The Glorious Lover, Book 2 · Chapter 1
CHAP. I.
Shewing how Chriſt renews his Suit again and again, which is done either by the miniſtration of the Goſpel or by his various Providences, and yet the Soul refuſes to receive him.
THUS have you heard a Sacred Story told,
Fill'd full of Wonders, Wonders, which unfold
Such depths of Wiſdom, depths of Grace and Love,
Which none can comprehend, it is above
The reach of men; no knowledg is ſo high
That can conceive of it; nay, Angels pray
Into this thing, this Myſt'ry is ſo deep,
It all the glorious Seraphims doth keep
In holy admiration, they'r amaz'd
To ſee how all the Attributes are rais'd
In equal Glory, and do ſweetly ſhine
In their own proper Sphere, alike divine.
Here by diviner Art you all may find
What was in our great God's eternal mind,
Before the Earth's foundation long was laid,
Or e're bright Sol his glorious beams diſplay'd,
Reſpecting Man, whom he foreſaw would fall,
And bring his Soul thereby into ſad thral:
Here may you with much eaſe and joy eſpy
The great reſult of the bleſt Trinity.
In that eternal Council held above,
About the Soul, the object of Chriſt's Love.
Here alſo, here's a proof of true affection,
And how to love from hence let's take direction.
Who ever had or ſhew'd ſuch love as he,
Who for his Love was nailed to the Tree?
But, hark! ſome do enquire, they, long to hear
What is become of th' Soul he loves ſo dear?
Lo, from the Grave he's come, he looks about,
He ſearches every place to find her out.
What is the fled! and where? in what ſtrange Iſ…
Of … and darkneſs lurks ſhe all this while?
Good Reader, urge me not, I'le let thee hear
That which may melt thy Soul into a tear.
Excuſe my Pen for what its lines ſhall ſpeak.
Such Marble hearts as cannot melt, muſt break.
To leave off here, I'm ſure it is not fit,
Nor would I write what you would have unwrit.
But ſince it doth upon the Soul reflect,
It matters not how much we do detect
The folly which doth in the Sinner lie,
When Soveraign Grace exalted is thereby.
My Heart and Pen ſeem both to be at ſtrife,
To paint unkindneſs forth unto the life.
Wilt Thou, who doſt the Muſes aid, afford
Divine aſſiſtance, that each pow'rful word
May rend a heart at leaſt, and every line
Turn Kingdoms and whole Nations into brine▪
Of their own tears? teach me, O Lord, the skil
T' extract the ſpirit of grief, O let my Quil,
Like Moſes Rod, make Adamants to fly,
That tears may guſh like Rivers from each eye.
How can it once be thought that ſuch a Friend,
Who loveth thus, doth thus his love commend,
And in ſuch ſort ſo ſtrangely condeſcend,
Should when all's done by her contemned be,
Though he's moſt high, and ſhe of baſe degree?
The grand deſign, the end and reaſon why
This Prince from Heaven came, was ſcourg'd, did die,
Was to redeem the Soul, and ſo endeavour
To get her love, and marry her for ever,
As is before declar'd. But will you hear
How things are carry'd, how they manag'd are?
The time is come, you'l find, by what enſues
That this great Lord his Suit a-freſh renews.
When Sacred Love runs thus with greateſt force,
What pity is't ought ſhould diſturb its courſe?
How can the Soul refuſe to entertain
A Lover, which for her with ſhame was ſlain?
But ſtop again, my Muſe, thou muſt give o're,
The Prince is come, lo he is at her door.
Jeſus Prince of Light.
Moſt precious Soul! I now am come again,
Behold 'tis I, who for thee have been ſlain.
How is't with thee, haſt thou not heard the news,
What for thy ſake I ſuffer'd by the Jews?
That through a Sea of blood, and ſorrows great,
I now am come with bowels to intreat
Thee to embrace the offer I preſent.
And, firſt of all, with tears do thou repent
That ever thou haſt entertained Sin,
That has to me ſo very bitter bin.
Soul.
Repent! This is a melancholly ſtrain;
It ſuits with ſuch whoſe lives are fill'd with pain,
And guilty are of ſome notorious crime,
Whoſe glaſs is near run out, whoſe precious time
Draws to an end; 'tis good for ſuch indeed
To look about them, and repent with ſpeed:
But thus 'tis not with me, I know no ſorrow
I'le wave that work, I'le wave it till to morrow;
To morrow, I mean, till ſome fitter ſeaſon:
I ſee no cauſe, alas, I know no reaſon
To hark to thoughts that may diſturb my peace,
When joys abound, and ſweat delights increaſe.
