Dia Poemata Poetick Feet Standing Upon Holy Ground: Or, Verses on certain Texts of Scripture. With Epigrams, &c. By E. E. [i.e. Edmund Elys] |
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| In Dia Poemata; Or, Poetick Feet standing upon Holy Ground. |
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 | Dia Poemata |  |
In Dia Poemata; Or, Poetick Feet standing upon Holy Ground.
Ad Encomiastas Authoris.
You might have sav'd your Labour, th' Author sureDoubts not to stand on his own Legs secure.
Let those on Crutches go, whose Muses All
Bring forth but Cripples for an Hospitall,
Whose Fame by others must supported be;
Their Commendation's but a Charity.
He's Self sufficient, and as the Sun,
Whose scatter'd Beams through every Quarter run;
Maintaines it self in its own Lustre, by
That Font which doth within its Bosom Lie)
Scorns all Recruits from others, th'lesser Stars
Are but this Greater Planets Pensioners.
What Helicon, each Pen distilleth, can
Adde little to this boundlesse Ocean.
Here fix Poetick Rabble, whilst his Grace
The Muses High-Priest enters th' Holy Place.
G. Towerson, Art. Bac. è Col. Reg.
1
Κοσμος ακοσμος. All is Vanity and vexation of Spirit.
And is the world like its Black Monarch made,
That being graspt we find it nought but shade?
Hell fiends need walk no more; the World's their own,
Converted to an Apparition.
'Tis nothing else but Empty shape; and thus
It seems to be our Malus Genius.
'Tis o'th' Old Serpents nature, being Warme
With Love, its venome is impower'd to Harme.
Its Kisses still are Treacherous: and so
It often Huggs, not to Embrace, but Throw.
That being graspt we find it nought but shade?
Hell fiends need walk no more; the World's their own,
Converted to an Apparition.
'Tis nothing else but Empty shape; and thus
It seems to be our Malus Genius.
'Tis o'th' Old Serpents nature, being Warme
With Love, its venome is impower'd to Harme.
Its Kisses still are Treacherous: and so
It often Huggs, not to Embrace, but Throw.
Sith then, whene'r we're happy here below,
Griefe but gives back, to fetch the harder blow:
Since Nothing tipt with Essence is th'World's All,
And the Earths Globe, but Fortunes Tennis Ball:
Fly up my Minde; thy Pearches are Heav'ns Pole,
Earth's Gotham Hedge confines not Winged Soules.
Griefe but gives back, to fetch the harder blow:
Since Nothing tipt with Essence is th'World's All,
And the Earths Globe, but Fortunes Tennis Ball:
Fly up my Minde; thy Pearches are Heav'ns Pole,
Earth's Gotham Hedge confines not Winged Soules.
2
[How light is Man! by ev'ry wind]
Surely men of low degree are vanity, and men of high
degree are a lie: to be laid in the balance they are
altogether lighter then vanity,
Ps. 629.
How light is Man! by ev'ry wind
Of fortune here, or there Inclin'd!
Her blasts dispell his chiefest Trust:
And toss him to and fro, like Dust.
He's oft Puft up by th' Peoples Breath,
And, bubble-like, so vanisheth:
Oft whirled on the wings of Fame,
And swallow'd up by a Great Name.
Inferiours scorn'd are: Great men curst;
Or swoll'n with Pride untill they Burst.
Praise, Honor, Riches, Earthly Glory,
Like man, are Pilgrims, Transitory:
Till th'Night of Ignorance decline,
These Glow worms seem to him to shine.
So light's his Head! that Sov'raigne Part,
He'th nothing Heavy, but his Heart;
Which Drunk with Pleasure, still doth reele,
Or else is Broke on Fortunes Wheel.
Vain's all his Labour: vain his thought:
Himself's but once remov'd from nought.
Void of all Solidity,
He's lighter then vanity.
All is Vanity, but He's
Vanity of Vanities.
3
[On me, my Friends, ô pity take!]
Have pity upon me, have pity upon me, O ye my
Friends, for the hand of God hath touched me.
Job. 19. 21.
