Remains, Hymns
HYMN I.
WHat ails my ſoul to look ſo wan?
My vitals they are fled:
What faintings do I feel within?
My heart as 'twere is dead.
Love-beams do ſhine full in my face
From off the throne above:
They ſparkle glories round my ſoul,
Yet, yet I cannot love.
I ſee the Heavens open wide,
My Lord upon his throne,
I ſee his Saints all cloth'd in gold,
Bedeckt with glittering ſtone.
I fee a Crown held in his hand,
To ſet upon my head,
If once I were laid low in grave,
Yet, yet my heart is dead.
What my diſtemper is, God knows;
It's cauſe I can unfold,
My heart lay down upon the earth,
And there it caught a cold.
This, this alone had been enough
My health to overthrow;
But I of fleſh a ſurfeit took,
Which made my grief to grow.
Lord, what compaſſions in thy looks,
What pearls ſtand in thine eye!
Like a kind friend thou turn'ſt away,
As loth to ſee me die.
No cordials can my ſp'rits revive,
Thoſe glorious ſights do'nt move:
Oh, I am loſt, there is no hope,
I ſee, yet cannot love.
My God! my God! don't me forſake:
If I muſt needs then die,
Whil'ſt I am breathing out my laſt,
Oh! do but thou ſtand by.
Help! help! thou great ſoul-curing God,
In languiſhments I lye.
Speak but the word, my heart revives:
Oh yet I ſhall not die.
I find my native heat reſtor'd,
My wonted joys return:
I love thee, Lord, I love thee now,
With love my heart doth burn.
Oh what are all the things below!
What toys they ſeem to me!
When ſhall I leave them, and come up
To dwell, my Lord, with thee!
HYMN II. The Souls Farewell to her Body.
TIr'd with a body, now at laſt
In travel on my road,
I muſt take Inn, and reſt my ſelf,
I muſt of fleſh unload.
I ſee my priſon-walls fall down,
And mold'ring into duſt:
I feel my chains of fleſh break off,
As eaten up with ruſt.
Oh! I am going! help, my God!
A little reſpite give;
Reverſe thy ſentence, add ſome years,
That I on earth may live.
Ah! fooliſh ſoul, how fond of life
Doſt thou thy ſelf betray!
Why a few minutes more doſt thou
With tears for life thus pray?
Are not the years enough thou 'ſt been
A Pilgrim here below?
Thy Father calls, bids come away,
Ah! fool, thou wilt not go.
What ſeeſt thou in this wicked world
That thus delights thine eye?
A father, brother, or dear friends?
Thou 'lt find them all on high.
Thy Saviour hath a Palace there
Imboſt about with Gold.
Thine's but a den where now thou dwell'ſt,
Whoſe walls ſcarce keep out cold.
What canſt thou ſee more than thou haſt?
The ſame Sun runs its round,
The rivers ebb and flow alike;
No new thing can be found.
The pleaſant faces of thy friends
Thou feeſt but o're again:
The ſweets of meats and drinks thou taſts,
Are but the very ſame.
Yet theſe ſweet and beloved things
Have thorns been in thy ſide;
Their Prickles have ſo torn thy heart,
Thou ſcarce could'ſt them abide.
But Oh thou lump of Gold, my Soul!
How full of droſs and tin!
Thy Father would but melt thee now,
And purge thee of thy ſin.
Thou art, my Soul, a ball of light
Here in dark lanthorn place't:
God in a golden ſocket would
Thee ſet to burn, not waſte.
Ariſe, my Soul! come ſhake thy plumes,
Prepare thy ſelf for flight,
Like a fledg'd Eagle mount aloft,
And bid the world Good-night.
Farewell, then deareſt friends, farewell,
Farewell fond world, I ſay,
Lord, now I come, Oh take me up,
With ſighs and groans, I pray.
HYMN III. The Reſurrection of our Bleſſed Lord.
ON Golgotha, that fatal day,
While Chriſt on Croſs did bleed,
The whole Creation groan'd (they ſay)
To ſee that bloody deed.
The Earths big heart with ſorrow ſwells,
Which burſt out in earth-quakes,
The Sun his eye hides in a cloud;
The lowring Heaven ſhakes.
The bodies of the dead ariſe,
Moſt ghaſtly look and wonder;
Becauſe mens hearts nor garments rent,
The Vale doth tear aſunder.
Yet one thing do I admire more,
To ſee a God-man dead:
His breathleſs royal trunk they took
And laid in grave, deaths-bed.
Like conquer'd captive there he lies
In th' priſon of a grave?
Three days the tyrant death him holds
In fetters like a ſlave.
So long, ſaid he, I'le lye; then cry'd,
Hell, grave, death, do your worſt;
Faſt tye me, bind me, chain my hands,
I'le all your fetters burſt.
Rowl, rowl a ſtone upon his tomb,
The Jews of Pilate pray;
Set watch and ward leſt that his friends
By night ſteal him away.
