 | Silex Scintillans |  |
The Sap.
Come sapless Blossom, creep not stil on EarthForgetting thy first birth;
'Tis not from dust, or if so, why dost thou
Thus cal and thirst for dew?
It tends not thither, if it doth, why then
This growth and stretch for heav'n?
Thy root sucks but diseases, worms there seat
And claim it for their meat.
Who plac'd thee here, did something then Infuse
Which now can tel thee news.
There is beyond the Stars an hil of myrrh
From which some drops fal here,
On it the Prince of Salem sits, who deals
To thee thy secret meals,
There is thy Country, and he is the way
And hath withal the key.
Yet liv'd he here sometimes, and bore for thee
A world of miserie,
For thee, who in the first mans Ioyns didst fal
From that hil to this vale,
103
Two deaths had bin thy due;
But going hence, and knowing wel what woes
Might his friends discompose,
To shew what strange love he had to our good
He gave his sacred bloud
By wil our sap, and Cordial; now in this
Lies such a heav'n of bliss,
That, who but truly tasts it, no decay
Can touch him any way,
Such secret life, and vertue in it lies
It wil exalt and rise
And actuate such spirits as are shed
Or ready to be dead,
And bring new too. Get then this sap, and get
Good store of it, but let
The vessel where you put it be for sure
To all your pow'r most pure;
There is at all times (though shut up) in you
A powerful, rare dew,
Which only grief and love extract; with this
Be sure, and never miss,
To wash your vessel wel: Then humbly take
This balm for souls that ake,
And one who drank it thus, assures that you
Shal find a Joy so true,
Such perfect Ease, and such a lively sense
Of grace against all sins,
That you'l Confess the Comfort such, as even
Brings to, and comes from Heaven.
| Silex Scintillans | |