A Spirituall Song conteining an Historicall Discourse from the infancie of the world, vntil this present time: Setting downe the treacheraus practises of the wicked, against the children of God: Describing also the markes and ouerthrow of Antichrist, with a thankesgiving to God for the preseruation of her Maiestie, and of his Church. Drawn out of the holy Scriptures, By Roger Cotton |
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 | A Spirituall Song |  |
P. K. In commendation of this worke.
If Poets pens deserued prayse,
Whose paynes deserued well:
Much more the mindes, the pens, the men,
Indued with heauenly skill.
Whose paynes deserued well:
Much more the mindes, the pens, the men,
Indued with heauenly skill.
Of loue, of warre, of Plants, of Birds,
Of Sheepe and Shepheards toyes:
Haue Poets writ who lie in dust,
Bereft of heauenly ioyes.
Of Sheepe and Shepheards toyes:
Haue Poets writ who lie in dust,
Bereft of heauenly ioyes.
Yet these we see through worlde their prayse,
With eccho doth resound:
Much more is prayse to Cotton due,
Who makes Gods worde his ground.
With eccho doth resound:
Much more is prayse to Cotton due,
Who makes Gods worde his ground.
G. W. in prayse of this Booke.
Will men be taught, in whom to put their trust,In time of troubles stird by tyrants pride:
Or will they learne to whom the godly must
Sing thankfull Himnes, when happie dayes betide?
Lo heere a Lantarne, that may giue them light,
Both to relie, and to reioyce a right.
A. W. in commendations of this discourse.
Let worldly wisedome stande a part,let policie giue place:
To simple ones, to little babes,
whose hartes are filde with grace.
to whom all prayse belonges.
With ioyfulnes, with singing cheere,
in Psalmes and spirituall Songs.
And you that hitherto haue hid,
your Talents in the ground:
Come learne of him that hath but one,
Gods mercies to resound.
R. I. in commendation of this worke.
You idle Drones, that fleece and cannot feede,You speechles ones, that can not barke nor bay:
You Slowwoormes mates, that make so euill speede,
To spie the Foxe, and driue the Wolfe away,
This Booke shall be your iudge an other day.
Which sweetely doth recorde:
The mercies of our Lord.
And liuely paints the whoredome of that Beast,
Whose marke Gods Saints do faythfully detest.
FINIS.
| A Spirituall Song | |