With bills and lanthorns there they ſtand,
With ſcoffs they him deride;
See how he riſeth! jeeringly
They flout one very ſide.
At length the third days morn doth dawn,
Our Lord begins to 'wake,
Whileſt the hard ſtony Cover-lid
Away the Angel takes.
Look! look! the watch-men! ſee! they run
As frighted! hark, their crys!
The buried Jeſus, he is riſen,
We ſaw him with theſe eyes.
Shout, ſhout for joy, ye Saints of his,
This is your Saviour dear:
When you this wretched life muſt leave,
Graves, Coffins, do not fear.
This day a perfect conqueſt he
Of grim-lookt death hath made;
Your moulder'd rotted bodies he
Can raiſe, as he hath ſaid.
HYMN IV. Of our Lords Aſcenſion into Heaven.
I Sometime wondred why thou, Lord,
Thoſe forty-days didſt ſtay
On earth, betwixt thy Grave and Crown,
Or thy Aſcenſion day.
It ſeems moſt like a Captain great
After ſome bloody fights,
Who walks to ſhew his friends he lives,
And puts his Hoſt to rights.
Thus all things ſetled, up he mounts
Upon his Royal Steed,
Who prancing through the ſtreets is prais'd
For his victorious deed.
Juſt ſo my glorious bleſſed Prince
With vict'ry on his ſide,
Being won with ghaſtly gaping wounds,
In triumph he muſt ride.
Down with a Chariot made of clouds,
From th' Palace-yard on high,
His Father ſent to ſetch his Son
In great ſolemnity.
Before he ſteps up to his ſeat,
Like Royal Prince he gave
Rich-wonder-working gifts to 's friends,
And then he took his leave.
Strait at command the foaming winds
With prancings up they fly,
Proud of the burthen that they drew,
A load of Majeſty.
When he got home, Oh! with what ſhouts
Of joy did Heav'n reſound!
When th' Father ſat him on his Throne,
And there himſelf him crown'd!
Angels and Saints do all at once
The Song of the Lamb ſing,
As worthy of all honour, praiſe,
Yea worthy to be King.
Sit there thou great Victorious Prince,
At thy Fathers right hand,
Bring down thine en'mies to thy feet:
Rule all by thy command.
HYMN V. The Souls Acceſs.
LOrd, hear my knockings, hark my crys,
Want drives me to thy door:
Oh! chide not, do not ſay, Away;
I was here once before.
Where ſhall I go? thou only haſt
That life none gives beſide:
I went about the world to beg
For life, but all deni'd.
Thou art my God and Saviour;
To thee I naked creep:
Beſmear'd in blood and tears I lie:
Lord! pity, ſee I weep.
If I have ſin'd, Lord, thou haſt di'd,
To free me thou waſt ſent:
And thou haſt ſaid, I ſhall not die
If that I will repent.
Juſtice, Oh hold a while thy ſtroke,
Suffer a ſinner plead:
It's for my life; one word, and then
Strike on and make me bleed.
If I had ſin'd, and would not yield,
But ſtoutly ſtand it out,
Thy wrath might then have broacht my heart,
And let my life run out.
If I had heard a Chriſt was come,
With open arms to ſave,
Had I not run for refuge there,
Mercy I might not crave.
Now Juſtice ſtrike, 'tis done: but ſee
Where I incircled lye,
Within the folds of Jeſus arms:
Strike! in his arms I'le die.
Chear up my heart! the ſtorm is o're,
Juſtice is ris'n and gone;
All thy accuſers creep away,
Thy Chriſt is leſt alone.
What bleſſed voice was that I heard!
My Son riſe off thy knees,
Thy ſins are pardon'd, thou art free,
And I have paid thy fees.
Lord! what a quick diſpatch haſt thou
In grace giv'n to my cauſe!
I am arraign'd, acquit, ſet free
By thy moſt gracious Laws.
Had I not guilty dar'd to plead,
Though fraught with Angels skill,
How ſure my impannel'd conſcience would
Have ſought and found the bill!
HYMN VI. The deſcent of the Spirit.
WHO knows the winds from whence they come,
Or whither they do go!
The holy breathings we receive
Are from the Spirit: ev'n ſo,
Sometimes its cooling gales we feel
On Conſcience all on fire;
Sometimes its cooling heats we find
Our nummed hearts inſpire.
This is that Holy Ghoſt that Chriſt
Did promiſe for to ſend,
This is that pow'rful Spirit that
Our ſtubborn hearts muſt bend.
Jeruſalem the City was
Deſign'd for his deſcent,
Thither the Chriſtians at th' command
Of th' Heavenly Angel went.
No ſooner were they ſet, but ſtraight
A mighty tempeſt roſe,
Shook the foundations of the houſe
Which they for pray'rs had choſe.
Struck with amazement; ſoon there fell
Flames ſhap't both flat and long,
Which hovering, light upon each head,
Much like a Cloven-tongue.
