University of Virginia Library

Doubt. 6.

From want of Godly sorrow.

SOUL.
Could I indeed mourn kindly, then at last
I'd think the bitterness of death were past.
Could I with weeping mingle all my drink,
Or make my bed to swim; could I so think
On my corruptions, as to dissolve
Into a flood of tears, I should resolve
My doubts, and banish fears. Were e're a vein
Of godly sorrow breath'd, 'twould ease my pain.
Then I should smile at table, rest in bed,
A bleeding heart would cure an aking head.
But mine, alas! is stupid, brawnie, dry
Will scarce afford a tear, will scarce supply
Me with desired groans; sometimes I see
My brethren furnisht with a treasurie,
Or ocean of tears. How soon can they
With laden clouds o'recast their clearest day!
One thought of Christ, or word of sin doth make
Their eyes run over, and their hearts to ake.
I can't command a drop, when they have store;
And therefore grieve 'cause I can grieve no more.

FAITH.
Poor soul! oh that thy head were waters, and
Thy chamber Bochim. Oh! that a command
Would sweetly break thine heart, and make it melt,
Feeling such sorrow as it never felt.
I wish that these dry cheeks bedew'd may be
With tears for him that shed his blood for thee.
They would be Aqua vitæ, gen'rous wine,
Quickly reviving this faint heart of thine.
Those tears would drown thy sorrow, & that rain
Would make the inward chaps to close again.
Well, take a turn upon that fatal mount
Where Christ was crucifi'd, and there recount
His pressing sorrows; there behold the Sun
Of Righteousness eclips'd, and having run
His race of life, setting at last in dark,
Wrapt up in clouds, stand still a while and hark
How deep his sighs were fetcht in that black night,
Who brought for us immortal life to light.
His soul was sorrowful, ev'n unto death.
Yet in that sorrow not the smallest breath
Of comfort reacht him; he was fain to 'bide
The rage of enemies; nay God did hide.
Men reak'd their rage, his Father too did pour
His wrath upon him in the self-same hour.
And all this for thy sin; lay that to heart,
Thou did'st transgress, and he endur'd the smart.
Dwell on these thoughts, for sure a Saviour's groan
May pierce and mollifie an heart of stone.
Repeated thoughts, that God did him forsake,
May kindly work, and cause thy heart to ake.
Since Peter wept with one cast of Christs eye,
Thou mai'st to hear him say, for thee I die.
Yet measure not repentance by thy tears.
Sorrow is deepest when it least appears.
Don't always judg of inward sorrows by
The tongue complaining, or the weeping eye.
For full-charg'd vessels frequently run least,
Through want of vent, so doth the heart opprest.
Many have words, yea tears too at their will,
Who Christ rejecting hug their Idols still.
Esau did weep, and yet could find no place
For wisht repentance, nor for saving grace.
Again, there may true Penitents be found
O'rewhelm'd with grief, with brinish tears not drown'd.
Some mens complexions are hot, and they
Buckets of water must needs want to lay
The fire that burns within, whilst others are
So full of moisture, they've enough to spare.
Grace sanctifieth, and makes better, yet
Natures defects are not suppli'd by it.
Divers affections too are in the heart,
Now one, anon another acts its part.
Thy grief once wrought, and then thou couldst have stood.
Under Christs Cross, till thou had'st wept a flood.
Holy revenge now is upon the stage,
And prosecutes with never-ending rage
The murderer, that Christ did crucifie,
And nothing but its blood will satisfie.
Despond not then, O soul, that sacred fire
Of holy anger (which shall not expire
Upon the altar of thine heart) doth dry
That dew which once upon thy cheeks did lie.
Come, dost thou feel the heavy weight of sin?
Wouldst give a world, there were not one within?
Is that thy misery, thy plague, thy sore?
Wouldst willingly offend thy God no more?
If God should bid thee ask a boon, wouldst cry,
Lord, that my soul might live; my sin might die?
Canst part with Delilah? canst Agag hew,
Thy Kingly-darling-lust, canst bid adieu
To all the Idols of thine heart? then he
Who dy'd for sinners, also dy'd for thee.
That sense of sin, those inward pains that cause
A man to loath himself, yield to Christs laws,
The Gospel calls enough. Do thou not cover
One of thy sins, God will them all pass over.
What e're is wanting in thy tears, Christs blood
To th' utmost will supply, and make it good.
Huge mountainous transgressions of man
Small rivers cannot hide, but th' Ocean can.