Prison-Pietie or, Meditations Divine and Moral. Digested into Poetical Heads, On Mixt and Various Subjects. Whereunto is added A Panegyrick to The Right Reverend, and most Nobly descended, Henry, Lord Bishop of London. By Samuel Speed, Prisoner in Ludgate, London |
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The free Prisoner. |
 | Prison-Pietie |  |
The free Prisoner.
What though a Prisoner I am now?Time doth allow
Instead of liberty, to walk,
To write, or talk.
What though Distempers make me sicken?
They do me quicken.
My body in confinement lies,
But my Soul flies.
What though by nature I am dumb?
Then I be become
A silent sinner, and my tongue
Doth no man wrong.
Or what although I loose my sight?
Yet if the light
Of Divine Graces shine in me,
My Soul can see
Let sorrows come when God thinks best,
They are my Rest:
For in afflictions 'tis my Psalm,
The Bruise's Balm.
If I'm afflicted in this World,
I am but hurl'd
To Heaven, where all pleasures stand
At God's right hand.
Th'afflictions of this world of care
Cannot compare
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And dearly bought.
Dear may I say, because his blood
Is that choice flood
That drowns my sorrows and my grief,
Gives me relief.
Thus all things work together for their good,
That have lov'd God, and for his honour stood.
A Jayl's the centre of this Iron-age,
Yet not my Prison, but mine Hermitage.
He that can boldly dare, yet justly do,
Fortune's his Subject, and his Vassal too.
| Prison-Pietie | |