Thoſe little fiery buſhes were
But wonders for to ſhew,
That th' wonder-working Spirit was
Come down to men below.
For ſtraight he tun'd each Chriſtians tongue
All Languages to ſpeak:
The Parthians, Medes, and Elamites,
To them their minds might break.
Thouſands of Salem flock to ſee
This ſtrange unheard-of thing;
They flock too faſt: for they forget
Good hearts with faith to bring.
Some are amaz'd, but others ſcoff:
Some praiſe, but others ſay,
They have too much of tongue, they'r drunk
With much new wine to day.
Oh injur'd God! how can'ſt thou bear
Theſe dreadful Blaſphemies!
Theſe wonders ſpeak thy Goſpel true,
They ſay it's nought but lyes.
Scarce fifty days now paſt, thy Son
With nails they Crucifi'd;
And now to heap up ſin on ſin,
Thy Spirit they deride.
Inſtead of wrath Gods bowels yern,
Yet thinks them thoughts of Grace:
The bleeding Chriſt while Peter preacht,
The Spirit gave them chace.
Three thouſand hearts at once he ſtruck;
Who bleeding came and cri'd,
What ſhall we do? we do believe
On Chriſt we Crucifi'd.
O holy conquering Spirit! thou
Thoſe ſouls did'ſt captivate;
This is a ſecond wonder wrought,
Which we with Songs relate.
Oh let me find thy heats within
As a refiners fire;
Purge from my heart all droſs and ſin:
This, this is my deſire.
HYMN VII.
Firſt Part.
THOU dreadful Judg! whoſe Majeſty
Angels themſelves adore,
That can't with open face thee ſee,
But clap their wings before:
When thou with whiſpers doſt but chide,
The arch of Heaven doth quake;
Big-bellied clouds forth lightning bring,
And into thunders break.
When that thy wrath it doth but breathe,
Great ſtorms of whirlwinds riſe,
Hail, ſnow and rain come tumbling down,
Whileſt th' trembling ſinner flies.
The lofty mountains ſtoop their heads
To hide them in their vales:
Great men and Princes ſhrink for fear,
Their hearts and courage fails.
Some high and mighty Angels hatcht
Treaſon againſt his Crown;
He ſpar'd them not, but from their Throne
With vengeance pull'd them down:
He chains of darkneſs on them laid,
As pris'ners doth them keep,
Againſt the great and terrible day,
When hardeſt hearts ſhall weep.
When the old world thy name forgot,
And laid aſide their fears,
The gentle wrathful Heavens wept,
Drowns it with ſhowers of tears.
When Sodom and Gomorrah burnt
With fires of wanton luſt,
With flakes of fir'd brimſtone thou
Thoſe Cities burnd'ſt to duſt.
Sion it ſelf that darling hill,
In Salem that did ſtand,
Them both for ſlaying of thy Son,
Thou mad'ſt a fire-brand.
Our bleeding carcaſſes thy ſword
leaves reeking on the ground,
Yet after this we no more fear
Than men fall'n in a ſwound.
Second Part.
When thou, O mighty God, ſhalt come
Riding upon the wind,
To judg the world, Oh! in what place
Will th' wicked refuge find!
How ſhall we hear thy ſhrill voice't trump
Cleaving th' air aſunder,
To wake our aſhes in their graves
With noiſe like claps of thunder!
Lord! what a glorious train is that,
That on their wings do ride!
Look how they poſt in full career!
Thronging on either ſide!
Oh! they're the Angels of the Lord,
Egypt's firſt-born that ſlay'd,
That took poor Lazarus ſoul that di'd,
And him in boſom laid.
The Trump ſhall ſound, and Michael then
Th' Archangel ſtrait ſhall cry,
Ariſe you dead, to judgment come,
The Lord your lives muſt try.
Look how the wicked's bodies crawl
Like Toads out of their den!
What ghaſtly fearful looks they bear!
They look like frighted men!
Why do you ſinners now thus quake!
Call for your cups and ſing,
Scoff, laugh, deride your Preachers now:
Care not for Chriſt your King.
You worldlings call upon your gods,
See what your Gold can do:
Ye proud ambitious of the earth,
Judg whether Goſpel's true.
Fear not you humble holy Saints,
This is your Marriage-day,
Your night is paſt, your tears dri'd up,
Your ſorrows fled away.
This day you heard of, and believ'd;
At it your hearts did melt,
This wrath now come, you beg'd to 'ſcape,
Whileſt on the earth you dwelt.
Third Part.
Lord! I aſtoniſht ſtand to think,
What brightneſs will thy face
That day put on, when thou thy ſelf
To mortals wilt uncaſe!
How will the bleeding mangled Chriſt,
On earth that ſeem'd ſo poor,
Outſhine the Sun, and put it out!
For it ſhall ſhine no more.
Then to the wicked he ſhall ſay,
See him whom you have pierce't:
It's I whom you did ſcorn to fear,
And bid me do my worſt.
