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. 2.
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 | Divine poems |  |
Meditat. 2.
And dost thou not admier? Can such things
Obtain lesse priviledge, thā a Tale, that brings
The audience wonder, enter mixt with pleasure?
Is't a small thing, that Angels can finde leisure
To leave their blessed seates; where face to face,
They see their God, and quit that heavenly place,
The least conception of whose joy, and mirth,
Transcends th'united pleasures of the earth?
Must Angels leave their Thrones of glory thus,
To watch our foot-steps, and attend on us?
How good a God have we! whose eyes can winke,
For feare they should discover the base finke
Of our loath'd sinnes; How doth he stop his eare,
Lest, when they call for Iustice, he should heare?
How often, Ah, how often doth He send
His willing Angels, hourely to attend
Our steps; and, with his bounty, to supply
Our helplesse wants, at our false-hearted cry?
The bounteous Ocean, with a liberall hand,
Transports her laden treasure, to the land;
Inriches every Port, and makes each towne
Proud with that wealth, which now she cals her owne;
And what returne they for so great a gaine,
But sinckes and noysome Gutters, backe againe?
Even so (great God) thou sendst thy blessings in,
And we returne thee, Dunghils of our Sinne:
How are thy Angels hacknei'd up and downe
To visit man? How poorely doe we crowne
Their blessed labours? They with Ioy, dismount,
Laden with blessings, but returne th'account
Of Filth and Trash: They bring th'unvalued prize
Of Grace and promis'd Glory, while our eyes
Disdaine these heavenly Factours, and refuse
Their proferd wares; affecting, more, to chuse
A graine of pleasure than a Iemme of glory;
We finde no treasure, but in Transitory
And earth-bred Toies, while things immortal stand
Like Garments, to be sold at second hand:
Great God; Thou know'st, we are but flesh & blood;
Alas! we can interpret nothing, good,
But what is evill, deceitfull are our Ioyes;
We are but children, and we whine for Toyes:
Of things unknowne there can be no desire;
Quicken our hearts with the celestiall fire
Of thy discerning Spirit, and we shall know
Both what is good, and good desier too:
Obtain lesse priviledge, thā a Tale, that brings
The audience wonder, enter mixt with pleasure?
Is't a small thing, that Angels can finde leisure
To leave their blessed seates; where face to face,
They see their God, and quit that heavenly place,
The least conception of whose joy, and mirth,
Transcends th'united pleasures of the earth?
Must Angels leave their Thrones of glory thus,
To watch our foot-steps, and attend on us?
How good a God have we! whose eyes can winke,
For feare they should discover the base finke
Of our loath'd sinnes; How doth he stop his eare,
Lest, when they call for Iustice, he should heare?
How often, Ah, how often doth He send
His willing Angels, hourely to attend
Our steps; and, with his bounty, to supply
Our helplesse wants, at our false-hearted cry?
275
Transports her laden treasure, to the land;
Inriches every Port, and makes each towne
Proud with that wealth, which now she cals her owne;
And what returne they for so great a gaine,
But sinckes and noysome Gutters, backe againe?
Even so (great God) thou sendst thy blessings in,
And we returne thee, Dunghils of our Sinne:
How are thy Angels hacknei'd up and downe
To visit man? How poorely doe we crowne
Their blessed labours? They with Ioy, dismount,
Laden with blessings, but returne th'account
Of Filth and Trash: They bring th'unvalued prize
Of Grace and promis'd Glory, while our eyes
Disdaine these heavenly Factours, and refuse
Their proferd wares; affecting, more, to chuse
A graine of pleasure than a Iemme of glory;
We finde no treasure, but in Transitory
And earth-bred Toies, while things immortal stand
Like Garments, to be sold at second hand:
Great God; Thou know'st, we are but flesh & blood;
Alas! we can interpret nothing, good,
But what is evill, deceitfull are our Ioyes;
We are but children, and we whine for Toyes:
Of things unknowne there can be no desire;
Quicken our hearts with the celestiall fire
Of thy discerning Spirit, and we shall know
Both what is good, and good desier too:
Vouchsafe to let thy blessed Angell come,
And bring the tidings, that the barren Wombe
Of our affections is inlarg'd; O when
That welcome newes shall be revealed, then,
Our soules shall soone conceive, & bring thee forth
The firstlings of a new, and holy birth.
And bring the tidings, that the barren Wombe
Of our affections is inlarg'd; O when
That welcome newes shall be revealed, then,
Our soules shall soone conceive, & bring thee forth
The firstlings of a new, and holy birth.
| Divine poems | |