XII. Meditations upon the Candle.
Man's like a Candle in a Candlestick,
Made up of Tallow, and a little Wick;
And as the Candle is when 'tis not lighted,
So is he who is in his sins benighted.
Nor can a man his Soul with Grace inspire,
More then can Candles set themselves on fire.
Candles receive their light from what they are not;
Men Grace from him, for whom at first they care not,
We manage Candles when they take the fire;
God men, when he with Grace doth them inspire.
And biggest Candles give the better light,
As Grace on biggest Sinners shines most bright.
The Candle shines to make another see,
A Saint unto his Neighbour light should be.
The blinking Candle we do much despise,
Saints dim of light are high in no mans eyes.
Again, though it may seem to some a Riddle,
We use to light our Candle at the middle;
True, light doth at the Candles end appear,
And Grace the heart first reaches by the Ear.
But 'tis the Wick the fire doth kindle on,
As 'tis the heart that Grace first works upon.
Thus both doth fasten upon what's the main,
And so their Life and Vigour do maintain.
The Tallow makes the Wick yield to the fire;
And sinful Flesh doth make the Soul desire,
That Grace may kindle on it, in it burn;
So Evil makes the Soul from Evil turn.
But Candles in the wind are apt to flare;
And Christ'ans in a Tempest to despair.
The flame also with Smoak attended is;
And in our holy lives there's much amiss.
Sometimes a Thief will candle-light annoy;
And lusts do seek our Graces to destroy.
What brackish is will make a Candle sputter;
T'wixt sin and Grace there's oft a heavy clutter.
Sometimes the light burns dim, 'cause of the snuff,
Sometimes it is blown quite out with a puff;
But Watchfulness preventeth both these evils,
Keeps Candles light and Grace in spight of Devils.
Nor let not snuffs nor puffs make us to doubt;
Our Candles may be lighted, though pufft out.
The Candle in the night doth all excel.
Nor Sun, nor Moon, nor Stars, then shine so well.
So is the Christian in our Hemisphere,
Whose light shews others how their course to steer.
When Candles are put out, all's in confusion;
Where Christians are not, Devils make Intrusion.
Then happy are they who such Candles have,
All others dwell in darkness and the Grave.
But Candles that do blink within the Socket,
And Saints whose heads are always in their pocket,
Are much alike; such Candles make us fumble,
And at such Saints, good men and bad do stumble.
Good Candles do'nt offend, except sore eyes,
Nor hurt unless it be the silly Flies:
Thus none like burning Candles in the night,
Nor ought to holy living for delight.
But let us draw towards the Candles end,
The fire, you see, doth Wick and Tallow spend.
As Grace mans life, until his Glass is run,
And so the Candle and the Man is done.
The man now lays him down upon his Bed;
The Wick yields up its fire; and so is dead.
The Candle now extinct is, but the man,
By Grace mounts up to Glory, there to stand.
