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Poemata sacra

Latinae & Anglicae scripta [by John Saltmarsh]
Saltmarsh, John
  
[epigraph]

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POEMS UPON SOME OF the holy raptures of DAVID.
  
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL SIR THO. METHAM MY HONOURED FRIEND, and his vertuous Lady, the Lady METHAM.
 I. 
Meditation I. By the rivers of Babylon there we sat down, yea we wept, Psal. 137.
 II. 
Meditat. II. We hanged our harps upon the willows, Psal. 137.
 III. 
Meditat. III. I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping, Psal. 102.
 IV. 
Meditat. IV. My dayes are like a shadow that declineth, Psal. 102.
 V. 
Meditat. V. Wilt thou shew wonders on the dead? Psal. 88.
 VI. 
Meditat. VI. The Emblemes of the resurrection.
 VII. 
Meditat. VII. THE RESURRECTION.
 VIII. 
Meditat. VIII. Create in me a clean heart, Psal. 51.
 IX. 
Meditat. IX. He healeth the broken hearted, and bindeth up their wounds, Psal. 146.
 X. 
Meditat. X. The Lord is nigh to all those that call upon him, Psal. 145.
 XI. 
Meditat. XI. The Lord looseth the prisoners, Psal. 156.
  
A Meditation upon the Song of Songs,
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[section]
  
TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFULL George Butler Esquire, one of his Majesties Councell established in the North.
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THE PICTURE OF GOD IN MAN,
 I. 
Chap. I. Why called the Picture.
 II. 
Chap. II.
 III. 
Chap. III. A representation of God in man.
 IV. 
Chap. IV. The Image of God in man.
 V. 
Chap. V. Gods Picture not in the bodie of man.
 VI. 
Chap. VI. Gods Picture in the soul, and what it is.
  
A meditation upon Eternitie.
  
Upon the rest on the Lords day.

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Meditat. VIII. Create in me a clean heart, Psal. 51.

O God I thought (but now no limitation)
Six dayes had been the age of thy creation:
But still thou dost create: good David say,
Where's that old heart of thine? for there I may
Survey the picture of an aged sinne:
The shadow of an apple blots that skinne.
How is thy heart so black? fond I, I thought
That sinne had been welfavour'd, but all's nought.
10

It seems the beauty then pleasure dawb'd on,
Was but some cerust false complexion.
But why create a whole one? is no part
Good, out of which thy God can make a heart,
But must create of nothing? Lord redeem,
Create no more in me, but with thy stream
That runnes so freely from thee, bloudy scene,
Wash this foul heart of mine and make it clean.
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