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109

[I heare and tremble! Lord, what shall I doe]

The Lord cometh with ten thousand of his Saints to execute judgement upon all. Jude 4, 15.

I heare and tremble! Lord, what shall I doe
T'avoid thy anger, whether shall I goe?
What, shall I scale the Mountains? 'las they be
Farre lesse then Atoms if compar'd with thee.
What, shall I strive to get my selfe a Tombe,
Within the greedy Oceans swelling Wombe?
Shall I dive into Rockes? where shall I flie
The sure discovery of thy piercing Eye?
Alas I know not; though with many a teare
In Hell they mone thy absence, thou art there.
Thou art on Earth, and well observest all
The actions acted on this massie Ball:
And when thou look'st on mine, what can I say?
I dare not stand, nor can I run away
Thine eyes are pure and cannot look upon
(And what else, Lord, am I?) Corruption.
Thou hatest sinnes, and if thou once begin
To cast me in the Scales, I all am sinne.
Thou still continu'st one, O Lord; I range
In various formes of crimes, and love my change.
Lord, thou that mad'st me, bid'st I should present
My heart unto thee: O see how it's rent
By various Monsters; see how fastly held,
How stubbornly they doe deny to yield.
How shall I stand, when that thou shalt be hurl'd
On Cloudes, in robes of fire to Judge the world,
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Usher'd with golden Legions, in thine Eye
Carrying an all-enraged Majesty,
That shall the Earth into a Palsie stroke,
And make the Clouds sigh out themselves in smoak?
How can I stand? yes, Lord, I may: although
Thou beest the Judge, thou art a party too.
Thou sufferedst for these faults, for wch thou shall
Arraigne me; Lord, thou sufferedst for them all.
They are not mine at all: these wounds of thine,
That on thy glorious side so brightly shine,
Seal'd me a pardon: in those wounds th'are hid,
And in that side of thine th'are buried.
Lord, smile again upon us: with what grace
Doth mercy fit enthroniz'd on thy face?
How did that scarlet sweat become thee when
That sweat did wash away the filth of men?
Hovv did those peevish thornes adorn thy brow?
Each thorne more richly then a Gem did glow.
Yet by those thorns (Lord, how thy love abounds!)
Are we poor wormes made capable of Crownes.
Come so to Judgement, Lord: th'Apostles shal
No more into their drowsy slumber fall,
But stand and hearken how the Judge shall say,
Come come, my Lambs, to Joy, come come away.
FINIS.
111

Epigram 8.

Then the first Trumpet sounding shall disperse
Pale terrour through the fainting universe.
He who that Thunder would undaunted bear,
Must often be acquainted with it here.
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