You ſin'd, yet would not bow your knee,
Though I you pardon could:
You would go on and have your way,
Though th' danger you were told.
I muſt not rule you, you had got
A better Lord than I:
I cri'd, I call'd, but you were deaf,
Why ſinners will you die?
How long did I your leiſure wait,
With hope you might repent!
Ah ſinners! now it is too late,
My patience is quite ſpent.
You hope't to find a Lamb your Judg,
And of my love to ſhare,
You ſhall me find a Lion now
That can in pieces tare.
Go curſed, curſed from my ſight,
I'le never ſee you more:
I would have wip't off all your debts,
Now you ſhall pay the ſcore.
Ye Angels that attend my will,
Bind them in chains about;
Now caſt them in the dreadful gulf,
They never ſhall come out:
Loaded with ſins now get you hence;
Sink deep, ſink deep in flames;
Torments ſeize on your trembling joints,
I ever be free from pains.
Blow, blow thou wrathful breath of God;
That kindleſt Tophets fires:
Ye worms of conſcience catch your hold,
Bite hard and never tire.
You poys'nous curled ſnakes ariſe
Out of the ſulphur'd Lake,
Torment them ever with your ſmells;
Their lives yet never take.
Bear witneſs, ſinners, I your Judg
Am free from cruelty;
I would have ſav'd you from this death,
You rather choſe to die.
Now you would leave your loved ſins,
Have me at any rate,
Leave pride, and drink, and gold and life:
Ah! now it is too late.
Lord! hear a trembling ſinner cry,
While I on earth do dwell,
I thee will love, and fear, and ſerve;
Free me but from this Hell!
Oh! when I die, grant me this wiſh,
That I thy face but ſee;
Gold, honour, pleaſures here on earth
I will forſake for thee.
HYMN VIII.
WHat if my Cheſts were cram'd with Gold,
My Chariots ſtood at Gate:
What if a thouſand ſervants did
Upon my pleaſure wait?
What if my Houſe a Palace were,
Its walls with Rubies ſhone?
My Chambers coſtly Tiſſue wore,
In-laid with Diamond-ſtone?
What if my Bed were cloath'd with Gold,
Befring'd with Pearls moſt bright?
What if ſome clouds of ruffled Silks,
Were Curtains for my light?
What if I drank the ſp'rits of Pearl,
Eat of all ſowls, beaſts, fiſhes?
What if each day theſe were ſerv'd up
In maſſie golden diſhes?
What if I had eſpouſed one
So wiſe, ſo good, ſo fair,
That both in ſoul and ſhape ſhe might
With Angels well compare?
What if my numerous off-ſpring were
Of Wits deeply profound?
Their outward carriage ſtate did bear,
Yet all with meekneſs crown'd?
What if for one whole thouſand years
Our youth a ſpring-tide had?
What if that while no pains we knew
That ever made us ſad?
Yet ah my ſoul! this thread of life
At length would fret away:
A dark and ſullen cloudy night
Would riſe upon our day.
This long-liv'd candle at the laſt
Would to her ſocket burn;
Her flame would ſtruggle for a life,
And then to ſmoke would turn.
My ſoul, chuſe rather to live well,
How long it matters not:
He that lives ill, while he hath liv'd,
Hath done he knows not what.
Thou maiſt live well without this wealth,
Be good without this ſtate;
Pleaſe but thy God, and thou wilt think
Thy death will come too late.
HYMN IX. 53 Chap. of Iſaiah Tranſlated.
WHO hath believed our report?
Who hath the Lords arm ſeen?
When he his Son ſends to the world
By blood it to redeem.
He muſt ſpring up before his face
As a moſt tender plant,
Out of dry ground he muſt ſhoot up,
Yet ſeem all form to want.
When one his viſage ſhall behold,
He nothing there ſhall ſee,
Of that alluring beauty which
May well deſired be.
Men him deſpiſe, and ſhall reject,
Add ſorrows to his grief;
Of him aſham'd, they hide themſelves,
So give him no relief.
Yet certainly he only was
The man our griefs that bore:
But we thought he was ſmitt'n of God,
So paid but his own ſcore.
For our tranſgreſſions he had wounds,
And for our ſins was bruiſed:
By his chaſtiſements we had peace;
For our health, ſtripes he chuſed.
All we like ſheep have gone aſtray,
And turn'd from God each one;
But God all our iniquities
Hath laid on him alone.
He was afflicted and oppreſt,
Yet moved not his tongue;
Lay like a lamb, when to be kill'd
By butchers laid along.
From darkſome priſon he was took;
Who ſhall declare his birth!
For th' peoples ſins he ſmitten was,
And cut off from the earth.
With wicked men he found a death,
Among the rich a tomb;
Becauſe for ill nor done nor ſaid,
He had receiv'd his doom.
Yet did it pleaſe the Lord to bruiſe,
And put him for to bleed,
Therefore he ſhall prolong his days,
And after ſee his ſeed.