Repent! of what ſtrange kind of voice ſhall I
Amazed ſtand, yet can no danger 'ſpy.
JESVS.
No reaſon why! Ah Soul, art ſtill ſo blind,
Wounded from head to foot, and canſt thou find
No ground of grief, no cauſe to lay to heart
Thy horrid guilt, nor yet the bitter ſmart
Which I indur'd for thee, to prevent
Severer Wrath, ſeverer puniſhment,
And doſt not ſavour this ſweet word, Repent?
'Tis well there's room, a call, a ſeaſon fit;
There's thouſand Souls who are denied it.
Dar'ſt, dar'ſt adventure ſtill to live in Sin?
What, crucifie thy dying Lord agin!
Were not my pangs ſufficient? muſt I bleed
Afreſh? O muſt thy ſinful pleaſures feed
Upon my torments? and augment the ſtory
Of the ſad paſſion of the Lord of Glory?
Is there no pity in thee? what, no remorſe
Within thy breaſt? Seek, ſeek a firm divorce
Betwixt thy ſelf and Sin; do thy endeavour
To break that league, depart, depart for ever.
Did I not ſuffer to diſſolve the knot
Between thee and all Luſt? and wilt thou not
Regard me now, but entertain my Foe?
What, cruel unto me, and thy ſelf too!
I prethee, Soul, bethink thy ſelf, and yield,
And let thy Lovers for my ſake be kill'd;
Ah, let them die, who if they live, will be
Thy death at laſt, who have bin death to me.
Soul.
Thoſ… joys are ſweet, which do delight my heart;
Ah! how can I and ſinful Objects part?
Muſt gainful Luſts, and thoſe which honour's yield,
At once be put to th' Sword? And thoſe be kill'd
Which ſo much pleaſure unto me afford?
How can it be? alas, it is too hard:
The thoughts of it's a perfect death to me;
Lord, ſay no more, I cannot yield to thee.
Jeſus.
Ah! Didſt thou know, poor Soul, what 'tis to ſin,
And how my Soul for it has tortur'd bin,
Thou wouldſt revenged be on it, I'm ſure,
And a divorcement ſpeedily procure.
Or, didſt thou know what grief it is to me
To be contemned and deſpis'd by thee;
Such churliſh Anſwers wouldſt thou not return
To him, whoſe ſoul fervent love do's burn
To thee, poor wretch, and only for thy good,
'Tis that I ſeek, and ſought with tears of blood.
Once more I ask thy love, I cannot leave thee,
Until my everlaſting Arms receive thee.
Soul.
If I may have thoſe pleaſures which delight me,
Whoſe amorous glances ſweetly do invite me
To love them dear, who ſtollen have my heart,
J am contented thou ſhouldſt have ſome part
Of my affection: Worldly joy is ſweet,
And I reſolve to take ſome part of it.
Jeſus.
Ungrateful Soul! did I not wholly give
My ſelf for thee? and ſhall I now receive
A piece of thine, nay but a little part,
That have deſerved more than a whole heart:
'Tis all the heart, or none; do'ſt think it fit
Sin and the Devil ſhould have part of it?
Would any Lover ſuch ſtrange love receive,
To be contented that his Spouſe ſhould have,
Some other Suiters, and to them ſhould cleave?
What ſayſt, deceived Soul? why ſtandſt thou mute?
Diſcloſe thy inward thoughts, and grant my Suit.
O ſpeak! or, if thy doubtful mind be bent
To ſilence, let that ſilence be conſent.
If thou wilt grant me that whole heart of thine;
We'l exchange hearts, I'le give thee all of mine.
She look'd about, ſhe mus'd, ſhe paus'd a while,
Whilſt he on her caſt forth an Heav'nly ſmile,
Sweet rays of Glory glanced from his Eye,
Enough to raviſh all the ſtanders-by;
So great a luſtre from his garments ſhone,
It dazl'd all weak eyes to look upon.
Like as the Sun his glorious beams diſplays,
Diſperſing every way his ſparkling rays,
When in his ſtrength & ſplendor bright doth ſhine,
So gliſter'd forth his Glory all Divine.
Ne're ſuch a beauty carnal eyes beheld.
Ah! one ſweet ſight of him has wholly fill'd
The greateſt Soul that liv'd, and there is ſtill
Enough in him millions of Hearts to fill.
And none but Him alone can ſatisfie
The Soul of Man, the Soul-enlightned eye.