On me, my Friends, ô pity take!
My Bowels quake!
The hand of God hath touched me
Most terriblie:
Within, without from top, to Toe,
I'm closely girt about with woe.
My Bowels quake!
The hand of God hath touched me
Most terriblie:
Within, without from top, to Toe,
I'm closely girt about with woe.
A wounded Spirit I must bear,
O'rewhelm'd with Fear:
Gods Terrours (ah me!) have Confin'd
My troubled Mind
(Shrunk from the Hope of all relief)
Within the straits of restlesse Griefe.
O'rewhelm'd with Fear:
Gods Terrours (ah me!) have Confin'd
My troubled Mind
(Shrunk from the Hope of all relief)
Within the straits of restlesse Griefe.
My flesh is all beset with sores,
Its very Pores
Are Block'd up by this Siege of Death.
I can't vent breath,
But 'tis so loathsome, that you'd think,
'Twere a Dead Bodie's odious stink.
Its very Pores
Are Block'd up by this Siege of Death.
I can't vent breath,
But 'tis so loathsome, that you'd think,
'Twere a Dead Bodie's odious stink.
My Goods, my Health, my Friends, and All
Together fall:
I've onely Life enough to Cry
When shall I die?
Clothed with Clods of Dust, e're dead,
My Flesh in't self is Buried.
Together fall:
I've onely Life enough to Cry
When shall I die?
4
My Flesh in't self is Buried.
Mine eye is dim, can only see
My miserie:
My breath's left but to frame my Moans,
And waft out Groans.
To Pity now, my Friends, incline!
Your hearts if Stony, will break mine.
My miserie:
My breath's left but to frame my Moans,
And waft out Groans.
To Pity now, my Friends, incline!
Your hearts if Stony, will break mine.
Lavatus Æthiops.
And he commanded the Chariot to stand still, and
they went down both into the water, both Philip,
and the Eunuch, and he baptized him.
Acts 8. 38.
Most happy Eunuch! that hath
Cur'd his Sick soule in this Bath.
By Baptism, He's Wash'd within;
Wrapt about with's old Black Skin.
His soule, Penitently sad,
Seems to be in Mourning clad.
This water Him t' Heavens Port bears,
Mixt with Pænitentiall tears:
Aqua vitæ 't proves to Him
Dead in Toespasses, and Sin.
His soule's a Diamond that's set
In a Cabinet of Jeat:
5
Thus a Star shines in Dark Night.
In's Jesus is his Delight;
He shall walk with him in white
Such Candid Æthiopes are seldome seen;
Fair People oft are Æthiopes within.
On Christmas day.
Unto you is born, in the City of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
Luke 2. 11.
This Day the LORD of Heaven and Earth
Subjects Himself to Humane Birth:
By this Transcendent Mysterie,
God, and Man are at Unity.
Strange! He, that is, was, is to come,
Thus wrapt up in a Mortall Wombe!
Would th' Sun of Righteousnesse thus shroud
His Glorious Lustre in a Cloud
Of humble Flesh, and Bloud? and can
Mans Maker be the Son of Man?
Hyperbole of wonder, How!
Times Ancestor come forth but Now!
Nay, Stranger Yet: we may dare say
Eternity was Born This Day.
Blest Angel! Who these Tidings bring,
Ambassadour from th' King of Kings.
6
To th'Soul does th'Breath of life infuse,
This heav'nly sound the Shepheards ears
Judge the best Musick of the Sphears:
As Orpheus's courser art drew sense,
This ravisheth intelligence:
Souls rapt up by this harmony,
Unto the Throne of Grace do fly.
Faith comes by hearing: He that hears
This Angels voice, annoints his ears
With th' Oyle of Gladness: and by Faith
Shall Live, although he pass through death.
O Jesu! who wast Born Jesus to me,
Grant that, this day, I be New-born to thee.
[I'm slave to grief (not mine own man)]
I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan,
very pleasant hast thou been unto me: thy love to
me was Wonderfull, passing the love of women.
2 Sam. 1. 26.
I'm slave to grief (not mine own man)
For thee, my brother Jonathan.
