 | Poesis Rediviva |  |
On Doctor Hammond.
Seraphick Doctor, bright Evangelist,Great light dispelling errors darker mist:
Thou lend'st no phrantique zeal; phanatick fire
To blaze Contention, kindle loose desire;
No fiery Luthers, no rash Calvins zeal,
Who scarce love truths Antagonists reveal;
The knots of ridling destiny dost undo,
To clear the scriptures, and Gods justice too:
Thou mak'st the way so plain that fools can't erre:
Others their own, thou 'rt truths interpreter.
Thou to the Revelation lend'st a Key,
Where every word is thought a mystery.
Phanatique Cotton, Brightman, Napier, Mede,
To understand themselves a Comment need.
Thou clear'st the Roman Sea, yet wound'st her more
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He who some truths seeks, to advance by lies,
Against all truth, bold error fortifies:
Could Hippo's Bishop now survive, he'de be
Retracting still, not to detract from thee,
The learn'd St. Bernard would turn pupil too:
'Cause Bernard sees not all he'de learn of you,
Great Cyprians Master might thy scholer be;
And think himself lesse paraclete then thee.
Thou 'twixt a Stephen and Cyprian might'st decide.
Who texts canst open, yet not hearts divide;
Ore teeming zeal a Heresie to refute,
Hath warp'd a passionate Father to't.
Let others prize truths armor for the rust,
Love for the serpents sake, not truths but dust;
While streams of life phanatick phrantique mud
Thou clear'st, and mak'st truths face there understood;
Thou hast no Helena whom thou need'st to fence,
Which to secure dost Castrate scripture sense.
Fools with the two edg'd sword themselves do wound:
On truths face scars make, which no Age mak'st sound,
But our seraphick Doctor clears the word,
Secures the tree of life with th' flaming sword;
Enthusiasticks boast this Ages light;
Had they but Hammon known, who could deny't.
The curse of thorns, sure spinous questions be
The Cherub knowledge, that must guard lifes tree.
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