Poetical Fragments, Poem 7
7. Self-Denial.
A Dialogue between the Fleſh & the Spirit.
Fleſh:
WHat! become Nothing! ne're perſwade me to it.
God made me Something: and I'le not undo it.
Spirit.
Thy Something is not thine, but his that gave it.
Reſign it to him, if thou mean to ſave it.
Fleſh.
God gave me Life: and ſhall I chooſe to die
Before my time? or pine in miſerie?
Spirit.
God is thy Life: If then thou feareſt death;
Let him be all thy ſoul, thy pulſe, and breath.
Fleſh.
What! muſt I hate my ſelf? when as my brot her
Muſt love me? and I may not hate another?
Spirit.
Loath what is loathſom: Love God in the reſt;
He truly love's himſelf, that love's God beſt.
Fleſh.
Doth God our eaſe and pleaſure to us grudge?
Or doth Religion make a man a drudge?
Spirit.
That is thy Poyſon which thou calleſt Pleaſure:
And that thy drudgery which thou count'ſt thy treaſure.
Fleſh.
Who can endure to be thus mewed up?
And under Laws for every bit and cup?
Spirit.
God's Cage is better than the Wilderneſs.
When Winter comes, Liberty brings diſtreſs
Fleſh.
Pleaſure's mans Happineſs: The Will's not free
To chooſe our miſery: This cannot be.
Spirit.
God is mans End: with him are higheſt joyes:
Senſual pleaſures are but dreams and toyes.
Should ſin ſeem ſweet! Is Satan turn'd thy friend?
Will not thy ſweet prove bitter in the end?
Haſt thou found ſweeter pleaſures than Gods Love
Is a fools laughter like the Joyes above?
Beauty ſurpaſſeth all deceitful paints:
What's empty mirth to the delights of Saints?
God would not have thee have leſs joy, but more:
And therefore ſhew's thee the eternal ſtore.
Fleſh.
Who can love baſeneſs, poverty and want?
And under pining ſickneſs be content?
Spirit.
He that hath laid his treaſure up above
And plac't his portion only in Gods love:
That waits for Glory when his life is done:
This man will be content with God alone.
Fleſh.
What good will ſorrow do us? Is not mirth
Fitter to warm a cold heart here on earth?
Troubles will come whether we will or no:
I'le never baniſh pleaſure, and chooſe we.
Spirit.
Then chooſe not ſin: touch not forbidden things:
Taſte not the ſweet that endleſs ſorrow brings.
If thou love pleaſure, take in God thy fill:
Look not for laſting joyes in doing ill.
Fleſh.
Affliction's bitter: life will ſoon be done:
Pleaſure ſhall be my part ere all be gone.
Spirit.
Proſperity is barren: all men ſay
The ſoil is beſt where there's the deepeſt way.
Life is for work, and not to ſpend in play.
Now ſow thy ſeed: labour while it is day.
The Huntſman ſeeks his game in barren plains.
Dirty land anſwers beſt the Plowmans pains.
Paſſengers care not ſo the way be fair;
Husbandmen would have the beſt ground and air
Firſt think what's ſafe and fruitful: There's no pleaſure
Like the beholding of thy chiefeſt Treaſure.
Fleſh.
Nature made me a Man, and gave me ſenſe:
Changing of Nature is a vain pretence:
It taught me to love women, honour, eaſe,
And every thing that doth my ſenſes pleaſe.
Spirit.
Nature hath made thee Rational; and Reaſon
Muſt rule the ſenſe, in ends, degrees and ſeaſon.
Reaſon's the Rider; Senſe is but the Horſe:
Which then is fitteſt to direct thy courſe?
Give up the reins, and thou becom'ſt a beaſt;
Thy fall at death will ſadly end thy feaſt.
Fleſh.
Religion is a dull and heavy thing,
Whereas a merry Cup will make me ſing.
Love's entertainments warm both heart and brain:
And wind my fancy to the higheſt ſtrain.
Spirit.
Cupid hath ſtuck a Feather in thy Cap;
And lull'd thee dead aſleep on Venu's lap:
Thy brains are tipled with ſome wantons eyes:
Thy Reaſon is become Luſt's ſacrifice.
