most rich, her shielding from all harms.

She is thy Dove, thy Undefiled, she shines
In thy rich Righteousness all Lovely, White
The onely Choice one of her Mother, thine
Most beautifull beloved, thy Delight.
The Daughters saw and blessed her, the Queens
And Concubines her praisd and her esteem.

Thy Love that fills the Heavens brimfull throughout
Coms tumbling on her with transcendent bliss
Even as it were in golden pipes that spout
In Streams from heaven, Oh! what love like this?
This comes upon her, hugs her in its Arms
And warms her Spirits. Oh! Celestiall Charms.

Make me a member of this Spouse of thine
I humbly beg deck thus, as Tenis Ball
I shall struck hard on th'ground back bounce with Shine
Of Praise up to the Chamber floor thy Hall,
Possesses. And at that bright Doore I'l sing
Thy sweetest praise untill thou'st take me in.

341

143. Meditation. Can. 6.10. Who is she that looks forth as the morning. Fare as the Moon Clear as the Sun. Terrible as an Army With Banners.

13.5m [July] 1718.

Wonders amazed! Am I espousd to thee?
My Glorious Lord? What! shall my bit of Clay
Be made more bright than brightest Angells bee,
Looke forth like as the Morning every way?
And shall my lump of Dirts ware such attire?
Rise up in heavenly Ornaments thus, higher?

But still the Wonders stand, shall I looke like
The glorious morning that doth gild the Skie
With golden beams that make all day grow light
And View the World ore with its golden Eye?
And shall I rise like fair as the fair Moon,
And bright as is the Sun, that lights Each room?

When we behold a piece of China Clay
Formd up into a China Dish compleat
All spiced ore as with gold Sparks display
Their beauty all under a glass robe neate,
We gaze thereat and wonder rise up will
Wondring to see the Chinees art and Skill.

How then should we and Angells but admire
Thy Skill and Vessell thou hast made bright thus
Out for to look like to the Morning tire
That shineth out in all bright Heavenly plush?

342

Whose golden beams all Varnish ore the Skies
And gild our Canopy in golden wise?

Wonders are nonplust to behold thy Spouse
Look forth like to the morning whose sweet rayes
Gild ore our Skies as with transparent boughs
Like Orient gold of a Celestiall blaze.
Fair as the Moon bright as the Sun most cleare
Gilding with spirituall gold graces bright Sphere.

O Blessed! Virgin Spouse shall thy sharp lookes
Gild o're the Objects of thy Shining Eyes
Like fairest Moon, and Brightest Sun do th'Fruits
Even as that make the morning shining rise?
The fairest moon in'ts Socket's Candle light
Unto the Night and th'Sun's days Candle bright.

Thy Spouses Robes all made of Spirituall Silk
Of th'Web wove in the Heavens bright Loom indeed,
By the Holy Spirits hand more white than milk
And fitted to attire thy Soule that needs.
As th'morning bright's made of the Suns bright rayes
So th'Spirits Web thy Souls rich Loom o're layes.

Oh! Spouse adorned like the morning Cleare
Chasing the night out from its Hemesphere.
And like the fair face of the Moon: whose Cheere
Is very brave and like the bright Sun peare,
Thus gloriously fitted in brightest Story
Of Grace espousd to be the king of glory.

And thus deckt up methinks my Eare attends
Kings, Queens and Ladies Query. Who is this?
Enravisht at her Sight, how she out sends
Her looks like to the morning filld with Bliss,
Fair as the Moon Clear as the Sun in'ts Costs
And terrible as is a bannerd host?

343

And all in Graces Colours thus bedight
That do transend with glorys Shine, the Sun
And Moon for fairness and for glorious light
As doth the Sun a gloworms Shine out run.
No wonder then and if the Bridesgroom say
Thou art all fair my Love, Yea Everyway.

May I a member be, my Lord, once made
Here of thy Spouse in truest Sence, though it bee
The meanest of all, a Toe, or Finger 'rayde
Ist have enough of bliss, espousd to thee.
Then I in brightest glory ere't belong
Will Honour thee singing that Wedden Song.

144. Meditation. Cant. 6.11. I went down into the Garden of nuts to se the fruits of the Vally, to se whether the Vine flowerished and the Pomegranate Budded.

14.7m [Sept.] 1718.

Eternal Majesty, my blessed Lord,
Art thou into thy Nutty Garden come?
To se the Vallys fruits on thy accord:
Whether thy Vines do flowrish and thick hange
To se whether thy Pomegranates do bud,
And that thy nuttree gardens fruit is good?

Am I a grafted Branch in th' true true Vine?
Or planted Pomegranat thy Garden in
And do I flowerish as a note of Wine?

344

And do my pomegranates now bud and spring?
Oh let my blossoms and my Buds turn fruite
Lest fruitless I suffer thy prooning Hook.

And with thy Spirituall Physick purge thou mee:
My very Essence that much fruite't may beare,
Most joyous and delightfull unto thee.
The Spirituall Grapes and Pomegranates most fare.
If in thy Nut Tree Garden I am found
Barren thy prooning knife will Cut and Wound.

If in thy nuttery, I should be found
To beare no Nutmegs, Almonds, but a nut
All Wormeate, or in barrenness abound
I well may feare thy prooning hook will Cut
And Cut me off as is the fruitless Vine:
That evermore doth fruitfulness decline.

But when thou in thy garden dost descend
And findst my branch clusterd with spirituall Grapes;
And my trees limbs with fruits downward to bend,
Each bows full reev'd with Spirituall Pomegranates.
My Vines and blossom and the Grapes thereon
Will smell indeed like Smell of Lebanon.

Shall this poore barren mould of mine e're bee
Planted with Spirituall Vines and pomegranates?
Whose Bud and Blossome flowrish shall to thee?
And with perfumed joys thee graciate?
Then Spirituall joyes flying on Spicy Wings
Shall entertain thee in thy Visitings.

And if thou makest mee to be thy mold
Though Clayey mould I bee, and run in mee
Thy Spirits Gold, thy Trumpet all of gold,
Though I be Clay Ist thy Gold-Trumpet bee.

345

Then in Angelick melody I will
Trumpet thy Glory and with gracious Skill.

145. Meditation. Can. 6.12. Or ere I was aware my soule had made mee like the Chariots of Aminadab.

19.9m [Nov.] 1718.

Alas! my Lord, how should my Lumpish Heart,
Ascend the golden Ladder of thy praise
With packs of Sweetest Tunes prest like a Carte
Loaded with cold hard iron, Sorrows layes?
Seing thy people tread down under feet,
Thy will reveald, as dirt within the Street.

I do constrain my Dumpishness away
And to give place unto a Spirituall Verse
Tund on thy glorious joys and to Conveigh

346

My notes upon the Same, and my heart seirce
From all such dross till sweet tund prais pierce through
Those Clouds of Dumps to come thy throne unto.

What shall mine Ears, thy Rhetorick displaid
Be lind with Melancholy Dark and sad?
Whilest thus thou singst, My Soule I wist not, made
Me like the Chariots of Aminadab?
Whirld up in heart transporting Raptures bright
And spiced incoms Wonderfull Delights.

Oh! what a Speech is this, thy lips do vent.
My Soul as I walk in my Nut tree Vaile
I wist not how its flourishing Vines out sent
Such reechs about me now within its pales,
That me enravished and me they did
Make like the Chariots of Aminadib.

Thy Gardens Graces briezing on thee bring
Thee Welcome when thou Visitst it all bright
Transport thy Soul as it on Angells Wings
Flyes to thy Paradise of all delight
Or ears I wist thou saith. And I it see
To be a word too wonderfull for mee.

My Gracious Lord, take thou my heart and plant
Each Sanctifying Garden Grace therein.
Make it thy nut tree Vaile to have no want
And tune its graces to thy Songs, My King,
When thou unto thy praise my heart shalt tune
My heart shall tune thy praise in sweetest fume.

347

146. Meditation. Cant. 6.13. Return, oh Shulamite, return return.

11.11m [Jan.] 1718.

My Deare Deare Lord, I know not what to say:
Speech is too Course a web for me to cloath
My Love to thee in or it to array,
Or make a mantle. Wouldst thou not such loath?
Thy Love to mee's too great, for mee to shape
A Vesture for the Same at any rate.

When as thy Love doth Touch my Heart down tost
It tremblingly runs, seeking thee its all,
And as a Child when it his nurse hath lost
Runs seeking her, and after her doth Call.
So when thou hidst from me, I seek and sigh.
Thou saist return return Oh Shulamite.

Rent out on Use thy Love thy Love I pray.
My Love to thee shall be thy Rent and I
Thee Use on Use, Intrest on intrest pay.
There's none Extortion in such Usury.

I'le pay thee Use on Use for't and therefore
Thou shalt become the greatest Usurer.
But yet the principall I'le neer restore.
The Same is thine and mine. We shall not Jar.
And so this blessed Usury shall be
Most profitable both to thee and mee.

And shouldst thou hide thy shining face most fair
Away from me. And in a sinking wise

348

My trembling beating heart brought nigh t'dispare
Should cry to thee and in a trembling guise
Lord quicken it. Drop in its Eares delight
Saying Return, Return my Shulamite.

147. Meditation. Cant. 6.13. That wee may look upon thee.

1. of 1m [Mar.] 1719.

Had I Angelick skill and on their wheele
Could spin the purest puld white silk into
The finest twine and then the same should Reele
And weave't a satten Web there in also
Or finest Taffity with shines like gold
And Deckt with pretious stones, brightst to behold.

And all inwrought with needle work most rich,
Even of the Holy Ghost to lap up in,
My Heart full freight with love refinde, the Which
Up on thy Glorious selfe I ever bring
And for thy sake thy all fair spouse should wear't
Some glances of the same I to her beare

That Cloath her may who in her mourning Weeds
As sorrowing she searches thee about
That saith: Oh Shulamite Our eye much bleeds.
Turn turn that it may look on thee right out.
That we may looke upon thee, and behold
Thy ravishing beauty that thy sweet face unfolds.

That sparkling Airiness thy Cheeks do lodge
Laid on them by the Holy Ghost in Grace,

349

Do send such sparkling flashes without Dodge
Those Charms that took our Eye in ery place
A sight thereof which evermore would bed
Upon those Cheeks of all their sight the head.

The brightest beauty Pensill ever drew
Laid in the Richest Colours gold could gain
The shiningst glory the suns face ere knew
The sparklingst shine nature did ere attain
Are but black spot and smoot on brightest faces
Unto thy beauty all enlaid with graces.

The bodies Eyes are blind, no sight therein
Is Cleare enough to take a sight of this.
Its the internall Eye Sight takes this thing
This glorious light the Sin blind Eye doth miss.
Th'Internall Eye with Christ's Eye Salve annointed
Is on this beauteous face alone well pointed.

Hence'noint mine Eyes my Lord with thine Eye salve
That they may view thy Spouses Beauty pure,
Whose sight passt on thyselfe do thence Resolve
To lodge and with the Shulamite Endure
That grace shed from this fulness make her shine
Brightst in mine Eyes to sing her praise and thine.

350

148. Meditation. Can. 7.1. How beautiful are thy feet with Shooes, oh Prince's daughter: the Joynts of thy Thighs are as jewells etc.

3.3m [May] 1719.

My Blessed Lord, should I arrive unto
That rich propriety that makes mee thine,
If otherwise though thou thereto say'th noe.
I am in a bad use indeed and pine.
If I be thine thou then wilt set thine Eye
Upon my feet their beauty thou wilt spy.

In my returning unto thee, wilt say
How beautious are thy feet with Shooes, behold
Then thou indeed with praises give my way
My feet do take, my thigh joynts like rich gold
Adorned with Jewels gloriously do shine
The work of an Artificers hand most fine.

As I return to thee my errours fro
Thou wilt mee see and say of Mee behold
Thy feet all beautious with Shooes up grow
Thy walkst more Shines than paths all pavde with gold.
Thy beauteous Shooes all laid all ore so trim
And jew'ld thigh joynts grace the way Walkt in.

My walk to thee then in the Way of Faith
And of Repentance where each step is filld
With prints of Grace, of which our Lord Christ saith
How beautious are thy feet with Shooes that guild
Hath every step with wealthy grace inlaid
Thy Huckle joynts with jewells glorious trade.

351

Shall traitor Beckets tripping Slippers bee
Dawbt all ore with Gold Lace, and studded too
With precious stones? that every step that he
Didst take that sun like Sparks from thence out flew?
And shall Christs bride with brightest grace be graced
With blacksome shew have her bright path defacd?

Her Spirituall Shooes ore laid with Spirituall Lace
Studed with spirituall pearls and precious Stones,
Fitted to stick in glory's Crown where Grace
Shines in't as brightest Carbuncles ever shown
Which makes her path she walks in ware a shine
As she walks to Christ, glazd with rayes divine.

Her bright affections and Choice thought, her feet
Shod all with grace, Choice Shooes indeed the best
In Graces market had, good Cheape most meet
For th'princes Daughters ware and all her Vests
Are answerable thereunto. That bee
All beautious for delight in heavenly Glee.

These Shooes do make her walke to Christ appear
More glorious by far than is Romes Street
Stild Via Auri or triple Crowns costly Geare
Or Bejemd toes of Emperours Passing great.
How glorious with Shooes blest Madam sweet
Thy thigh joynts buncht with Pearls so beautious keep.

My Lord, may my Souls feet but wear such Shooes
And my thigh joynts be lashed, such jewells weare,
I then shall statly go and bravely Close

352

Even with thyselfe and keep the way most fair.
But every step will lined be with grace
And fill the Aire with Songs while thee I chase.

149. Meditation. Can. 7.2. Thy Navill is a round Goblet [HEBREW] bason Exo: 26. thy belly is a heap of Wheate set about with Lillies.

5.5m [July] 1719.

My blessed-Glorious Lord, thy Spouse I spie
Most Glorious in thine Eye that ther is none
That may compare with her under the Skie,
Nay Heaven itselfe can't shew such other One.
Her wandring t'seek thee when that thou withdrew
Didst from her, cause her heart ach Sobs renew.

Then thy sweet calls thus said, Return Return
Oh! Shulamite, return and do not feare:
And as this gladsom Sound forbad to mourn.
Did touch her heart as it did touch her Eare.
That vitall faith turnd from her wandring State
Shee findes her Soule enricht with Graces plate.

Her steps returning, her Lord beholds her Shooes
Ore laid with beauty far out shining Gold.
Her huckle joynts like precious pearls he viewes
Like precious Stones that golden rings enfold,
Which he beholding doth to her thus crie,
Oh Beautious daughter and for very joye.

353

Thy Spirituall Navill like the Altars Bowle
Filld full of Spirituall Liquor to refresh
The Spirits babes conceived in thy Soule
The Altars Bason that its blood to dress
The Altar sprinkled with it and t'atone
Herself and hers and ease her of her Grone.

Her Belly where her Spirituall Offspring's bred
Is like an heap of Wheate most Choice and fine
With fragrant Lillies richly selvidged
Making the whole most beautifully shine.
Her spirituall strength these arteries and nerves keep
Holding up, and upholding of all most sweet.

Here's Spirits of the Spirits Chymistrie
And Bisket of the Spirits Backhouse best
Emblems of Sanctifying Grace most high
Water and Bread of spirituall life up dresst.
Here's Meat and Drinke to nourish grace in Sum
And feed the Spouses infants in her womb.

Hereby is shown her spirituall growth in Grace,
Whereby she able rises to bring forth
Her spirituall offspring of a spirituall race
Her Saints, and Sanctifying Grace their growth.
Her Spirituall Navill buttoning all her Store
Of Liquour rich the Spirits Wine fat pure,

Of spirituall rich distilled Sanctity
Its sweetest dews to moisten all her fruite.
Here's food to feed her infant Saints whereby
They up are Cherisht well in branch and root;
Races of Saints do from her belly flow
That to supply her Spousehood up do grow.

Hence Spirituall Babes hang sucking of her breasts
And draw thence th'Spirituall milk of these milk bowles
And of this Wheat eat plumb bread too the best.

354

That nurish do and fatten holy Souls.
My Bisket sop her Basons liquour in
And feed me with, I'le then thy praises sing.

150. Meditation. Cant. 7.3. Thy two breasts are like two young Roes that are twins.

6.7m [Sept.] 1719.

My Blessed Lord, how doth thy Beautious Spouse
In Stately Stature rise in Comliness?
With her two breasts like two little Roes that browse
Among the lillies in their Shining dress
Like stately milke pailes ever full and flow
With spirituall milke to make her babes to grow.

Celestiall Nectar Wealthier far than Wine
Wrought in the Spirits brew house and up tund
Within these Vessells which are trust up fine
Likend to two pritty neate twin Roes that run'd
Most pleasently by their dams sides like Cades
And suckle with their milk Christs Spirituall Babes.

Lord put these nibbles then my mouth into
And suckle me therewith I humbly pray,
Then with this milk thy Spirituall Babe I'st grow,
And these two milke pails shall themselves display
Like to these pritty twins in pairs round neate
And shall sing forth thy praise over this meate.

355

151. Meditation. Cant. 7.4. Thy Neck is like a Tower of Ivory: thine Eyes are like the Fishpools of Heshbon, at the Gate of Bath Rabbim: thy Nose is like the tower of Lebanon that Looketh towards Damascus.

31.8m [Oct.] 1719.

My Glorious Lord, how doth the Worlds bright Glory
Grow great? Yet loe, thy Spouse doth ware a Shine
That far ore shines the Worlds bright Shining Story
More than the Sun a glow worms glitter prime.
Thy Neck is like a Tower of Ivory
White, pure and bright, streight upright, neatly High.

Noting thy Pretious Faith which Pillar like
Bears up the golden Head: and joyns it to
Herselfe thy Body mystick, thy delight:
And is the very pipe through which do flow
All Vitall Spirits from the head t'revive
And make the Bodies members all to thrive.

This Neck Compleats thy Spouse, her stately steps,
As a Celestiall Majesty Upright
Not ry nor Rugged Whight smooth; hath no frets.
Thyselfe her Head fix on her neck all White.
It never breaks but makes the Spouse a neate
And statly person, Body and head compleate.

All Spirituall Vitall Influences soaking through
They through it drench all its passports, or wayes
Though never so secret to each member so

356

And make them grow most gay.
This office performs and uniting hold
The Head and Body, feet more bright than gold.

Her Eyes the fayer glory, the Looking Glass
Wherein her minde sees all things shining peep.
They are like Heshbon's fish pooles sparkling as
The Lymphick Rayments Scally Robes there keep
Her cleare clear knowledge in her Spirituall Eye
As Viewing things Divine is held thereby.

These Fish pools then of Heshbon of rare Art
And at Bath Rabbim's gate erected cleare
Bright shining do unto us thus impart
As they stand at the Rabbins Hall door neer
That bright bright Light that doth thy Spouse attend,
That doth all Hellish darkness quite dispend.

It is the Holy Ghosts bright Lanthorn in Her hand
That lights her feet to take the path of Grace
And makes the night time daylight. No stop nor stand
Hence she hath as she doth to glory trace.
The Sun of Righteousness'es beams make day
Within, through these and out hence she sees th'right way.

Her Nose, the Faces Ornamental Dress
Like Lebanon's brave tower, that hath its Eye
Upon Damascus which Enemies possess.
And smells the actions of Christs Enemy:
The Senses and the Neck Eyes, Nose speake beauty bright
Being Compleat and Watchfull Weights.

And hence these Metaphors we spirituallized
Speake out the Spouses spirituall Beauty cleare:
And morallizd do speake out Enemies
And hence declare the Spouses Lovely deare

357

To be the best and Enemies hath though they
Assaulting her shall perish in th'assay.

Make me a member of thy Beautious Bride,
I then shall wear thy lovely Spouses Shine
And shall envest her with my Love beside
Which with thy graces shall a dorn her fine.
Ist then be deckt up in thy Glorious vests
And sing the Bridall Melodies out best.

152. Meditation. Can. 7.5. Thy Head Upon thee is like Carmel and the hair of thy head like Purple. The King is held in the galleries.

27.10m [Dec.] 1719.

My Deare Deare Lord! my Soul is damp Untun'd.
My strings are fallen and their screw pins slipt.
When I should play thy praise each grace perfumd
My strings made fit with graces wax most slick.
My notes that tune thy praise should, pleasantly,
Will onely make an harish symphony.

Thou gildest ore with sparkling Metaphors
The Object thy Eternall Love fell on
Which makes her glory shine 'bove brightest stars
Carbuncling of the Skies Pavillion
That pave that Crystal Roofe the Earth's Canopy
With golden streaks, border'd with Pomell high.

The inward Tacles and the outward Traces
Shine with the Varnish of the Holy Ghost
Are th'Habit and the Exercise of Graces

358

Sent out with glorifying a part an host.
Yea every part from leg to toe do shine
Or Rather from the toe to th'top Divine.

Thus waring of the sparkling shine most bright,
Of Sanctifying Grace in every part
She is an Object of thy blesst delight
That with her beauty doth attack thy heart.
Hence in her galleries thou'rt held, thy Eye
Detains thyselfe surprised with such joy.

Then make me Lord a member of thy Spouse
Thus Varnisht with thy spirit, a part of Gold,
A Toe, a Foot, a Navill, Nose or brows,
An Arm, an Hand, a lock of hair, or fold
All sparkling with thy Grace in brightest Rayes
And golden Tunes I'l ever singing praise.

153. Meditation. Cant. 7.6. How Fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delight?

12m [Feb.] 1719.

My Glorious Lord thy work upon my hand
A work so greate and doth so Ample grow
Too larg to be by my Souls limits spand.
Lord let me to thy Angell Palace goe
To borrow thence Angelick Organs bright
To play thy praises with these pipes aright.