But ſtay and hear the Anſwer which is given
By the deceived Soul. O let the Heaven
And Earth aſtoniſh'd ſtand, whilſt ſtubborn ſhe
Deny'd his Suit, will not perſuaded be
To o'pe her door, who longs to enter in,
To fill her Soul with joy, deſtroy her ſin.
Soul.
Strange 'tis to me ſuch beauty ſhould be there!
What, ſo amazing glorious, none ſo fair!
When I no lovelineſs in him can ſee
The World, and outward pleaſures, ſeem to me
More rare and ſpriteful, far the better choice;
Such things I like: but for this Lover's voice,
His Face and Favour I ca'nt ſo eſteem,
Nor can I leave all things for love of him.
Therefore be gone, and ceaſe thy ſuit; for I
Have fixt my mind elſwhere, my heart and eye
Is ſet on that which outward eyes can ſee.
Lord, let me not be troubl'd more with thee.
O ſtay, my Muſe! reach me an Iron Pen,
T… engrave this on the marble hearts of men.
Let Sinners look within, then let them read
Themſelves ungrateful, blind, and dark indeed.
Would not each Soul conclude this Creature were
Beſides her ſelf, or elſe deſerv'd to bear
The great'ſt contempt, and pity'd be by none,
That bids ſuch a dear Lover to be gone?
How oft has he by precious motives try'd
The Soul from ſin and evil to divide,
And make her too obdurat heart relent,
And take ſuch ways as Wiſdom do's invent?
His Paſſions, Sighs and Tears are ready ſtill,
As the officious agents of his Will,
To work her to a ſence of her eſtate:
But ſhe's (alas) ſo dark and deſperate,
That his ſweet voice, of ſo divine a ſtrain,
So moving, mov'd her, but ſeems all in vain.
He ſighs for her, he knows her ſad diſtreſs,
He asks her love, but ſtill without ſucceſs.
Ah Sinners! view your rocky hearts, and then
Smite on your breaſts, lament, and read agen.
The glorious Lord his love's ſo ſtrange, ſo great,
He knows not how to think of a retreat.
His ſoul is griev'd, yet takes not her denial,
But makes a new Eſſay, another Trial.
Jeſus.
Did, did I love thee from Eternity?
And my celeſtial Kingdom leave for thee?
Did I Man's humane nature freely take?
Did I my bed in a poor Manger make?
Did I engage the cruel'ſt of all Foes?
Did I from men and Devils meet with blows?
Did I ſuch kind of tortures undergoe
Which men nor Angels can't conceive or know?
Did Wrath purſue, and Juſtice fall on me?
And did I bear it all for love to thee?
Ah! did I ſweat great drops of Sacred Blood,
Until the ground was ſprinkled where I ſtood?
And were my feet and hands nail'd to the Tree,
Whilſt my dear Father hid his Face from me?
Have I with joy, delight, and chearful heart
Indur'd all this exceſſive pain and ſmart,
And out of precious love to thee I bore?
And muſt I ſtill be kept out of thy door?
Shall, ſhall I leave thee then, and take my flight
Into ſome foreign Land, and let the Night
Of diſmal darkneſs be thy lot for ever,
Where direful Wrath all graceleſs ſouls do ſever
From all ſweet ſhines of my Eternal Face,
That thou mayſt there bewail with ſhame thy caſe?
When ſhades of frightful darkneſs thee do cover,
Thou wilt condole the loſs of ſuch a Lover;
Muſt I be gone, muſt I my farewel take
And leave thee to thy ſelf? my heart doth ake
To think upon thy ſtate, when I do leave thee;
Far rather would I have theſe Arms receive thee.
What, ſlight a Saviour thus, a Friend indeed,
An early Friend, a Friend, who choſe to bleed
For thee, and in thy ſtead, that ſo thereby
He might enjoy thee to Eternitie!
Farewel, falſe Soul, I bid thee now adieu;
Take what will follow, dread what will inſue.
Grief, ſorrows, ſickneſs and a troubled mind,
Will thee purſue, until thou com'ſt to find
A changed heart; and vengeance do's allot
Ruin to thoſe thou lov'ſt, who love thee not.
I'le kill them all who have inſnar'd thy heart,
Before from thee for ever I depart.
Ah! how my Soul with a tempeſtuous tide
Of tears is overwhelm'd, whilſt I'm deny'd
My Suit by thee! my paſſions overflow
To ſee thee ſlight me, and my paſſion too:
What, tread me underfoot! whilſt vanity,
And worldly joys, are Jewels in thine eye!