'Twixt us, who were in life all-one,
Death could cause no division:
I can't forsake thee dead, but I,
Sith thou art dead, must dayly die.
Tearing thee off, my souls best part,
Fate could not choose but break my heart.
Those arrows, which thou shot'st did prove,
The arrows of our mutual love.
7
No Woman ever lov'd, like thee.
W'had more then Marriage-union;
Our souls had copulation.
Our heart-blood was so mixt, that we
Were 'kin by Consanguinity.
Thus't could not be thou shouldst be slain,
And I not feel the utmost pain.
Thy fate strikes at me: in thy knell,
Methinks I hear my Passing-bell.
I scarce survive! with sighs disturb'd my breath,
Seems to be seiz'd on by the pangs of Death.
[To light hearts only such light mirth belongs]
How shall we sing the Lords song in a strange land?
Psal. 137 4.
To light hearts only such light mirth belongs:
Our fortune weeping will allow no songs.
These rivets yield us the fitt'st musick: we
Account their murmures our best harmony:
In them the Embleme of our fate appears:
Their murmures show our groans, their streams our tears.
How shall we sing in a strange land? our tongues
Benumm'd with sorrow, are unfit for songs.
He profanes sacred melody, that dares
To sing in anguish, and mix Sighs with Ayres.
Our unregarded Harps hung up you see,
Like Trophees, to adorn griefs victory.
8
Can't relish th' Sweetnesse of such pleasant Tones.
Then Mirth farewell! our mournfull Gestures shall
Still solemnize our Countryes Funerall.
Whilst she, a Captive, lives a wofull Death,
We wo'nt, by Songs, let any Joy draw breath:
Unlesse once more that Queen of Cities Raigne,
Wee'l ne're lift up our Drooping Heads againe.
[Rapt with Hot Zeale (Elias like) Blest Stephen]
And they ston'd Stephen, calling upon God, and
saying, Lord Jesus receive my spirit.
Acts 7. 59.
Rapt with Hot Zeale (Elias like) Blest Stephen
Went, in a Fiery Chariot, up to Heaven.
Went, in a Fiery Chariot, up to Heaven.
By this faire Gale of Holy Breath, He is
Arrived safely at the Port of Blisse.
Arrived safely at the Port of Blisse.
His last words Summon Heav'n: and by them He
Gives Christ, His Spirit for a Legacy.
Gives Christ, His Spirit for a Legacy.
And thus he dy'd, so fill'd with th'Heavenly Dove,
That his Soule fled out on the wings of Love.
That his Soule fled out on the wings of Love.
[Of the Ten Leapers, Lord, the world claim's Nine]
Where are the nine?
Luke 17 17.
Of the Ten Leapers, Lord, the world claim's Nine:
The Tenth turnes back to thee; for Tithes are Thine.
9
[Oh Lord, shall we thy Glorious Body Eat?]
Take, Eat, This is my Body.
Mark 14. 22.
Oh Lord, shall we thy Glorious Body Eat?
Can Earth-worms relish such Celestial Meat?
O Blessed Lamb of God! shall we be Fed
On thee, whom our Dire Sins have Butchered?
And have we slain thee thus to Feed on thee?
And are we Pious Anthropophagi?
Stretch Faith! ô Mystick sable! where each guest
Is bid to Eat o'th' Master of the Feast:
Nay, where the Meat it self Invites, and where
Our Bodyes Eat, but soules digest the Fare.
Draw neer, my Soul, to this strange Truth, and fly
Out of thy self, by Holy Extasie,
Into the Bosome of the Light of Men,
Who here will make thee to be Born agen.
I come; but Faintly, Lord, as Sick folk doe:
Thou find'st us Meat, ô find us Stomacks too.
[Lord, on my Heart write thou thy Law, that I]
Open thou mine Eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of thy Law.
Ps. 119. 18.
Lord, on my Heart write thou thy Law, that I
May read it o're with my Internall Eye.
Let the Light of thy Countenance appear
To make thy Law's mysterious Wonders Clear.