You Holy Angells lend yee mee your Skill.
Your Organs set and fill them up well stuft

359

With Christs rich praises whose lips do distill
Upon his Spouse such ravishing dews to gust
With Silver Metaphors and Tropes bedight.
How fair, how pleasant art, Love, for delight?

Which Rhetorick of thine my Lord descry
Such influences from thy Spouses face
That do upon me run and raise thy Joy
Above my narrow Fancy to uncase.
But yet demands my praise so high, so much
The which my narrow pipe can neer tune such.

Hence I come to your doors bright Starrs on high
And beg you to imply your pipes herein.
Winde musick makes the Sweetest Melody.
I'le with my little pipe thy praises sing.
Accept I pray and what for this I borrow,
I'le pay thee more when rise on heavens morrow.

154. Meditation. Heb. 11.6. Without Faith its impossible to please God.

10.5m [July] 1720.

Faith! Faith! my Lord! there is none other Grace.
Like suitable thyself to grace most High.
Of all thy glorious Graces, oh! the place,
That Faith obtains 'mongst them to magnify
Thyselfe, it is the Golden twist thou hast
To tie my Soule to thee my Lord most Fast.

That Golden Lace thy Ephod fast to ty
Unto thy Glorious Breast plate deckt with Stones

360

Rather the golden Button Curiously
Together on thy shouldier bone alone
Or golden Girdle that the Breast plate ties
Upon thy breast, my Lord, my High Priest wise.
Within whose fold these Oracles Divine
The Urim and the Thummim doe outshine.

Which utter Oracles of shining Light,
That shine among the Glittering precious Stones
Oucht in their rows upon the Breastplate right
Dancing among their sparkling glances known
Upon the High Priest, in his rich Robes drest.
Stars in his glorious breast plate on his breast.

Faith doth ore shine all other Grace set in
The Soule that Cabbinet of Grace up fild
As far as doth the Shining Sun in'ts run
Walking within its golden path ore gild
The little pinking Stars playing boe peep.
As walking in their Azure room they keep.

And though their glorys brave, its borrow Shine
And when each doth its glorious glory lay
Upon the heap of eachs glory fine
That lump thus made's but nighty, makes no day.
But when the Sun with its Curld locks out Crowds
They blush as shamd and hide out in the Clouds.

Even such is Faith amongst these Graces all,
It is a grace that doth them grace indeed.
It layes a Shine upon their Glory all
That further glory hence on them proceed.

361

They in its Glory do more glorious grow.
It strengthens and doth nourish them also.

Faith is the Curious Girdle that ties to
The King of Glory, glorifide with Grace
The bundled beams of th'Sun, Gods Son that flow
In graces Sunshine on the Soul apace
Making their graces all invest them bright
In brightest Robes by Faith more light than Light.

It is Golden Bosses of Gods Booke that do
Clasp it, the soule, to God and seals up fast.
The Golden Belt that doth unite also
Christ and the Soule together: buckled clasp
Christ and the Soule the seal of Grace and brings
All grace with't to the Soul Gods praise to sing.

155. Meditation. 2 Cor. 13.5. Examine yourselves whether you be in the Faith; know you not yourselves that Christ is in you except you be reprobats?

The 18. of 7m [Sept.] 1720.

My blessed Lord, I fain would thee advance
But finde my Pen is workd to the very Stumps.
My tongue my Speeches tabber Stick can't dance
Unto thy prais as I would have it jump.
My Drumb Stick thin of Dogtree Wood is made
And is unfit to beat thy praises trade.

362

Thou bidst me try if I be in the Faith,
For Christ's in me if I bee'nt Reprobate.
Thou me dost Check if ignorance displaith
Itself in me. And I know not my State.
A Reprobate my Lord, let not this come
On mee to be the burden of the Song.

Grant me thy Spectacles that I may see
To glorify aright thy glorious Selfe.
And see this Saving Faith grafted in mee.
Then thou wilt me inrich with Gospell Wealth.
This Faith most Usefull is I ever finde
To glorify thyself, of all Grace-kinde.

It Usefull is for every Duty here
Thou calst us to, and to the Same fit make
Its Subject doth, for every prayer most deare
And for the Lord's rich Supper to partake.
It Oyles indeed the very Wheels of Grace
And makes them bravely run aright apace.

It is the Grace of Grace begracing all.
Usefull for Grace, for Sacraments and Prayer.
Religion is without it an empty Call
And Zeale without it is a fruitless Care.
Preaching without it's as a Magpies Chatter
And as a little tittle tattles Clatter.

Prayer without Faith is but as prittle pratle.
Fasts and Thanksgiving are but barren things
And Sacraments without it but as rattles
But where this faith is all things gracious spring.
What ere it fills it Midas like is 'ts told
It Certainly turns into gospell Gold.

The Heart that it doth make its Feather Bed
It purifies, makes graces Lodgen Roome.

363

It makes th'Tongue tipt with it silver, the Couch orespreds
With Gospell Pillows, Sheets, and sweet perfumes
And sweetest tunes sings in the Spirit Halls
Sweet musick on the Spirits Virginalls.

Lord give me Saving Faith and then my Heart
Thou'lt make thy gospell golden mine of Grace.
Studded with precious Stones in every part
Of thy Sweet Spirit gilding ery place.
If thou wilt give me this my heart shall sing
On'ts Virginall, thy holy praise, within.

156. Meditation Cant. 5.1. Eate oh Friendes and drink yea drink abundantly oh Beloved.

The 12.9m [Nov.] 1720.

Callst thou me Friend? What Rhetorick is this?
It is a Piece of heavenly Blandishments.
Can I befriend thee, Lord? Grace dost thou miss
Miss name me by such lushous Complements.
The Poles may kiss and Parallels meet I trow
And Sun the Full moon buss, e're I do so.

'Twould be too much for Speeches Minted Stamp.
Sure it would set sweet Grace nigh on the Wrack
To assert I could befriend thee and her Cramp.
Methinke this tune nigh makes thy Harp Strings crack.

364

Yet Graces note claims kindred nigh this knell
Saying Eate Oh Friend, Yea drinke Beloved Well.

Friend, and Beloved calld to and welcom'd thus
At thy Rich Garden feast with spiced joy.
If any else had let such Dainties rush
It would be counted sauced blasphemy.
But seing Graces Clouds such rain impart,
Her Hony fall for joy makes leape my heart.

A Friend, yea the best friend that heaven hath
Thou art to me; how do thy sweet lips drop
Thy Gospell Hony Dews her sky display'th
Oh Sweetness such never to be forgot.
All Trees of Spices planted in this plot
Rich hung with Hony dews that on them dropt.

Thou drinkst thy Gardens Syllabub in trine
Honide with the drops thy Hony Comb distills.
Thou drinkst a Cup to me of't spiced wine
And bidst mee pledge thee and I pledge will.
My heart top full of these sweet dainties comes
Runs over with thy prais in sweetest songs.

157A. Meditation. Cant. 2.4. He brought me into the Banqueting house and his banner over me was Love.

5.12m [Feb.] 1720.

How Blesst am I having such blesst a Lord
If I improve my Happiness a right

365

He loves me so that he doth me afford
A Banquet such that none can make the like.
It's not a single meate, but certainly
It life sustains unto Eternity.

The sweetest dainties that were ever disht,
On any table in best Cookery
In Heavens made. It's Mannah, Angells feast
The Holy Angells [OMITTED]
That in the Golden poet kept [OMITTED] to
Was a black shadow unto this [OMITTED]

Ground in God's mill in Heaven, finest floure
And made into a pasty paste [OMITTED]
And filld with Paschall Mutton that nere soures
Backt in the Backhouse of Free Grace displaid
Serv'd up in Gospell Chargers pure and bright
By shining Angells all arrayd milk white.

When this Grist in Free Graces mill ground and
Bolted most fine into Gospell Tiffiny
And made in shew Bread Wafers [OMITTED] shew stand
[OMITTED] golden Altar shew bread gloriously
Yet that of Manna's wheat's but grudgens bakt
But oh this Banquet is all Shugar Cake.

This Meat and drink is best ten thousand fold
The Paschall mutton th'fattest of the flock
And cookt by Grace in Chargers fine of Gold
This is the Banquets fare [OMITTED] on the rock.

Its Wisdoms rost meat on free graces spit
All Saints [OMITTED] dripping shall
And of this table's fare Saints eate each bit
And never let the least crumb from them fall.
The Liquour that his table holds is fine,
Is richer Spirits far than Cana's Wine.

366

157B. Meditation. Can. 2.4. He brought me into the Banqueting house and his banner over me was Love.

5.12m [Feb.] 1720.

How Blest am I having so blesst a Lord
If I improve in blessedness a right
He loves me so that he doth mee afford
A Banquet such that none can make the like.
Its not a single meate but certainly
It life mentains and that eternally.

The sweetest dainties that were ever disht
On any Table by Best Cookery
In Heavens made. Its Mannah true, a feast
The holy Angells with your praises joy
That in the golden Pot kept in the Arke
Was but black smoke to this of Graces Art.

Ground in Gods mill in heaven, finest floure
Made into Pasty Paste, the Holy [OMITTED]
Filld with the Paschall Mutton, spice on it showers
Bakt in the Backhouse of Free Graces Craft,
Serv'd up in Gospell Chargers pure and bright
By shining Angells, waiting all in White.

This Grist of Mannah ground in Gods sweet mill
When bolted in Christ's pure fine Tiffiny
And drest in various Dishes by's Cook's skill
In glorious shine at the Epiphany,
That of the Mannahs wheat's mere grudgens bakt
But this Christs Banquet's all of Sugar Cake.

367

This Meate and Drink is best ten thousand fold
Of th'Paschall Mutton the fattest of the Flock
Cookt up by Grace in Chargers all of Gold.
This Banquits Fare, it's Christ himself, the Rock
Is Wisdoms rost meat rost in graces sops
Whose Dripping, Saints their bisket in't do sop.

The sweetest dainties cookt most graciously
Is truly [OMITTED] spiced Mess
And tis the Holy Ghost sweet [OMITTED]
This is the Banquets [OMITTED] Christ [OMITTED]
The liquour at this table's juyce of the Vine
Far richer spirit than the Cana wine.

This Drinke here drunk is Zions water red
It is the Blood of the Grape that [OMITTED]
In Gods sweet Vineyard on that noblest [OMITTED]
The true true Vine; from this press grape [OMITTED]
What wine is this? it's bled out of Christ's side
Tapt by the speare, Doth always best abide.

Oh! what a banquets here? Saints are its Guests,
Angells the servitors [OMITTED] all on th' Best
The Holy Ghosts spice seasons every [OMITTED]
And by the King of Glory it is blesst
All things hereof super superlative
All graces in the Guests hereby much make.

Hence banquet me my Lord here mongst thy Feast
And load my Trencher with his choicest Fare
And let my golden Beker too at least
Be blesst with thy blest Wine beyond Compare
And then my Violl shall this [OMITTED] wing
All Heaven ore sweet praise on ery string.

368

158. Meditation on Joh. 1.14. We beheld his Glory as the Glory of the Onely begot Son, full of Grace and Truth.

14.3m [May] 1721.

My Deare Deare Lord what shall I render thee?
Words spoken are but breesing boxed Winde.
If written onely inked paper bee.
Unless truth mantle, they bely the minde.
Is this sylabicated jumble whist
Out of my pen, for thee fit meed by my fist?

My deare dear Lord, thou king of Gloriousness,
Who can sufficiently thyself admire?
The Heavens themselves cannot the same express.
It then their Covering ascends still Higher.
Nor can the Heavens e're thy glory hold.
Its brightness doth exceed all pearls, and Gold.

I fain would give thee all my Love and all
Its Cabbinet wherein it keeps its Case.
My heart with it, yea, and myselfe too shall
Go with it to thee, that in holy chase
Is all too foule and small a thing for thee.
Yet I no better finde to furnish mee.

If thus my Love dresst with the Quintessence
Of its choice Faith and dear affection,
Extract by thy Spirits Chymistry, Expence
Being for this thing this rich Ejection
'Twould be onely Sweate of thy drops of Grace
Upon my heart, thus trickling down my face.

369

These Spirits of Love with th'Quintesses pure
Of all th'affection never could the Eye
Ever behold thy Glory, nor endure
To look upon it without dazling joy.
Thy beaming Glory falling on its Sight
Would make its Vision darke as dark as night.

Thy Glory Lord all other glory blinds.
The glory of thy Nature pure Divine.
The glory that thy Human Nature joyns,
Out shines all mortall glory that doth shine.
Thy Persons glory makes all others Smutt
And seem to it but like to Chimny Sut.

The Glory of thy Human birth, by right
Did make an Host of glorious Angells sing.
And all their spirituall instruments and pipes
Melodiously tune praises to our King.
Thus when God brought his First born Son to light
He said ye Angells Worship him aright.

Thy glory shone through ery step thou tookst
And did attend each word dropt from thy tongue.
Thy Doctrine did shine out thy life like shoots
And glorious miracles were [OMITTED] along
With [OMITTED] this life full cleare
And made the actions of thy life bright here.

The glory of thy powerfull words did make
The fiends of hell to tremble and to fly.
And made their stoughtest blades their hearts to quake.
And turn away their feet, and out to cry.
The wind and Sea amaizd stand still. Divills shrinke.
The Sun within the Skies hereby's made blinke.

The Grave is gilded where thy body lay
Even with thy glory. That Sting of death puld out.

370

The Earth a dancing fell when thy bright day
Of its uprising shining all about
Angells put on their glorious robes to tend
Thy tryumph over death and as thy freinds.

And still to make our Happiness compleate
Thou art top full of Grace and truth Wherby
The Object art of Intellects the Seate
In us and of our Wills, therein to 'ploy.
Themselves in truth and Goodness at thy Will
These Faculties with happiness, to th'fill.

Then thou upon the Wings of Glories Beams
Ridst through the realm of th'Enemies; the Skies:
Unto thy throne of Glorys brightest Streams
And hosts of Sparkling Angells glorious wise.
And whilst thy Captives thou dost Captive bring
The Heavens thy Triumphant glory sing.

Such glory ne'er seen under the Canopy
The Copes of Heaven these golden letters savour
This truth, we saw his Glory gloriously
As th'glory of th'onely Son of th'Father.
Lord ope mine eyes to se thy glory bright
And tune thy praise in beams of glorious light.

159. Meditation Rev. 3.10. He that over comes will I give to eat of the Hidden Mannah.

8m [Oct.] 1722.

Pardon my Lord, this is my great request.
For that thy Table of such Spirituall Cheere

371

Hath been by me so long a time undresst
My tenderness to the Offender were
A cause of this long intermission
Yet it at length producde Confession.

And now dear Lord, I do return thee praise
For such forbearance and such Victory
Over the powers of darkness, that did raise
The storm to blow the Candle out thereby
But Faith that gains the Conquest over hell
Hath here tryumphd. And born away the bell.

Thou saist thou'lt feed with hidden Mannah them
That in the spiritual Combate overcom.
Give mee I pray this Conquouring Faith and then
I'le sing a Tryumph: it shall be my song.
I honour will my Captain, sing his praise
Who leads me on and in my song him grace.

He in the War knows well us to Command.
The word is very ready in his lip.
He leads us on, when weary bids us stand.
Lets not us fall, although we've many a slipp.
He gives us Heart a grace, come on brave boys
I'le give you Angells, Dainties, heavenly joyes.

He'l feast us now with such a feast as made
George Nevills Feast although prodigeous 't were
With dainties, things all fat and [OMITTED] trade
Was but like th'indian broths of Garbag'd deer
With which the Netop entertain his guests
When almost starv'd, yea Welcome Sir, its our Mess.

Ahashuerus his banquet long and linde
And larded too with fatness and the Choicest Wine,
Was but a little milk wash [OMITTED] it lin'd

372

To be compar'd to this that's all divine.
It is a feast so sweet, so taking flavour,
That make the very Angells mouths to water.

The Table, Benches Chairs and Cushens and
Their Table cloaths and Napkins all of Grace
The drinking Cups and Trenchers all at hand,
Gold hath no market for this feasting place.
The Guests are Saints, the Waiters Angells are
The Entertainment Mannah. Angells fare.

The Drinking Glass is of Sapharin full of Grace.
The Pasty past is of the Wheat of Heaven.
The Holy Ghost managed the Cooke choice place
The Venison its filld with free from Leaven
Was taken in Gods parke and dresst, but where
By Whom it matter not, its Choicest cheare.

Minced pies most choise spic'd with the richest spice
Enriched with the Wealthi'st wine indeed
And plumbt with raisins, those of Paradise
Our Mannah thus prepar'd lets now proceed.
Lord make me then to overcome I 'treat.
Then thou will give mee hid'n mannah t'eate.

160. Meditation Cant. 2.1. I am the Lilly of the Vallie.

Westfield 22.10m [Dec.] 1722.

My Lord my Love I want words fit for thee.
And if't were otherwise, affections want
To animate the words that they might bee

373

A mantle to send praise to praises camp
But want I word and Spirits for the Same;
If I omit thy praise I sure have blame.

Lord make my heart in mee an humble thing
The humble hearts thy Habitation bright.
Its fatted then by thee and thou therein
Enrich it will with thy Celestiall Light.
Thyselfe, dear Lord, shall be its gloryous Shine
Wherewith it shall adorned be and fine.

I being thus, become thy Vallie low.
O plant thyselfe my lilly flower there.
Sure then my lilly in it up will grow
In beauty. And its fragrancy will fleer.
My heart thy spirituall valie all divine
Thyselfe the lilly of the Vally thine.

I am thy Vally where thy lilly grows
Thou my White and Red blesst lilly fresh;
Thy Active and thy Passive 'bedience do
Hold out Active and Passive Right'ousness.
Pure White and Red making a lovely grace,
Present thee to our Love to hug and 'brace.

The Medicinall Virtue of the lilly speake
That thou my Lilly are Physician who
Healst all Diseased Souls both small and greate.
None dy of any Spirituall Sores that to thee goe.
The Vally lilly then doth Emblemize
Thy fitness for thy Mediatoriall guise.

Shall Heaven itselfe with all its glorious flowers
Stick them as feathers in thy Cap my king
And in this glory bow to plant in, power
Them as a lilly flower my Vally in,

374

Which is not onely deepe but durty too,
What wonders this? What praise and thanks hence due?

But oh! alas my pin box is too small
To hold praise meet for such praiseworthiness.
The Angells and Archangells in Gods hall
Mee your Shoshannim tend then to adress
My Lord with praises bright in highest tunes
And though they are Stuttings they are sweet perfumes.

If thou the Lilly of my Vally bee
My Vally shall then glorious be and shine
Allthough it be a barren Soile for thee:
The Lilly of my Vally is divine.
I'le borrow heavenly praise for thee my king
To sacrifice to thee on my Harps sweet string.

161A. Meditation. Cant. 2.3. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.

Westfield 12m 3 day [Feb.] 1722.

My double Dear Lord, and doubl't ore and ore
Ten thousand times it would indeed still rise
A bubbe too small to knock at thy blesst doore
Of Loveliness, ten thousand times to thy sise.
It would be a gift ten thousand times too low
Though 't is the best I have on thee to bestow.

My Love alas is but a shrimpy thing
A sorry Crickling a blasted bud

375

A little drachm, too light a gift to bring.
Its but a grain weight and scarce ever good,
And shall I then presume thee to obtain
If I should rob thee of so small a grain.

Thou art as Apple tree 'mong sons of man
As was the Apple tree amonge the trees
That many are, (the Worlds geese are white swans
In its account.) but thou excellest all these
Ten thousand times bearing on every limb
All golden apples; ripest grace that springs.

Not like the tree that once in Eden grew
Amongst whose fruits the serpent old soon lops
And in his very teeth the poison threw
Into our Mother Eves her sorry Chops.
Nor like the Serpents Egge the Squerill held
Secur'd itselfe from th'venom that on it fell.

Lord shake their bower and let these apples fall
Into my Wicker basket and it fill.
Then I shall have rich spirituall food for all
Occasions as they essences do still
And I shall feed on their rich grace my fare
As they drop from thy Apple tree most rare.

376

And as thou serv'st up in thy Charger bright
A messe of these rich apples, sweet imbrace
I tasting them do in their reech delight
And over them will surely sing thee grace.

Thou tree of Life that ever more dost stand
Within the Paradise of God and hast
The Promise to him gi'n whose happy hand
Doth overcome, shall of it eate and tast.
Lord feed mee with this promisd food of Life
And I will sing thy praise in songs most rife.

161B. Meditation Cant. 2.3. As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons.

Westfield 22.3m [May] 1723.

My double Deare Lord, yea doubld ore and ore
Ten thousand times, it would indeed still rise
Too little for to knock at thy blesst doore
Of Loveliness ten thousand times its sise.
'Twould be a gift ten thousand times too small
For my poor love to honour thee withall.

My Love alas is a small shrivled thing
A little Crickling a blasted bud,
Scarce a grain in weight that can't unto thee bring
Scarce lump [OMITTED] nor give [OMITTED]
And shall I then presume therewith to greet
The precious jewells that adorn thy feet?

377

Thou as the Apple tree, in wood dost rise
Even such among the Sons and them Excellst
The world [OMITTED] in envy's eyes
But thou these White [OMITTED] thou tellst,
Twould this gold Martyre [OMITTED] relats in's streams
[OMITTED] indeed its but [OMITTED] golden dreams.

Not like the tree that once in Eden grew
Out of whose bows th'old serpent drops
Into our Mother Eve's lap the apple threw
The which she quickly mumbled in her Chops.
That tree of Life god's Paradise within
That healing fruite brings froth to heale 'gainst sin.

Its better far then was the snakes eges found
By the poore squerrell, and did arm itselfe
Therewith held in its teeth when th'Snake did round
Assault it who held them unto this Elfe.
She tendered the Eggs held in its mouth strange fate
And so repelld away the Rattle Snake.

