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Poemata sacra

Latinae & Anglicae scripta [by John Saltmarsh]
Saltmarsh, John
  
[epigraph]

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POEMS UPON SOME OF the holy raptures of DAVID.
  
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL SIR THO. METHAM MY HONOURED FRIEND, and his vertuous Lady, the Lady METHAM.
 I. 
Meditation I. By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down, yea we wept, Psal. 137.
 II. 
Meditat. II. We hanged our harps upon the willows, Psal. 137.
 III. 
Meditat. III. I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping, Psal. 102.
 IV. 
Meditat. IV. My dayes are like a shadow that declineth, Psal. 102.
 V. 
Meditat. V. Wilt thou shew wonders on the dead? Psal. 88.
 VI. 
Meditat. VI. The Emblemes of the resurrection.
 VII. 
Meditat. VII. THE RESURRECTION.
 VIII. 
Meditat. VIII. Create in me a clean heart, Psal. 51.
 IX. 
Meditat. IX. He healeth the broken hearted, and bindeth up their wounds, Psal. 146.
 X. 
Meditat. X. The Lord is nigh to all those that call upon him, Psal. 145.
 XI. 
Meditat. XI. The Lord looseth the prisoners, Psal. 156.
  
A Meditation upon the Song of Songs,
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[section]
  
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL George Butler Esquire, one of his Majesties Councell established in the North.
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THE PICTURE OF GOD IN MAN,
 I. 
Chap. I. Why called the Picture.
 II. 
Chap. II.
 III. 
Chap. III. A representation of God in man.
 IV. 
Chap. IV. The Image of God in man.
 V. 
Chap. V. Gods Picture not in the bodie of man.
 VI. 
Chap. VI. Gods Picture in the soul, and what it is.
  
A meditation upon Eternitie.
  
Upon the rest on the Lords day.

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Meditat. II. We hanged our harps upon the willows, Psal. 137.

When sorrows do salute, joyes take farewel:
These pair of guests never together dwell:
They inne at severall signes; Sorrow she lies
At the sad Count'nace, Joy at Flaming eyes,
And sanguine face blithe looks: their empires are
Divided: Sorrows kingdome is not farre
From Babylons sad rivers, and there grows
A grove of shadie willows; under flows
A pitchie current; on the gloomie trees
Do hang these harps of pleasure. Oh who sees
3

This embleme, views a melancholy scene:
Thus sits Contrition on a shady green
Nigh to these streams and willows, while her lute
(As though it were sad penance to be mute)
Hangs by her for a time hid amongst leaves,
Whil'st she forgetfull of her musick grieves.
Thus sinfull souls lay by a while their joyes,
And sorrow seems to hide these pleasing toyes:
When they have sigh't some minutes, then again
They take their harps to tune their wonted strain.
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