Zion in Distress, Poem 1 · Part 22 – Part 24
SIONS Prayer.
O Lord of Hoſts, conſider my Eſtate,
Let me remain no longer deſolate.
Have I not been moſt precious in thy ſight?
O do not therefore my Petition ſlight;
O let thy Bowels, to thy Children move,
In tender token of Parental love.
Shall Sion totter? And the Beaſt grow ſteady
In his proud Seat? Haſt thou not try'd already?
What ſome advantage, or what Goſpel good,
Is to be hop'd for, from the wicked Brood?
Canſt thou expect they'l ſerve thee better Now?
Are they more like to bleſs the World below;
Then thy Poor Sion? If their meaſures be
Repleted brimful of Iniquity,
Then by juſt forfeiture, their right is gon,
To Earthly Power, and Dominion.
Will theſe thy ſaving Goſpel Truths preſerve?
Or in pure Worſhip at thine Altars ſerve?
Will theſe protect the Innocent and good,
And not provoke thee with their crying blood?
Will they make Judgment in right channels go!
Extirpate Vice? Make Righteouſneſs to flow
Like mighty ſtreams? Are they in Covenant
with Thee? Or wert thou ever pleaſed to grant
Them any Promiſes that they ſhould wear
The Sacred badges of thy Name? And bear
The Soveraign Rule? Will Fathers, and young men,
Within thy Church, be priz'd and honor'd then?
Shall they not rather, by their Barb'rous hands,
Be Butcher'd, for obeying thy Commands?
Will not thy Childrens Souls in danger be
Of ſwift Damnation, by Rome's blaſphemie?
If Laud on Earth and Praiſes will be given,
If Hallalujahs will be ſung in Heaven,
To thy great Name, for raiſing Babylon,
And bringing Sion to Deſtruction:
If then the Door of Grace, be open'd more,
For Mens Salvation, then it was before.
If Sinners acceſs unto the bleſſed Jeſus,
Be made more free; if cure of Soul Diſeaſes
Be then more eafie, then let Sion fall.
And Rome Uſurp Dominion over all.
But if in ſight of thine all-ſeeing Eye,
Their Monſtrous Crimes are of ſo black a Dye:
If from their very Springing, they have been,
The vileſt Wretches, and the worſt of men:
If for the future they intend to be
The Perpetrators of all Villany.
If their black ſins, of groſs Idolatry,
Pride, horrid Murthers, and Adultry,
Mount up to Heavens great Imperial Throne,
If thy oppreſſion makes thy Churches groan;
If they will burn thy Scriptures and ſuppreſs
All Books that treat of Goſpel Holineſs?
If guiltleſs Souls of every Sex and Age,
Will be made Sacrifices to their Rage;
If they are Foes, without thy Covenants,
If they will trample on thy precious Saints;
If they (becauſe thou didſt not hear and ſave
Thy praying Sion, from a ſinking Grave)
Deride thy Glory, and blaſpheme thy Name,
And put thy Faithful ones to open ſhame.
Deut. 32. 36.
Then hear O Lord, thou ſee'ſt my power is gone,
In thee I truſt, beſides thee there is none,
That can thy Sion, from her Foes deliver,
O draw ſome flaming Arrows from thy Quiver
To quel the pride of this oppreſſing Crew,
Thy mighty Arm alone can them ſubdue.
On Thee I fix an abſolute Reliance,
Do Thou but help, I'le bid them all defiance.
Hear and conſider, for thy Mercy ſake,
On gaſping Sion ſome compaſſion take.
I have been ranſom'd with the precious Blood
Of thy dear Son, and fill'd with Heavenly Food.
O Lord I pray, thy Churches ſins forgive,
And in ſweet concord let thy Children live;
Teach them true ſaving knowledge from thy word
That they may worſhip Thee with one accord.
Thou canſt the Proſtrate raiſe, and cure his wound
For nothing difficult for Thee is found.
Thou knoweſt my grief, O Lord incline thy Ear,
Revive my hope, and chace away my fear.
In Achors Valley open thou a Door,
And make me ſweetly ſing as heretofore;
I pray Thee break the Bonds of my diſtreſs,
And lead me from this doleſome Wilderneſs.
O let me ſhine like Sols illuſtrate light,
And be's an Army terrible in fight.
Pull off that Vail that does thy Sion cover,
Thoſe clouds, O ſcatter that I may diſcover
What thou doeſt mean by this thy diſpenſation,
And what my work is in this Generation.
Its time for Thee to plead thy Peoples cauſe,
When wicked men make void thy righteous Laws.
Thou canſt deſtroy them with their brimful Cup,
And lofty Cedars, by the roots pull up;
But Lord remember for to ſpare thy Vine,
That ſpreading Plant which thou haſt choſen thine,
Make that to flouriſh and be ever green,
And full of cluſters as before't has been.