Playing a game at Folly, thou haſt loſt
Thy wit, and ſoul, and winneſt to thy coſt.
Thy Soul now in a filthy channel lies,
While fancy ſeems to ſoar above the Skies.
Beauty will ſoon be ſtinking loathſom Earth:
Sickneſs and Death marr all the wanton's mirth.
It is not all the pleaſure thou canſt find.
Will countervail the ſting that's left behind.
Blind, brutiſh Souls! that cannot love their God!
And yet can dote on a defiled clod!
Why ſhould I think of what will be to morrow?
An ounce of mirth is worth a pound of ſorrow.
Spirit.
But where's that mirth when ſorrows overtake thee?
Will it then hold when Life and God forſake thee?
Forgetting Death or Hell will not prevent it:
Now loſe thy day, thou'lt then too late repent it.
Fleſh.
Muſt I be pain'd and wronged, and not feel?
As if my heart were made of flint or ſteel?
Spirit.
Doſt thou delight to feel thy hurt and ſmart?
Would not an Antidote preſerve thy heart?
Impatience is but ſelf-tormenting folly:
Patience is cordial, eaſie, ſweet and holy.
Is not that better which turns grief to peace,
Than that which doth thy miſery encreaſe?
Fleſh.
When ſport, and wine, and beauty do invite,
Who is it whom ſuch baits will not incite?
Spirit.
He that perceives the hook and ſees the end,
Whither it is that fleſhly Pleaſures tend.
He that by faith hath ſeen both Heav'n and Hell,
And what ſin coſteth at the laſt can tell:
He that hath try'd and taſted better things,
And felt that love from which all pleaſure ſprings.
They that ſtill watch, and for Chriſts coming wait,
Can turn away from, or deſpiſe the bait.
Fleſh.
Muſt I be made the foot-ball of diſdain?
And call'd a preciſe fool or Puritane?
Spirit.
Remember him that did deſpiſe the ſhame,
And for thy ſake bore undeſerved blame.
Thy journey's of ſmall moment if thou ſtay
Becauſe dogs bark, or ſtones lie in the way.
If life lay on it, wouldſt thou turn again,
For the winds blowing or a little rain?
Is this thy greateſt love to thy dear Lord?
That canſt not for his ſake bear a foul word?
Wilt thou not bear for him a ſcorners breath,
That underwent for thee a curſed death?
Is not Heav'n worth the bearing of a flout?
Then blame not Juſtice when it ſhuts thee out.
Will theſe deriders ſtand to what they ſay,
And own their words at the great dreadful day?
Then they'd be glad, when wrath ſhall overtake them,
To eat their words, and ſay they never ſpake them.
Fleſh.
How? Forſake all! Ne're mention it more to me
I'le be of no Religion to undo me.
Spirit.
Is it not thine more in thy Fathers hand,
Then when it is laid out at ſins command?
And is that ſav'd that's ſpent upon thy luſt
Or which muſt be a prey to thieves or ruſt?
And wouldſt thou have thy riches in thy way,
Where thou art paſſing on and canſt not ſtay?
And is that loſt that's ſent to Heav'n before?
Hadſt thou not rather have thy friends and ſtore,
Where thou maiſt dwell for ever, in the light
Of that long glorious day that fears no night?
Fleſh.
But who can willingly ſubmit to Death,
Which will bereave us of our life and breath;
That laies our fleſh to rot in loathſom graves,
Where brains and eyes were, leaves but ugly caves?
Spirit.
So nature breaks and caſts away the ſhell,
Where the now beauteous ſinging bird did dwell:
The ſecundine that once the infant cloath'd,
After the birth, is caſt away and loath'd.
Thus Roſes drop there ſweet leaves under-foot;
But the Spring ſhew's that life was in the root.
Souls are the Roots of Bodies: Chriſt the Head
Is Root of both, and will revive the dead.
Our Sun ſtill ſhineth when with us it's night:
When he return's, we ſhall ſhine in his light.
Souls that behold and praiſe God with the Juſt,
Mourn not becauſe their bodies are but duſt.
Graves are but beds where fleſh till morning ſleep's:
Or Cheſts where God a while our garments keeps.
