Poetical Fragments, Poem 11
11. The Complaint.
WHat mean impatient men to call it Pain?
That do the creatures wrath alone ſuſtain?
But, alas! how much greater is my woe,
That muſt God's ſharp diſpleaſure undergo?
If a Worm's fury ſeemeth hard to bear,
Who dare before an angry God appear?
I thought my God had blotted out my ſin;
And it no more remembred ſhould have bin!
And wilt thou now call up what's paſt and gone?
And charge upon me all that I have done?
Why then, where is my Saviour' where's his blood?
Shall not thy Promiſes be all made good?
Where are thy tender bowels? where's that grace?
That ſhew'd me once thy reconciled face?
Doſt thou repent? or can God changed be?
O no! it's I that falſly turn'd from thee.
Yet be not angry with me, O my God!
If thy Child cry, and plead againſt the Rod;
Not daring to accuſe thy narrow path;
But humbly bold to deprecate thy wrath.
Is it thy pleaſure to behold my grief?
When thou canſt with a word ſend full relief?
Doſt thou delight to ſee me drencht in tears?
And overwhelm'd with doubts and horrid fears?
Wilt thou ſtand by and ſee my Soul thus ſink?
While waſting fleſh doth ſtand at the pits brink?
Shall grief and ſickneſs leave but skin and bones?
And ſhall I know no breath but ſighs and groans?
Have I no paſſions left but griefs and fears?
Are groans the only muſick for thine ears?
And have I ſenſe only to feel my woe?
And reaſon only miſery to know?
And wilt thou ſuffer ſinful unbelief,
To baniſh Joy, and keep out all Relief?
How can that gracious Lord my woe deſire?
That did ſo much to ſave me from the fire?
How can that Saviour be againſt my good,
That dy'd in love, and waſht me by his blood?
Can the ſame voice now paſs ſo ſad a doom,
That from my ſin ſo lately call'd me home?
Wilt thou now frown me down to fears & death?
That lately gav'ſt me a new life and breath?
Or can that hand that ſnatcht me from the flame,
Tear me, and caſt me back into the ſame?
Pity, my God, this ſinking trembling Soul,
And let the hand that wounds me, make me whole:
Friends would, but cannot; all their help is vain.
But thou canſt quickly give me joy for pain.
What can friends do, but make my grief their own?
And will not give me leave to die alone.
They can but add their fruitleſs tears and moans,
To joyn in a ſad conſort with my groans.
Their pity doth but make my wounds more deep:
While in compaſſion they ſtand by and weep.
Through me, thou woundeſt them: my pains are theirs:
And every tender friend a portion bears.
They can but pray for that which thou muſt give:
They ſtrive in vain if thou wilt not relieve.
O ſpare me Lord! and preſs me not too low:
Leſt I ſhould pieviſh and impatient grow!
Leſt I ſhould have unworthy thoughts of thee,
Forgetting what thy Love hath done for me.
Leſt blind diſtruſt get ground againſt my faith,
And I grow mindleſs what thy Promiſe ſaith.
Leſt griefs conſume the ſoul which thou haſt made,
And leſt thy Praiſes with my Comforts fade.
Leſt I thine antient Loves no more rehearſe,
But all my Thanks as a miſtake reverſe.
And leſt unruly grief ſhould make me break
Thy holy Laws, and things unſeemly ſpeak.
And leſt the Tempter ſhould advantage take,
The heav'n-built ſtructure of my Hopes to ſhake.
Leſt I be drawn with Job to curſe the day,
In which my Soul was marryed to Clay!
Leſt this raſh tongue thy precious Loves deny,
And in diſtreſs, ſhould call thee Enemy.
Break not the heart on which thou wrot'ſt thy Name,
Leſt thoſe bleſt Letters periſh with the frame.
Thy Word commands us alwaies to rejoice:
Fain I would do it, but thou ſtop'ſt my voice.
Can I rejoyce, when as thine angry Dart,
Is piercing night and day my wounded heart?
Can I rejoyce and bleed? Rejoyce and die?
Can I rejoyce, when thou doſt Joy deny?
Can I mix night and day? or death and life?
Or heat and cold? or quietneſs and ſtrife?
Or twiſt the higheſt joy with deepeſt ſorrow?
Dwelling near Hell to day, & Heaven to morrow?
Will joyes agree with heavy ſighs and groans?
And ſweeteſt comforts dwell with broken bones?
When I would riſe and ſing thy Love's renown,
Then comes another wave and ſtrikes me down.
Brimſtone and flames methinks upon me rain,
As if I were adjudg'd to Sodom's pain.
O my Dear God! why doſt thou me forſake?
And all my bones and heart in pieces ſhake?
I took thee for my only Life and Joy:
O do not now this trembling Soul deſtroy!
The Anſwer.
WEak Child! why doſt thou make all this ado?
Doſt thou remember whom thou ſpeakeſt to?