Oh! Shake the tree and make these apples fall
Into my Wicker Basket oh how free
Art thou my Apple tree, surpassing all
Then spirituall Food and Physick, curing mee.
Then I shall have rich spirituall Balms, once had
The Balm of Gilliad to make me glad.

Lord serve up in thy Saphire Charger bright
A service of these golden Apples brave
Whose sight and sent will fill me with delight
As they come tumbling [OMITTED] Wave,
My food will Food and Med'cine to mee bee
Which Grace itselfe cooks up aright for mee.

Thou tree of Life yea life erelasting stand
Within the Paradise of God thou hast
That promisd them that hath that happy hand
As to overcome shall Eating of it tast.

378

Lord send me with this promisd branch of Life
And I will sing thy Grace with gracious strife.

162. Meditation Cant. 2.3. I sat under his shadow with greate delight and his fruit was sweet to my taste.

Westfield 31.12m [Feb.] 1723.

A shadow, Lord, not such as types show here
Nor such as Titerus his broad Beech made
In which he with his Oat straw pipe't there
A Forrest march, such his dark blackish trade.
But tis a milke white Shadow sparkling bright
That doth excell all excellent delight.

It doth delight the Saints in glorious wise
As shadow of a rock in weary land.
It doth revive them when the Clouds arise
And maske the brows of heaven's bright shining hand.
Grace gilds this shade with brightsom shines Godward
And manward doth bring [OMITTED] a blest reward.

A Shadow not a scowling cloud that rose
Big belli'd with hard Cracks of frightful thunder
And rapid frightful firy flashes throws
A [OMITTED] with horrid rending thunder
Making the hinds to calve and Lebanon
To skip like to a frighted Unicorn.

A shade indeed [OMITTED] did hap
[OMITTED] cluster of bright Angells [OMITTED] up
Made a Brave feather to adorn the Cap

379

Upon the Tabernakles [OMITTED]
By Day and Night the Camp as on they stand
Through the Wilderness to the promisd land.

Lord let this shadow as a Canopy
Catch all perfumes that from the Earth arise
[OMITTED] in to fill [OMITTED]
My drinking cup when squezd I shall it prize.
Then when my Crystall Cup grows full to the brim
Thy praise sweet to my tast my harp shall sing.

163. Meditation Cant. 2.3. His fruit was Sweet to my Tast.

Sweet Lord, all sweet from top to bottom all
From Heart to hide, sweet, mostly sweet.
Sweet Manhood and sweet Godhead and ere shall.
Thou art the best of Sweeting. And so keep.
Thou art made up of best of sweetness brast.
Thy Fruit is ever sweet unto my tast.

Thou art my sweetest one, my Onely sweet.
From kirnel to the rinde, all sweet to mee.
Thy bitterness is sweet: no choaking reech
Nor damping Steams arise to damp from thee
The Sacred Spices. Muske [OMITTED] them
Are unto thee, sweet, like to faded gum.

Thou unto mee art onely sweet all sweet
Sweet in the Virgin wombe and horses Manger.
Sweet in thy swath band and thy Childhood meete
Yea, sweet to all, to neighbour and to Stranger.

380

Sweet in thy Life and Conversation, friends.
Thy Sweetness dropest from thy fingers Ends.

My Lord, my Love, my Lilly, my Rose and Crown
My brightest Glory, and my Hony sweet
My Happiness, my Riches, my Renown.
My Shade for Comfort, in thee good things meet.
Not one thing in thee that admits of Spot
All Heavens Scutchen, and a bright Love knot.

Heavens Carnation with most sweet perfume,
Pinkes, Roses, Violets that perfume the Aire
Inchant the Eyes and fancy in their bloome
Entoxicate the Fancy with their Ware
That fuddled, turne and reele and tumble down
From holly sweet to Earthly damps like Clowns.

It gathers not the Lillys nor doth Picke
This double sweet rose in Zions Rose tree breede
Nor climbs this Apple tree, nor doth it sit
At all in'ts Shade, nor on its Apple feed.
Its lost within the fog and goes astray
Like to a fuddled person out of's way.

But Oh! my Lord, how sweet art thou to mee
In all thy Mediatoriall actions sweet
Most sweet in thy Redemtion all way free
Thy Righteousness, thy holiness most meeke.
In Reconciliation made for mee
With God offended in the highst degree.

A Cabbinet of Holiness, Civit box
Of Heavenly Aromatick, still much more,
A treasury of Spicery, rich knots,
Of Choicest Merigolds, a house of Store

381

Of never failing dainties to my tast
Delighting holy Palates, such thou hast.

A sugar Mill, an Hony Hive most rich
Of all Celestial viands, golden box
Top full of Saving Grace, a Mint house which
Is full of Angells, and a cloud that drops
Down better fare than ever Artist could,
More pleasant than the finest liquid Gold.

Then glut me Lord, ev'n on this dainty fare,
Here is not Surfeit; look upon this dish:
All is too little to suffice, this fare
Can surfeit none that eatest; none eate amiss,
Unless they eat too little. So disgrace
The preparation of the banquit place.

While I sat longing in this Shadow here
To tast the fruite this Apple tree all ripe
How sweet these Sweetings bee. Oh! sweet good Cheere
How am I filld with sweet most sweet delight.
The fruite, while I was in its shady place
Was and to mee is now sweet to my tast.

382

164. Meditation Cant. 2.4. He brought mee into his Banqueting house (house of Wine) and his banner over me was love.

Month 6th [Aug.] Anno 1723.

Words are Dear Lord, notes insignificant
But Curled aire when spoke Sedan'd from the Lip
Into the Eare, soon vanish, though don't Cant,
Yea run on tiptoe, and hence often trip
Sometimes do poother out like th'Chimny Smoake
Hence often smut the matter, and nigh Choake.

Hence, my Dear Lord, the mantle I would make
Thee, I do feare will run all Counter buffe,
To my design, and streakt be like a Snake,
That's new crept out of 'ts garment, a slunk Slough,
Or have a smoaky Smell, and Choaky lodge
Within its Clasp. And so it proove a blodge.

But, oh Dear Lord, though my pen pikes no gold
To lace these robes with, I would dress thee in
And its a Shame that Tinsyl ribbon should
Be all the trimming that I own to bring
Yet seeing, Lord, my shop board hath no better,
I do presume thou'lt take it of thy debtor.

Thou hast me brought into thy house of Wine,
The Saphire Caske of thy rich precepts [OMITTED]
And thy Carbunkled Firkins tappt divine
And Choicest Nectar in Sweet Promises.
When thou hath [OMITTED]
Thy sweetest praise my Muse shall melodiously out sing.

383

165. Meditation. Cant. 2.5. I am sick of Love.

Month 8 [Oct.] 1725.

Heart sick my Lord heart sick of Love to thee!
[OMITTED] pain'd in Love oh see
Its parchments ready to crack, it was so free.
It so affects true love [OMITTED]
As taken [OMITTED] sends my Lords pledge
But seeing its so small and hence not fledge,

It hates confinement, can't confine its Love
It sends to thee, disdains an Hidebound gift.
But ever doth esteem great Love to move
Unto thyself my Lord, from all else rifts
All hatcht in heaven of an heavenly Egge
The Holy Ghost layd there in'ts feather bed.

If it be hatcht in Heaven, and thence brought
Back in the bill of th'brightest Angel there
My heart would feare it was but stolen, and caught
Thence and me given, unfit for thee most deare.
The Holy Spirits Egg hatcht in this nest
Would onely bee a gift, of Gifts the best.

I do bewaile my heart hath little of this
Thee to assail therewith, but oh the Smell
Of such a gift, that thou art pleast with, yes.
Hence hope there's Something in't will please thee well.
Hence Lord accept of this, reject the rest.
I grudg my heart if it send not thee th'best.

384

Had I but better thou shouldst better have.
I nought withold from thee through nigerdliness,
But better than my best I cannot save
From any one, but bring my best to thee.
If thou acceptst my sick Loves gift I bring
Thy it accepting makes my sick Love sing.

385

Gods Determinations touching his Elect: and The Elects Combat in their Conversion, and Coming up to God in Christ together with the Comfortable Effects thereof.

387

The Preface.

Infinity, when all things it beheld
In Nothing, and of Nothing all did build,
Upon what Base was fixt the Lath, wherein
He turn'd this Globe, and riggalld it so trim?
Who blew the Bellows of his Furnace Vast?
Or held the Mould wherein the world was Cast?
Who laid its Corner Stone? Or whose Command?
Where stand the Pillars upon which it stands?
Who Lac'de and Fillitted the earth so fine,
With Rivers like green Ribbons Smaragdine?
Who made the Sea's its Selvedge, and it locks
Like a Quilt Ball within a Silver Box?
Who Spread its Canopy? Or Curtains Spun?
Who in this Bowling Alley bowld the Sun?
Who made it always when it rises set
To go at once both down, and up to get?
Who th'Curtain rods made for this Tapistry?
Who hung the twinckling Lanthorns in the Sky?
Who? who did this? or who is he? Why, know
Its Onely Might Almighty this did doe.
His hand hath made this noble worke which Stands
His Glorious Handywork not made by hands.
Who spake all things from nothing; and with ease
Can speake all things to nothing, if he please.
Whose Little finger at his pleasure Can
Out mete ten thousand worlds with halfe a Span:
Whose Might Almighty can by half a looks
Root up the rocks and rock the hills by th'roots.
Can take this mighty World up in his hande,
And shake it like a Squitchen or a Wand.

388

Whose single Frown will make the Heavens shake
Like as an aspen leafe the Winde makes quake.
Oh! what a might is this Whose single frown
Doth shake the world as it would shake it down?
Which All from Nothing fet, from Nothing, All:
Hath All on Nothing set, lets Nothing fall.
Gave All to nothing Man indeed, whereby
Through nothing man all might him Glorify.
In Nothing then imbosst the brightest Gem
More pretious than all pretiousness in them.
But Nothing man did throw down all by Sin:
And darkened that lightsom Gem in him.
That now his Brightest Diamond is grown
Darker by far than any Coalpit Stone.

The Effects of Mans Apostacy.

While man unmarr'd abode his Spirits all
In Vivid hue were active in their hall,
This Spotless Body, here and there mentain
Their traffick for the Universall gain.
Till Sin Beat up for Volunteers. Whence came
A thousand Griefs attending on the same.
Which march in ranck, and file, proceed to make
A Battery, and the fort of Life to take.
Which when the Centinalls did spy, the Heart
Did beate alarum up in every part.
The Vitall Spirits apprehend thereby
Exposde to danger great the suburbs ly,
The which they do desert, and speedily
The Fort of Life the Heart, they Fortify.
The Heart beats up still by her Pulse to Call

389

Out of the outworks her train Souldiers all
Which quickly come hence: now the Looks grow pale
Limbs feeble too: the Enemies prevaile.
Do scale the Outworks where there's Scarce a Scoute
That can be Spi'de sent from the Castle out.

Man at a muze, and in a maze doth stand,
While Feare the Generall of all the Band
Makes inroads on him: then he Searches why,
And quickly Findes God stand as Enemy.
Whom he would fain subdue, yet Fears affright
In Varnishing their Weapons in his Sight.
Troops after troops, Bands after Bands do high,
Armies of armed terrours drawing nigh:
He lookes within, and sad amazement's there,
Without, and all things fly about his Eares.
Above, and sees Heaven falling on his pate,
Below and spies th'Infernall burning lake,
Before and sees God storming in his Face,
Behinde, and spies Vengeance persues his trace.
To stay he dares not, go he knows not where
From God he can't, to God he dreads for Feare.
To Dy he Dreads; For Vengeance's due to him;
To Live he must not, Death persues his Sin:
He Knows not what to have, nor what to loose
Nor what to do, nor what to take or Choose:
Thus over Stretcht upon the Wrack of Woe,
Bereav'd of Reason, he proceeds now so,
Betakes himself unto his Heels in hast,
Runs like a Madman till his Spirits wast,
Then like a Child that fears the Poker Clapp
Him on his face doth on his Mothers lap
Doth hold his breath, lies still for fear least hee
Should by his breathing lowd discover'd bee.
Thus on his face doth see no outward thing
But still his heart for Feare doth pant within.
Doth make its Drummer beate so loud it makes

390

The Very Bulworks of the City Quake:
Yet gets no aide: Wherefore the Spirits they
Are ready all to leave, and run away.
For Nature in this Pannick feare scarce gives
Him life enough, to let him feel he lives.
Yet this he easily feels, he liveth in
A Dying Life, and Living Death by Sin,
Yet in this Lifeless life wherein he lies,
Some Figments of Excuses doth devise
That he may Something say, when rain'd, although
His Say seems nothing, and for nought will go.
But while he Sculking on his face close lies
Espying nought, the Eye Divine him spies.
Justice and Mercy then fall to debate
Concerning this poore fallen mans estate,
Before the Bench of the Almighties Breast
Th' ensuing Dialogues hint their Contest.

391

A Dialogue between Justice and Mercy.

Offended Justice comes in fiery Rage,
Like to a Rampant Lyon new assaild,
Array'd in Flaming fire now to engage,
With red hot burning Wrath poore man unbaild.
In whose Dread Vissage sinfull man may spy
Confounding, Rending, Flaming Majesty.

Out Rebell, out (saith Justice) to the Wrack,
Which every joynt unjoynts, doth streatch, and strain,
Where Sinews tortur'de are untill they Crack
And Flesh is torn asunder grain by grain.
What Spit thy Venom in my Face! Come out
To handy gripes seing thou art so stoute.

Mercy takes up the Challenge, Comes as meeke
As any Lamb, on mans behalfe, she speakes
Like new blown pincks, breaths out perfumed reech
And doth revive the heart before it breaks.
Justice (saith Mercy) if thou Storm so fast,
Man is but dust that flies before thy blast.

JUSTICE
My Essence is ingag'de, I cannot bate,
Justice not done no Justice is; and hence
I cannot hold off of the Rebells pate
The Vengeance he halls down with Violence.
If Justice wronged be she must revenge:
Unless a way be found to make all friends.

MERCY
My Essence is engag'de pitty to show.
Mercy not done no Mercy is. And hence
I'le put my shoulders to the burden so
Halld on his head with hands of Violence.
As Justice justice evermore must doe:
So Mercy Mercy evermore must show.

JUSTICE
I'le take thy Bond: But know thou this must doe.
Thou from thy Fathers bosom must depart:

392

And be incarnate like a slave below
Must pay mans Debts unto the utmost marke.
Thou must sustain that burden, that will make
The Angells sink into th' Infernall lake.

Nay on thy shoulders bare must beare the smart
Which makes the Stoutest Angell buckling cry
Nay makes thy Soule to Cry through griefe of heart,
eli, eli, lama sabachtani.
If this thou wilt, come then, and do not spare.
Beare up the Burden on thy Shoulders bare.

MERCY
All this I'le do, and do it o're and o're,
Before my Clients Case shall ever faile.
I'le pay his Debt, and wipe out all his Score
And till the pay day Come I'le be his baile.
I Heaven, and Earth do on my shoulders beare,
Yet down I'le throw them all rather than Spare.

JUSTICE
Yet notwithstanding still this is too Small,
Although there was a thousand times more done.
If sinless man did, sinfull man will fall:
If out of debt, will on a new score run.
Then stand away, and let me strike at first:
For better now, than when he's at the Worst.

MERCY
If more a thousand times too little bee
Ten thousand times yet more than this I'le do:
I'le free him from his Sin, and Set him free
From all those faults the which he's subject to.
Then Stand away, and strike not at the first.
He'l better grow when he is at the worst.

JUSTICE
Nay, this ten thousand times as much can still
Confer no hony to the Sinners hive.

393

For man though shrived throughly from all ill
His Righteousness is merely negative.
Though none be damnd but such as sin imbrace:
Yet none are sav'd without Inherent Grace.

MERCY
What, though ten thousand times, too little bee?
I will ten thousand thousand times more do.
I will not onely from his sin him free,
But fill him with Inherent grace also.
Though none are Sav'd that wickedness imbrace.
Yet none are Damn'd that have Inherent Grace.

JUSTICE
Yet this ten thousand thousand times more shall,
Though Doubled o're, and o're for little stands.
The Righteousness of God should be his all
The which he cannot have for want of hands.
Then though he's spar'de at first, at last he'l fall
For want of hands to hold himselfe withall.

MERCY
Though this ten thousand thousand times much more
Though doubled o're and o're for little go,
I'le double still its double o're and ore
And trible that untill I make it do.

394

I'le make him hands of Faith to hold full fast.
Spare him at first, then he'l not fall at last.

For by these hands he'l lay his Sins Upon
The Scape Goats head, o're whom he shall Confess
And with these hands he rightly shall put on
My milkwhite Robe of Lovely Righteousness.
Now Justice on, thy Will fulfilled bee.
Thou dost no wrong: the Sinner's just like thee.

JUSTICE
If so, its so: then I'l his Quittance seale:
Or shall accuse myselfe as well as him:
If so, I Justice shall of Justice faile
Which if I do, Justice herselfe should sin.
Justice unspotted is, and therefore must,
[OMITTED]

MERCY
I do foresee Proud man will me abuse,
He'th broke his Legs, yets Legs his stilts must bee:
And I may stand untill the Chilly Dews
Do pearle my Locks before he'l stand on mee.
For set a Beggar upon horseback, see
He'll ride as if no man so good as hee.

JUSTICE
And I foresee Proude man will me abuse.
Judging his Shekel is the Sanctuaries:
He on his durty stilts to walk will Choose:
Yea is as Clean as I, and nothing Varies
Although his Shekel is not Silver good
And's tilting stilts do stick within the mudd.

MERCY
But most he'l me abuse, I feare, for still
Some will have Farms to farm, some wives to wed:

395

Some beasts to buy; and I must waite their Will.
Though while they scrape their naile, or scratch their head
Nay though with Cap in hand I Wooe them long
They'l whistle out their Whistle e're they'l come.

JUSTICE
I see I'st be abus'de by greate, and small:
And most will count me blinde, or will not see:
Me leaden heel'd, with iron hands they'l Call:
Or am unjust, or they more just than mee.
And while they while away their Mercy so,
They set their bristles up at Justice do.

MERCY
I feare the Humble Soul will be too shie;
Judging my Mercy lesser than his Sin.
Inlarging this, but lessening that thereby.
'S if Mercy would not Mercy be to him.
Alas! poore Heart! how art thou damnifide,
By Proud Humility, and Humble Pride?

JUSTICE
The Humble Soul deales worse with me, doth Cry
If I be just, I'le on him Vengeance take
As if I su'de Debtor, and Surety
And double Debt and intrest too would rake.
If Justice sue the Bonds that Cancelld are
Sue Justice then before a juster bar.

MERCY
But in this Case alas, what must be done
That haughty souls may humble be, and low?
That Humble souls may suck the Hony Comb?
And thou for Justice, I for Mercy go?
This Query weighty is, Lets therefore shew
What must be done herein by me, and you.

JUSTICE
Lest that the Soule in Sin securely ly,
And do neglect Free Grace, I'le steping in

396

Convince him by the Morall Law, whereby
Ile'st se in what a pickle he is in.
For all he hath, for nothing stand it shall
If of the Law one hair breadth short it fall.

MERCY
And lest the Soule should quite discourag'de stand
I will step in, and smile him in the face,
Nay I to him will hold out in my hand
The golden scepter of my Rich-Rich Grace.
Intreating him with smiling lips most cleare
At Court of Justice in my robes t'appeare.

JUSTICE
If any after Satans Pipes do Caper
Red burning Coales from hell in Wrath I gripe,
And make them in his face with Vengeance Vaper,
Untill he dance after the Gospell Pipe.
Whose Sun is Sin, when Sin in Sorrows shrow'd,
Their Sun of Joy sets in a grievous Cloud.

MERCY
When any such are startled from ill,
And cry help, help, with tears, I will advance
The Musick of the Gospell Minsterill,
Whose strokes they strike, and tunes exactly dance.
Who mourn when Justice frowns, when Mercie playes
Will to her sounding Viall Chant out Praise.

JUSTICE
The Works of Merit-Mongers I will weigh
Within the Ballance of the sanctuary:
Their Matter, and their Manner I will lay
Unto the Standard-Rule t'see how they Vary.
Whosever trust doth to his golden deed
Doth rob a barren Garden for a Weed.

MERCY
Yet if they'l onely on my Merits trust
They'st in Gods Paradise themselves solace,

397

Their beauteous garden knot I'le also thrust
With Royall Slips, Sweet Flowers, and Herbs of Grace.
Their Knots I'le weed, to give a spangling show
In Order: and perfumes shall from them flow.

JUSTICE
Those that are ignorant, and do not know
What meaneth Sin, nor what means Sanctity,
I will Convince that all save Saints must go
Into hot fire, and brimston there to fry.
Whose Pains hot scalding boyling Lead transcends,
But evermore adds more and never Ends.

MERCY
Though simple, learn of mee. I will you teach,
True Wisdom for your Souls Felicity,
Wisdom Extending to the Endless reach
And blissfull end of all Eternity.
Wisdom that doth all else transcend as far
As Sol's bright Glory doth a painted Star.

JUSTICE
You that Extenuate your sins, come see
Them in Gods multiplying Glass: for here
Your little sins will just like mountains bee,
And as they are just so they Will appeare.
Who doth a little sin Extenuate
Extends the same, and two thereof doth make.

MERCY
A little sin is sin: and is Sin Small?
Excuse it not, but aggrivate it more.
Lest that your little Sin asunder fall
And two become, each bigger than before.
Who scants his sin will scarce get grace to save.
For little Sins, but little pardons have.

JUSTICE
Unto the Humble Humble Soule I say,
Cheer up, poor Heart, for satisfi'de am I.