Our folly thinks he ſpoils them in the keeping;
Which cauſeth our exceſſive fears and weeping:
But God that doth our riſing day foreſee:
Pitties not rotting fleſh ſo much as we.
The birth of Nature was deform'd by ſin:
The birth of Grace did our repair begin.
The birth of Glory at the Reſurrection
Finiſheth all, and brings both to perfection.
Why ſhould not fruit when it is mellow fall?
Why would we linger here when God doth call?
Fleſh.
The things and perſons in this world I ſee,
But after death I know not what will be.
Spirit.
Know'ſt thou not that wch God himſelf hath ſpoken?
Thou haſt his promiſe which was never broken.
Reaſon proclaims that noble heav'n-born Souls,
Are made for higher things than Worms & Moles.
God hath not made ſuch faculties in vain,
Nor made his Service a deluding pain.
But Faith reſolves all doubts, and hears the Lord
Telling us plainly by his holy Word,
That uncloath'd Souls ſhall with their Savior dwell,
Triumphing over Sin, and Death, and Hell.
And by the Power of Almighty Love,
Stars ſhall ariſe from graves to ſhine above.
There we ſhall ſee the glorious face of God:
His bleſſed preſence ſhall be our abode:
The face that baniſheth all doubts and fears,
Shuts out all ſins, and dryeth up all tears.
That face which darkeneth the Sun's bright rayes,
Shall ſhine us into everlaſting joyes.
Where Saints and Angels ſhall make up one Chore,
To praiſe the Great Jehovah evermore.
Fleſh.
Reaſon not with me againſt ſight and ſenſe:
I doubt all this is but a …ain pretence.
Words againſt Nature are not worth a ruſh:
One Bird in hand is worth two in the buſh.
If God will give me Heav'n at laſt, I'le take it:
But for my Pleaſure here I'le not forſake it.
Spirit.
And wilt thou keep it? brutiſh fleſh how long?
Wilt thou not ſhortly ſing another Song?
When Conſcience is awakened, keep thy mirth!
When ſickneſs & death comes, hold faſt this earth:
Live if thou canſt when God ſaith, Come away:
Try whether all thy friends can cauſe thy ſtay.
Wilt thou tell Death and God, thou wilt not die?
And wilt thou the conſuming fire defie?
Art thou not ſure to let go what thou haſt?
And doth not Reaſon bid thee then forecaſt,
And value the leaſt hope of endleſs Joyes,
Before known vanities, and dying toyes?
And can the Lord that is moſt juſt and wiſe,
Found all man's duty in deceit and lies?
Get thee behind me Satan; thou doſt ſavour,
The things of Fleſh, and not his deareſt favour,
Who is my Life, and Light, and Love, and All,
And ſo ſhall be whatever ſhall befall.
It is not thou, but I that muſt diſcern,
And muſt Reſolve: It's I that hold the ſtern:
Be ſilent Fleſh; ſpeak not againſt my God;
Or elſe hee'l teach thee better by the rod.
I am reſolved thou ſhalt live and die,
A ſervant, or a conquered enemy.
Lord charge not on me what this rebell ſayes,
That alwaies was againſt me and thy wayes!
Now ſtop its mouth by Grace, that ſhortly muſt
Through juſt but gainful death, be ſtopt with duſt.
The thoughts and words of Fleſh are none of mine:
Let Fleſh ſay what it will, I will be thine.
Whatever this rebellious Fleſh ſhall prate,
Let me but ſerve thee Lord, at any rate.
Uſe me on earth as ſeemeth good to thee,
So I in Heav'n thy Glorious face may ſee.
Take down my Pride; let me dwell at thy feet:
The humble are for earth and heav'n moſt meet
Renouncing Fleſh, I Vow my ſelf to thee,
With all the Talents thou haſt lent to me.
Let me not ſtick at honour, wealth or blood:
Let all my dayes be ſpent in doing good.
Let me not trifle out more precious hours;
But ſerve thee now with all my ſtrength and powers.
If Fleſh ſhould tempt me to deny my hand;
Lord theſe are the Reſolves to which I ſtand,
Octob. 29. 1659. Richard Baxter.