Therefore the pleaſure of the Lord
Shall proſper in his hand;
The travel of his ſoul ſhall ſee
His children at command.
By his knowledg my righteous Son
Shall many juſtifie.
For he by ſuffering ſhall bear
All their iniquity.
Therefore I him a portion
With the great will divide;
Becauſe to death his ſoul he pour'd,
His Kingdom ſhall be wide.
HYMN X. A Conſolatory againſt the fears of Death.
THOU tyrant Death! look not ſo ſtern,
Think not me to affright,
The giddy tumult thou maiſt awe
With thy unconquer'd might.
I wear (di'd in a Saviours blood)
A ſcarlet robe about;
Strike where thou wilt, thy Serpents ſting.
This robe ſhall fetch it out.
Were I to die but like a beaſt,
I think my heart would break;
But now I know my ſoul ſurvives,
To fear it were but weak.
Were it not baſeneſs for to think
Of Saints ſouls, though the leaſt.
That after death they did enjoy
No more than a poor beaſt?
If then I ſhall as joyful be,
And happier every way
Than I am here, why ſhould I fear,
To bid that world good day.
But Oh! the fainting-fits and pains
That I muſt needs go through!
Why, what of that? they'r quickly o're,
Then what needs ſuch ado?
They are not paſt ſome fourteen days,
Diſeaſes come to height,
Be patient but for that ſmall time,
Bid ſorrows then good night.
What muſt be ſuffer'd? why, is't fear'd,
I can't my life defend?
Fear, or not fear, it's all a caſe,
My life muſt have an end.
Death comes! why let it, why ſhould I
Plead priviledg from what
My God hath pointed out for all?
It muſt be then my lot.
He lent me to my ſelf a while;
My lent-out life recalls,
What is his own he may demand,
He wrongs me not at all.
Why ſhould I tremble at the grave?
Alas! it is not Hell:
Why ſhould not I thank God and die?
That it's not worſe it's well.
Art thou new-born, then thou haſt felt
The pains of death to luſt,
They'r greater than thoſe thou wilt feel,
Which brings thee to the duſt.
To leave a ſin, to wicked men
Doth far more torment bring
Than ſhame, than beggery or death,
Or any other thing.
Think how the wicked go to hell,
How careleſs do they die?
Shalt thou leſs fear it than they do,
Though thou muſt fore on high?
Think that thy grave were but thy bed,
That God thee there did keep;
That when that dying thou wert but
A falling faſt aſleep.
Think what a quiet undiſturb'd
Repoſe thou there ſhalt take,
That God when thou haſt ſlept enough,
Himſelf will thee awake.
Think that thy Lord and Saviour
In this cold bed did lie,
Wilt thou not with him lay thy ſelf?
What love him, and deny!
Think that a thouſand thouſand Saints
Have hither crept for reſt,
Have long'd and hop'd to be diſſolv'd,
All counting it the beſt.
Think, what's this world that thou muſt leave,
It is not Paradiſe;
A hell of torment, ſin, ſhame, grief,
A cinque of filthy vice.
Where luſt and pride do ſit and reign,
Grace, goodneſs, ſubjects are;
If thou art good, thou maiſt go pack,
That's all the world doth care.
How often their ungodly lives
Have vext thy ſoul, but think;
Their ſelling Heaven for a luſt,
For droſs, a cup of drink.
It's true, thou maiſt them contradict,
But what get'ſt thou by that?
They curſe thee, wiſh thee in ſome pit,
Where thou maiſt lye and rot.
Thou ſay'ſt, there's good as well as bad
That thou muſt leave behind;
If good men make thee will to ſtay,
Above thou'lt better find.
The beſt on earth are bitter-ſweet,
Weakneſſes have their ſtings,
They can thee hurt, and will ſometimes,
Till God to Heaven them brings.
Thou ſay'ſt, if God the ſhepherd ſmite,
The ſheep will ſcatter'd be;
If they were ſafe, it matters not
What did become of thee.
Thou fool! God will them bleſs or curſe;
If curſe, thou muſt not live:
But if for them he bleſſings hath,
Better than thee he'l give.
I come then: Oh ye Heavenly hoſt
Of Angels take me up!
I've broke my faſt with grace on earth,
With you above I'le ſup.
I come, my Father! and my God!
Now to thy ſelf me take;
Through my Lords wounds I hope for love:
Oh love me for his ſake!
HYMN XI. Comfortable at the death of a dear friend.
DRY up thy eyes, and let thy looks
Again ſeem fair and clear;
Let not thoſe briny ſtaining ſtreams
Thy blubber'd cheeks beſmear.
Who knows not man was made to die?
Can tears blur the decree,
Or ſpunge it out thoſe Heavenly rowls?
What God wills, that muſt be.
Was he not made of duſt that's dead?
Can duſt for ever laſt?
What wonder is it then to ſee
That duſt on duſt is caſt!