398

For Justice nothing to thy Charge can lay,
Thou hast Acquittance in thy surety.
The Court of Justice thee acquits: therefore
Thou to the Court of Mercy are bound o're.

MERCY
My Dove, come hither linger not, nor stay.
Though thou among the pots hast lain, behold
Thy Wings with Silver Colours I'le o're lay:
And lay thy feathers o're with yellow gold.
Justice in Justice must adjudge thee just:
If thou in Mercies Mercy put thy trust.

Mans Perplexity when calld to an account.

Justice, and Mercy ending their Contest,
In such a sort, now thrust away the Desk.
And other titles come in Majesty,
All to attend Almighty royally.
Which sparkle out, call man to come and tell
How he his Cloath defild and how he fell?

He on his skirts with Guilt, and Filth out peeps
With Pallid Pannick Fear upon his Cheeks,
With Trembling joynts, and Quiverring Lips, doth quake
As if each Word he was about to make,
Should hackt a sunder be, and Chopt as small
As Pot herbs for the pot before they Call
Upon the Understanding to draw neer,
By tabbering on the Drum within the eare.
His Spirits are so low they'l scarce afford
Him Winde enough to wast a single word
Over the Tongue unto one's eare: yet loe,
This tale at last with sobs, and sighs lets goe,
Saying, my Mate procurde me all this hurt,
Who threw me in my best Cloaths in the Dirt.

399

Thus man hath lost his Freehold by his ill:
Now to his Land Lord tenent is at Will.
And must the Tenement keep in repare
Whate're the ruins, and the Charges are.
Nay, and must mannage war against his Foes.
Although ten thousand strong, he must oppose.
Some seeming Friends prove secret foes, which will
Thrust Fire i'th'thatch, nay stob, Cut throate and kill.
Some undermine the Walls: Some knock them down,
And make them tumble on the Tenents Crown.
He's then turnd out of Doors, and so must stay,
Till's house be rais'd against the Reckoning day.

Gods Selecting Love in the Decree.

Man in this Lapst Estate at very best,
A Cripple is and footsore, sore opprest,
Can't track Gods Trace but Pains, and pritches prick
Like poyson'd splinters sticking in the Quick.
Yet jims in th'Downy path with pleasures spread
As 'twas below him on the Earth to tread.
Can prance, and trip within the way of Sin,
Yet in Gods path moves not a little wing.

Almighty this foreseing, and withall
That all this stately worke of his would fall
Tumble, and Dash to pieces Did in lay
Before it was too late for it a Stay.
Doth with his hands hold, and uphold the same.
Hence his Eternall Purpose doth proclaim.
Whereby transcendently he makes to shine
Transplendent Glory in his Grace Divine.
Almighty makes a mighty sumptuous feast:
Doth make the Sinfull Sons of men his guests.
But yet in speciall Grace he hath to some,

400

(Because they Cripples are, and Cannot come)
He sends a Royall Coach forth for the same,
To fetch them in, and names them name by name.
A Royall Coach whose scarlet Canopy
O're silver Pillars, doth expanded ly:
All bottomed with purest gold refin'de,
And inside o're with lovely Love all linde.
Which Coach indeed you may exactly spy
All mankinde splits in a Dicotomy.
For all ride to the feast that favour finde.
The rest do slite the Call and stay behinde.

O! Honour! Honour! Honours! Oh! the Gain!
And all such Honours all the saints obtain.
It is the Chariot of the King of Kings:
That all who Glory gain, to glory brings.
Whose Glory makes the rest, (when spi'de) beg in.
Some gaze and stare. Some stranging at the thing.
Some peep therein; some rage thereat, but all,
Like market people seing on a stall,
Some rare Commodity Clap hands thereon
And Cheapen't hastily, but soon are gone.
For hearing of the price, and wanting pay
Do pish thereat, and Coily pass away.
So hearing of the terms, whist, they'le abide
At home before they'l pay so much to ride.
But they to whom its sent had rather all,
Dy in this Coach, than let their journey fall.
They up therefore do get, and in it ride
Unto Eternal bliss, while down the tide
The other scull unto eternall woe;
By letting slip their former journey so.
For when they finde the Silver Pillars fair
The Golden bottom pav'de with Love as rare,
To be the Spirits sumptuous building cleare,
When in the Soul his Temple he doth reare
And Purple Canopy to bee (they spy)
All Graces Needlework and Huswifry;

401

Their stomachs rise: these graces will not down.
They think them Slobber Sawces: therefore frown.
They loath the same, wamble keck, heave they do:
Their Spleen thereat out at their mouths they throw,
Which while they do, the Coach away doth high
Wheeling the Saints in't to eternall joy.
These therefore and their journey now do come
For to be treated on, and Coacht along.

The Frowardness of the Elect in the Work of Conversion.

Those upon whom Almighty doth intend
His all Eternall Glory to expend,
Lulld in the lap of sinfull Nature snugg,
Like Pearls in Puddles cover'd ore with mudd:
Whom, if you search, perhaps some few you'l finde,
That to notorious Sins were ne're inclinde.
Some shunning some, some most, some greate, some small.
Some this, that or the other, some none at all.
But all, or almost all you'st easly finde,
To all, or almost all Defects inclinde
To Revell with the Rabble rout who say
Let's hiss this Piety out of our Day.
And those whose frame is made of finer twine
Stand further off from Grace than Wash from Wine.
Those who suck Grace from th'breast, are nigh as rare
As Black Swans that in milkwhite Rivers are.
Grace therefore calls them all, and sweetly wooes.
Some won come in, the rest as yet refuse,
And run away: Mercy persues apace,
Then some Cast down their arms, Cry Quarter, Grace.
Some Chased out of breath drop down with feare

402

Perceiving the persuer drawing neer.
The rest persude, divide into two rancks
And this way one, and that the other prancks.

Then in comes Justice with her forces by her,
And doth persue as hot as sparkling fire.
The right wing then begins to fly away.
But in the streights strong Baracadoes lay.
They're therefore forc'd to face about, and have
Their spirits Queld, and therefore Quarter Crave.
These Captivde thus: justice persues the Game
With all her troops to take the other train.
Which being Chast in a Peninsula
And followd close, they finde no other way
To make escape, but t'rally round about:
Which if it faile them that they get not out,
They're forct into the Infernall Gulfe alive
Or hackt in pieces are or took Captive.
But spying Mercy stand with Justice, they
Cast down their Weapons, and for Quarter pray.
Their lives are therefore spar'de, yet they are ta'ne
As th'other band: and prisoners must remain.
And so they must now Justice's Captives bee
On Mercies Quarrell: Mercy sets not free.
Their former Captain is their Deadly foe.
And now, poor souls, they know not what to do.

Satans Rage at them in their Conversion.

Grace by the Aide of Justice wins the day.
And Satans Captives Captives leads away,
Who finding of their former Captains Cheates,

403

To be Rebellion, him a Rebell Greate,
Against his Rightfull Sovereign, by whom
He shortly shall to Execution Come,
They sue for Pardon do at Mercies Doore
Bewailing of that war they wag'd before.

Then Satan in a red-hot firy rage
Comes belling, roaring ready to ingage
To rend, and tare in pieces small all those,
Whom in the former Quarrell he did lose.
But's boyling Poyson'd madness, being by
A shield Divine repelld, he thus lets fly.
You Rebells all, I Will you gripe, and fist.
I'le make my Jaws a Mill to grin'de such Grists.
Look not for Mercy, Mercy well doth see
You'l be more false to her than Unto mee.
You're the first Van that fell; you're Traitors, Foes,
And Unto such Grace will no trust repose.
You Second Ranck are Cowards, if Christ Come
With you to fight his field, you'l from him run.
You third are feeble-hearted; if Christs Crown
Must stand or fall by you, you'l fling it down.
You last did last the longest: but being ta'ne
Are Prisoners made, and Jayle Birds must remain.
It had been better on the Turff to dy
Then in such Deadly slavery to ly.
Nay, at the best you all are Captive Foes.
Will Wisdom have no better aid than those?
Trust to a forced Faith? To hearts well known
To be (like yours) to all black Treason Prone?
For when I shall let fly at you, you'l fall:
And so fall foule Upon your Generall.
Hee'l Hang you up alive then; by and by.
And I'le you wrack too for your treachery.
He will become your foe, you then shall bee

404

Flanckt of by him before, behinde by mee.
You'st stand between us two our spears to dunce.
Can you Offend and Fence both wayes at once?
You'l then have sharper service than the Whale,
Between the Sword fish, and the Threshers taile.
You'l then be mawld worse than the hand thats right
Between the heads of Wheelhorn'd Rams that fight.
What will you do when you shall squezed bee
Between such Monstrous Gyants Jaws as Wee?

The Souls Address to Christ against these Assaults.

Thou Gracious Lord, Our Honour'd Generall
May't suite thy Pleasure never to impute,
It our Presumption, when presume we shall
To line thy Noble Ears with our Greate suite?
With ropes about our necks we come and lie,
Before thy pleasure's Will, and Clemency.

When we unto the height of Sin were grown,
We sought thy Throne to overthrow; but were
In this our seeking Quickly overthrown:
A Mass of Mercy in thy face shone cleare.
We quarter had: though if we'de had our share
We had been quarter'd up as Rebells are.

Didst thou thy Grace on Treators arch expend?
And force thy Favour on thy stubborn Foe?
And hast no Favour for a failing Friend,
That in thy Quarrell trippeth with his toe?
If thus it be, thy Foes Speed better far,
Than do thy Friends, that go to fight thy War.

405

But is it as the Adversary said?
Dost thou not hear his murdering Canons roare?
What Vollies fly? What Ambushments are laid?
And still his stratagems grow more, and more.
Lord, fright this frightfull Enemy away.
A Trip makes not a Traitor: Spare we pray.

And if thou still suspect us come, and search:
Pluck out our hearts and search them narrowly.
If Sin allow'd in any Corner learch,
We beg a Pardon, and a Remedy.
Lord Gybbit up such Rebells Arch Who do
Set ope the back doore to thy Cursed foe.

Christs Reply.

I am a Captain to your Will.
You found me Gracious, so shall still,
Whilst that my Will is your Design.
If that you stick unto my Cause
Opposing whom oppose my Laws
I am your own, and you are mine.

The weary Soule I will refresh
And Ease him of his heaviness.
Who'le slay a Friend? And save a Foe?
Who in my War do take delight,
Fight not for prey, but Pray, and Fight
Although they slip, I'le mercy show.

Then Credit not your Enemy
Whose Chiefest daintie is a lie.
I will you comfort sweet extend.
Behold I am a sun and shield

406

And a sharp sword to win the field.
I'l surely Crown you in the End.

His murdering Canons which do roare
And Engins though as many more
Shoot onely aire: no Bullets fly.
Unless you dare him with your Crest,
And ope to him the naked breast,
Small Execution's done thereby.

To him that smiteth hip, and thigh,
My foes as his: Walks warily,
I'le give him Grace: he'st give me praise.
Let him whose foot doth hit a Stone
Through weakeness, not rebellion
Not faint, but think on former dayes.

The Effect of this Reply with a fresh Assault from Satan.

Like as the Shining Sun, we do behold,
Is hot, and Light, when th'Weather waxeth Cold:
Like as brave Valour in a Captain steels
His Armies Courage, when their spirit reels.
As Aqua Vitae when the Vitalls faile:
So doth this speech the Drooping Soul availe.
How doth this Answer Mercies Captives Cheer?
Yet those whom Justice took still Drooping were,
And in this nick of time the Foe through spite
Doth like a glorious Angell seem of Light.
Yet though he painteth o're his Velvet smut.
He Cannot yet Conceal his Cloven foot.
Hence in their joy he straweth poyson on,
Those Objects that their senses feed upon.

407

By some odde straggling thought up poyson flies
Into the heart: and through the Eares, and Eyes.
Which sick, lies gasping: Other thoughts then high
To hold its head; and Venom'd are thereby.
Hence they are influenc't to selfe Ends: these darts
Strike secret swelling Pride up in their hearts.
The which he fosters till the bladder flies
In pieces; then joy lies agast and dies.

Now Satan counts the Cast his own thus thrown:
Off goes the Angels Coate, on goes his own.
With Griping Paws, and Goggling Eyes draws nigher,
Like some fierce Shagg'd Red Lion, belching fire:
Doth stoutly Charge them home that they did fall
And breake the Laws of their Choice Admirall.
And his attend: and so were his. For they
Must needs be his whom ever they obey.
Thus he in frightfull wise assaults them all,
Then one by one doth singly on them fall,
Doth winnow them with all his wiles, he can,
As Wheate is winnow'd with the Sieve, and Fan.

First Satans Assault against those that first Came up to Mercys terms.

SATAN
Soon ripe, soon rot. Young Saint, Old Divell. Loe
Why to an Empty Whistle did you goe?
What Come Uncalld? And Run unsent for? Stay
Its Childrens Bread: Hands off: out, Dogs, away.

SOUL
It's not an Empty Whistle: yet withall,
And if it be a Whistle, then a Call:
A Call to Childrens Bread, which take we may.
Thou onely art the Dog whipt hence away.

408

SATAN
If I then you: for by Apostasy
You are the Imps of Death as much as I.
And Death doth reign o're you through Sin: you see,
As well as Sin doth reign to Death in mee.

SOUL
It is deni'd: Gods Mercy taking place,
Prepared Grace for us, and us for Grace.
And Graces Coach in Grace hath fetcht us in,
Unto her Feast. We shall not dy in Sin.

SATAN
If it be so, your sins are Crucifide:
Which if they be, they struggl'd when they di'de.
It is not so with you: you judge before
You felt them gird, you'de got them out of Doore.

SOUL
Mercy the Quartermaster speedily,
Did stifle Sin, and still its hidious Cry,
Whose Knife at first stuck in its heart to th'head:
That sin, before it hard did sprunt, fell dead.

SATAN
A mere Delusion! Nature shows that Life
Will strugle most upon the bloody Knife
And so will Sin. Nay Christ doth onely Call,
And offer ease to such as are in thrall.

SOUL
He offer'd unto mee, and I receiv'd
Of what hee wrought, I am not yet bereav'd.
Though Justice set Amercement on mee
Mercy hath took it off, and set me free.

SATAN
Is Mercy impudent? or Justice blinde?
I am to make distraint on thee Designd.

409

The North must wake before the South proves Kind.
The Law must breake before the Gospell binde.

SOUL
But Giliads Balm, like Balsom heald my wound
Makes not the Patient sore, yet leaves him sound.
The Gospell did the Law prevent: my heart
Is therefore dresst from Sin: and did not smart.

SATAN
A likely thing! Oh shame! presume on Grace!
Here's Sin in Grain: it hath a Double Face.
Come, Come with mee I'le shew your Outs, and Inns,
Your Inside, and your out: your Holy things.
For these I will anatomize then see,
Believe your very Eyes, believe not mee.

The Accusation of the Inward Man.

You want Cleare Spectacles: your eyes are dim:
Turn inside out: and turn your Eyes within.
Your sins like motes in th'sun do swim: nay see
Your Mites are Molehills, Molehills Mountains bee.
Your Mountain Sins do magnitude transcend:
Whose number's numberless, and do want end.
The Understandings dark, and therefore Will
Account of Ill for Good, and Good for ill.
As to a Purblinde man men oft appeare
Like Walking Trees within the Hemisphere.
So in the judgment Carnall things Excell:
Pleasures and Profits beare away the Bell.
The Will is hereupon perverted so,
It laquyes after ill, doth good foregoe.
The Reasonable Soule doth much delight
A Pickpack t'ride o'th'Sensuall Appitite.

410

And hence the heart is hardened and toyes,
With Love, Delight, and Joy, yea Vanities.

Make but a thorow search, and you may spy
Your soul a trudging hard, though secretly
Upon the feet of your Affections mute.
And hankering after all forbidden fruite.
Ask but yourselfe in secret laying neer
Thy head thereto: 'twill Whisper in thine eare
That it is tickled much, though secretly.
And greatly itches after Vilany.
'Twill fleere thee in thy face, and though it say,
It must not tell, it scorns to tell thee nay.
But Slack the rains, and Come a Loophole lower:
You'l finde it was but Pen-coop't up before.
Nay, muster up your thoughts, and take the Pole
Of what walk in the Entry of your Soule
Which if you do, you certainly will finde
With Robbers, Cut-throats, Theives its mostly linde.
And hundred Roagues you'l finde, ly gaming there.
For one true man, that in that path appears.
Your True man too's oft footsore, sildom is,
Sound Winde, and Limb: and still to add to this,
He's but a Traviller within that Way:
Whereas the rest there pitch their Tents, and stay.
Nay, nay, what thoughts Unclean? Lacivious?
Blasphemous? Murderous? and Malicious?
Tyranick? Wrathfull? Atheistick rise
Of Evills New, and Old, of e'ry Sise?
These bed, and board here, make the heart a sty
Of all Abominable Brothlery.
Then is it pure? is this the fruite of Grace?
If so, how do yee: You and I Embrace.

411

The Outward Man accused.

Turn o're thy Outward man, and judge aright.
Doth not a Pagans Life out Shine thy Light?
Thy fleering Looks, thy Wanton Eyes, each part
Are Painted Sign-Post of a Wanton heart.
If thou art weigh'd in Golden Scales; Dost do
To others as thou wouldst be done unto?
Weigh weigh thy Words: thy Untruths, all which came
Out of thy mouth, and thou Confest the same.
Why did thy Tongue detract from any one,
Whisper such tales thou wouldst not have be known?
When thou was got in such a merry veane
How far didst thou exceed the golden mean?
When that thou wast at such a Boon, or Feast
Why didst thou rather ly, than lose thy jeast?
How wast thou tickled when thy droughty Eares
Allay'de their Thirst with filthy squibs, and jears?
Why didst thou glaver men of place? And why,
Scowle, Glout, and Frown, on honest Poverty?
Why did'st thou spend thy State in foolish prancks?
And Peacock up thyselfe above thy rancks?
Why thoughtst thyselfe out of the World as shut,
When not with others in the Cony Cut?
Hold up thy head, is't thus or no? if yea,
How then is all thy folly purgd away?
If no, thy tongue belies itselfe, for loe
Thou saidst thy heart was dresst from sin also.

412

The Soul accused in its Serving God.

When thou dost go to serve thy God, behold
What greate Distractions do thy Soule infold?
How thy Religious Worship's much abusde?
And with Confusion greate thy Soul's amus'de?
What thoughts to God on Errand dost thou send
That have not Sin therein, or in the End?
In Holy-Waters I delight to fish
For then I mudd them, or attain a Dish,
Of Holy things. I oft have Chiefest part,
And Cutting: nay do Carve the fat, and heart.
For in Gods worship still thy heart doth cling
Unto and follows toyish Earthly things.
And what thou offer'st God his Holy Eye
Sees, is an Offering of Hypocrisy.
And if thou saw'st no hell, nor heaven; I see,
My Soule for thine, thy Soule and mine agree.
What then's thy Love to God, and Piety?
Is it not selfish? And Comes in by th'by?
For selfe is all thine aim; not God thine end:
And what Delight hath he in such a friend?
Lip Love is little else, but such a ly,
As makes the matter but Hypocrisy.

What's thy Repentance? Can'st thou come and show
By those salt Rivers which do Ebb, and Flow
By th'motion of that Ocean Vast within,
Of pickled sorrow rising for thy Sin?
For Sin prooves very Costly unto all.
It Cost Saint Peter bitter tears, and Paul.
Thy joy is groundless, Faith is false, thy Hope
Presumption, and Desire is almost broke.
Zeale Wildfire is, thy Pray'res are sapless most,
Or like the Whistling of some Dead mans Ghost:

413

Thy Holy Conference is onely like
An Empty Voice that tooteth through a pipe.
Thy Soule doth peep out at thine Eares, and Eyes
To bless those bawbles that are earthly toyes.
But when Gods Words in at those Windows peepe
To kiss thy Soul, thy Soul lies dead asleep.
Examine but thy Conscience, her reply,
Will suite hereto: For Conscience dare not ly.
When did thine Eyes run down for sin as sin,
That thus thy heart runs up with joy to sing?
Thy sins do sculk under a flowrisht paint.
Hence thou a Sinner art, or I a Saint.

SOUL
Well, Satan, well: with thee I'le parle no more.
But do adjure thee hence: begone therefore.
If I as yet was thine, I thus do say
I from thy flag would quickly flag away.
Begone therefore; to him I'le send a groane
Against thee drawn, who makes my heart his Throne.

The Souls Groan to Christ for Succour.

Good Lord, behold this Dreadfull Enemy
Who makes me tremble with his fierce assaults,
I dare not trust, yet feare to give the ly,
For in my soul, my soul finds many faults.
And though I justify myselfe to's face:
I do Condemn myselfe before thy Grace.

He strives to mount my sins, and them advance
Above thy Merits, Pardons, or Good Will
Thy Grace to lessen, and thy Wrath t'inhance
As if thou couldst not pay the sinners bill.
He Chiefly injures thy rich Grace, I finde
Though I confess my heart to sin inclin'de.

414

Those Graces which thy Grace enwrought in mee,
He makes as nothing but a pack of Sins.
He maketh Grace no grace, but Crueltie,
Is Graces Honey Comb, a Comb of Stings?
This makes me ready leave thy Grace and run.
Which if I do, I finde I am undone.

I know he is thy Cur, therefore I bee
Perplexed lest I from thy Pasture stray.
He bayghs, and barks so veh'mently at mee.
Come rate this Cur, Lord, breake his teeth I pray.
Remember me I humbly pray thee first.
Then halter up this Cur that is so Curst.

Christs Reply.

Peace, Peace, my Hony, do not Cry,
My Little Darling, wipe thine eye,
Oh Cheer, Cheer up, come see.
Is anything too deare, my Dove,
Is anything too good, my Love
To get or give for thee?

