 | Otia Sacra Optima Fides |  |
Upon the birth of a Childe.
When I (O Lord) Thy Mercies scan,Stooping unto the Publican,
Who stood afar off; and didst daign
To give, that He might ask again:
(For not the Outward-beaten-brest,
Nor down-cast-look could make Him blest;
But 'twas thine own Power did controul
His former Vice, stamp New His soul.)
Methinks I am so far set free
From all Sins bonds and Tyrannie,
As that rais'd up in hopes; no More
I need Zacheus Sycamore:
But (though a Dwarf in Grace) conclude
I see Christ 'bove the Multitude
Calling me down; as if to say,
He meant to be my Guest to day;
And (though a Sinner) crown My wish,
Bringing an Olive-branch for's Dish.
| Otia Sacra Optima Fides | |