Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Manoah's wonder turnes to zeale;
his zeale, to pray'r: His pray'rs obtaine:
The Angel that did late reveale
the joyfull newes, returnes againe.

Now when th'amazed woman had commended
Her tongue to silence, and her tale was ended;
Perplexed Manoah, ravisht at the newes,
Within himselfe, he thus began to muse;
Strange is the message! And as strangely done!
Shall Manoah's loynes be fruitfull? Shall a Sonne
Blesse his last dayes? Or shall an Issue come
From the chill closet of a barren wombe?
Shall Manoah's wife give suck? and now, at last
Finde pleasure, when her prime of youth is past?
Shall her cold wombe be now, in age, restor'd?
And was't a man of God, that brought the word?
Or was't some false delusion, that possest
The weaknesse of a lonely womans brest?
Or was't an Angel, sent from heaven, to show
What Heaven hath will, as well as pow'r, to doe.
Till then thou must refraine to drinke, or eate,
Wines, and strong drink, and Law-forbidden meate?
Evill Angls rather would instruct to riot,
They use not to prescribe so strict a Dyet;
No, no, I make no further question of it,
'Twas some good Angel, or some holy Prophet.

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Thus, having mus'd a while, he bow'd his face
Vpon the ground; and (prostrate in the place,
Where first he heard the welcome tydings) pray'd,
(His wonder now transform'd to zeale) and said:

Great God; that hast ingag'd thy selfe, by vow,
When e're thy little Israel begs, to bow
Thy gracious eare; O harken to the least
Of Israel's sonnes, and grant me my request:
By thee: J live, and breathe: Thou did'st become
My gracious God, both in, and from the wombe;
Thy precious favours I have still possest,
And have depended on thee, from the Brest:
My simple Infancy hath bin protected
By thee, my Child-hood taught, my youth corrected,
And sweetly chastned with thy gentle Rod;
J was no sooner, but thou wert my God:
All times declare thee good; this very houre
Can testifie the greatnesse of thy power,
And promptnesse of thy Mercy, which hast sent
This blessed Angel to us, to augment
The Catalogue of thy favours, and restore
Thy servants wombe, whose hopes had even given ore
T'expect an Issue: What thou hast begun,
Prosper, and perfect, till the worke be done:
Let not my Lord be angry, if I crave
Aboone, too great for me to beg, or have:
Let that blest Angel, that thou sent'st, of late,
Reblesse us with his presence, and relate
Thy will at large, and what must then be done,
When time shal bring to light this promis'd sonne.

About that time, when the declining Lampe
Trebles each shadow; when the evening dampe
Begins to moisten, and refresh the land,
The Wife of Manoah (under whose command

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The weaned Lambes did feed) being lowly seated
Vpon a Shrubbe (where often she repeated
That pleasing newes, the subject of her thought)
Appear'd the Angell: he, that lately brought
Those blessed tidings to her: up she rose;
Her second feare had warrant to dispose
Her nimble foot-steps to unwonted haste;
She runnes with speed, (she cannot runne too fast)
At length, she findes her husband; In her eyes,
Were Ioy and Feare; whilst her lost breath denies
Her speech to him, her trembling hands make signs;
She puffes and pants; her breathlesse tongue disjoynes
Her broken words: Behold, behold, (said she)
The man of God, (if man of God he be)
Appear'd againe: These very eyes beheld
The man of God: I left him in our field.

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Meditat. 3.

Heav'n is Gods Magazen; wherein, he hath
Stor'd up his Vials both of love, and wrath;
Iustice and Mercy, waite upon his Throne;
Favours and Thunderbolts attend upon
His sacred Will and Pleasure; Life and Death
Doe both receive their influence from his breath;
Iudgements attend his left; at his right hand
Blessings and everlasting Pleasures stand:
Heav'n is the Magazen; wherein, he puts
Both good and evill; Pray'r is the key, that shuts
And opens this great Treasure; Tis a key,
Whose wards are Faith, and Hope, and Charity.
Wouldst thou prevent a judgement, due to sinne?
Turne but the key, and thou maist locke it in:
Or wouldst thou have a Blessing fall upon thee?
Open the doore, and it will shower on thee.
Can Heav'n be false? or can th'Almighties tongue,
That is all very truth, doe truth that wrong,
Not to performe a vow? His lips have sworne,
Sworne by himselfe, that if a Sinner turne
To him, by pray'r; his pray'r shall not be lost
For want of eare; nor his desier, crost:
How is it then we often aske and have not:
We aske, and often misse, because we crave not
The things we should: his wisdome can foresee
Those blessings, better, that we want, than we.
Hast thou not heard a peevish Infant baule
To gaine possession of a knife? And shall

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Th'indulgent nurse bee counted wisely kinde,
If she be mov'd to please his childish minde?
Is it not greater wisdome, to deny
The sharp-edg'd knife, and to present his eye
With a fine harmlesse Puppit? We require
Things, oft, unfit; and our too fond desire
Fastens on goods, that are but glorious ills,
Whilst Heav'ns high wisdome contradicts our wils,
With more advantage, for we oft receive
Things that are farre more fit, for us, to have:
Experience tels; we seeke, and cannot finde:
We seeke, and often want, because we binde
The Giver to our times: He knows we want
Patience; and, therefore he suspends his grant,
T'encrease our faith, that so we may depend
Vpon his hand; he loves to heare us spend
Our childish mouthes: Things easily obtain'd,
Are lowly priz'd; but what our prayers have gain'd
By teares, and groanes, that cannot be exprest,
Are farre more deare, and sweeter, when possest.

Great God! whose power hath so oft prevail'd
Against the strength of Princes, and hast quail'd
Their prouder stomaks; with thy breath, discrown'd
Their heads, & thrown their Scepters to the groūd,
Striking their swelling hearts with cold despaire,
How art thou conquer'd and o'recome by Pray'r!
Infuse that Spirit, Great God, into my heart,
And I will have a blessing ere we part.