If in the severall thou art
This Yelper fierce will at thee bark:
That thou art mine this shows.
As Spot barks back the sheep again
Before they to the Pound are ta'ne,
So he and hence 'way goes.

But yet this Cur that bayghs so sore
Is broken tootht, and muzzled sure,
Fear not, my Pritty Heart.
His barking is to make thee Cling

415

Close underneath thy Saviours Wing.
Why did my sweeten start?

And if he run an inch too far,
I'le Check his Chain, and rate the Cur.
My Chick, keep clost to mee.
The Poles shall sooner kiss, and greet
And Paralells shall sooner meet
Than thou shalt harmed bee.

He seeks to aggrivate thy sin
And screw them to the highest pin,
To make thy faith to quaile.
Yet mountain Sins like mites should show
And then these mites for naught should goe
Could he but once prevaile.

I smote thy sins upon the Head.
They Dead'ned are, though not quite dead:
And shall not rise again.
I'l put away the Guilt thereof,
And purge its Filthiness cleare off:
My Blood doth out the stain.

And though thy judgment was remiss
Thy Headstrong Will too Wilfull is.
I will Renew the same.
And though thou do too frequently
Offend as heretofore hereby
I'l not severly blaim.

And though thy senses do inveagle
Thy Noble Soul to tend the Beagle,
That t'hunt her games forth go.

416

I'le Lure her back to me, and Change
Those fond Affections that do range
As yelping beagles doe.

Although thy sins increase their race,
And though when thou hast sought for Grace,
Thou fallst more than before
If thou by true Repentence Rise,
And Faith makes me thy Sacrifice,
I'l pardon all, though more.

Though Satan strive to block thy way
By all his Stratagems he may:
Come, come though through the fire.
For Hell that Gulph of fire for sins,
Is not so hot as t'burn thy Shins.
Then Credit not the Lyar.

Those Cursed Vermin Sins that Crawle
All ore thy Soul, both Greate, and small
Are onely Satans own:
Which he in his Malignity
Unto thy Souls true Sanctity
In at the doors hath thrown.

And though they be Rebellion high,
Ath'ism or Apostacy:
Though blasphemy it bee:
Unto what Quality, or Sise
Excepting one, so e're it rise.
Repent, I'le pardon thee.

Although thy Soule was once a Stall
Rich hung with Satans nicknacks all;
If thou Repent thy Sin,
A Tabernacle in't I'le place
Fild with Gods Spirit, and his Grace.
Oh Comfortable thing!

417

I dare the World therefore to show
A God like me, to anger slow:
Whose wrath is full of Grace.
Doth hate all Sins both Greate, and small:
Yet when Repented, pardons all.
Frowns with a Smiling Face.

As for thy outward Postures each,
Thy Gestures, Actions, and thy Speech,
I Eye and Eying spare,
If thou repent. My Grace is more
Ten thousand times still tribled ore
Than thou canst want, or ware.

As for the Wicked Charge he makes,
That he of Every Dish first takes
Of all thy holy things.
Its false, deny the same, and say,
That which he had he stool away
Out of thy Offerings.

Though to thy Griefe, poor Heart, thou finde
In Pray're too oft a wandring minde,
In Sermons Spirits dull.
Though faith in firy furnace flags,
And Zeale in Chilly Seasons lags.
Temptations powerfull.

These faults are his, and none of thine
So far as thou dost them decline.
Come then receive my Grace.
And when he buffits thee therefore
If thou my aid, and Grace implore
I'le shew a pleasant face.

But still look for Temptations Deep,
Whilst that thy Noble Sparke doth keep
Within a Mudwald Cote.
These White Frosts and the Showers that fall

418

Are but to whiten thee withall.
Not rot the Web they smote.

If in the fire where Gold is tride
Thy Soule is put, and purifide
Wilt thou lament thy loss?
If silver-like this fire refine
Thy Soul and make it brighter shine:
Wilt thou bewaile the Dross?

Oh! fight my Field: no Colours fear:
I'l be thy Front, I'l be thy reare.
Fail not: my Battells fight.
Defy the Tempter, and his Mock.
Anchor thy heart on mee thy Rock.
I do in thee Delight.

An Extasy of Joy let in by this Reply returnd in Admiration.

My Sweet Deare Lord, for thee I'le Live, Dy, Fight.
Gracious indeed! My Front! my Rear!
Almighty magnify a Mite:
O! What a Wonder's here?

Had I ten thousand times ten thousand hearts:
And Every Heart ten thousand Tongues;
To praise, I should but stut odd parts
Of what to thee belongs.

If all the world did in Alimbeck ly,
Bleeding its Spirits out in Sweat;
It could not halfe enlife a Fly
To Hum thy Praises greate.

If all can't halfe enlife a Fly to hum,
(Which scarce an Animall we call)

419

Thy Praises then which from me come,
Come next to none at all.

For I have made myselfe ten thousand times
More naught than nought itselfe, by Sin.
Yet thou extendst thy Gracious Shines
For me to bath therein.

Oh! Stand amaizd yee Angells Bright, come run
Yee Glorious Heavens and Saints, to sing:
Place yee your praises in the sun,
Ore all the world to ring.

Nay stand agast, ye sparkling Spirits bright!
Shall little Clods of Dust you peere?
Shall they toote Praises on your pipe?
Oh! that we had it here.

What can a Crumb of Dust sally such praise
Which do from Earth all heaven o're ring
Who swaddle up the suns bright rayes
Can in a Flesh Flie's Wing?

Can any Ant stand on the Earth and spit
Another out to peer with this?
Or Drink the Ocean up, and yet
Its belly empty is?

Thou may'st this World as easily up hide
Under the Blackness of thy naile:
As scape Sins Gulph without a Guide:
Or Hell without a bale.

If all the Earthy Mass were rambd in Sacks
And saddled on an Emmet small,
Its Load were light unto those packs
Which Sins do bring on all.

But sure this burden'd Emmet moves no wing.
Nay, nay, Compar'd with thee, it flies.

420

Yet man is easd his weight of Sin.
From hell to Heav'n doth rise.

When that the World was new, its Chiefe Delight,
One Paradise alone Contain'de:
The Bridle of Mans Appetite
The Appletree refrain'de.

The which he robbing, eat the fruit as good,
Whose Coare hath Chokd him and his race.
And juyce hath poyson'd all their blood,
He's in a Dismall Case.

None can this Coare remove, Poyson expell:
He, if his Blood ben't Clarifi'de
Within Christs veans, must fry in Hell,
Till God be satisfi'de.

Christ to his Father saith, Incarnate make
Mee, Mee thy Son; and I will doe't:
I'le purify his Blood, and take
The Coare out of his Throate.

All this he did, and did for us, vile Clay:
Oh! let our Praise his Grace assaile.
To free us from Sins Gulph each way,
He's both our Bridge, and Raile.

Although we fall and Fall, and Fall and Fall
And Satan fall on us as fast.
He purgeth us and doth us call
Our trust on him to Cast.

My Lumpish Soule why art thou hamper'd thus
Within a Crumb of Dust? Arise,
Trumpet out Praises. Christ for us
Hath slain our Enemies.

Screw up, Deare Lord, upon the highest pin:
My soul thy ample Praise to sound.

421

O tune it right, that every string
May make thy praise rebound.

But oh! how slack, slow, dull? with what delay,
Do I this Musick to, repare,
While tabernacled in Clay
My Organs Cottag'de are?

Yet Lord accept this Pittance of thy praise
Which as a Traveller I bring,
While travelling along thy wayes
In broken notes I sing.

And at my journies end in endless joyes
I'l make amends where Angells meet
And sing their flaming Melodies
In Ravishing tunes most sweet.

The Second Ranke Accused.

You that are branded for Rebellion
What whimsy Crotchets do you feed upon?
Under my Flag you fighting did Defie
And Vend much Venom spit at God most high:
You dar'de him as a Coward, out, and Went
Flinging your Poyson'd darts against his tent.
When Grace did sound her parle, you stopt the Eare:
You backward drew as she to you drew neere.
But whats this Grace, which you, forsooth, so prize,
For which you stand your own Sworn Enemies?
Whoever saw smelt, tasted felt the same?
Its but an airy notion, or a name.
Fine food for fools, or shallow brains, who know
No better fair and therefore let all go.
Did mercy better Cain, or make him thrive

422

When he pronounc'd himselfe a Fugitive?
What Benefit had Esau who did weep
And in Repenting teares did scald his Cheek?
Or what King Ahab, that he softly went?
Or what poore Judas that he did repent?
Grace doom'd them down to hellish flames, although
To Court the same they steep't their Souls in woe.
To whom she yields a smile, she doth expect
That with a smile, her smile they soon accept
But you have hitherto like sturdy Clowns
Affronted Grace and paid her Smiles with Frowns.
Nay Mercy lookes before she Gives, to see
That those to whom she gives true Christians bee.
That all the Graces of the Spirit do
Like Clouds of sweet perfume from such forth flow.
And that their Souls be to the spirits feet
An Aromatick Spicery most sweet.
Is't so with you? You from her scepter fly,
As judging it a grace graceless to dy.
Your Faith's a Phancy: Fear a Slavery.
Your Hope is Vain, Patience Stupidity.
Your Love is Carnall, selfish, set on toyes:
Your Pray'res are Prattle, or Tautologies.
Your Hearts are full of sins both small, and Greate.
They are as full as is an Egge of meate.
Your Holy Conference and talkings do
But for a Broken Piece of Non-Sense go.
If so, you are accurst; God doth impart
His Blessings onely on the broken heart.
But search your peace turnd o're, and view each side
Graces Magnetick touch will it abide?
Doth Mercys Sun through Peaces lattice clear
Shine in thy Soule? Then what's that Uproare there?
Look well about you, try before you trust.
Though Grace is Gracious; Justice still is just.

423

If so it be with you, say what you can
You are not Saints, or I no Sinner am.

The Third Rank accused.

What thou art too for Christ, it seems? Yet fain
Thou wouldst the World with all her Pomps mentain.
But such as share of Christ, fall short of these.
And have but faint affections to such fees.
Go Coach thy Eyes about the world, and eye
Those Rich inchanting Braveries there Cry
Give us your heart? Wherefore thy heart doth ake
That it such Amorous Objects must forsake.
The Love whereto so stuffs thy heart; no place
Is left therein for any Saving Grace.
Its folly then to think that Grace was shown,
When in persute thy heart was overthrown.
It was not Grace in Grace that made thee fall:
For unto Grace thou hast no heart at all.
Thou thoughtst these Objects of thy Love would faile.
The thoughts of which do make thy Spirits faile.
And this is easely prov'd: for thou didst goe
Into the field with God, as with a foe.
And bravely didst outbrave the Notion Grace.
And Chose to flee rather than it imbrace.
And well thou mightst, A Bird in hand doth far
Transcend the Quires that in the Hedges are.
And so its still: turn o're thy heart, thou'lt finde
As formerly so still thou art inclinde.
In sin thou hadst delight, didst grace defy:
And dost so still: For still thou dost reply.
Whoever went to Hell, and Came again
To shew to anyone, what is that pain?

424

Did ever any slip to Heaven to see
Whether there's there a God? and who is hee?
What is that fancide God rowld o're the tongue?
Oh! Brainsick Notion, or an Oldwifes Song!
That He should wholy be in e'ry place
At once all here, and there, yet in no space.
That all should be in any part though small:
That any part of him should be him all.
And that he hath no parts though Head, and Heart.
Hands, Ears, and Eyes he hath, he hath no part.
That he is all in all, yea all in thee,
That he is also all that time in mee.
That he should be all in each Atom small:
And yet the whole cannot contain him all.
That he doth all things in a moment see,
At once, of things to Come, Past, and now bee.
That He no Elder, he no Younger is,
Than when the World began: (What wonders this?)
That time that flies from all with him remains,
These are Chamaera's Coin'd in Wanton brains.
Among which Fopperies mans Soul may go,
Concerning which thou mak'st so much ado.
Nay; what? or where is Hell Can any show?
This Bugbare in the Darke, 's a mere Scar-Crow.
But say its true, there is an Hell: a God.
A Soul Immortall in a mortall Clod:
Did God such principles infuse as egge
The Soul from him into Eternall plague?
Thou dost Confess that God doth not Command
Such things of us as had are of no hand.
Which sure he doth, if he deny to save
Whom live by Natures Law: which Law he Gave.
Yet grant this tenet which thy heart denies,
Christ saveth none but whom he sanctifies.
Thou art not sanctifide in any part:
For sins keepe Centinall within thy heart
And there they train, therein they Rentdevouz.

425

Her troops therein do quarter: and do house.
And hence as from a fountain Head there streams
Through ev'ry part Pollution in the Veans.
Hence sprouts Presumption making much too bold
To catch such Shaddows which no hand can hold.
Hence Harebrain'd Rashness rushes in the Brain:
Hence Madbrain'd Anger which no man can tame.
Hence Crackbrain'd folly, or a shatter'd Wit
That none Can Plaster: none can med'cine it.
Hence a stiff, stubborn, and Rebellious Will
That sooner breakes than buckles to fulfill
Gods Laws: and so for other sins thou'lt find
A Forward Will joyn'd with a froward minde.
Thy Heart doth lip such Languague, though thy Lip
Is loath to let such Languague open slip.
I see thy secret thoughts: and such they bee,
That Wish there was no God, or I was Hee.
Or that there was no Holiness, unless
Those sins thou'rt given to, were Holiness.
Or that there was no Hell, except for those
Who stand for Holiness, and sin oppose.
Or that there was no heaven t'enter in,
Except for those Who pass their Lives in Sin.
Though thou the Languague of thy heart outface
Dost, yet thou huggest sin, dost hiss out Grace.
Set Heaven, and Hell aside its clearly shown,
Thou lov'st mee more than God thou seem'st to own.
Hence was it not for these, it plainly 'pears
Thy God for servants might go shake his ears.
For thou to keep within my booke dost still
Ungod thy God not walking by his Will.
This Languague of thy heart doth this impart
I am a Saint, if thou no Sinner art.

426

A Threnodiall Dialogue between The Second and Third Ranks.

SECOND
Oh you! How do you? Alas! how do things go
With you, and with your Souls? For once we know
You did as we, Welt, Wallow, Soake in Sin;
For which Gods ire infires our hearts within.

THIRD
Ne're worse, though when secure in sin much worse.
Though curst by sin, we did not feele the Curse.
Now seing we no help can see, we, rue.
Would God it was with us as't is with you.

SECOND
With us! alas! a Flint would melt to see
A Deadly foe, in such a Case as wee.
God seems our Foe, repent we Can't: but finde
To ill Goodwill, to Good, a wayward minde.

THIRD
This is in you your Grace, we easely spie
The Love of God within your looks to ly.
But oh! our Souls set in sins Cramp stand bent
To Badness, and no Grace we have t'Repent.

SECOND
This is your Charity. But if you saw
Those ugly Crawling Sins that do us knaw
You'd Change your minde. You mourn, and pray we see:
We would not for a World, you were as wee.

THIRD
Repent! and Pray! Aye, so the Traytor Cast,
Cries, Good my Lord! yea, when his Doom is past.

427

You erre through your Abundant Charity.
We dare not wish, as we, our Enemy.

SECOND
Your Low esteemings of yourselves enlarge
Ours of you much. But oh, that Dismall Charge!
We don't Repent, Believe, we nothing do:
No Grace we have though something Gracelike show.

THIRD
Is't so with you who do so much out do
Poor nothings us? Oh! whither shall we go?
Our Grace a Mockgrace is: of Ulcerous Boiles.
We are as full, as Satan is of Wiles.

SECOND
There's not a Sin that is not in our Heart.
And if Occasion were, it would out start.
There's not a Precept that we have not broke.
Hence not a Promise unto us is spoke.

THIRD
Its worse with us: The Preacher speaks no word.
The Word of God no sentence doth afford;
But fall like burning Coals of Hell new blown
Upon our Souls: and on our Heads are thrown.

SECOND
Its worse with us. Behold Gods threatonings all;
Nay Law, and Gospell, on our Heads do fall.
Both Hell, and Heaven, God and Divell Do
With Wracking Terrours Consummate our Woe.

THIRD
We'le ne're believe that you are worse than wee,
For Worse than us wee judge no Soul can bee.
We know not where to run, nor what to doe.
Would God it was no worse with us than you.

428

SECOND
Than us, alas! What, would you fain aspire
Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire?
Change States with you with all our hearts we would
Nay, and give boot therewith, if that we could.

THIRD
Say what you can, we can't but thinke this true
That Grace's Ambush hath surprized you.
But Judgment layes an Ambush strong to take
[OMITTED]

SECOND
What Charity have you for us? When thus
You judge amiss both of yourselves and us?
What pitty is't? Yet God will you repay.
Although we perish, and be cast away.

THIRD
The Lord forbid the last, and grant we may
Deceived be wherein we be, you say.
We Cannot wish a Toade as wee, but Crave,
Your prayers for us, that we may pardon have.

SECOND
Our Pray'res, are pray'reless: Oh! to what we bee
An ugly Toad's an Angell bright we see.
Oh pray, pray you, oh pray, for us that so
The Lord of Mercy Mercy on's may show.

THIRD
O would we could! but oh Hells Gripes do grinde
Yea writh our Souls with Cramps of e'ry kinde.
If Grace begrace us not, we go to Hell.
The Good Lord help us both, thus fare you Well.

429

Their Call in this Sad State for Mercy.

We humbly beg, oh Lord, to know our Crime.
That we thus tortur'de are before our time.
Before our Time? Lord give's this Word again.
For we have long ago deserv'de Hells flame.
If Mercy wrought not Miracles none could
Us monuments of mercy now behold.
But oh! while Mercy waits we slaves to sin,
Heap up sins Epha far above the brim.
What shall we do when to account we're Calld?
How will abused Mercy burn, and scald?
We know not How, nor Where to stay or goe.
We know not whom, nor What to trust or doe.
Should we run hence from Mercy, Justice will
Run hotly after us our blood to spill.
But should we run to Mercy, Justice may
Hold Mercies hands while Vengeance doth us slay.
And if we trust to Grace, necessity
Binds us by force at Grace's Grace to ly.
But if we run from Grace, we headlong cast
Ourselves upon the Spiles of Ruine Vast.
And if we claim her ours, she'l surely smite
Us, for presuming on an others right.

Who'le with a Leaking, old Crack't Hulk assay,
To brave the raging Waves of Adria?
Or who can Cross the Main Pacifick o're?
Without a Vessell Wade from Shore to Shore?
What wade the mighty main from brim to brim,
As if it would not reach above the Chin?
But, oh! poor wee, must wade from brinck to brinck
With such a Weight as would bright Angells sink.
Or venture angry Adria, or drown

430

When Vengeance's sea doth break her floodgates down.
If stay, or Go to sea we drown. Then see
In what a wofull Pickle, Lord, we bee.
Rather than tarry, or the rough sea trust,
On the Pacificke Ocean forth we thrust.
Necessity lies on's: we dare not stay:
If drown we must, we'l drown in Mercy's Sea.
Impute it not presumption if we high
To Cast ourselves on Mercies Clemency.
Is't not as great Presumption, Lord, to stand
And gaze on ruine, but refuse the hand
Which offers help? Or on such Courses fall
Which fall to ruin, ruinating all?
Lord, pitty, pitty us, Lord pitty send:
A thousand pitties tis we should offend.
But oh! we did, and are thereto propence:
And what we count off, oft thou Countst offence.
We've none to trust: but on thy Grace we ly,
If dy we must, in mercy's arms wee'l dy.
Then pardon, Lord, and put away our guilt.
So we be thine, deale with us as thou wilt.

The Soule Bemoning Sorrow rowling upon a resolution to seek Advice of Gods people.

Alas! my Soule, product of Breath Divine,
For to illuminate a Lump of Slime.
Sad Providence! Must thou below thus tent,
In such a Cote as strangles with ill sent?
Or in such sensuall Organs make thy stay
Which from thy noble end do make thee stray?
My nobler part, why dost thou laquy to
The Carnall Whynings of my senses so?
What? thou become a Page, a Peasant, nay,

431

A Slave unto a Durty Clod of Clay!
Why should the Kirnell bring such Cankers forth
To please the shell, as will devour them both?
Why didst thou thus thy Milkwhite Robes defile
With Crimson spots of scarlet sins most vile?

My Muddy Tent, Why hast thou done so ill
To Court, and kiss my Soule, yet kissing kill?
Why didst thou Whyning, egg her thus away
Thy sensuall Appetite to satisfy?
Art thou so safe, and firm a Cabinet
As though thou soaking lie in nasty wet,
And in all filthy Puddles: yet though thin
Can ne're drench through to stain the Pearle within?
Its no such thing: Thou'rt but a Cawle-wrought Case.
And when thou fallst, thou foulst its shining face.
Or but her mudwalld Lid which, wet by sin
Diffuseth all in her that it shuts in.
One stain stains both, when both in one Combine.
A Musty Cask doth marre rich Malmsy Wine.

Woe's mee! my mouldring Heart! What must I do?
When is my moulting time to shed my woe?
Oh! Woefull fall! what fall from Heavenly bliss
To th'bottom of the bottomless Abyss?
Above an angry God! Below, black-blew
Brimstony flames of hell where Sinners rue!
Behinde, a Traile of Sins! Before appeare
An Host of Mercies that abused were!
Without a Raging Divell! and Within
A Wracking Conscience Galling home for Sin!
What Canst not finde one Remedy, my Soule,
On Mercies File for mee? Oh! Search the Rowle.
What freeze to death under such melting means,
Of Grace's Golden, Life Enliv'ning Beams?
What? not one Hope? Alas! I hope there's some.
Although I know not in what way it come.
Although there is no hope within my minde

432

I'le force Hope's Faculty, till Hope I finde.
Some glimmerings of Hope, I hope to spy
In Mercies Golden Stacks, or Remedy.
I therefore am Resolv'd a search to make,
And of the Pious Wise some Counsill take.
Ile then in Pensiveness myselfe apply
To them in hope, but yet halfe hopelessly.
Perhaps these thoughts are blessed motions, though
From whence they are, as yet I do not know.
And if from Christ, Oh! then thrice Happy mee.
If not, I'st not be worser than I bee.

