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University of Virginia Library

Dia Poemata

Poetick Feet Standing Upon Holy Ground: Or, Verses on certain Texts of Scripture. With Epigrams, &c. By E. E. [i.e. Edmund Elys]

Elys, Edmund (ca. 1634-ca. 1707)

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To my FRIEND, Mr. E. E. on his Divine Poems.

On the sacred Poems of my Ingenious Friend, Mr. E. E.

To his honest Cousin, E. E. on his Dia Poemata; or, his setting Feet on Holy ground.

To my Friend, the Author.

To his Honour'd Friend M. E. E. on his Incomparable Poems.

To Mr. E. E. on his DIA POEMATA.

To Mr. E. E. on his Book, &c.

To the Laurell worthy Mr. E. E. on his Excellent Poems.

To his most Deserving Friend, Mr. E. E. on his DIAPOEMATA.

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In Dia Poemata; Or, Poetick Feet standing upon Holy Ground.

Ad Encomiastas Authoris.

Κοσμος ακοσμος. All is Vanity and vexation of Spirit.

[How light is Man! by ev'ry wind]

[On me, my Friends, ô pity take!]

Lavatus Æthiops.

On Christmas day.

[I'm slave to grief (not mine own man)]

[To light hearts only such light mirth belongs]

[Rapt with Hot Zeale (Elias like) Blest Stephen]

[Of the Ten Leapers, Lord, the world claim's Nine]

[Oh Lord, shall we thy Glorious Body Eat?]

[Lord, on my Heart write thou thy Law, that I]

[My Lungs are worn with Groaning; often Moans]

[Ah! Shall my restlesse Mind for ever be]

[Thy Youthfull Heat should still Aspire]

In Obitum VITÆ. On the Death of JESUS.

[I've washt my feet, ev'n in the Bloud]

[Thrice happy Babes! wean'd from the world so soon]

BACK-SLIDING: OR, A Spirituall Relapse.

[Hold! hold! I will not do't: Shall I]

[Thrice Curst be Wanton Pleasure, Hell's Fine Daughter]

EPIGRAMS, &c. By E. E.

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[Lord, on my Heart write thou thy Law, that I]

Open thou mine Eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy Law. Ps. 119. 18.

Lord, on my Heart write thou thy Law, that I
May read it o're with my Internall Eye.
Let the Light of thy Countenance appear
To make thy Law's mysterious Wonders Clear.
The Works o' Darkness, in my Earthly Mind,
Have made mine Eyes (like Moles, Earth's Prisners) blind.

10

Thou that mak'st th'Blind to see, Help I thee pray,
Not putting to, but wiping off the Clay.
Those Fogs, which youthfull heat exhales, doe rise
Like misty clouds 'twixt Heaven and mine Eyes.
Shine on me Sun of Righteousnesse: the night
Is now far spent: O Day spring, bring the Light.
To behold wondrous things my sight's too dull,
Unlesse through Him, whose Name is Wonderfull.