Divine poems Containing The History of Ionah. Ester. Iob. Sampson. Sions Sonets. Elegies. Written and newly augmented, by Fra: Quarles |
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 | Divine poems |  |
Bvt this displeasing was in Ionah's eyes,
His heart grew hot, his blood began to rise,
His eyes did sparkle, and his teeth strucke fire,
His veines did boyle, his heart was full ire:
At last brake forth into a strange request.
These words he pray'd, and mumbl'd out the rest;
His heart grew hot, his blood began to rise,
His eyes did sparkle, and his teeth strucke fire,
His veines did boyle, his heart was full ire:
At last brake forth into a strange request.
These words he pray'd, and mumbl'd out the rest;
Was not, O was not this my thought (O Lord)
Before J fled? Nay was not this my word,
The very word, my jealous language vented,
When this mis-hap might well have beene prevented?
Was there, O was there not a just suspect,
My preaching would procure this effect?
For Lord, I knew of old, thy tender love;
I knew the pow'r, thou gav'st my tongue, would move
Their Adamantine hearts; I knew 'twould thaw
Their frozen spirits and breed relenting awe;
I knew (great God) upon their true repentance,
That thou determin'dst to reverse thy sentence;
For well I knew, thou wert a gracious God,
Of long forbearance, slow to use the Rod;
I knew, the power of thy Mercies bent
The strength of all thy other workes outwent;
I knew thy tender kindnesse, and how loath
Thou wert to punish, and how slow to wrath;
Turning thy Judgements, and thy plagues preventing,
Thy minde reversing, and of ev'll repenting:
Therefore (O therefore) upon this perswasion,
I fled to Tarshish, there to make evasion,
To save thy credit (Lord) to save mine owne:
For when this blast of zeale is over-blowne,
And sackcloth left, and they surcease to mourne,
When they (like dogs) shall to their vomit turne,
They'll vilipend thy Sacred Word, and scoffe it,
Saying, was that a God, or this a Prophet?
They'll scorne thy judgements, and thy threats despise,
And call thy Prophets, Messengers of lyes.
Before J fled? Nay was not this my word,
The very word, my jealous language vented,
When this mis-hap might well have beene prevented?
Was there, O was there not a just suspect,
My preaching would procure this effect?
For Lord, I knew of old, thy tender love;
I knew the pow'r, thou gav'st my tongue, would move
Their Adamantine hearts; I knew 'twould thaw
Their frozen spirits and breed relenting awe;
I knew (great God) upon their true repentance,
That thou determin'dst to reverse thy sentence;
For well I knew, thou wert a gracious God,
Of long forbearance, slow to use the Rod;
I knew, the power of thy Mercies bent
The strength of all thy other workes outwent;
I knew thy tender kindnesse, and how loath
Thou wert to punish, and how slow to wrath;
47
Thy minde reversing, and of ev'll repenting:
Therefore (O therefore) upon this perswasion,
I fled to Tarshish, there to make evasion,
To save thy credit (Lord) to save mine owne:
For when this blast of zeale is over-blowne,
And sackcloth left, and they surcease to mourne,
When they (like dogs) shall to their vomit turne,
They'll vilipend thy Sacred Word, and scoffe it,
Saying, was that a God, or this a Prophet?
They'll scorne thy judgements, and thy threats despise,
And call thy Prophets, Messengers of lyes.
Now therefore (Lord) bow downe attentive eare,
(For ah my burthen's more than flish can beare)
Make speed (O Lord) and banish all delayes,
T'extinguish now the Taper of my dayes:
Let not the minutes of my time extend,
But let my wretched houres finde an end;
Let not my fainting spirits longer stay
Jn thu fraile mansion of distempered clay:
The threds but weake, my life depends upon,
O, cut that thred, and let my life be done;
My brest stands faire, strike then, and strike againe,
For nought but dying can asswage my paine:
O may I rather dye, than live in shame;
Better it is to leave, and yeeld the game,
Than toyle for what, at length, must needs be lost,
O, kill me, for my heart is sore imbost:
This latter boone unto thy servant give;
For better 'tis for me, to dye than live.
(For ah my burthen's more than flish can beare)
Make speed (O Lord) and banish all delayes,
T'extinguish now the Taper of my dayes:
Let not the minutes of my time extend,
But let my wretched houres finde an end;
Let not my fainting spirits longer stay
Jn thu fraile mansion of distempered clay:
The threds but weake, my life depends upon,
O, cut that thred, and let my life be done;
My brest stands faire, strike then, and strike againe,
For nought but dying can asswage my paine:
O may I rather dye, than live in shame;
Better it is to leave, and yeeld the game,
Than toyle for what, at length, must needs be lost,
O, kill me, for my heart is sore imbost:
This latter boone unto thy servant give;
For better 'tis for me, to dye than live.
So wretched Ionah: But Iehovah thus;
What boot's it so to storme outragious:
Becomes it thus my servants heart to swell:
Can anger helpe thee, Ionah? dost thou well?
What boot's it so to storme outragious:
Becomes it thus my servants heart to swell:
Can anger helpe thee, Ionah? dost thou well?
| Divine poems | |