433

The Preface.

SOUL
Long lookt for Sir! Happy, right Happy Saint.
I long to lay before you my Complaint:
And gain your Counsill: but you're strange: and I
Through backwardness lost opportunity.

SAINT
How is't good Sir: methinks I finde there dart
Some pleasant Hopes of you within my heart.
What is your Rantery declinde, foregone?
Your looks are like the Earth you Tread upon.

SOUL
Its true: I do, and well may look so, too
For worse than mee the world did never show.
My sins are dide in grain: all Grace I lack.
This doth my Soul on tenterhooks enwrack.
Wherefore I Counsill Crave touching my sin
My Want of Grace. Temptations too within.

434

The Souls Doubts touching its Sins Answerd.

SAINT
Is this thy Case, Poor Soul, Come then begin:
Make known thy griefe: anatomize thy sin.
Although thy sins as Mountains vast do show,
Yet Grace's fountain doth these mountains flow.

SOUL
True, true indeed, where Mountains sinke but where
They swim, their Heads above these mountains peare.
Mine swim in Mercies boundless Ocean do:
Therefore their Heads above these waters goe.

SAINT
I thought as you, but loe the Lyon hee
Is not so fierce as he is feign'd to bee.
But grant they swim, they'l then swim quite away
On Mercies main, if you Repenting stay.

SOUL
I swim in Mercy: but my sins are sayles
That waft my barke to Hell by Graces Gales.
Is't possible for such as Grace outbrave
(Which is my Case) true Saving Grace to have?

SAINT
That's not thy Sin: thou didst not thus transgress,
Thy Grace-outbraveing sin is bashfulness.
Thou art too backward. Satan strives to hold
Thee fast hereby, and saith, thou art too bold.

SOUL
Alas! How are you out in mee, behold
My best is poison in a Box of Gold.
If with mine Eyes you saw my hearts black stain,
You'de judge my Sins were double dide in grain.

SAINT
Deluded Soul, Satan beguiles thee so
Thou judgst the bend the back side of the bow

435

Dost press thyselfe too hard: Straite Wands appeare
Crook't in, and out, in running rivlets Clear.

SOUL
You raise the fabrick of your pious hope
Upon such water Bells, as rots denote.
For my Profession doth but cloake my sin.
A guilded Maukin's stufft with Chaff within.

SAINT
I love not thus to row in such a Stream:
And if I did, I should so touch my Theme.
But muster up your Sins, though more or few:
Grace hath an Edge to Cut their bonds atwo.

SOUL
This is my Sin, My Sin I love, but hate
God and his Grace. And who's in such a state?
My Love, and Hatred do according rise
Unto Sins height, and unto Grace's sise.

SAINT
I thought as you when first to make me see
God powred out his Spirit sweet on mee.
But oh strange Fetch! What Love, yet hate to have?
And hate in heart what heartily you Crave?

SOUL
Sometimes meethinks I wish. Oh! that there were
No Heaven nor Hell. For then I need not feare.
I'm pestred with black thoughts of Blasphemy,
And after thoughts do with these thoughts Comply.

SAINT
See Satans Wiles: while thou in sin didst dwell
Thou Calledst not in Question Heaven, or Hell.
But now thou'rt out with sin he makes thee Call
In Question both, that thou in Hell mightst fall.

SOUL
But, oh! methinks, I finde I sometimes wish
There was no God, or that there was not this.

436

Or that his wayes were other than they bee.
Oh! Horrid, horrid, Hellish thoughts in mee!

SAINT
'Twas thus, or worse with me. I often thought,
Oh! that there was no God: or God was Naught.
Or that his Wayes were other Wayes. Yet hee
In mighty mercy hath bemerci'de mee.

SOUL
My Heart is full of thoughts, and ev'ry thought
Full of Sad, Hellish, Drugstery enwrought.
Methinks it strange to Faith that God should bee
Thus All in All, yet all in Each part. See.

SAINT
'Twas so with me. Then let your Faith abound
For Faith will stand where Reason hath no ground.
This proves that God is Onely God: for hee
Surpasseth the superlative degree.

SOUL
Methinks I am a Frigot fully fraught,
And stoughed full with each Ath'istick thought.
Methinks I hate to think on God: anone
Methinks there is no God to thinke upon.

SAINT
I thought as much at first: my thoughts, so vain,
Were thus that God was but stampt i'th'brain.
But God disperst these Wicked thoughts. Behold
The Various methods of the serpent old!

SOUL
All arguments against mee argue still:
I see not one bespeaks me ought, but ill.
Whatse're I use I do abuse: Oh! shew,
Whether the Case was ever thus with you.

437

SAINT
It was: But see how Satan acts, for his
He troubles not with such a thought as this.
But Wicked thoughts he in the Saints doth fling,
And saith they're theirs, accusing them of Sin.

SOUL
Methinks my heart is harder than a flint,
My Will is Wilfull, frowardness is in't,
And mine Affections do my Soule betray,
Sedaning of it from the blessed way.

SAINT
Loe, Satan hath thy thoughts inchanted quite,
And Carries them a pickpack from the right.
Thou art too Credulous: For Satan lies.
It is not as you deem: deem otherwise.

SOUL
But I allow of sin: I like it Well,
And Chiefly grieve, because it goes to hell.
And Were it ever so with you, I see
Grace hath prevented you which doth not mee.

SAINT
I thought as you: but now I clearly spy,
These Satans brats will like their Curst Sire ly.
He squibd these thoughts in you, you know not how.
And tempts you then to deem you them allow.

SOUL
And so I do: would I could Sins disown:
But if I do, thy'l own me for their own.
I have no Grace to do't: this prooves me in
A Lamentable State, a State of Sin.

SAINT
What ambling work within a Ring is here?
What Circular Disputes of Satans Geer?

438

To proove thee Graceless he thy sins persues:
To proove thee sinfull, doth thy Grace accuse.
Why dost thou then believe the Tempter so?
He seeks by helping thee thy Overthrow.

Doubts from the Want of Grace Answerd.

SOUL
Such as are Gracious grow in Grace therefore
Such as have Grace, are Gracious evermore.
Who sin Commit are sinfull: and thereby
They grow Ungodly. So I feare do I.

SAINT
Such as are Gracious, Graces have therefore
They evermore desire to have more.
But such as never knew this dainty fare
Do never wish them 'cause they dainties are.

SOUL
Alas! alas! this still doth me benight.
I've no desire, or no Desire aright.
And this is Clear: my Hopes do witherd ly,
Before their buds breake out, their blossoms dy.

SAINT
When fruits do thrive, the blossom falls off quite.
No need of blossoms when the seed is ripe.
The Apple plainly prooves the blossoms were.
Thy withred Hopes hold out Desires as Cleare.

SOUL
Alas! my Hopes seem but like blasted fruit.
Dead on the Stoole before it leaves its root.

439

For if it lively were a growth it hath,
And would be grown e're this to Saving Faith.

SAINT
[OMITTED] I'le make most plain
[OMITTED]
Which lively is, layes hold on Christ too, though
Thou deemst it doth like blasted blossoms show.

SOUL
If it was so, then Certainly I should,
With Faith Repentance have. But, oh! behold,
This Grace leaves not in mee a single print.
Mine Eyes are Adamant, my Heart is Flint.

SAINT
Repentance is not argued so from Tears.
As from the Change that in the Soul appears.
And Faith Ruld by the Word. Hence ever spare
To mete Repentance out by Satans square.

SOUL
I fear Repentance is not Genuine.
Its Feare that makes me from my sins decline.
And if it was, I should delight much more,
To bathe in all Gods Ordinances pure.

SAINT
And dost thou not? Poore Soule, thou dost I know.
Why else dost thou Relent, and sorrow so?
But Satan doth molest thee much to fling
Thee from thy Dutie into e'ry Sin.

SOUL
If these were my Delight, I should Embrace
The royall Retinue of Saving Grace,
Peace, Patience Pray're, Meekness, Humility,
Love, Temp'rance, Feare, Syncerety, and Joy.

440

SAINT
You do: though not alike at all times sure,
And you do much desire to have more.
I wonder that you judge them worth the having,
Or Crave them, if they are not got by Craving.

SOUL
My measure is so small, I doubt, alas!
Its next to none, and will for nothing pass.
But if I had but this or that Degree,
Of all these Graces, then thrice Happy mee!

SAINT
You have not what you Would, and therefore will
Not own you have at all. What Sullen still?
If God should fill you, and not work your bane,
You would not be Content, but would Complain.

SOUL
What must my vessell voide of Grace be thrust
By you in Glory thus among the Just
As Gracious though the Dose of Grace I finde
Is scarce a Grain? Can this Content your minde?

SAINT

God, and His All, 's the Object of the Will:
All God alone can onely it up fill.
He'd kill the Willer, if his Will he should
Fill to the brim, while Cabbined in mould.
What Mortall can contain immortall bliss;
If it be poured on him as it is?
A single Beam thus touching him Would make
The stoutest mortall man to ashes shake.
Will nothing give Content unless you have
While here a mortall, all your Will can Crave?
If so, the Promise which is made to those
That hunger after Righteousness you'l lose.
For being full, you could not hunger still
Nor Wish for more you having once your Will.

441

You cant contain Halfe, what in truth you would
Or do not Wish for Halfe of what you should.
Can't all the sea o'refill an Acorn bole?
Can't God orefill a little Whimpring Soul?
What Can a Nutshell all the World Enfold?
Or can thy Heart all Heavens Glory Hold?
And never break? What! Canst thou here below
Weld Heavens bliss while mortall thus? Oh! No.
God Loves you better than to grant your Cry,
When you do Cry for that which will destroy.
Give but a Child a Knife to still his Din:
He'l cut his Fingers with it ere he blin.

SOUL
Had I but any Sparke of Grace, I might
Have much more than I have with much delight.
How can I trust to you? You do not know
Whether I have a Grain of Grace, or no.

SAINT
You think you might have more: you shall have so,
But if you'd all at once, you could not grow.
And if you could not grow, you'd grieving fall.
All would not then Content you, had you all.
Should Graces Floodgate thus at once breake down
You most would lose, or else it would you drown.
He'l fill you but by drops that so he may
Not drown you in't, nor Cast a Drop away.

Doubts from Satans Temptations Answered.

SOUL
But oh the Tempter harries me so fast
And on me falls to make me fall at last.

442

Had I but Grace surely I might repell
His firy Darts that dart on fire from hell.

SAINT
If you had none, he never would bestow
Such darts upon you Grace to overthrow.
The Bullets shot are blinde, the fowlers eye
Aims at the marke before he lets them fly.

SOUL
But he bewilders me: I scarce can finde
But lose myselfe again within my minde.
My thoughts are Laberryntht, I can't enjoyn
Any thereof the rest to discipline.

SAINT
I once was thus. The Crooked Serpent old
Doth strive to hinder what he can't withhold.
And where he cannot keep from Grace, he's loath,
To keep from keeping Saving Grace from Growth.

SOUL
But if a Pious thought appeare, I finde
It's brambled in the briers of my minde.
Or in those brambles lost, or slinks away:
But Viprous thoughts do in these thickets stay.
With these I pest'red am in Duty so,
I doubt I undo all thereby I do.

SAINT
First Satan envies each Choice thought: then hee
To murder it, or make't short winded bee
Doth raise a Fog, or fude of thoughts most vile
Within the soul; and darkens all that ile.
And when he cannot hinder pray're he'le strive
To spoil the same, but still hold on, and thrive.

443

SOUL
But yet I feare there oft lurks secretly
Under each Duty done Hypocrisy.
I finde no heart unto the Wayes of Grace.
It's but their End my heart would fain imbrace.

SAINT

Why give you Credit to your deadly foe?
He turns ore ery stone Grace t'overthrow.
He'l fight on both sides Grace, Grace to destroy.
To ruinate your Souls Eternally.
He makes some thus red mad on mischiefe grow
And not to matter what they say, or do.
He makes Civility to pass for Grace,
With such as hunt riches hot senting trace.
To such as God doth Call, he doth reply
That all their Grace is but Hypocrisy.

Contrarily, a Refuge strong to make
For e'ry sin, he doth this method take.
He tells the Doubting soul, this is no Sin,
Until he Diveth over head therein.
But then to breake his Heart he doth reply:
That done is Sin, He sinned willingly.
He to the Sinner saith, Great Sins are small,
Small Sins he telleth him, are none at all.
And so to such there is no sin: for why
Great sins are small, Small None. But oh but eye
If God awakes a Soul, he doth begin
To make him count indifferent things as Sin,
Nay Lawfull things wanting a Circumstance
Or having one too much although by Chance.
And thus he doth involve the doubting soule
In dismall doubts and makes it fear to rowle,
Himselfe on Christ for fear it should presume.
But if he doth he quickly turns his tune

444

And doth accuse, because he did not take
As soon as mercy did an offer make.
Oh! see the Craft the Serpent old doth use
To hopple souls in Sin, and Sin to Choose.
One while he terms true Grace a morall thing.
One while morality a splendid Sin.

SOUL
You shew the matter as the matter is
But shew me how in such a Case as this,
T'repell the Tempter, and the field t'obtain,
To Chaff away the Chaff and Choose the grain.

SAINT

Perform the Duty, leave th'event unto
His Grace that doth both in, and outside know.
Beg pardon for your Sins: bad thoughts defy,
That are Cast in you by the Enemy.
Approove yourselfe to God, and unto his
And beg a pardon where you do amiss.
If wronged go to God for right, and pray
Hard thoughted Saints black thoughted thoughts away.
Renew your acts of Faith: believe in him,
Who died on the Cross to Cross out Sin.
Allow not any Sin: and if you sin
Through frailty, Faith will a new pardon bring.
Do all Good Works, work all good things you know
As if you should be sav'd for doing so.
Then undo all you've done, and it deny
And on a naked Christ alone rely.
Believe not Satan, Unbelieve his tales
Lest you should misbelieve the Gospell bales.
Do what is right, and for the right Contend.
Make Grace your way, and Glory'l be your End.

Yet as a further Caution still I'le shew
You other Wiles of Satan to eschue.
And that a Saint may of a Saint account
Not as a Saint though once with God in th'mount.

445

Some of Satans Sophestry.

The Tempter greatly seeks, though secretly,
With an Ath'istick Hoodwinke man to blinde,
That so the Footsteps of the Deity
Might stand no longer stampt upon his minde.
Which when he can't blot out, by blinding quite,
He strives to turn him from the Purer Light.

With Wiles enough, he on his thoughts intrudes,
That God's a Heape of Contradictions high,
But when these thoughts man from his thoughts excludes
Thou knowst not then (saith he) this Mystery.
And when the first String breaks, he strives to bring
Into sins brambles by the other string.

When God Calls out a Soule, he subtilly
Saith God is kinde: you need not yet forsake
Your Sins: but if he doth, he doth reply,
Thou'st outstood Grace. Justice will vengeance take.
He'l tell you you Presume on Grace, to fright
You to despare, beholding Justice bright.

Though just before mans mountain sins were mites,
His mites were nothing. Now the scales are turn'd.
His mites are mountains now, of mighty height
And must with Vengeance-Lightening be burn'd.
Greate Sins are Small, till men repent of Sin:
Then Small are far too big to be forgi'n.

While man thinks slightly, that he will repent,
There's time enough (saith he), it's easly done.
But when repent he doth, the time is spent,
Saith he, it is too late to be begun.
To keep man from't, it's easly done, saith he,
To dant him in't, he saith, it Cannot bee.

446

So Faith is easy till the Soule resolves
To Live to Christ, and upon Christ rely.
Then Saving Faith he bold presumption Calls.
Hast thou (saith he) in Christ propriety?
The Faithfulls Faith, he stiles Presumption great,
But the Presumptuous, theirs is Faith Compleat.

Nay though the Faith be true he acts so sly,
As to raise doubts: and then it must not do:
Unless Assurance do it Certify:
Which if it do, it douts of it also.
Faith is without Assurance shuffled out,
And if Assurance be, that's still a Doubt.

But should the Soule assured once, once Doubt,
Then his Assurance no Assurance is:
Assurance doth assure the Soul right out
Leave not a single Doubt to do amiss.
But Satan still will seeke to Pick an hole
In thy Assurance to unsure thy Soul.

Should any Soule once an Assurance get,
Into his hands, soon Satans Pick-Lock key
With Sinfull Wards Unlocks his Cabinet
To Steal the Jewell in it thence away.
The Soul thus pillag'de, droops unto the grave.
It's greater grief to lose than not to have.

He doth molest the Soule, it cannot see
Without Assurance Extraordinary
Which should it have, it would soon take to bee
A Mere Delusion of the Adversary.
Assurance would not serve, should God Convay
It in an Usuall or Unusuall way.

Thus I might search, Poor Soul, the Magazeen
Of Gospell Graces over: I might paint
Out Satan sculking each side each unseen
To Hoodwinck Sinners, and to hopple Saints.
For he to dim their Grace, and slick up sin
Calls Brass bright Gold, bright Golde but brass or tin.

447

He tempts to bring the soul too low or high,
To have it e're in this or that extream:
To see no want or want alone to eye:
To keep on either side the golden mean.
If it was in't to get it out he'l 'ledge,
Thou on the wrong side art the Pale or Hedge.

When God awakes a Soule he'l seeke to thrust
It on Despare for want of Grace or get
And puff't with Pride, or in Securety hush't
Or Couzen it with Graces Counterfet.
Which if he can't he'l Carp at Grace, and raile
And say, this is not Grace, it thus doth faile.

And thus he strives with Spite, Spleen, bitter Gall
That Sinners might Dishonour God Most high:
That Saints might never honour God at all.
That those in Sin, Those not in Grace might dy.
And that the Righteous, Gracious, Pious, Grave,
Might have no Comfort of the Grace they have.

Lest you be foild herewith, watch well unto
Your Soul, that thrice Ennobled noble Gem:
For Sins are flaws therein, and double woe
Belongs thereto if it be found in them.
Are Flaws in Venice Glasses bad? What in
Bright Diamonds? What then in man is Sin?

Difficulties arising from Uncharitable Cariages of Christians.

When these assaults proove vain, the Enemy
One Saint upon another oft doth set,
To make each fret like to Gum'd Taffity,
And fire out Grace thus by a Chafe or Fret.

448

Uncharitable Christians inj'rous are:
Two Freestons rubd together each do ware.

When Satan jogs the Elbow of the one
To Spleenish Passions which too oft doth rise,
For want of Charity, or hereupon
From some Uncharitable harsh Surmise,
Then the Poore Doubting Soul is oft oppresst,
By hard Reflections from an harder breast.

Th' Uncharitable Soul oft thus reflects,
After each Birth a second birth doth Come.
Your Second Birth no Second Birth ejects.
The Babe of Grace then's strangld in the Womb.
There's no new Birth born in thy Soul thou'lt find
If that the after Birth abide behinde.

The Babe of Grace, thinks he, 's not born its sure.
Sins Secundine is not as yet out Cast.
The Soul no Bracelet of Graces pure
Doth ware, while wrapt in nature's slough so fast.
And thus he doth for want of Charity,
The wounded wound Uncharitably.

And thus some Child of God, when led awry
By Satan, doth with Satan take a part,
Against some Child of God, whom frowardly
He by Reflections harsh wounds thus in heart.
Pough! Here's Religion! Strange indeed! Quoth hee.
Grace makes a Conscience of things here that bee.

Grace Conscious makes one how to spend ones time
How to perform the Duties of one's place
Not onely in the things which are Divine;
But in the things which ware a Sublime Face.
Do you do so? And order good persue?
Don't Earth and Heaven interfer in you?

Will God accept the service if the time
Is stolen from our Calling him to pay?

449

What will he yield that Sacrifice his shine,
That from anothers Altar's stole away?
God and our Callings Call: and th' Sacrifice
Stole from our Callings Altar he defies.

Yet if it falls on worldly things intense
Its soon scourgd then with whips of Worldliness:
It gives to many, nay to all, offence
And gathers to itselfe great penciveness.
Intense on God, or on the world, all's one.
The Harmless Soule is hardly thought upon.

Such Traps, and Wilds as these are, Satan sets,
For to intrap the Innocent therein:
These are his Wyers, Snares, and tangling Nets,
To hanck, and hopple harmless souls in Sin.
If in such briars thou enbrambled light
Call on the Mighty God with all thy might.

On God in Christ Call hard: For in him hee
Hath Bowells melting, and Expanded arms:
Hath sweet imbraces, Tender mercy free
Hath Might Almighty too to save from harms.
Into his Dove streakt Downy bosom fly,
In Spite of Spite, or Spiters Enmity.

These are Gods Way-Marks thus inscrib'd; this hand
Points you the way unto the Land Divine,
The Land of Promise, Good Immanuels Land.
To New Jerusalem above the line.
Ten thousand times thrice tribled blesst he is,
That walketh in the suburbs here of bliss.

His Wildred state will wane away, and hence
These Crooked Passages will soon appeare
The Curious needlework of Providence,
Embrodered with golden Spangles Cleare.
Judge not this Web while in the Loom, but stay
From judging it untill the judgment day.

450

For while its foiled up the best Can see
But little of it, and that little too
Shews weather beaten but when it shall bee
Hung open all at once, Oh beautious shew!
Though thrids run in, and out, Cross snarld and twinde
The Web will even be enwrought you'l finde.

