Divine poems Containing The History of Ionah. Ester. Iob. Sampson. Sions Sonets. Elegies. Written and newly augmented, by Fra: Quarles |
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Meditat. 9.
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 | Divine poems |  |
Meditat. 9.
Who hopes t'attain the sweet Elysian Layes,
To reap the harvest of his wel-spent daies,
Must passe the joy lesse streames of Acaron,
The scorching waves of burning Phlegeton,
And sable billowes of the Stygian Lake:
Thus sweet with sowre, each mortall must partake.
What joyfull Harvester did ere obtaine
The sweet fruition of his hopefull gaine,
Vntill his hardy labours first had past
The Summers heat, and stormy Winters blast?
A sable night returnes a shining morrow;
And dayes of joy ensue sad nights of sorrow:
The way to blisse lyes not on beds of Downe,
And he that had no Crosse, deserves no Crowne:
There's but one Heav'n, one place of perfect ease,
In man it lies, to take it where he please,
Above, or here below; And few men doe
Injoy the one; and tast the other too;
Sweating, and constant labour wins the Goale
Of Rest; Afflictions clarifie the soule,
And like hard Masters, give more hard directions,
Tut'ring the nonage of uncurb'd affections:
Wisedome (the Antidote of sad despayre)
Makes sharpe Afflictions seeme not as they are,
Through patient sufferance, and doth apprehend,
Not as they seeming are, but as they end:
To beare Affliction with a bended brow,
Or stubborne heart, is but to disallow
The speedy meanes to health; salve heales no sore,
If mis-apply'd, but makes the griefe the more:
Who sends Affliction, sends an end; and He
Best knows what's best for him, what's best for me:
'Tis not for me to carve me where I like;
Him pleases when he lift to stroke or strike:
Ile neither wish, nor yet avoid Tentation,
But still expect it, and make preparation:
If he thinke best, my Faith shall not be tryde,
(Lord) keep me spotless from presumptuous pride:
If otherwise; with tryall, give me care,
By thankfull patience, to prevent Despaire;
Fit me to beare what e're thou shalt assigne;
I kisse the Rod, because the Rod is thine.
To reap the harvest of his wel-spent daies,
Must passe the joy lesse streames of Acaron,
The scorching waves of burning Phlegeton,
And sable billowes of the Stygian Lake:
Thus sweet with sowre, each mortall must partake.
What joyfull Harvester did ere obtaine
The sweet fruition of his hopefull gaine,
Vntill his hardy labours first had past
The Summers heat, and stormy Winters blast?
A sable night returnes a shining morrow;
And dayes of joy ensue sad nights of sorrow:
The way to blisse lyes not on beds of Downe,
And he that had no Crosse, deserves no Crowne:
There's but one Heav'n, one place of perfect ease,
In man it lies, to take it where he please,
Above, or here below; And few men doe
Injoy the one; and tast the other too;
Sweating, and constant labour wins the Goale
Of Rest; Afflictions clarifie the soule,
132
Tut'ring the nonage of uncurb'd affections:
Wisedome (the Antidote of sad despayre)
Makes sharpe Afflictions seeme not as they are,
Through patient sufferance, and doth apprehend,
Not as they seeming are, but as they end:
To beare Affliction with a bended brow,
Or stubborne heart, is but to disallow
The speedy meanes to health; salve heales no sore,
If mis-apply'd, but makes the griefe the more:
Who sends Affliction, sends an end; and He
Best knows what's best for him, what's best for me:
'Tis not for me to carve me where I like;
Him pleases when he lift to stroke or strike:
Ile neither wish, nor yet avoid Tentation,
But still expect it, and make preparation:
If he thinke best, my Faith shall not be tryde,
(Lord) keep me spotless from presumptuous pride:
If otherwise; with tryall, give me care,
By thankfull patience, to prevent Despaire;
Fit me to beare what e're thou shalt assigne;
I kisse the Rod, because the Rod is thine.
How-ere, let me not boast, nor yet repine,
With tryall, or without (Lord) make me thine.
With tryall, or without (Lord) make me thine.
| Divine poems | |