Hath not the wiſeſt God all things
Made ſubject unto change?
Why ſhould he thee or thine except?
Is not thy folly ſtrange?
Why his departure thus bemoan'd?
He paid but nature's ſcore:
He me not leaves, I follow him,
He's only rid before.
It's God commanded him away;
'Twas he that gave him thee;
Is it not reaſon, more than thou
the Giver pleaſed be?
Thou ſay'ſt, no ſorrows like to mine,
None e're loſt ſuch a friend!
How many thouſands ſay the like?
Complaints will ne'r have end.
Nay, think how far others in grief
Have cauſe thee to exceed;
Thou 'ſt loſt a friend, but they a child;
Thou weep'ſt, but they do bleed.
Is thine a child? their is a wife,
Or elſe ſome dead husband:
But if this laſt be thine own caſe,
Think his is worſe that's damn'd.
Look round and view that num'rous heap
Of houſes that do ſtand,
Tell me the houſe that hath not mourn'd
By ſtrokes giv'n by deaths hand.
Go round about the Royal Tombs,
Number the Queens and Kings;
How oft have Palaces worn Black
By wounds made by Deaths ſtings?
Or think how many mourners thou
haſt cheered up before;
Let the ſame reaſons on thee move,
That thy heart grieve no more.
Or think of him as ne'r been born;
Or born, not known to thee;
He might have di'd a thouſand times,
'Twould ne'r have troubled thee.
But did thy life and livelihood
On him alone depend?
For ſhame do not forget thy God,
Who meat to Ravens ſends.
But ah! alas! he lov'd me more
Than all the world beſide.
Ah! take thou care, in ſaying ſo,
Thy God he be'nt be-li'd.
But, Oh the friend of my boſom!
He cannot be forgot!
But, fool! didſt think he could not die?
What did thy mind beſot!
Play not the child, my grown-up ſoul!
Many ſpectators gaze
At thy-high ſpirit! under grief
Soul-weakneſs will amaze.
Think thy employment calls aloud,
To lay aſide complaints;
Think that thy Friends, thy Country, Church,
Cry to thee as in wants.
Or elſe look up unto thy God,
In whom contentment lyes;
His heating brightneſs will dry up
All tears from out thine eyes.
If all the reaſons I have us'd
Will nothing move thy heart,
Then take thy courſe, I only wiſh
Thy cure be wrought by ſmart.
HYMN XII. Of Thanksgiving for the reſtoration of Health.
'THE God of Heav'n is but one,
To him alone I pray:
To him in ſtraits I made my vows,
Which now in health I'le pay.
My God is light, life, help, hearts eaſe,
Phyſician, Nurſe and Friend;
Himſelf was the beſt Phyſick I
Could take to make me mend.
For ſin, me weakneſs did confine
Within my Chamber-walls:
In priſon as with Iron-bolts,
My limbs were ſore with gauls;
My bones were all as out of joint,
My ſinews lax and looſe,
Each member was ſo feebly hung,
As if 't had loſt its uſe.
All elements did ſeem to ſtrive
To raiſe my miſery;
They would have ſurely me orewhelm'd,
But that my God was by.
My trembling skin, my chattering teeth,
The ſhiverings of my bones,
My ſhoulders ſhrugging up with cold,
Thus ſadly made their moans.
As if all hail, and ſnow, and rain,
Their coldneſſes had lent
To ſome night-ſtormy bluſtring winds,
My body to torment.
I was like weary pilgrim that
All night in foreſt lies,
While rain, and ſnow, and chilling winds
Do pinch him till he dies.
But my good God! thoſe nipping blaſts
Screen'd off me with his palm;
He ſweetly rockt me faſt aſleep,
So they did me no harm.
The freezing air now thaw'd, I thought
Me ſafe, but was deceiv'd:
For ſtraight a watry vapour roſe
As much my body griev'd.
Each pore about a channel was,
Which pains had open'd wide,
Through which as through ſulphureous mynes
Did ſcalding liquors glide.
Amidſt thoſe ſimpring plaſhes lay
My wrinkl'd par-boil'd skin;
In my own ſweats I had expir'd,
Had not my good Lord been.
My God then dri'd up all my dews,
Me richeſt cordials gave;
Out of thoſe waters I did cry,
And he my life did ſave.
Colds gone, and waters now aſſwag'd,
A fire faſt hold doth catch,
My muddy cottage was on flame
Through ſparks within my thatch.
Its ſindgings made my former griefs
Deſir'd they would return,
That winds would blow, or waters flow
To cool me that did burn.
While my houſe flam'd about my ears,
My ſoul wiſht to get out.
I cri'd, I call'd, my God did hear,
And then put th' hot fire out.
Next, muſt my reſt a burthen prove
Unto my drowſie head;
My ſpirits ſpent, my ſtrength's decay'd,
I was as thoſe are dead.
My eyes as uſeleſs were through ſleep,
My tongue had loſt her taſte;
Each thing it did offend my ſmell,
My fleſh about did waſte.