The Works o' Darkness, in my Earthly Mind,
Have made mine Eyes (like Moles, Earth's Prisners) blind.
10
Not putting to, but wiping off the Clay.
Those Fogs, which youthfull heat exhales, doe rise
Like misty clouds 'twixt Heaven and mine Eyes.
Shine on me Sun of Righteousnesse: the night
Is now far spent: O Day spring, bring the Light.
To behold wondrous things my sight's too dull,
Unlesse through Him, whose Name is Wonderfull.
[My Lungs are worn with Groaning; often Moans]
I am weary with my groaning, all the night make I
my bed to swim, I water my Couch with my tears.
Psal. 6 6.
My Lungs are worn with Groaning; often Moans
Infect my Breath; my very words turn groans.
Drawn through (that Pipe, so blown with sighs) my Throat,
Their sound is tainted with a dolefull note.
My Panting heart breathes after some reliefe;
But still 'tis Heavy, through the weight of Griefe.
It weeps, so Stony, its own Misery,
Like (Sorrows Emblem) stupid NIOBE.
This Rock vields (Teary) water, smote by th' Rod
Of Moses Teacher, our, and Moses God.
In silent night, when clos'd eyes look for rest,
I hear the out-cryes of a troubled breast:
Then Clouds of Melancholy (by th'wind of Fears
Blown to and fro) drop into Showrs of Tears;
11
Polluted by beholding Vanity.
I make my bed to swim with Tears) as tho
'Twere Charons Boat, tost on the Floud of woe.
My Body thus, and soule (at once) want-light;
The one Black Fate orewhelmes, the other Night.
Wretch that I am! nothing quite vanquisheth
These I wins of Darknesse, but the Day of Death.
[Ah! Shall my restlesse Mind for ever be]
I see another law in my members warring against the
law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin,
Rom. 7. 23.
Ah! Shall my restlesse Mind for ever be
Thus Captive made by too much liberty?
When, Lord, wilt thou me bind,
With th'Cords of thy Soul-keeping Love,
That my affections may not rove,
But justly be confin'd?
Thus Captive made by too much liberty?
When, Lord, wilt thou me bind,
With th'Cords of thy Soul-keeping Love,
That my affections may not rove,
But justly be confin'd?
My Thoughts so Froathy are, as though they came
Out of the Bosome of the Cyprian Dame:
But yet I hate my Folly;
And when I laugh, as heretofore,
I doe but throw Mirth out at doore,
Within I'm Melancholy.
Out of the Bosome of the Cyprian Dame:
But yet I hate my Folly;
And when I laugh, as heretofore,
I doe but throw Mirth out at doore,
Within I'm Melancholy.
My Lust submits not to my Will's command,
Can my Soules Houshold thus divided stand?
That these Home-wars may cease,
Come to my Soule, and speedily
Confirm't in Christian Unity.
Come quickly, Prince of peace.
Can my Soules Houshold thus divided stand?
That these Home-wars may cease,
12
Confirm't in Christian Unity.
Come quickly, Prince of peace.
[Thy Youthfull Heat should still Aspire]
Remember now thy Creator in the dayes of thy youth.
Eccle. 12. 1.
Thy Youthfull Heat should still Aspire
To the Bright Flame of Zeals pure Fire:
That will (no Atheist dares controll)
Prove Vitall Heat unto thy Soule.
Those Youthfull Veins, That Proudly Swell,
Do Boile, as 'twere with th' Fire of Hell.
He, whose First Yeares are spent in Evill,
Shewes that He is the Child o'th Devill.
Remember then, i'th' Dayes of Youth,
To find the WAY, and learn the TRUTH.
Wash thy New Soule, and keep it clean
With th' Well of Lifes continuall Stream;
Now Fortifie Thy Selfe within;
Maintain it 'gainst Approaching Sin:
Be Pious, and Live Strictly: so,
Shut up, thou wilt keep out thy Foe.
Whilst that thy Growth in Grace, and Years are even,
Degrees of Age are but the Steps to Heaven.
13
In Obitum VITÆ. On the Death of JESUS.
He gave up the Ghost.