As if beſt good, and ſweet'ſt content lay hid
In that gay fruit, which is alone forbid.
He woo's, the Soul ſays no; he ſtill replies;
He ſweetly ſues, ſhe wickedly denies.
He woos afreſh, ſhe anſwers with diſdain,
I cannot love, but he intreats again.
At laſt he leaves her, and his Suit adjourns;
He views the Soul, and griev'd, away returns:
He bids farewel, and yet he bids it ſo,
As if he knew not how to take her No.
He bids farewel, but 'tis as if delay
Did promiſe better farewels, than his ſtay.
He now withdraws, but 'tis with a deſign
His abſence might her heart the more incline
To th' love and liking of him, or to ſee
What by ſome other means perform'd may be.
As Lovers often times by rules of Art
Deviſe new ways to gain upon the heart
Of ſuch they love, to bring them to their bow;
Like things ſometimes doth Jeſus alſo do.
T' incline the Sinners heart, he hides his face,
And brings them into a diſtreſſed caſe.
He lays them on ſick beds, for to diſcover
The worth and need of ſuch a Sacred Lover.
Poor Sinners, ponder well what you do read,
And mind thoſe thoughts which woo you to take heed
How you neglect & ſlights the day of Grace,
Or to baſe luſt and vain delights give place.
Now ſickneſs comes, & Death begins to fright her,
And 'tis no marvel if the Lord do ſlight her.
Her drouſy Conſcience alſo now awakes;
Alas, ſhe ſtartl'd much, ſhe weeps, ſhe quakes,
She crys out for a Chriſt, but non's in ſight,
And all her other Lovers fail her quite.
She yields, ſhe loves, but with a ſervile heart,
When other Lovers ſlight her and depart.
She loves thee not, Lord Chriſt, for what thou art,
But what thou haſt: and ſhould ſhe ſpared be,
She'd ſhew her love to Sin, more than to thee.
No ſooner the ſad Soul her ſtate laments,
But bowels mov'd in Jeſus, he relents.
In her afflictions, he's afflicted too,
And can't be long e're he'l compaſſions ſhew.
He ſent relief, he eas'd her of her pain,
And rais'd her up to former health again.
But as 'twas hinted, ſo it came to paſs,
The wretched Soul proves vile as ere ſhe was.
Affliction will not bring to Jeſus's feet,
Unleſs great Pow'r do go along with it.
The Soul's like Phar'oh: crys when ſmitten ſore;
Then, then for Chriſt, and O'twill ſin no more!
But when rais'd up, and has ſweet health reſtor'd,
It cleavs to Sin afrecſh, forgets the Lord.
But the affections of the Prince of Peace
Abated not, but rather did increaſe.
His love and patience both alike ſhine forth,
To 'ſtoniſhment of all who live on Earth.
And that he might obtain the Soul at laſt,
His Servants call'd and ſent away in haſt
To recommend his love, and in his ſtead
To o'pe thoſe precious Glories, which lie hid
To her and to all thoſe who carnal be:
Alas! they ca'nt behold, they cannot ſee
Thoſe high perfections which in Jeſus are,
Nor can they think his beauty is ſo rare,
Exceeding all conception, all compare.
Dear Reader, prethee mark what here inſues
Mind, mind the Arguments this man dos uſe
To move the Soul to tears of true contrition,
Fetch'd from Chriſt's love, and from her loſt condition.
Theologue.
By Jeſus ſent! by ſuch a Prince as he!
Ah! 'tis a work too great, too high for me.
What glory, Lord, haſt thou conferr'd on thoſe
Thou do'ſt imploy, thy ſecrets to diſcloſe!
What! be a Spokeſman for a Prince ſo great,
To repreſent his Love, and to entreat
Poor Sinners in his ſtead, to entertain
His Sacred Perſon! Lord, I'le try again
(Since thou command'ſt me forth) what may be done;
Thou bidſt me go, my duty is to run.
Did Abraham's Servant readily comply
With his Command with great'ſt fidelity?
And ſhall I be unfaithful unto thee?
No, Lord, I will not; do but ſtrengthen me,
Proſper my way, and let me have ſucceſs,
That I with him thy Sacred Name may bleſs;
And how ſhall I, poor nothing I, rejoice
To ſee the Soul, thy Spouſe, thy Father's choice.
What next thy love's ſo ſweet, Lord, unto me,
Than to bring in poor Sinners unto thee?