If in the golden Meshes of this Net
(The Checkerwork of Providence) you're Caught
And Carride hence to Heaven, never fret:
Your Barke shall to an Happy Bay be brought.
You'l se both Good and Bad drawn up hereby,
These to Hells Horrour, those to Heavens Joy.

Fear not Presumption then, when God invites:
Invite not Fear, when that he doth thee Call:
Call not in Question whether he delights
In thee, but make him thy Delight, and all.
Presumption lies in Backward Bashfulness,
When one is backward though a bidden Guest.

The Effect of this Discourse upon the second, and third Rancks.

RANK TWO
Whence Come these Spicy Gales? Shall we abuse
Such sweet Perfumes with putrid noses?
Who did in this Diffusive Aire Diffuse
Such Aromatick fumes or Posies?
These Spirits are with Graces sweetly splic'te;
What Good Comes in them? Oh! they Come from Christ!

451

RANK THREE
Whence Come these Cloudy Pillars of Perfume?
Sure Christ doth on his Garden blow
Or open Graces Spice Box, I presume
From whence these Reechs do flow:
For oh! heart Ravishing steams do scale my Soule,
And do in Heavenly Raptures it enrowle.

RANK TWO
Sure Grace a progress in her Coach doth ride,
Lapt up in all Perfumes, whose sent,
Hath suffocated sin, and nullifi'de
Sad Griefe, as in our Souls it went.
Sin sincks the Soul to Hell: but here is Love
Sincks Sin to Hell; and soars the Soul above.

RANK THREE
I strove to soar on high. But oh! methought
Like to a Lump of Lead my sin
Prest down my Soul; But now it's off, she's Caught
In holy Raptures up to him.
Oh! let us then sing Praise: methinks I soar
Above the stars, and stand at Heavens Doore.

Our Insufficiency to Praise God suitably, for his Mercy.

Should all the World so wide to atoms fall
Should th'Aire be shred to motes, should we
Se all the Earth hackt here so small
That none Could smaller bee?
Should Heaven, and Earth be Atomizd, we guess
The Number of these Motes were numberless.

452

But should we then a World each Atom deem,
Where dwell as many pious men
As all these Motes the world Could teem
Were it shred into them?
Each Atom would the World surmount wee guess
Whose men in number would be numberless.

But had each pious man, as many Tongues
At singing all together then
The Praise that to the Lord belongs
As all these Atoms men?
Each man would sing a World of Praise, we guess,
Whose Tongues in number would be numberless.

And had each Tongue, as many Songs of Praise
To sing to the Almighty ALL
As all these men have Tongues to raise
To him their Holy Call?
Each Tongue would tune a World of Praise, we guess
Whose songs in number would be numberless.

Nay, had each song as many Tunes most sweet
Or one intwisting in't as many,
As all these Tongues have songs most meet
Unparallelld by any?
Each song a world of Musick makes we guess
Whose Tunes in number would be numberless.

Now should all these Conspire in us that we
Could breath such Praise to thee, Most High?
Should we thy Sounding Organs be
To ring such Melody?
Our Musick would the World of Worlds out ring
Yet be unfit within thine Eares to ting.

Thou didst us mould, and us new mould when wee
Were worse than mould we tread upon.
Nay Nettles made by Sin wee bee.
Yet hadst Compassion.
Thou hast pluckt out our Stings; and by degrees
Hast of us, lately Wasps, made Lady-Bees.

453

Though e're our Tongues thy Praises due can fan
A Weevle with the World may fly,
Yea fly away: and with a span
We may out mete the Sky.
Though what we can is but a Lisp, We pray
Accept thereof. We have no better pay.

The Soule Seeking Church-Fellowship.

The Soul refresht with gracious Steams, behold,
Christs royall Spirit richly tended
With all the guard of Graces manifold
Throngs in to solace it amended
And by the Trinity befriended.

Befriended thus! It lives a Life indeed
A Life! as if it Liv'd for Life.
For Life Eternall: wherefore with all heed
It trims the same with Graces rife
To be the Lambs espoused Wife.

Yea, like a Bride all Gloriously arraide
It is arrai'de Whose dayly ware
Is an Imbrodery with Grace inlaide,
Of Sanctuary White most Faire,
Its drest in Heavens fashion rare.

Each Ordinance and Instrument of Grace
Grace doth instruct are Usefull here.
They're Golden Pipes where Holy Waters trace
Into the spirits spicebed Deare,
To vivify what withering were.

Hence do their Hearts like Civit-Boxes sweet
Evaporate their Love full pure,
Which through the Chincks of their Affections reechs

454

To God, Christ, Christians all, though more,
To such whose Counsills made their Cure.

Hence now Christ's Curious Garden fenced in
With Solid Walls of Discipline
Well wed, and watered, and made full trim:
The Allies all Laid out by line:
Walks for the Spirit all Divine.

Whereby Corruptions are kept out, whereby
Corrupters also get not in,
Unless the Lyons Carkass secretly
Lies lapt up in a Lamblike skin
Which Holy seems yet's full of sin.

For on the Towers of these Walls there stand
Just Watchmen Watching day, and night,
And Porters at each Gate, who have Command
To open onely to the right.
And all within may have a sight.

Whose Zeale, should it along a Channell slide
Not banckt with Knowledg right and Good,
Nor Bottomed with Love: nor wiers ti'de
To hinder prejudiciall Blood
The Currant will be full of mud.

But yet this Curious Garden richly set,
The Soul accounts Christs Paradise
Set with Choice slips, and flowers: and longs to get
Itselfe set here: and by advice
To grow herein and so rejoyce.

455

The Soul admiring the Grace of the Church Enters into Church Fellowship.

How is this City, Lord, of thine bespangled
With Graces shine?
With Ordinances alli'de, and inam'led,
Which are Divine?
Walld in with Discipline her Gates obtaine
Just Centinalls with Love Imbellisht plain.

Hence glorious, and terrible she stands;
That Converts new
Seing her Centinalls of all demand
The Word to shew;
Stand gazing much between two Passions Crusht
Desire, and Feare at once which both wayes thrust.

Thus are they wrackt. Desire doth forward screw
To get them in,
But Feare doth backward thrust, that lies purdue,
And slicks that Pin.
You cannot give the word, Quoth she, which though
You stumble on't its more than yet you know.

But yet Desires Screw Pin doth not slack:
It still holds fast.
But Fears Screw Pin turns back or Screw doth Crack
And breaks at last.
Hence on they go, and in they enter: where
Desire Converts to joy: joy Conquours Fear.

They now enCovenant With God: and His:
They thus indent.
The Charters Seals belonging unto this
The Sacrament

456

So God is theirs avoucht, they his in Christ.
In whom all things they have, with Grace are splic'te.

Thus in the usuall Coach of Gods Decree
They bowle and swim
To Glory bright, if no Hypocrisie
Handed them in.
For such must shake their handmaid off lest they
Be shakt out of this Coach, or dy in th'way.

The Glory of and Grace in the Church set out.

Come now behold
Within this Knot What Flowers do grow:
Spanglde like gold:
Whence Wreaths of all Perfumes do flow.
Most Curious Colours of all sorts you shall
With all Sweet Spirits sent. Yet thats not all.

Oh! Look, and finde
These Choicest Flowers most richly sweet
Are Disciplinde
With Artificiall Angells meet.
An heap of Pearls is precious: but they shall
When set by Art Excell: Yet that's not all.

Christ's Spirit showers
Down in his Word, and Sacraments
Upon these Flowers
The Clouds of Grace Divine Contents.
Such things of Wealthy Blessings on them fall
As make them sweetly thrive: Yet that's not all.

Yet still behold!
All flourish not at once. We see

457

While some Unfold
Their blushing Leaves, some buds there bee.
Here's Faith, Hope, Charity in flower, which call
On yonders in the Bud. Yet that's not all.

But as they stand
Like Beauties reeching in perfume
A Divine Hand
Doth hand them up to Glories room:
Where Each in sweet'ned Songs all Praises shall
Sing all ore heaven for aye. And that's but all.

The Souls Admiration hereupon.

What I such Praises sing! How can it bee?
Shall I in Heaven sing?
What I, that scarce durst hope to see
Lord, such a thing?
Though nothing is too hard for thee:
One Hope hereof seems hard to mee.

What, Can I ever tune those Melodies
Who have no tune at all?
Not knowing where to stop nor Rise,
Nor when to Fall.
To sing thy Praise I am unfit.
I have not learn'd my Gam-Ut yet.

But should these Praises on string'd Instruments
Be sweetly tun'de? I finde
I nonplust am: for no Consents
I ever minde.
My Tongue is neither Quill, nor Bow:
Nor Can my Fingers Quavers show.

But was it otherwise I have no Kit:
Which though I had, I could

458

Not tune the strings, which soon would slip
Though others should.
But should they not, I cannot play:
But for an F should strike an A.

And should thy Praise upon Winde Instruments
Sound all o're Heaven Shrill?
My Breath will hardly through such Vents
A Whistle fill,
Which though it should, its past my spell
By Stops, and Falls to sound it Well.

How should I then, joyn in such Exercise?
One sight of thee'l intice
Mine Eyes to heft: Whose Extasies
Will stob my Voice.
Hereby mine Eyes will bind my Tongue.
Unless thou, Lord, do Cut the thong.

What Use of Useless mee, then there, poore snake?
There Saints, and Angels sing,
Thy Praise in full Cariere, which make
The Heavens to ring.
Yet if thou wilt thou Can'st me raise
With Angels bright to sing thy Praise.

The Joy of Church Fellowship rightly attended.

In Heaven soaring up, I dropt an Eare
On Earth: and oh! sweet Melody:
And listening, found it was the Saints who were
Encoacht for Heaven that sang for Joy.
For in Christs Coach they sweetly sing;
As they to Glory ride therein.

459

Oh! joyous hearts! Enfir'de with holy Flame!
Is speech thus tassled with praise?
Will not your inward fire of Joy contain;
That it in open flames doth blaze?
For in Christ's Coach Saints sweetly sing,
As they to Glory ride therein.

And if a string do slip, by Chance, they soon
Do screw it up again: whereby
They set it in a more melodious Tune
And a Diviner Harmony.
For in Christs Coach they sweetly sing
As they to Glory ride therein.

In all their Acts, publick, and private, nay
And secret too, they praise impart.
But in their Acts Divine and Worship, they
With Hymns do offer up their Heart.
Thus in Christs Coach they sweetly sing
As they to Glory ride therein.

Some few not in; and some whose Time, and Place
Block up this Coaches way do goe
As Travellers afoot, and so do trace
The Road that gives them right thereto
While in this Coach these sweetly sing
As they to Glory ride therein.

461

Miscellaneous Poems

463

[1.] [When] Let by rain.

Ye Flippering Soule,
Why dost between the Nippers dwell?
Not stay, nor goe. Not yea, nor yet Controle.
Doth this doe well?
Rise journy'ng when the skies fall weeping Showers.
Not o're nor under th'Clouds and Cloudy Powers.

Not yea, nor noe:
On tiptoes thus? Why sit on thorns?
Resolve the matter: Stay thyselfe or goe.
Be n't both wayes born.
Wager thyselfe against thy surplice, see,
And win thy Coate: or let thy Coate Win thee.

Is this th'Effect,
To leaven thus my Spirits all?
To make my heart a Crabtree Cask direct?
A Verjuicte Hall?
As Bottle Ale, whose Spirits prisond nurst
When jog'd, the bung with Violence doth burst?

Shall I be made
A sparkling Wildfire Shop
Where my dull Spirits at the Fireball trade
Do frisk and hop?
And while the Hammer doth the Anvill pay,
The fireball matter sparkles ery way.

One sorry fret,
An anvill Sparke, rose higher
And in thy Temple falling almost set
The house on fire.
Such fireballs droping in the Temple Flame
Burns up the building: Lord forbid the same.

464

2. Upon a Spider Catching a Fly.

Thou sorrow, venom Elfe.
Is this thy play,
To spin a web out of thyselfe
To Catch a Fly?
For Why?

I saw a pettish wasp
Fall foule therein.
Whom yet thy Whorle pins did not clasp
Lest he should fling
His sting.

But as affraid, remote
Didst stand hereat
And with thy little fingers stroke
And gently tap
His back.

Thus gently him didst treate
Lest he should pet,
And in a froppish, waspish heate
Should greatly fret
Thy net.

Whereas the silly Fly,
Caught by its leg
Thou by the throate tookst hastily
And 'hinde the head
Bite Dead.

This goes to pot, that not
Nature doth call.

465

Strive not above what strength hath got
Lest in the brawle
Thou fall.

This Frey seems thus to us.
Hells Spider gets
His intrails spun to whip Cords thus
And wove to nets
And sets.

To tangle Adams race
In's stratigems
To their Destructions, spoil'd, made base
By venom things
Damn'd Sins.

But mighty, Gracious Lord
Communicate
Thy Grace to breake the Cord, afford
Us Glorys Gate
And State.

We'l Nightingaile sing like
When pearcht on high
In Glories Cage, thy glory, bright,
And thankfully,
For joy.

3. Upon a Wasp Child with Cold.

The Bare that breaths the Northern blast
Did numb, Torpedo like, a Wasp
Whose stiffend limbs encrampt, lay bathing
In Sol's warm breath and shine as saving,

466

Which with her hands she chafes and stands
Rubbing her Legs, Shanks, Thighs, and hands.
Her petty toes, and fingers ends
Nipt with this breath, she out extends
Unto the Sun, in greate desire
To warm her digits at that fire.
Doth hold her Temples in this state
Where pulse doth beate, and head doth ake.
Doth turn, and stretch her body small,
Doth Comb her velvet Capitall.
As if her little brain pan were
A Volume of Choice precepts cleare.
As if her sattin jacket hot
Contained Apothecaries Shop
Of Natures recepts, that prevails
To remedy all her sad ailes,
As if her velvet helmet high
Did turret rationality.
She fans her wing up to the Winde
As if her Pettycoate were lin'de,
With reasons fleece, and hoises sails
And hu'ming flies in thankfull gails
Unto her dun Curld palace Hall
Her warm thanks offering for all.

Lord cleare my misted sight that I
May hence view thy Divinity.
Some sparkes whereof thou up dost hasp
Within this little downy Wasp
In whose small Corporation wee
A school and a schoolmaster see
Where we may learn, and easily finde
A nimble Spirit bravely minde
Her worke in e'ry limb: and lace
It up neate with a vitall grace,
Acting each part though ne'er so small

467

Here of this Fustian animall.
Till I enravisht Climb into
The Godhead on this Lather doe.
Where all my pipes inspir'de upraise
An Heavenly musick furrd with praise.

4. Huswifery.

Make me, O Lord, thy Spining Wheele compleate.
Thy Holy Worde my Distaff make for mee.
Make mine Affections thy Swift Flyers neate
And make my Soule thy holy Spoole to bee.
My Conversation make to be thy Reele
And reele the yarn thereon spun of thy Wheele.

Make me thy Loome then, knit therein this Twine:
And make thy Holy Spirit, Lord, winde quills:
Then weave the Web thyselfe. The yarn is fine.
Thine Ordinances make my Fulling Mills.
Then dy the same in Heavenly Colours Choice,
All pinkt with Varnisht Flowers of Paradise.

Then cloath therewith mine Understanding, Will,
Affections, Judgment, Conscience, Memory
My Words, and Actions, that their shine may fill
My wayes with glory and thee glorify.
Then mine apparell shall display before yee
That I am Cloathd in Holy robes for glory.

468

5. Another upon the Same.

[Make me thy Spinning Wheele of use for thee]

Make me thy Spinning Wheele of use for thee,
Thy Grace my Distaffe, and my heart thy Spoole.
Turn thou the wheele: let mine Affections bee
The flyers filling with thy yarne my soule.
Then weave the web of Grace in mee, thy Loome
And Cloath my soule therewith, its Glories bloome.

Make mee thy Loome: thy Grace the warfe therein,
My duties Woofe, and let thy word winde Quills.
The shuttle shoot. Cut off the ends my sins.
Thy Ordinances make my fulling mills,
My Life thy Web: and cloath me all my dayes
With this Gold-web of Glory to thy praise.

6. Upon Wedlock, and Death of Children.

A Curious Knot God made in Paradise,
And drew it out inamled neatly Fresh.
It was the True-Love Knot, more sweet than spice
And set with all the flowres of Graces dress.
Its Weddens Knot, that ne're can be unti'de.
No Alexanders Sword can it divide.

The slips here planted, gay and glorious grow:
Unless an Hellish breath do sindge their Plumes.
Here Primrose, Cowslips, Roses, Lilies blow
With Violets and Pinkes that voide perfumes.

469

Whose beautious leaves ore laid with Hony Dew.
And Chanting birds Cherp out sweet Musick true.

When in this Knot I planted was, my Stock
Soon knotted, and a manly flower out brake.
And after it my branch again did knot
Brought out another Flowre its sweet breathd mate.
One knot gave one tother the tothers place.
Whence Checkling smiles fought in each others face.

But oh! a glorious hand from glory came
Guarded with Angells, soon did Crop this flowre
Which almost tore the root up of the same
At that unlookt for, Dolesome, darksome houre.
In Pray're to Christ perfum'de it did ascend,
And Angells bright did it to heaven tend.

But pausing on't, this sweet perfum'd my thought,
Christ would in Glory have a Flowre, Choice, Prime,
And having Choice, chose this my branch forth brought.
Lord take't. I thanke thee, thou takst ought of mine,
It is my pledg in glory, part of mee
Is now in it, Lord, glorifi'de with thee.

But praying ore my branch, my branch did sprout
And bore another manly flower, and gay
And after that another, sweet brake out,
The which the former hand soon got away.
But oh! the tortures, Vomit, screechings, groans,
And six weeks Fever would pierce hearts like stones.

Griefe o're doth flow: and nature fault would finde
Were not thy Will, my Spell Charm, Joy, and Gem:

470

That as I said, I say, take, Lord, they're thine.
I piecemeale pass to Glory bright in them.
I joy, may I sweet Flowers for Glory breed,
Whether thou getst them green, or lets them seed.

7. The Ebb and Flow.

When first thou on me Lord wrought'st thy Sweet Print,
My heart was made thy tinder box.
My 'ffections were thy tinder in't.
Where fell thy Sparkes by drops.
Those holy Sparks of Heavenly Fire that came
Did ever catch and often out would flame.

But now my Heart is made thy Censar trim,
Full of thy golden Altars fire,
To offer up Sweet Incense in
Unto thyselfe intire:
I finde my tinder scarce thy sparks can feel
That drop out from thy Holy flint and Steel.

Hence doubts out bud for feare thy fire in mee
'S a mocking Ignis Fatuus
Or lest thine Altars fire out bee,
Its hid in ashes thus.
Yet when the bellows of thy Spirit blow
Away mine ashes, then thy fire doth glow.

471

8. Upon the Sweeping Flood Aug: 13. 14. 1683.

Dated as above.

Oh! that Id had a tear to've quencht that flame
Which did dissolve the Heavens above
Into those liquid drops that Came
To drown our Carnall love.
Our cheeks were dry and eyes refusde to weep.
Tears bursting out ran down the skies darke Cheek.

Were th'Heavens sick? must wee their Doctors bee
And physick them with pills, our sin?
To make them purg and Vomit, see,
And Excrements out fling?
We've griev'd them by such Physick that they shed
Their Excrements upon our lofty heads.

A Funerall Poem Upon the Death of my ever Endeared, and Tender Wife Mrs. Elizabeth Taylor, Who fell asleep in Christ the 7th day of July at night about two hours after Sun setting 1689 and in the 39 yeare of her Life.

1. PART. 1.

My Gracious Lord, I Licence of thee Crave,
Not to repine but drop upon the Grave
Of my Deare Wife a Teare, or two: or wash

472

Thy Milk White hand in tears that downward pass.
Thou summond hast her Noble part away:
And in Salt Tears I would Embalm her Clay.
Some deem Death doth the True Love Knot unty:
But I do finde it harder tide thereby.
My heart is in't and will be squeez'd therefore
To pieces if thou draw the Ends much more.
Oh strange Untying! it ti'th harder: What?
Can anything unty a True Love Knot?
Five Babes thou tookst from me before this Stroake.
Thine arrows then into my bowells broake,
But now they pierce into my bosom smart,
Do strike and stob me in the very heart.
I'de then my bosom Friend a Comfort, and
To Comfort: Yet my Lord, I kiss thy hand.
I Her resign'd, thou tookst her into thine,
Out of my bosom, yet she dwells in mine:
And though her Precious Soule now swims in bliss,
Yet while grim Death, that Dismall Sergeant is,
Between the Parts Essentiall now remote,
And hath this stately Tabernacle broke
My Harp is turnd to mourning: Organ sweet
Is turn'de into the Voice of them that weep.
Griefe swelling girds the Heart Strings where its purst,
Unless it Vent the Vessell sure will burst.
My Gracious Lord, grant that my bitter Griefe
Breath through this little Vent hole for reliefe.

2. PART. 2.

My Dear, Deare Love, reflect thou no such thing,
Will Griefe permit you at my Grave to sing?
Oh! Black Black Theme! The Girths of Griefe alone
Do gird my heart till Gust of Sorrows groan
And dash a mournfull Song to pieces on

473

The Dolefull Face of thy Sepulcher Stone.
My Onely DOVE, though Harp and Harrow, loe,
Better agree than Songs and Sorrows doe,
Yet spare me thus to drop a blubber'd Verse
Out of my Weeping Eyes Upon thy Herse.
What shall my Preface to our True Love Knot
Frisk in Acrostick Rhimes? And may I not
Now at our parting, with Poetick knocks
Break a salt teare to pieces as it drops?
Did Davids bitter Sorrow at the Dusts
Of Jonathan raise such Poetick gusts?
Do Emperours interr'd in Verses lie?
And mayn't such Feet run from my Weeping Eye?
Nay, Dutie lies upon mee much; and shall
I in thy Coffin naile thy Vertues all?
How shall thy Babes, and theirs, thy Vertuous shine
Know, or Persue unless I them define?
Thy Grace will Grace unto a Poem bee
Although a Poem be no grace to thee.
Impute it not a Crime then if I weep
A Weeping Poem on thy Winding Sheet.
Maybe some Angell may my Poem sing
To thee in Glory, or relate the thing,
Which if he do, my mournfull Poem may
Advance thy Joy, and my Deep Sorrow lay.