Doſt thou conſider what thy paſſion ſaith?
Is this the language of a ſtable Faith?
Is this thy Patience, and thy Self-denyal?
Wilt thou thus ſhrink & ſhake in time of tryal?
May I not with my own do what I liſt?
And uſe my creature as to me ſeems beſt?
Am I not wiſe enough to uſe the Rod?
Wilt thou prefer thy ſelf before thy God?
Who's fitteſt to be Ruler? thou or I?
Whoſe Wiſdom's beſt? and whoſe Fidelity?
When prov'd I falſe unto thee? or unkind?
When didſt thou ſeek aright, and didſt not find?
Look homeward, Man; there dwells thine Enemy▪
It is thy Self and Sin: It is not l.
The thing thou ſhould'ſt complain of, is within:
Turn all thy charge againſt thy Self and Sin.
Sin is ſo bad, that it can do no better.
God cannot fail thee, and remain thy debter.
Such intimations ſhould not paſs thy tongue,
As if the Righteous God could do thee wrong.
Were Conſcience but as tender as thy fleſh,
And Sin as grievous to thee as the laſh;
Hadſt thou but lived as beſeems a Saint,
I might have ſpar'd my Rod, and thou thy Plaint.
Canſt thou ſuſpect I am againſt thy good,
When I have prov'd my Love by ſtreams of blood?
Have I not lov'd thee from Eternity?
And caus'd my only Son for thee to die?
Have I not call'd thee from a life of ſin,
When thouſands round about thee live therein?
Remember how I us'd thee at the firſt,
When in thy blood I found thee at the worſt:
Who gave thee notice of thy ſinful ſtate,
Wakening thy Soul before it was too late?
Who did convince thee of the worldlings folly?
And ſhew thee that it's better to be holy?
Who ſav'd thee from the world's deceits and lies?
And wean'd thee from thy former vanities?
Who taught thee to bewail thy heavy load?
And made thee long to know and love thy God?
If thou art willing that I ſhould be thine,
It is becauſe at firſt I call'd thee Mine.
I offered Chriſt: I made thee to conſent:
And in the terms of grace to reſt content.
When thou waſt ignorant, who did thee teach?
And made thee long a higher ſtate to reach?
Who made thee love and chuſe the ſcorned way?
And cleave to Chriſt, whatever fleſh could ſay?
Who made thee pray? and who thy prayer heard?
And ſav'd thee from the Plagues thy Conſcience fear'd?
Who made thy ſinful heart long to be better?
Art thou not for all this to me a debter?
That thou doſt miſs me, and my pleaſed face,
That thou doſt mourn & groan, is from my grace:
Freely I did forgive thee what was paſt,
And all thy deadly ſins behind me caſt.
And yet muſt I be taken for thy Foe?
And all theſe accuſations undergo?
After all this, canſt thou my love ſuſpect?
And all my comforts peeviſhly reject?
Dar'ſt thou deny my Love and Grace, as none,
Becauſe that all the work is not yet done?
Who wrought that grace? whoſe ſhould the honour be?
While thou condemn'ſt thy ſelf, thou wrongeſt me.
Watch and reform, and cheerfully. obey:
For what thou wanteſt, wait, and ſtrive, and pray.
Thy Love and cheerful duty I require:
It's not thy ſelf-tormenting I deſire.
Humbly look back: remember what thou waſt:
Be not unthankful for the grace thou haſt.
Deny it not, but wait at mercy's door:
Thankfulneſs is the way to get thee more.
If thou art weak, look upto Chriſt thy ſtrength:
He'l perfect what he hath begun at length:
Is not his grace ſufficient for thee ſtill?
He'l give the reſt, that freely gave the Will:
If thou ſtand ſtill, or loyter in thy Race;
And if my Spur do bid thee, mend thy pace;
Let not the ſmart make thee lie down and whine,
And at the needful quickening Rod repine:
But, Up; Repent; cheerfully do thy beſt:
The day's at hand, when thou ſhalt have the Reſt.
The Submiſſion.
FAther, forgive my paſſion and raſh words:
Yet I'le be thine: I'le own no other Lords.
Seeing thou wilt accept ſo frail a Worm,
That can without thee no good thing perform;
Still I'le be thine, and ſtand to what I ſaid,
When I my Covenant and Reſignment made.
I'le rather groan within, and ſuffer more,
Than laugh with them that ſtand without thy door.
O let thy Will attract and perfect mine!
Hereafter not My Will be done, but Thine.
And let the rougheſt way ſeem fair and eaven,
That hath thy preſence, and doth lead to Heaven.
And as thou bidſt me, Evermore Rejoyce,
Give me a joyful heart, and praiſing voice.
Suffer not ſin to ſoil thy grace and me;
But make me ſuch as thou wouldſt have me be.
Let ſtreams of Love flow from thy open breaſt:
And let me wait, and long to feel the REST.