When shall I come and appeare before God?
What is my soule the better to be tinde
With holy fire? What boots it to be coynd
With heav'ns own stamp? What vantage can there be
To soules of heav'n-descended Pedegree,
More than to Beasts, that grovell? Are not they
Fed by th'Almighties hand? and, ev'ry day,
Fill'd with His Blessing too? Do they not see
GOD in His creatures, as direct as we?
Do they not tast Thee? heare Thee? nay, what Sense
Is not partaker of Thine Excellence?
What more do we? Alas, what serves our reason,
But, like dark lanthornes, to accomplish Treason
With greater closenesse? It affords no light,
Brings Thee no nearer to our purblind sight;
No pleassure rises up the least degree,
Great GOD, but in the clearer view of Thee:
What priv'ledge more than Sense, has Reason than?
What vantage is it to be borne a man?
How often has my patience built, (deare LORD)
Vaine Tow'rs of Hope upon Thy gracious Word?
How often has Thy Hope-reviving Grace
Woo'd my suspitious eyes to seek Thy face!
How often have I sought Thee? Oh how long
Hath expectation taught my perfect tongue
Repeated pray'rs, yet pray'rs could nev'r obtaine;
In vaine I seek Thee, and I beg in vaine:
If it be high presumption to behold
Thy face, why didst Thou make mine eyes so bold
To seek it? If that object be too bright
For mans Aspect, why did thy lips invite
Mine eye t'expect it? If it might be seene,
Why is this envious curtaine drawne betweene
My darkened eye and it? O tell me, why
Thou dost command the thing Thou dost deny?
Why dost thou give me so unpriz'd a treasure,
And then deny'st my greedy soule the pleasure
To view thy gift? Alas, that gift is void,
And is no gift, that may not be enjoy'd:
If those refulgent Beames of heav'ns great light
Guild not the day, what is the day, but night?
The drouzie Shepheard sleeps; flowres droop and fade;
The Birds are sullen, and the Beast is sad;
But if bright Titan art, his golden Ray,
And, with his riches, glorifie the day,
The jolly Shepheard pipes; Flowres freshly spring;
The beast growes gamesome, and the birds they sing:
Thou art my Sun, great GOD, O when shall I
View the full beames of thy Meridian eye?
Draw, draw this fleshly curtaine, that denies
The gracious presence of thy glorious eyes;
Or give me Faith; and, by the eye of Grace,
I shall behold Thee, though not face to face.
S. AUGUST. in Psal. 39
Who created all things is better than all things; who beautified all things
is more beautifull than all things: who made strength is stronger than all
things: who made great things is greater than all things: Whatsoever thou
lovest he is that to thee: Learne to love the workman in his worke; the Creator
in his creature: Let not that which was made by Him possesse thee, lest thou
lose Him by whom thy selfe was made.
S. AUGUST. Med. Cap 37.
O thou most sweet, most gracious, most amiable, most faire, when shall I see
Thee? when shall I be satisfied with Thy beauty? When wilt thou lead me from
this darke dungeon, that I may confesse thy name?
