Schola Cordis or the Heart of it Selfe, gone away from God ::

Mine heart is of it selfe a marble ice,
Both cold, and hard: but thou canst in a trice
Melt it like waxe, great God, if from above
Thou kindle in it once thy fire of love.

Ode. 16.

1

Nay, blessed Founder, leave me not:
If out of all this grot
There can but any gold be got,
The time thou dost bestow, the cost,
And paines will not be lost:
The bargaine is but hard at most.
And such are all those thou dost make with me:
Thou know'st thou canst not but a loser be.

2

When the Sun shines with glitt'ring beames,
His cold dispelling gleames
Turne snow, and ice to wat'ry streames.
The waxe, as soone as it hath smelt
The warmth of fire, and felt
The glowing heat thereof, will melt.

Yea pearles with vinegar dissolve we may,
And adamants in bloud of goats, they say.

3

If nature can doe this, much more,
Lord, may thy grace restore
Mine heart to what it was before.
There's the same matter in it still,
Though new inform'd with ill,
Yet can it not resist thy will.
Thy pow'r, that fram'd it at the first, as oft
As thou wilt have it, Lord, can make it soft.

4

Thou art the Sun of righteousnesse:
And though I must confesse
Mine heart's growne hard in wickednesse,
Yet thy resplendent rayes of light,
When once they come in sight,
Will quickly thawe what froze by night.
Lord, in thine healing wings a pow'r doth dwell
Able to melt the hardest heart in hell.

5

Although mine heart in hardnesse passe
Both iron, steel, and brasse,
Yea th' hardest thing that ever was,
Yet, if thy fire thy Spirit accord,
And working with thy word
A blessing unto it afford,
It will grow liquid, and not drop alone,
But melt it self away before thy throne.

6

Yea, though my flinty heart be such,
That the Sun cannot touch,
Nor fire sometimes affect it much,
Yet thy warme reeking self shed blood,

O Lamb of God, 's so good
It cannot alwayes be withstood.
That Aqua-regia of thy love prevailes,
Ev'n where thy powers Aqua-fortis failes.

7

Then leave me not so soon, dear Lord,
Though I neglect thy Word,
And what thy power doth afford,
Yet try thy mercy, and thy love,
The force thereof may move,
When all things else successesse prove.
Soakt in thy bloud mine heart will soone surrender
Its native hardnesse, and grow soft, and tender.

University of Virginia Library

The softening of the Heart.

Epigr. 16.

Ode. 16.

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