Fons Lachrymarum or a fountain of tears: From whence doth flow Englands Complaint, Jeremiahs Lamentations paraphras'd with Divine Meditations and an elegy Upon that Son of Valor Sir Charles Lucas. Written by John Quarles |
 |
|
Englands Petition to Heaven.
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| 15. |
| 16. |
| 17. |
| 18. |
| 19. |
| 20. |
| 21. |
| 22. |
| 23. |
| 24. |
| 25. |
| 26. |
| 27. |
| 28. |
| 29. |
| 30. |
| 31. |
| 32. |
| 33. |
| 34. |
| 35. |
| 36. |
| 37. |
| 38. |
| 39. |
| 40. |
| 41. |
| 42. |
| 43. |
| 44. |
| 45. |
| 46. |
| 47. |
| 48. |
| 49. |
| 50. |
| 51. |
| 52. |
| 53. |
| 54. |
| 55. |
| 56. |
| 57. |
| 58. |
| 59. |
| 60. |
| 61. |
| 62. |
| 63. |
| 64. |
|
 | Fons Lachrymarum |  |
Englands Petition to Heaven.
Ah
me! Ah me! can nothing but Ah me
Fly from my barren heart (dear God) to thee?
Ah me! and why will not that word import
Ten thousand pray'rs, that so I may resort
Unto thy ears by Troops? then would I run
Division on ah me, till time were done.
Fly from my barren heart (dear God) to thee?
Ah me! and why will not that word import
Ten thousand pray'rs, that so I may resort
Unto thy ears by Troops? then would I run
Division on ah me, till time were done.
Weak as I am, distracted, and defil'd,
I prostitute my self, not as a child
Of Sin, but as a Parent that has had
A numerous off-spring; Now my heart is sad,
Oh grant that my unfained grief may grow
Upon a real graft, that I may show
The fruit of perfect sorrow, and declare
How great my sins, how great thy mercies are:
Storm thou my sins, and force them to retreat,
And make my craving brest thy mercies seat:
Strike thou my flinty soul, that my desires
May, from a spark, encrease to flames; Thy fires
Must thaw my Icy Soul, or else I shall
Remain for ever a congealed Gall:
I am compos'd of steel, and cannot bow,
Except thy dear instructions teach me how:
Attract me by the loadstone of thy grace,
That through thy mercies I may see thy face;
And having view'd it, I may never more
Return to what I Idoliz'd before;
I have a Lydia's heart, in mercy please
To open it, thy mercies are the keyes:
Ravish my Soul, that I may fall in love
With thee, my God, with thee; that art a Dove
Of innocency: Let my raptures mount
As high as Heav'n, that there I may recount
Thy never failing love, and sing thy praise
VVith Davids heart, until the last of days:
Tune thou my stupid soul, and then it shall
Be truly sweet, and heav'nly musical:
Convert my swords to sighs, that I may fight
With my own crimes, and hate to take delight
To lacerate my self; Oh tye the hands
Of fury! make me stoop to thy commands.
Convert my tydes of blood to streams of tears;
My lyes to truths, my horrid oaths to pray'rs:
Make me to apprehend how thou hast wept
Of late for me, whilest I securely slept.
Let not thy tears destroy me, but let me
Dissolve to tears (dear God) and weep to thee:
Is it the heat of my offences makes
The Heav'ns to melt, (O Heav'n some pity take!)
Or has thy great discretion thought it good
To send these showres to wash away that blood
Which I have lost; I know thy purer eyes
Cannot endure a bloody sacrifice.
Oh stop thy bottle, pity my sad times,
And grant to me more tears or fewer crimes!
Be pleas'd to view me with a gracious eye,
And let the lustre of thy Majesty
Reflect upon me, let thy glorious light
Create a day of mercy, that the night
Of sin may be expell'd; Oh hear my pray'rs
Usher'd unto thee with a tyde of tears!
To me, Oh let thy mercies be exprest,
And fill the concave of a sinful brest;
Sinful, ah sinful, more then I am able
With language to express, intolerable:
Behold my festred soul, whose wounds proceed
From sin, and being drest with sin, they bleed;
They bleed (dear Heav'n) they bleed, oh what a flood
A flood they make! & I am bath'd in blood:
Oh stop this current that does still begin,
Or I shall'd own a Kingdom in my sin!
Oh look upon me, and in mercy please
To send me salve to palliate my disease!
Begin to hear (O GOD) begin to send,
That so my sorrows may begin to end.
I prostitute my self, not as a child
Of Sin, but as a Parent that has had
A numerous off-spring; Now my heart is sad,
Oh grant that my unfained grief may grow
Upon a real graft, that I may show
The fruit of perfect sorrow, and declare
How great my sins, how great thy mercies are:
Storm thou my sins, and force them to retreat,
And make my craving brest thy mercies seat:
27
May, from a spark, encrease to flames; Thy fires
Must thaw my Icy Soul, or else I shall
Remain for ever a congealed Gall:
I am compos'd of steel, and cannot bow,
Except thy dear instructions teach me how:
Attract me by the loadstone of thy grace,
That through thy mercies I may see thy face;
And having view'd it, I may never more
Return to what I Idoliz'd before;
I have a Lydia's heart, in mercy please
To open it, thy mercies are the keyes:
Ravish my Soul, that I may fall in love
With thee, my God, with thee; that art a Dove
Of innocency: Let my raptures mount
As high as Heav'n, that there I may recount
Thy never failing love, and sing thy praise
VVith Davids heart, until the last of days:
Tune thou my stupid soul, and then it shall
Be truly sweet, and heav'nly musical:
Convert my swords to sighs, that I may fight
With my own crimes, and hate to take delight
To lacerate my self; Oh tye the hands
Of fury! make me stoop to thy commands.
Convert my tydes of blood to streams of tears;
My lyes to truths, my horrid oaths to pray'rs:
Make me to apprehend how thou hast wept
Of late for me, whilest I securely slept.
Let not thy tears destroy me, but let me
Dissolve to tears (dear God) and weep to thee:
28
The Heav'ns to melt, (O Heav'n some pity take!)
Or has thy great discretion thought it good
To send these showres to wash away that blood
Which I have lost; I know thy purer eyes
Cannot endure a bloody sacrifice.
Oh stop thy bottle, pity my sad times,
And grant to me more tears or fewer crimes!
Be pleas'd to view me with a gracious eye,
And let the lustre of thy Majesty
Reflect upon me, let thy glorious light
Create a day of mercy, that the night
Of sin may be expell'd; Oh hear my pray'rs
Usher'd unto thee with a tyde of tears!
To me, Oh let thy mercies be exprest,
And fill the concave of a sinful brest;
Sinful, ah sinful, more then I am able
With language to express, intolerable:
Behold my festred soul, whose wounds proceed
From sin, and being drest with sin, they bleed;
They bleed (dear Heav'n) they bleed, oh what a flood
A flood they make! & I am bath'd in blood:
Oh stop this current that does still begin,
Or I shall'd own a Kingdom in my sin!
Oh look upon me, and in mercy please
To send me salve to palliate my disease!
Begin to hear (O GOD) begin to send,
That so my sorrows may begin to end.
| Fons Lachrymarum | |