From Egypt thou haſt brought it heretofore:
From thence I pray deliver it once more,
Let thine hand plant it, give it ſteadfaſt root,
That all the Land may Feaſt upon its Fruit;
O let its Cordial Juice the Nation fill,
And let its boughs o'reſhadow ev'ry Hill;
From Sea to Sea do thou her branches ſend,
And her, from all her Enemies defend;
Make up her Hedge, her Fence, be thou a Wall,
To keep her from the violence of all
Rapacious Bears, and from the greedy Boar
that would deſtroy it, and its fruit devour.
Lord from on high thy lovely Vine behold,
thin own Plantation, valued more then Gold;
Canſt thou deny thy helping hand the while
Wild Beaſts thy Vineyard ravage thus and ſpoil,
I am Chrſt's Spouſe, his undefiled One,
Canſt thou permit me to be trod upon;
'Tis by thy Grace I am Intitled ſo,
Great God relieve me, and divert my wo,
I am ſurrounded on all ſides with pain,
O let me ſee thy lovely ſmiles again.
Thou haſt withdrawn the beamings of thy grace,
And wrapt in clouds the ſplendor of thy Face;
O this has caus'd ſuch anxious grief and ſmart,
As tears my Soul, and rends my very heart
To tears of blood, whilſt thou the glorious Sun
Of light art hid: O whether ſhall I run,
For beams of comfort in this doleſome hour?
Whilſt I lye delu 'd in this Briniſh ſhower
More would ſhe ſpeak, but her great paſſion ties
Her mournful tongue: the Flood-gates of her eyes
In chryſtal ſtreams do repreſent an anguiſh,
That makes her vital operations languiſh.
Sunk in deſpairing ſounds, ſhe ſcarce appears
to breath or live, but by her ſights and tears,
SIONS Sons.
Mourn, mourn O Heav'ns; and thou, O Earth bewail
And weep ye Saints untill your ſpirits fail,
For ſhe that is the glory of the Earth,
Of the moſt Noble and Illuſtrious Birth,
Lyes ſadly weltring in a deep deſpair,
Her grievous ſorrows, can no tongue Declare,
O that our Brethren would, but haſten hither
That in Gods fear we may confer together
You muſt needs grieve, when her complaints you hear
Do not your hearts diſſolve into a tear?
Do not your Eyes like to a Fountain ſtream?
And all your Joys, turn to a mourning Theme?
Does not your nightly reſt from you depart?
Are you not pierced to the very heart?
Are you not in the depth of bitterneſs,
Becauſe of Sion and her ſore diſtreſs?
How can your hearts delight in thins below?
How can you ſleep in peace as others do?
How can we comfort have, or Pleaſure find?
Or how can we the Worlds concernments mind?
How can we eat or drink with hearts content,
And not with grief poor Sions ſtate lament?
How can we bear our Mothers doleful cries,
She ſighs, ſhe ſobs, ſhe languiſhes, ſhe dies,
In dreadful Agonies, in bitter pain,
How can we brook her Enemies diſdain?
She is reproached by ev'ry Drunken Sot,
And thrown away like to a broken Pot.
She is depis'd and trod upon like Dung,
The Drunkard on her makes his dayly Song:
But Chriſt will turn and will expoſtulate
The Caſe with Sion, touching her Eſtate.
Why art thou ſometimes up, then down again?
Sometimes at eaſe, ſometimes in bitter pain?
They'r doubtleſs throw's chear up and do not fear
For thy deliverance is very near.
Thoſe lab'ring pangs ſhall ſpeedily be o're,
Fear not, thou ſhalt not dye, one, or two more
Shall bring that Child into the World, which thou
Haſt trave'ld with in bitter pangs till now.
Addreſs they ſelf to God, for ſurely he
From theſe thy Tortures will deliver thee,
'Tis he a lone that brings unto the Birth,
And do's give ſtrength and vigour to bring forth;
Then ſtay thy ſelf upon this bleſſed Lord,
His gracious help he will to the afford,
Upon his Promiſes do thou depend,
And thou ſhalt ſee deliv'rance in the end.
Theſe words of comfort like a Cordial wrought
And to her ſences, mourning Sion brought,
With languiſh'd looks, ſhe caſts a weeping Eye
Upon her Children, and Reaues her crie.
SION.
I Am affraid my God hath me forſook,
My ſighs he minds not, ſcarce beſtows a look.
His former pitty, he hath quite forgot,
His Anger's kindled & his wrath is hot;
When that burns ſore, how can I choose but mourn?
How am I spoil'd, how am I rent and torn?
…m like a Ship with raging Tempeſt toſt
Midſt Rocks and Sands, juſt ready to be loſt:
Where ev'ry Bellow does preſent a grave,
And Death in Triumph rides on ev'ry wave.
Ah! But I am, engraven on his hand,
And in his ſight for evermore ſhall I ſtand.
Awake, O Arm of God, and do not ſtay,
My ſorrows are ſo great, O ſay not nay,
Hear me, dear Jeſus, unto thee I crie,
Unleſs thou ſave me, I muſt ſurely die,