That very God that on dry bones
Did breathe, and make them live;
That very pow'r that Laz'rus rais'd,
Again this life did give.
He put this quickneſs in my joints,
Theſe ſpirits in mine eyes,
Reſtor'd this joy unto my heart,
Thus anſwer'd all my crys.
HYMN XIII. Remedies againſt Diſcontents.
THAT bleſſed peace which all men wiſh,
That none but good enjoy,
Is when all ſtates of life do pleaſe,
And nothing doth annoy.
If thus unſhaken thou wouldſt live,
Contemplate God on high,
As near as may be live like him,
Fixt in ſelf-conſtancy.
Wiſh nothing more than to be good,
Do juſtly, fear no man;
Think on the bleſt eternity,
Let th' world do what it can.
Be no more mov'd with thy reproach,
Than God when men blaſpheme;
Let not want, loſs, or death affright,
Which men ſo dreadful deem.
Think that the world below the Moon
As yet thy ſelf contains;
And that all things here ebb and flow
That nothing fixt remains.
What wonder is't the Mariner
At ſea meets with a ſtorm?
How boldly yet he plows the waves
In danger fears no harm!
The traveller his weary ſteps
Directs unto his Inn;
Sometimes meets Sun-ſhine, and then ſtorms,
Yet ne'r leaves travelling.
Are not our days, and months, and years,
Now foul, and ſometimes fair,
Variety doth not annoy,
Change makes things pleaſe as rare.
Why ſhould I wiſh it always day?
The world without a night?
Why ſhould I wiſh it always Spring,
For flowers for delight?
Were I not fool to weep to ſee
A cloud creep o're the Sun?
Such folly is it to lament
A croſs when it is come.
II.
Raſh man complains, In any ſtrait
But this, I could be bleſt;
Any mans trouble I could bear,
Mine only gives no reſt.
Says he, what ſorrow can be like
To want and beggery?
This, this I feel, or elſe I fear,
Which makes me wiſh to die.
Man, be thou faithful, do thy work,
Thou ſerv'ſt a righteous Lord;
He will not let his ſervant want,
But bread will ſure afford.
Starving-extremity thou fear'ſt,
This beggars never feel;
Better allowance God them gives
To whom his dole he deals.
Hunger and cold, and nakedneſs,
True, bleſſed Paul complains,
Yet ſo as that he glorieth
In them, ſo in his chains.
Are not the Lilies gaily cloath'd?
They neither toil nor ſpin.
Are not the birds of th' air fed,
That ne'r brought harveſt in?
Will God give grace and glory both,
Yet barely bread deny?
Will he give Crowns and Scepters too,
Of want yet let thee die?
True, murm'ring Iſrael cri'd out,
Can God a Table ſpread?
Can he in this vaſt wilderneſs
Prepare for all here, bread!
The Devil could have taught thoſe men
That God of ſtones could take,
Could mould and knead them up to dough,
And of them bread could make.
III.
The fool fears want while plenty laſts,
Like one in Summers day
Should ſhake and blow his hands for cold,
Then winters coming, ſay:
Or like one that in ſtreams doth ſwim,
Yet gaſps and crys for thirſt;
Then ſays, Oh me! what ſhall I do!
This river leave I muſt.
It's beſt things ſhould be as they 'r made,
That rivers ebb and flow,
That glaſs or earthen ware may break;
That riches come and go.
Fool! do'nt torment thy heart in vain,
If theſe things fleeting be,
Fix but thy ſoul on things above,
They 'l conſtant prove to thee.
All will be gone; ſay, let them go,
Man lives not all on bread;
There is a word of promiſe that
In want holds up thy head:
I never will to death thee leave;
I'le never thee forſake:
Think but on this, do but believe,
Thine heart 'twill joyful make.
IV.
I know whence ſpring more troubles yet
That do annoy me here;
My undertakings oft are great,
And I ſucceſs do fear.
I often am engag'd in more
Than able to go through;
Which makes me ſit and moan my ſelf,
Not knowing what to do.
Whoſe fault is that? why didſt thou ſo?
Thy God's too good a Lord
To ſet thee on more work than he
To do doth ſtrength afford.
Where he finds will, he doth accept,
With eye to what thou haſt,
Give but thine all, he wont refuſe
To crown that all at laſt.
I often have intended much,
But could not what I meant;
I would men ſave, but ah! I can't,
Becauſe they wo'nt conſent.
Inſtead of thanks for my good-will,
With taunting ſcoffs I meet,
I would them raiſe up unto Thrones,
They would me under feet.
Sometimes I talk like to a fool,
Deridingly they ſay,
I now teach falſe, and then too ſharp,
I can't pleaſe any way.
Be wiſe, and ſuch things ne'r will touch
Thy heart as to diſturb,
All thy attempts if good, ſhould joy,
Though inſucceſs them curb.