Luke 23 46.
Gave up the Ghost? how so! O where could He
Dislodge his Soule, who had Ubiquitie?
Could God be Mortall? and could He that made
The Worlds Great Lights, becom Himself a Shade?
O Mystick Truth! which can't on Earth be Shown:
He Knowes it best that thinks it can't be Known.
Thus Darknesse set it forth; by which the Skie
Seem'd th' Emblem of some lofty Mysterie:
Whilst that bold Death durst to assault the LIGHT
The Heavens wore Mourning, and the Day turn'd Night.
Dislodge his Soule, who had Ubiquitie?
Could God be Mortall? and could He that made
The Worlds Great Lights, becom Himself a Shade?
O Mystick Truth! which can't on Earth be Shown:
He Knowes it best that thinks it can't be Known.
Thus Darknesse set it forth; by which the Skie
Seem'd th' Emblem of some lofty Mysterie:
Whilst that bold Death durst to assault the LIGHT
The Heavens wore Mourning, and the Day turn'd Night.
That we might Live, so did our Jesus Die;
'Sthough He Gave us His Life by Legacie:
But He's Reviv'd, and now has made us be
Partakers of His Immortalitie:
So shall we find, when th' whole World vanisheth,
Our selves Refreshed by the sleep of Death.
'Sthough He Gave us His Life by Legacie:
But He's Reviv'd, and now has made us be
Partakers of His Immortalitie:
So shall we find, when th' whole World vanisheth,
Our selves Refreshed by the sleep of Death.
14
[I've washt my feet, ev'n in the Bloud]
I have washed my feet, how shall I defile them?
Cant. 5. 3.
I've washt my feet, ev'n in the Bloud
O'th' Lamb of God;
How shall I them again defile?
Ile fly Sins Guile,
Which drawes to those foule Paths that lead
Down to the Chambers of the Dead.
O'th' Lamb of God;
How shall I them again defile?
Ile fly Sins Guile,
Which drawes to those foule Paths that lead
Down to the Chambers of the Dead.
No more Ile wallow in the Mire
Of Fond Desire:
Ile ever shun Uncleannesse: I
Th'Worlds Spies defie:
To shew them th'Clean way (as 'tis meet)
Gods Word's a Lamp unto my Feet.
Of Fond Desire:
Ile ever shun Uncleannesse: I
Th'Worlds Spies defie:
To shew them th'Clean way (as 'tis meet)
Gods Word's a Lamp unto my Feet.
Oh let me walk (through holy Aw)
Lord, in thy Law,
That undefiled still I may
Be in the Way:
Make me to goe (led by thy word)
I'th' Path of thy Commandments Lord.
Lord, in thy Law,
That undefiled still I may
Be in the Way:
Make me to goe (led by thy word)
I'th' Path of thy Commandments Lord.
15
[Thrice happy Babes! wean'd from the world so soon]
Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked of the
wise men, was exceeding wroth, and sent forth, and slew all the children &c.
Mat. 2. 16.
Thrice happy Babes! wean'd from the world so soon,
They suck the brests of consolation.
They passe to Canaan through a crimson flood,
They die for Christ, baptiz'd in their own blood.
O wrathful Herod! were thy storms so stout,
To blow the Tapers of their lives quite out?
Could nothing, but yong (half-milk) blood asswage
The boistrous Wild-Fire of thy dismal rage?
Fond man! (whom wrath beside himself hath hurl'd)
Wouldst kill the Life, that's come to save the world.
Most cruel Fox! that would have suckt the blood
Of (sheep, and Shepheard too) the Lamb of God.
Lament not, Rachel; Moans bring no relief:
These brinish tears exasperate thy grief.
Grudge not thy Children th' happiness to die;
They cou'd doe nothing in this life, but crie.
Their bitter cup they but a potion found,
Which purg'd their souls of flesh, and made them sound.
I'th' body, pierced by that Rabble-rour,
There's made a breach to let the soul 'scape out.
And so they went to their long home, this day,
The soldiers shew'd them (mist themselves) the Way.
