Virtus Rediviva Or a Panegyricke On the late King Charls the I. Second Monarch of Great Britain. By Tho. Forde |
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For Christmass-day
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 | Virtus Rediviva |  |
5
For Christmass-day
Lend me a pen pull'd from an Angels wing,
That I the news of this blest day may sing;
Or reach a feather of that holy Dove,
Wherewith to shew this miracle of love.
Darkness is turn'd to light, mid-night to morn;
Who can be silent when the Word is born!
Hark how the Angels sing, they bow, and more
Than Persians they this rising Sun adore.
The Court's remov'd, and the attendants flie
To wait upon this humane Deitie.
He, who was cloath'd with glorious Majesty,
Is veil'd with flesh, the better to comply
With mortal eyes; dis-robes himself of light,
Lays by his beams, stoops to our weaker sight:
And with his other favours this doth give,
That man may see the face of God, and live.
The Son of God becomes the son of man,
That men may be the sons of God again!
Here God is man, and man is God, he takes
Our nature to him, not his own forsakes.
A mortal God, Immortal man in one,
Thus heaven and earth are in conjunction.
See how the shepherds flock, and Kings (as proud
To be his subjects) to his presence croud.
Haste, haste my soul, there's danger in delay,
Since thou hast nothing else to offer lay
Thy self down at his feet; pray him to make
His lodging in thee, as he deign'd to take
Thy nature on himself.—But stay fond soul,
He's puritie it self, thou art too foul
To lodge so bright a guest, in whose pure eyes,
Heavens and Angels are deformities.
Yet see, he smiles, and beckens thee to come,
As if he meant to take thee for his home,
To wash thee with his blood; do not repine,
Thy sins are His, His righteousness is thine.
Hark, he invites himself to be thy guest,
Whose presence is thy physick and thy feast.
Behold he bowes the heavens, and comes down,
Takes up thy Cross, that thou mayst wear his Crown.
And in exchange assumes thy povertie,
Pays all thy debts, sets thee at libertie.
He sues to serve thee, and expects no more,
Thou shouldst give him, than he gave thee before.
His work is all his wages, and his will
Is all his hire; be thou obedient still:
Love him as he loves thee, and 'cause th' art poor,
Give him thy self, thy all, He asks no more.
That I the news of this blest day may sing;
Or reach a feather of that holy Dove,
Wherewith to shew this miracle of love.
Darkness is turn'd to light, mid-night to morn;
Who can be silent when the Word is born!
Hark how the Angels sing, they bow, and more
Than Persians they this rising Sun adore.
The Court's remov'd, and the attendants flie
To wait upon this humane Deitie.
He, who was cloath'd with glorious Majesty,
Is veil'd with flesh, the better to comply
With mortal eyes; dis-robes himself of light,
Lays by his beams, stoops to our weaker sight:
And with his other favours this doth give,
That man may see the face of God, and live.
The Son of God becomes the son of man,
That men may be the sons of God again!
Here God is man, and man is God, he takes
Our nature to him, not his own forsakes.
A mortal God, Immortal man in one,
Thus heaven and earth are in conjunction.
See how the shepherds flock, and Kings (as proud
To be his subjects) to his presence croud.
Haste, haste my soul, there's danger in delay,
Since thou hast nothing else to offer lay
Thy self down at his feet; pray him to make
His lodging in thee, as he deign'd to take
Thy nature on himself.—But stay fond soul,
He's puritie it self, thou art too foul
6
Heavens and Angels are deformities.
Yet see, he smiles, and beckens thee to come,
As if he meant to take thee for his home,
To wash thee with his blood; do not repine,
Thy sins are His, His righteousness is thine.
Hark, he invites himself to be thy guest,
Whose presence is thy physick and thy feast.
Behold he bowes the heavens, and comes down,
Takes up thy Cross, that thou mayst wear his Crown.
And in exchange assumes thy povertie,
Pays all thy debts, sets thee at libertie.
He sues to serve thee, and expects no more,
Thou shouldst give him, than he gave thee before.
His work is all his wages, and his will
Is all his hire; be thou obedient still:
Love him as he loves thee, and 'cause th' art poor,
Give him thy self, thy all, He asks no more.
Lord 'tis not fitting thou shouldst come
Into so base a room
First, with thy spirit cleanse my heart,
And by thy powerful art,
Thine and my enemies expel,
Make an Heaven of my Hell,
Then for ever in me dwell.
But, Lord, if thou vouchsafe to dwell
Within so dark a cell,
Take thou charge of the familie,
And let me dwell with thee.
Thine is the cost, be thine the care,
That Satan have no share,
For thou wilt find no room to spare.
Into so base a room
First, with thy spirit cleanse my heart,
And by thy powerful art,
Thine and my enemies expel,
Make an Heaven of my Hell,
Then for ever in me dwell.
But, Lord, if thou vouchsafe to dwell
Within so dark a cell,
Take thou charge of the familie,
And let me dwell with thee.
Thine is the cost, be thine the care,
That Satan have no share,
For thou wilt find no room to spare.
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