It's reaſon to think in this world
That good things ſhould be croſt;
If thou wilt fiſh for men, thou muſt
With winds and waves be toſt.
What if I diſappointments meet?
They are in uſe with men,
Why ſhould I not expect to ſhare
Alike with my breth'ren?
What wonder is't that they ſhould call
That falſe, or ſharp, that tart,
That frets the ſinews of their ſoul,
And that corrodes their heart!
Can the old man it quiet take,
To ſee him bound about,
That thence, where ſo long he hath lodg'd,
He ſhould be thus caſt out?
Is not my work a warfare call'd?
What, and no enemy?
How canſt thou fight, and not oppoſe,
Or uſe Heav'ns armory.
HYMN XIV.
TWO things, Lord, I deſire of thee,
Firſt, that with thee I live;
If thou delay'ſt to bring me there,
Oh then aſſurance give.
Content I'le be in th' ſhades of night,
Until my glory dawn,
Do but for ſurety grant this wiſh,
That I may keep the pawn.
Give, Lord, the earneſt in my breaſt,
A gracious heart to ſee:
Let me but know thou doſt me love,
And I ſhall quiet be.
Can I have peace whilſt that I fear
Thy curſe hangs o're my head?
It makes my heart to ake to think,
What now if I were dead?
Pardon, O Lord: it i'nt that I
Do fear thou canſt not ſave;
Nothing can hinder if thou pleaſe,
Nor Devil, Hell, nor Grave.
Nor do I doubt, but 'tis thy will
To ſave ſome ſuch as I:
For as vile wretches as I am
Thy Son did freely die.
In the deep Seas of thy rich love,
Blaſpheming Paul did ſwim;
He, though thy Saints he ſought to kill,
Yet thou didſt pardon him.
The Harlot Mary Magdalen,
Who deeply ran on ſcore,
Who did ten thouſand talents owe,
Yet that debt-bond was tore.
A ſwearing curſing Peter thou
Didſt to thy mercy take,
That Son whom he did fear to own,
Thou pardon'ſt for his ſake.
This makes me confident, my God,
That Heav'n may be my place,
If thou would'ſt pleaſe to grant to me
Maries or Peters Grace.
Give me, O God, to go aſide,
And in ſome corner creep,
That there with Peter bitterly
In dolors I may weep.
Give me but ſinful Maries love,
Love ſhall my ointment be,
Which I upon my Lords feet will
Pour out as well as ſhe.
But ah, my God! this is my fear,
Their faith and love I want;
My carnal, proud, and ſenſual heart
Speaks me no penitent.
This only, Lord, I have to plead,
Thoſe luſts my heart doth hate;
I long, I wiſh to be ſet free
From this ſad ſinful ſtate.
Sure, Lord, I am no enemy
To holineſs within!
Thou ſeeſt my ſoul contend and ſtrive
To beat down every ſin.
When that perchance my foot doth ſlip,
And thee I do offend,
Doth not my ſin make me to mourn
And don't I ſtrive to mend?
Had not I faith, why ſhould I fear
The threatenings of thy Law?
Why ſhould I dread thy Majeſty,
And of thee ſtand in awe?
Had I not faith, why ſhould I long
Thy face above to ſee?
Why ſhould I praying ſue ſo hard
To get my liberty?
Did not I love thee, why ſhould I
My loved ſelf forſake?
Why ſhould I loath my loved ſins,
For thy beloved's ſake?
Did I not love, why don't the ſhell
Of duties me ſuffice?
In Sacraments and pray'rs why do
I thus thy preſence prize.
Did I diſſemble to be ſeen
Of men; why doth my ſin
(Which none knows but my ſelf alone)
Me trouble, that's within?
Did I diſſemble, then my tears,
My ſighs in company
Would more be heard, and ſeen then when
My God alone ſtands by.
It's true, I love thee not enough;
Nor is my faith ſo ſtrong,
But that with grief I do confeſs,
Thy faithfulneſs I wrong:
But, Lord, remember, I'm but duſt,
In weakneſs here I live:
That little which I have, thou gav'ſt;
The reſt above ſhalt give.
Did not thoſe Stars that now do ſhine
With thee in Heav'n above,
While living on the earth, complain
Of want of faith and love?
Nay, Lord, do not I read that thou
The hungry ſoul didſt bleſs,
And it that thirſts for righteouſneſs:
Such am I, I confeſs.
But Lord, remember, he that thirſts
And hungry is for grace,
He ſome degree of grace muſt want,
And I am in that caſe.
If he is bleſſed, why not I?
My hung'rings thou doſt ſee:
If thou haſt ſaid, he ſhall be full,
Why ſha'nt that word reach me?
I ſin, I ſin, but thou haſt place't
The righteous Chriſt on high,
To advocate and plead his cauſe
That at his feet doth lye.
Lord! there a ſinner I do lye,
Thy promiſe I will truſt
For pardon, and for love will hope,
Till I fall to the duſt.