16
BACK-SLIDING: OR, A Spirituall Relapse.
A wounded spirit who can bear?
Prov. 18. 14.
My Heart bleeds: Wounded spirit! oh!
'Twas Sin gave me this deadly blow.
Sin thus Reviv'd Die: for neither
Can be content to Live together:
We fight like two fierce Combatants, that meet
To get a Trophee, or a Winding-sheet.
'Twas Sin gave me this deadly blow.
Sin thus Reviv'd Die: for neither
Can be content to Live together:
We fight like two fierce Combatants, that meet
To get a Trophee, or a Winding-sheet.
But, must I Die indeed? and can
The Sinner thus Destroy the Man?
Self-Murtherer I am: O! I
Have Slaine my selfe, yet would not Die.
Ah! I am Dead in Trespasses and Sin:
The Worme already feeds on me within.
The Sinner thus Destroy the Man?
Self-Murtherer I am: O! I
Have Slaine my selfe, yet would not Die.
Ah! I am Dead in Trespasses and Sin:
The Worme already feeds on me within.
Heale my back-slidings, Lord: O draw
Me from the Roaring Lions Paw,
That tears my Soul: O Jesu, give
Me once more Will, and Pow'r to Live.
Cure but the wounded spirit that I bear,
Ile fight th' Good Fight; be more than Conqueror.
Me from the Roaring Lions Paw,
That tears my Soul: O Jesu, give
Me once more Will, and Pow'r to Live.
Cure but the wounded spirit that I bear,
Ile fight th' Good Fight; be more than Conqueror.
17
[Hold! hold! I will not do't: Shall I]
How can I do this great wickednesse and sin against God?
Gen. 39 9.
Hold! hold! I will not do't: Shall I
Turn Traitour to Heav'ns Majesty?
Shall I do this? Sin 'gainst my God?
Such Folly will provoke his Rod.
Dread, my soul, this Impiety,
Startle into an Extasie:
So may'st thou seem Thy Self to Flee,
Which is thy Greatest Enemy.
O! shall I sin 'gainst God, whose Arm
Protects me from Eternall Harm?
How! sin 'gainst God, whose gracious Eyes
Dispel my Clouds of Miseries?
Without whose Countenance's Light,
My Mirth is Anguish, Day is Night.
I will not do't: but, Lord, do Thou
Now make me Able not to Do.
18
Homo Lapsus.
She tooke of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave
also to her husband with her, and he did eat.
Gen. 3. 6.
The Universe at once th' Old Serpent Stung:
A World of Mischief in a womans Tongue.
She Tempts her Husband: and her Noisome Breath
Blasts Him, and His Posterity to Death.
And he did Eat (by th Counsell of a wife)
Not to Sustain, but to Destroy His Life.
But, ah! He Err'd not thus alone: He Fell
On Us so hard, He prest Us down to Hell:
Where we had stay'd, but that th' Jesus of Men
Went down Himselfe to fetch Us up agen.
His Mouth was made our Slaughter-House: and we,
Being in His Loins, had there our Destinie:
His Jawes Crush his own Happinesse; and Ours:
We Surfeit too at that which He Devours.
Oh! we are Sick to Death; can't Eased be
But by the Fruit, Born on a better Tree,
Which is our Living Food: yea, (strange! yet true)
'Tis both our Physick, and Physitian too.
19
[Thrice Curst be Wanton Pleasure, Hell's Fine Daughter]
I said of Laughter, It is mad, and of mirth, What doth it?
Eccl. 2. 2.
Thrice Curst be Wanton Pleasure, Hell's Fine Daughter,
That Tickles us into such Fits of Laughter!
What i'st on Earth can make us be so Jolly?
Like Fooles in grain, Laugh we at our own Folly?
Solace, by Laughter, breaks forth to Excess,
Out-goes its selfe, and turnes to Heaviness.
Laughter's but the last Blaze of Mirth: Full-Blown
Our Joyes straight Fade: from greatest come to none.
I'le Laugh no more for Mirth: but, if thou see
Me Laugh, vain World, be sure I Laugh at Thee.
FINIS.
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