3. PART. 3.

Your Ears, Bright Saints, and Angells: them I Choose
To stough her Praises in: I'le not abuse.
Her Modesty would blush should you profess,
I in Hyperboles her praises dress.
Wherefore as Cramping Griefe permitts to stut
Them forth accept of such as here I put.

Her Husbands Joy, Her Childrens Chiefe Content.
Her Servants Eyes, Her Houses Ornament.
Her Shine as Child, as Neighbour, flies abroad
As Mistress, Mother, Wife, her Walke With God.

474

As Child she was a Tender, Pious Bud
Of Pious Parents, sprang of Pious Blood
Two Grandsires, Gran'ams: one or two, she had
A Father too and Mother, that englad
The Gracious heart to thinke upon, they were
Bright Pillars in Gods Temple shining cleare.
Her Father, and her Mothers Father fix
As shining Stars in Golden Candlesticks.
She did Obedient, Tender, Meek Child prove
The Object of her Fathers Eye, and Love.
Her Mother being Dead, her heart would melt
When she her Fathers looks not pleasant felt.
His smile Would her enliven, Frown, down pull
Hence she became his Child most Dutifull.

As Neighbour, she was full of Neighbourhood
Not Proud, or Strang; Grave, Courteous, ever good.
Compassionate: but unto none was Soure.
Her Fingers dropt with Myrrh, oft, to her power.

As Mistress she order'd her Family
With all Discretion, and most prudently
In all things prompt: Dutie in this respect
Would to the meanest in it not neglect.
Ripe at her Fingers Ends, Would nothing flinch.
She was a neate good Huswife every inch.
Although her weakenesse made her let alone
Things so to go, as made her fetch a groan.
Remiss was not, nor yet severe unto
Her Servants: but i'th' golden mean did goe.

As Mother, Oh! What tender Mother She?
Her bowells Boiled ore to them that bee
Bits of her tender Bowells. She a share
Of her affections ever made them ware.
Yet never chose to trick them, nor herselfe
In antick garbs; or Lavishness of Wealth.
But was a Lover much of Comeliness:
And with her Needle work would make their Dress.

475

The Law of Life within her Lips she would
Be dropping forth upon them as shee should.
Foolishly fond she was not but would give
Correction wisely, that their Soules might Live.

As Wife, a Tender, Tender, Loving, Meet,
Meeke, Patient, Humble, Modest, Faithfull, Sweet
Endearing Help she was: Whose Chiefest Treasure
Of Earthly things she held her Husbands pleasure.
But if she spi'de displeasure in his face,
Sorrow would spoile her own, and marr its grace.
Dear Heart! She would his Joy, Peace, Honour, Name,
Even as her very Life, seeke to mentain.
And if an hasty word by chance dropt in:
She would in secret sigh it or'e with him.
She was not wedded unto him alone
But had his joy, and sorrow as her own.
She, where he chanc'd to miss, a Cover would lay
Yet would in Secret fore him all Display
In meekness of sweet wisdom, and by Art,
As Certainly would winde into the heart.
She laid her neck unto the Yoake he draws:
And was his Faithfull Yoake Mate, in Christ's Cause.

As to her walk with God, she did inherit
The very Spirits of her Parents Spirit.
She was no gaudy Christian, or gilt Weed:
But was a Reall, Israelite indeed.
When in her Fathers house God toucht her Heart,
That Trembling Frame of Spirit, and that Smart,
She then was under very, few did know:
Whereof she somewhat to the Church did show.
Repentance now's her Work: Sin poyson is:
Faith, carries her to Christ as one of his.
Fear Temples in her heart; Love flowers apace
To God, Christ, Grace Saints, and the Means of Grace.
She's much in Reading, Pray're, Selfe-Application
Holds humbly up, a pious Conversation

476

In which she makes profession [OMITTED]
Which unto Westfield Church she did disclose.
Holy in Health; Patient in Sickness long.
And very great. Yet gracious Speech doth throng:
She oft had up, An Alwise God Doth this.
And in a filiall way the Rod would kiss.
When Pains were Sore, Justice can do no wrong,
Nor Mercy Cruell be; became her Song.
The Doomsday Verses much perfum'de her Breath,
Much in her thoughts, and yet she fear'd not Death.

An Elegy upon the Death of that Holy and Reverend Man of God, Mr. Samuel Hooker, .

Pastor of the Church of Christ at Farmington, (and Son to the Famous Mr. Thomas Hooker, who was a Pastor of, and began with the Church of Christ at Hartford on Connecticut in New England) who slept in Christ, the 6th day of November, about one a Clock in the morning in the 64 year of his age entered upon. Annoque Domini 1697

1. [PART. 1.]

Griefe sometimes is a duty yet when Greate
And geteth vent, it Non-Sense sobs, doth speake

477

Cutting off Sentences by Enterjections
Made by the force of hard beset Affections.
Should I in mine pass through this Hemisphere
And beg of ev'ry Eye a Trickling teare
To wash thy Tombe, Deare Hooker, bright therein,
All would not Drown the Griefe that thence doth spring.
Shall thy Choice Name here not embalmed ly
In those Sweet Spices whose perfumes do fly
From thy greate Excellence? It surely would
Be Sacraledge thy Worth back to withhold.
Lord spare the Flock. Shall brave brave Jon'than dy?
And David's place be empty? Sling ly by?
Before their heads those Almond Trees are white
And ere they're mellow'd by old age's weight?
When Birds new Hatcht ware, as in nest they ly,
Presbytick Down, Pinfeatherd Prelacy
(Young Cockerills, whose Combs soare up like Spires
That force their Dams: and Crow against their Sires?)
Dost thou withdraw? and now? Where are thy Spurs
Then to be had? Whose sight would work demurrs.
Where hast thou left thy Strenth, and Potency?
And Congregationall Artillery?
We need the Same, and need it more and more.
For Babels Canons 'gainst our Bulworks roare.

2. [PART.] 2. TO NEW ENGLAND.

Alas! alas! New England go weep.
Thy loss is greate in him: For he did keep
Within thine Orb as a bright shining Sun
To give thee Light, but now his race is run.
And though his Epicycle was but small
His shining Beams did fly to lighten all.
He was in Person neat, of lesser Sise,
With Ruddy Looks, and with quick rowling eyes.
His Head a Magazeen of Wisdom rich,
With Spirits fand from foggy Vapors which
Do Reason cloud: a Fine spun Fancy, Quick,

478

Producing Notions brave, and Rhetorick.
A Son of such a Father, whose name Flew
Like sweet Perfume o're Englands Old, and New.
A Son, though youngest, yet that did inherit,
A noble portion of his Fathers Spirit,
Wise, Pious, Prudent, had a Strong, Cleare Head,
That entertaind the Strength of what he red.
Grave, not Morose, Courteous; yet did Command
A Distance due: and by a gentle hand.
Not Verbous, yet, his lips would oft distill
Brave Apophthegms: Facete Wit, and Skill.
In Councill Choice, deliberate, and full.
In Disputation, Acute. Home, not Dull
Meek as a Lamb, yet as a Lion, hee
Could put on Majesty, if't needs must bee.
Keen in Rebukes yet Candid, Corrosive
Where Cases calld, would to the bottom rive.
A True Peace-Maker, Farmington may say,
Offt in the fire and Flame of others fray
Calazy-Gem like quencht it. And as fring'd
With Salamanders Woole, he was not sindg'd.
He steady was: Not on, and Off. His Minde
John Baptist like's no Reed shook with the Winde.
Concocted not, though neatly minced Slops,
A mess of Windmills, or of Weather-Cocks.
Not Esau like selling his choice Free Sockage
Then left his Birthright for a bowl of Pottage.
He, and the best of Queens, we thus describe'm
Agreeing in one Motto Semper idem.
A Box of Jewells, string of Pearls bright, High.
Of Heavenly Graces a sweet Spicery.
Humble, and full of selfe abasement, though
Such Excellency did in him e're flow.

479

A Rich Divine: a Pastour very choice
Dispensing Grace, with a sweet piercing voice
(Like to the still small Voice Elijah heard)
That rended Rocks, and Satans Intrest marr'd.
In Prayre sweet, the musick of which String
Celestiall Wealth unto the Earth would bring
Like little Paul in Person, Voice, and Grace
Advancing Christ and sinfull things out race.
The Sacred Writ with joy he did attend.
And Scriptures dropt even at his fingers end.
A Weighty Preacher: never notion Sick:
An Angel in a Golden Candlestick.
He had the knack of Preaching: and did dart
Christs fiery Shafts into the flinty heart;
Till it was broken: Then the smarting wound
Would dress with Gilliads Balm to make it sound.
The Gospell Bow and balsom well he knew—
Barjona was; and Boanerges true.
Great Gregry, its said, did Peters Coffin Wrest
Wide ope, and found his Keyes in't. (Ah! well Blesst)
But Hooker bravely handed Aaron Rod
Christ's own Choice Keyes, and gently, and for God.

A Loving Husband; tender Father, who
In sweet affections oft would overflow
With Pious, Rich Discourse, that was well spic'd
With Gospell Grace, to bring them up to Christ.
And holy Counsill on them he would shoure
With Death Bed Charges till his dying hour.
But seing Death Creep on his Fingers ends,
And on his Hands, and Arms, bespake his Friends
Thus, saying, They are Dead, you see, and I

480

Have done with them: warm cloaths thereto apply,
But Death admits no check mate. Out he poures
His Soul on Christ. On him they weep in showers.

But art thou gone, Brave Hooker, hence? and Why?
What, wast thou weary of thy Ministry?
Or weari'd out by thy fed flock? Alas!
Or did the Countrey's Sins it bring to pass?
He was a Samuel in his place, and breath.
Let Israel do him honour at his Death.

Mourn, mourn, New England, alas! alas!
To see thy Freckled Face in Gospell Glass:
To feele thy Pulse, and finde thy Spleen's not well:
Whose Vapors cause thy Pericordium t'swell:
Do suffocat, and Cramp thee, and grow worse
By Hypochondrik Passions of the purse,
Affect thy Brains toucht with the Turn, till thou
Halfe sick of Preachers false, and Gospell Plow.
Such Symptoms say, if nothing else will ease,
Thy Sickness soon will cure thy sad Disease.
For when such Studs, as stop, and scotch the Way
Of thy Declensions are remoov'd thy bay,
Apostasy wherewith thou art thus driven
Unto the tents of Presbyterianism
(Which is refined Prelacy at best)
Will not stay long here in her tents, and rest,
But o're this Bridge will carry thee apace
Into the Realm of Prelates arch, the place
Where open Sinners vile unmaskt indeed
Are Welcom Guests (if they can say the Creed)
Unto Christs Table, While they can their Sins
Atone in Courts by offering Silverlings.
Watch, Watch thou then: Reform thy life: Refine
Thyselfe from thy Declentions. Tend thy line.

481

Steeples ware Weathercocks: but Turrits gain
An Happiness under a Faithfull Vane.
And weep thy Sins away, lest woe be nigh.
For Angells with thy Lots away do high.

3. PART. 3. TO CONNECTICUT.

Mourn, mourn, Connecticut; thou'st lost a Gem;
A Carbuncle, (and thou hast few of them)
Is fallen from thy Crown, a Sun full bright
Is set, bidding thine Horizon good night.
Mourn Hartford, mourn; a bud of thine is gone:
A Gem that grew on thy Foundation Stone
(Not Stone's, but Hooker's who did in thee Shine
In Light, Life, Line, and Gospell Discipline)
Who griev'd to see thee warpe from thy foundation
And leave thy first Love thus, and Education.
Of all thy Sons thou hast not such another
To stay thy Head, and heart from ill recover.

4. PART. 4.

Alas poor Farmington, of all the rest
Most Happy, and Unhappy, Blesst unblesst:
Most Happy having such an Happiness:
And most unhappy losing of no less.
Oh! mourn, and weep, remember thou the Call
Thy Prophet gave thee to't before his fall.
Oh Daughter of my people, (that last text)
Gird thee with Sackcloth, Wallow thee perplext
In ashes. Mourn thou lamentably
As for an onely Son: weep bitterly,
For lo, the Spoiler suddenly shall come
Upon us. And his Sermon being done
The motive to the Call, the Prophesy

482

Had an accomplishment before your eye.
For he much spent desired you to sing
A Psalm while he refresht and rested him,
Which done he prayed over you intent,
Dismist you with a blessing briefe, and bent
Under the Spoiler down that suddenly
Assaulted him. And gave discharg thereby
Unto his pulpit from all right of Claim
For ever after in this man of Fame.
He bowing goes unto a neighbours, whence
After a while he rideth home from thence
Betook him to his dying Bed perfum'd
With prayers to God, and Charges he assum'd
And laid his friends and Wife and Children under
While five dayes run, and Illiak pains did thunder.
That Hooker now by this sharp tyranny
Forcing things back that should go on, should dy
Lord grant it be n't an Omen of our Fate
Foreshewing our apostate following State.
Then mourn poore Church, thy Prophets race is run
As for a Father, or an onely Son.
After three tens, and seven years were past
Under thy rocky hill by him, at last
He thus doth leave thee. Search into thy Sin,
Repent, and grieve that ere thou grievedst him,
Or rather God in him, lest suddenly
The Spoiler still should on thee come and stroy.
Lord, art thou angry with the Flock, that thou
Dost slay their Shephard? Or dost disallow
The Fold, and lay it Common that thou smite
Down dost the shory that upheld it right?
Shall angling cease? And no more fish be took
That thou callst home thy Hooker with his Hook?
Lord, spare the flock: uphold the fold from falling.
Send out another Hooker of this Calling.

483

5. PART. 5. TO THE FAMILY RELICT.

Thou mourning Family, what shall I say?
Shall Passion, or compassion o're me sway?
It is a day of Griefe: Tears are a Dress
Becoming us, come they not to excess.
Then keep due measure. Should you too much bring,
Your too much is too little far for him.

Thou mourning Widdow! oh! how sad? how sharp?
Poor bleeding Soule! how turned is thy Harp
Into the Voice of mourning? Organ sweet
Into the bitter Voice of them that weep.
But yet cheere up: New England layes her head
To thine, to weep with thee over thy Dead.
Thou may'st therefore spend fewer tears of Sorrow
Out of thine own, thou dost so many borrow.
Christs Napkin take, Graces green Taffity
And wipe therewith, thy Weeping, watry eye
And thou shalt see thy Hooker all ore gay
With Christ in bliss, adorn'd with Glories Ray,
And putting out his shining hand to thee
Saying, My Honey, mourn no more for mee.
That Love wrongs both, that wills mee with thee hence.
But joy to see my Joy, and Glory mence.
In Faith, Obedience, Patience, walk awhile
And thou shalt soon leape ore the parting Stile,
And come to God, Christ, Angells, Saints, and Mee.
So wee in Bliss together e're shall bee.
When we did wed, we each a mortall took.
And ever from that day for this did look
Wherein we parted are; and one should have
Griefe, I o're thy, or thou over my grave.
The Lot is cast on thee. I first must go
And leave thee weeping o're my Grave in woe.
But stay thy Sorrow: bless my Babes. Obey.
And soon thou shall with mee enjoy good day.

484

And as for you his Buds, and Blossoms blown,
Stems of his Root, his very Flesh and Bone,
You needs must have great droopings, now the Tree
Is fallen down the boughs whereof you bee.
You have a Father lost, and Choice one too.
Weeping for him is honour due from you.
Yet let your Sorrows run in godly wise
As if his Spirits tears fell from your eyes.
Strive for his Spirit: rather Christ's, than His
To dwell, and act his Flesh, yourselves, to bliss.
Its pitty these in him conjoyn'd, up grew
Together, should be parted here in you.
Plants of a Noble Vine, a Right, Right Seed.
Oh! turn not to a Strange Wild vine or Weed.
Your Grand sire were a Chiefe Foundation Stone
In this Blesst Building: Father was well known
To be a Chiefe Good Builder in the Same
And with his might did ever it mentain.
Your Grandsire's Spirit through your Father breathd
In Life, on you, and as his Life he leav'd,
Striving to breath into your hearts his Spirit
As out of him it passed, to inherit.
Be n't like such babes as parents brains out pull
To make a Wassill Bowle then of the Skull.
That Pick their Parents eyes out, and the holes
Stuff up with folly, as if no braind Souls.
You are of better form than this sad guise
Yet beare this Caution: Some apostatise.
And strive your Sires, and Grandsires Life and Line
Through you their Flesh and blood may brightly shine.
Imminde your Father's Death bed Charge and aime.
You are his Very Flesh, and Blood, and Name.
The name of hooker precious in our story

485

Make you more precious, adding to its Glory,
At the Bright flaming Sun of Righteousness,
With a Celestiall Light, e're burning fresh.
A Cabbinet of Vertue, ever brave.
A Magazeen of Counsill, Weighty, Grave.
A Treasury of Grace, th'Imbroideries
Of th'Holy Ghost in Heart, and Life here lies.
A Temple bright of Piety in print,
To glorify that God that dwelled in't.
A Stage of War, Whereon the Spirits Sword
Hew'd down the Hellish foes that did disturb.
A Cage whose bird of Paradise therein
Did sing sweete Musick forth to glories King.
A Silver Trumpet of the Temple bright
Blown by an Angell of Celestiall light
A Temple deckt, and with all graces spic'de
For God the Father, Spirit, and for Christ.
A Golden Pulpit Where an Angell Choice
Preacht Zions Grace with Sinai's thundering voice.
An Oratore of Prayre, which, rapt up, hopt
Up Souls to Heaven, Heaven down to Souls oft knockt.
Were there a Metempsychosis, we say
Greate Hookers Soule, sure, once possest this Clay.
Elijah's Mantle: and the dust that fell
Of th'Charriot, and the Horse of Israel,
Scarce ever dust more glorious made for bliss
With glorious Grace, or better usd than this,
That here now stript of all that Wealth, and Station
Doth lie, yet firmly holds its high Relation.
And here we leave it, till the last Dayes Shoute
Breaking its Coffin brings it glorious out.
And wipe those drops wrung from thy Winding Sheet
Brave Sir, off from our Eyes, that weeping keep,
With thy White Lawn thou wearst in Glory Gay,
Charming our Griefe therewith, Amen we say.

486

HIS EPITAPH.

A turffe of Glory, Rich Celestiall Dust,
A Bit of Christ here in Death's Cradle husht.
An Orb of Heavenly Sunshine: a bright Star
That never glimmerd: ever shining faire,
A Paradise bespangled all with Grace:
A Curious Web o'relaid with holy lace
A Magazeen of Prudence: Golden Pot
Of Gracious Flowers never to be forgot
Farmingtons Glory, and its Pulpits Grace
Lies here a Chrystallizing till the trace
Of Time is at an end and all out run.
Then shall arise and quite outshine the Sun.

A Fig for thee Oh! Death.

Thou King of Terrours with thy Gastly Eyes
With Butter teeth, bare bones Grim looks likewise.
And Grizzly Hide, and clawing Tallons, fell,
Opning to Sinners Vile, Trap Door of Hell,
That on in Sin impenitently trip
The Downfall art of the infernall Pit,
Thou struckst thy teeth deep in my Lord's blest Side:
Who dasht it out, and all its venom 'stroyde
That now thy Poundrill shall onely dash
My Flesh and bones to bits, and Cask shall clash.
Thou'rt not so frightfull now to me, thy knocks
Do crack my shell. Its Heavenly kernells box
Abides most safe. Thy blows do break its shell,
Thy Teeth its Nut. Cracks are that on it fell.

487

Thence out its kirnell fair and nut, by worms
Once Viciated out, new formd forth turns
And on the wings of some bright Angell flies
Out to bright glory of Gods blissfull joyes.
Hence thou to mee with all thy Gastly face
Art not so dreadfull unto mee through Grace.
I am resolvde to fight thee, and ne'er yield,
Blood up to th'Ears; and in the battle field
Chasing thee hence: But not for this my flesh,
My Body, my vile harlot, its thy Mess,
Labouring to drown me into Sin, disguise
By Eating and by drinking such evill joyes
Though Grace preserv'd mee that I nere have
Surprised been nor tumbled in such grave.
Hence for my strumpet I'le ne'er draw my Sword
Nor thee restrain at all by Iron Curb
Nor for her safty will I 'gainst thee strive
But let thy frozen gripes take her Captive
And her imprison in thy dungeon Cave
And grinde to powder in thy Mill the grave,
Which powder in thy Van thou'st safely keep
Till she hath slept out quite her fatall Sleep.
When the last Cock shall Crow the last day in
And the Arch Angells Trumpets sound shall ring
Then th'Eye Omniscient seek shall all there round
Each dust death's mill had very finely ground,
Which in death's smoky furnace well refinde
And Each to'ts fellow hath exactly joyn't,
Is raised up anew and made all bright
And Christalized; all top full of delight.
And entertains its Soule again in bliss
And Holy Angells waiting all on this,
The Soule and Body now, as two true Lovers
Ery night how do they hug and kiss each other.
And going hand in hand thus through the skies

488

Up to Eternall glory glorious rise.
Is this the Worst thy terrours then canst, why
Then should this grimace at me terrify?
Why camst thou then so slowly? Mend thy pace.
Thy Slowness me detains from Christ's bright face.
Although thy terrours rise to th'highst degree,
I still am where I was, a Fig for thee.