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. 6.
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 | Divine poems |  |
292
Meditat. 6.
How pretious were those blessed dayes, wherein
Soules never startled at the name of Sin!
When as the voyce of death had never yet
A mouth to open, or to clame a debt!
When bashfull nakednesse forbare to call
For needlesse skins to cover shame withall;
When as the fruit-encreasing earth obay'd
The will of Man without the wound of spade,
Or helpe of Art! When he, that now remaines
A cursed Captive to infernall chaines,
Sate singing Anthems in the heavenly Quire,
Among his fellow Angels! When the Bryer,
The fruitlesse Bramble, the fast growing weed,
And downy Thistle had, as yet, no seed!
When labour was not knowne, and man did eate
The earths faire fruits, unearned with his sweate!
When wombs might have conceiv'd without the stain
Of sin, and brought forth children, without paine!
When Heaven could speak to mans unfrighted eare
Without the sense of Sin-begotten feare!
How golden were those dayes? How happy than
Was the condition and the State of man!
But Man obey'd not: And his proud desire
Cing'd her bold feathers in forbidden fire:
But Man transgrest; And now his freedome feeles
A sudden change: Sinne followes at his heeles:
The voice calls Adam: But poore Adam flees,
And trembling hides his face behind the trees:
The voice, whilere, that ravisht with delight
His joyfull eare, does now, alas, affright
His wounded conscience with amaze and wonder:
And what, of late, was musicke; now, is Thunder.
How have our sinnes abus'd us! and betrai'd
Our desperate soules! What strangenes have they made
Betwixt the great Creator, and the worke
Of his owne hands! How closely doe they lurke
To our distempred soules, and whisper feares
And doubts into our frighted hearts and eares!
Our eyes cannot behold that glorious face,
Which is all life, unruin'd in the place:
How is our nature chang'd? That very breath
Which gave us being, is become our death:
Great God! O, whither shall poore mortalls flie
For comfort? If they see thy face, they dye;
And if thy life-restoring count'nance give
Thy presence from us; then we cannot live:
How necessary is the ruine, than,
And misery of sin-beguiled Man!
On what foundation shall his hopes relie?
See wee thy face, or see it not, we dye:
Soules never startled at the name of Sin!
When as the voyce of death had never yet
A mouth to open, or to clame a debt!
When bashfull nakednesse forbare to call
For needlesse skins to cover shame withall;
When as the fruit-encreasing earth obay'd
The will of Man without the wound of spade,
Or helpe of Art! When he, that now remaines
A cursed Captive to infernall chaines,
Sate singing Anthems in the heavenly Quire,
Among his fellow Angels! When the Bryer,
The fruitlesse Bramble, the fast growing weed,
And downy Thistle had, as yet, no seed!
When labour was not knowne, and man did eate
The earths faire fruits, unearned with his sweate!
When wombs might have conceiv'd without the stain
Of sin, and brought forth children, without paine!
When Heaven could speak to mans unfrighted eare
Without the sense of Sin-begotten feare!
How golden were those dayes? How happy than
Was the condition and the State of man!
But Man obey'd not: And his proud desire
Cing'd her bold feathers in forbidden fire:
But Man transgrest; And now his freedome feeles
A sudden change: Sinne followes at his heeles:
The voice calls Adam: But poore Adam flees,
And trembling hides his face behind the trees:
The voice, whilere, that ravisht with delight
His joyfull eare, does now, alas, affright
293
And what, of late, was musicke; now, is Thunder.
How have our sinnes abus'd us! and betrai'd
Our desperate soules! What strangenes have they made
Betwixt the great Creator, and the worke
Of his owne hands! How closely doe they lurke
To our distempred soules, and whisper feares
And doubts into our frighted hearts and eares!
Our eyes cannot behold that glorious face,
Which is all life, unruin'd in the place:
How is our nature chang'd? That very breath
Which gave us being, is become our death:
Great God! O, whither shall poore mortalls flie
For comfort? If they see thy face, they dye;
And if thy life-restoring count'nance give
Thy presence from us; then we cannot live:
How necessary is the ruine, than,
And misery of sin-beguiled Man!
On what foundation shall his hopes relie?
See wee thy face, or see it not, we dye:
O let thy Word (great God) instruct the youth
And frailty of our faith; Thy Word is truth:
And what our eyes want power to perceive,
O, let our hearts admier, and beleeve.
And frailty of our faith; Thy Word is truth:
And what our eyes want power to perceive,
O, let our hearts admier, and beleeve.
| Divine poems | |