A Prayer-Song, Poem 10 – Poem 16
On the Paſsion and Death of our Lord and Saviour Jeſus Chriſt.
Zech. 12.
10 And they ſhall look upon me whom they have pierced, and they ſhall mourn for him, as one mourneth for his onelyonly ſon; and ſhall be in bitterneſs for him, as one that is in bitterneſs for his firſt-born.
NOw hath bright Phoebus, through his heat,
Drawn up a cloud of vapours, which do threat
T'obſcure his glorious face; and therefore muſter
Their pitchie beds, to ſmother up his luſter.
God long hath rebels nouriſh'd, who now further,
From damn'd rebellion proceed to murther.
Could not your ſins be dy'd enough in grain,
From all the Prophets, but from ſuch a vain?
Could not the meaſure of your ſins be fill'd
In murth'ring them, except their God you kill'd?
Was this to make your crimſon, wooll, (vile brood)
To bathe the Lamb thus in his crimſon blood?
We do't by application, thus being done:
But meant you ſo in your intention?
Was your damnation of ſo groſs a weight,
That nought could raiſe the ſcales t'an equal height,
But ſuch an act as this? O curſed ſtir!
The Saw's in arms againſt the Carpenter.
Was't not enough thou wert in fleſh benum'd,
But when thy yeers t'a perfect age th' hadſt ſum'd,
Bleſt Vine, were thy ripe grapes ſmote by the rod,
And in thy Father's angry wine-preſs trod.
Curs'd Olivet! bear, hence, no fruit nor leaf,
Nor in thy vale be cropt a fruitful ſheaf.
Unhappie mount, fatal to Abſalon;
To David once, now to his glorious Son,
By Judah's fraud. Here David mourn'd and wept,
And Jeſus here his mourning veſper kept.
Gethſemane! may neither dew nor rain
Hence dy thy garden in a verdant grain:
For Jeſſe's Roſe, pluck'd from thy teeming breſt,
Was raviſh'd hence by that rebellious beast.
Here roar'd the Lion; in this diſmal grove,
The princely Eagle mourned like a dove.
As the condoling heavens, from the skie,
Weep blood, as Omen of ſome Prodigie:
So, in his paſſion, an exceſſive heat
Forc'd th'row his bleſſed pores a bloody ſweat.
Who by his word foil'd hell, could not ſuſtain
The weight of ſin without this heavie pain.
And this proves true his moan i' th' ſacred leaves:
I am ſin burthen'd, as a cart by ſheaves.
Here was the Lord of hoſts ſurpriz'd and taken
By Romane forces; here by 's friends forſaken.
Bleſt Saviour! what, couldſt thou not command
A with'ring dryneſs on each treach'rous hand?
Couldſt thou ſend fire from heaven at his clauſe,
If I'm a man of God, to plead thy cauſe,
Twice following on the captains and their fifty;
And of thy vengeance wert thou here ſo thrifty?
Didſt thou benight the Syrians eyes who came
To ſeize that Prophet, when he beg'd the ſame?
Yet did thy Majeſtie thus humbly ſtoop
To the ſurpriſal of ſo ſmall a Troop?
Accurſed Judas! had Cham in the flood
So guilty been of treaſon and of blood,
H' had drown'd the Ark, with all the reſt. At firſt,
God with ſterility, in part, th'earth accurſt,
For Adam's ſin: and could we look for leſs,
For thy curs'd ſake, then total barrenneſs?
Abſtract of wickedneſs! For if had Cain
His mother raviſh'd, and his father ſlain,
Thou wert more guilty, in juſt balance weigh'd,
Who haſt unnat'rally thy Lord betraid.
Wretch'd Pilate! what, did not thy conſcience grudge
Againſt thy tongue, when thou condemn'ſt thy Judge,
Who could have doom'd thee, for thy horrid crime,
Unto the ſhameful Tree prepar'd for him?
But thus hath God decreed: doſt thou not ſentence
Thy haſty doom with a too late repentance?
Accurs'd Jeruſalem! the bloody ſtage
Of wanton murther, and inconſtant rage:
Fell not the juſt reſults of Hiel's guilt
On Aelius, who ſo vile a town rebuilt?
You would no king but Caeſar: in concluſion,
Who but a Caeſar was your juſt confuſion?
Accurſed Calvary! henceforward we
Will never curſe from Ebal, but from thee.
May envious Mice hence gnaw thee from the Map:
For here the Branch was rob'd of fruit and ſap.
But why d' I curſe? Each place a Gerizim,
By theſe his bleſſed pains, is made by him.
And my ſin with the Souldiers, hand in hand,
Betraid my Saviour, and bid him ſtand.
Mine mock'd, mine ſcourg'd him too: my ſins in groſs
Help'd, with the Jews, to nail him on the Croſs.
I know not whe'er my heart ſhould dance or bleed
At this, this ſo accurſed bleſſed deed.
O for a fancy at his ſhameful death,
To curſe and bleſs theſe actions in a breath!
I ſhould not call good ill, nor evil good;
For both are ſo, as they are underſtood.
And now, methinks, I ſee him on the Croſs:
What ſhall I deſcant? what define or gloſs?
Forgive my murth'ring Fancy; 't is no Jew,
Although it feign thee crucifi'd in view.
I'll riſe in ſpight of their confuſed ſwarms,
And beg th' embracement of his outſtretch'd arms:
Nor will I ceaſe, till I've that promiſe made
To me, which even now bleſt Giſmas had.
I'll kiſs his lips, embrace his glorious neck;
But not unnail him fearing Peter's check;
Get thee behinde me, Satan: for this favour
Doth not of heaven, but of Satan ſavour.
I'll ſuck his crimſon wounds, till I have found
My glutton-ſoul is tinctur'd from each wound.
I'll ſtrive t' outweep his wounds: and leſt it breed
Diſtake I bleed not too, my heart ſhall bleed.
But lo, the Sun's eclips'd, withdraws his ray,
And all in mourning darkneſs clothes the day.
And durſt the ſtars to ſhine? have they endur'd
To ſee the Star of Jacob thus obſcur'd?
No, beauteous light (as if that now were furl'd
Heav'ns gaudy curtains) hath forſook the world,
Not with the luſtre of a Comet fring'd;
And th' earth, as by an earthquake, ſeems unhing'd.
At which (as frighted from that ſweet repoſe)
The Saints that ſlept long in their graves, aroſe:
The Temple's veil 's rent from the top to th' roof;
For why? its Type is rent and pierced through.
Now is well-nigh our Saviour's ſoul extorted,
His body thus by wounds and nails ſupported:
Nor was his bodies weight ſo great, as were
Our ſins, which he upon his ſoul did bear.
Hark, how his ſoul's expired with a cry:
Whoſe ſin's ſo great, to cauſe a God to die?
Not his: for he appeals to th' envious Jews;
Which of you can me of a ſin accuſe?
And even Pilate, Ceſar's wicked groom,
Did clear his inn'cence ere he clear'd his doom.
We ſin'd in the firſt Adam, and depriv'd
The ſecond of his life, all, ere we liv'd:
But gracious mercy (as Rebekka's twins,
Jacob and Eſau) ſtrugled with our ſins
In the womb of Eternity; and thus
Smooth mercy did ſupplant rough ſin for us:
And thus the birth-right's ours, our title's good:
For Chriſt ev'n now hath ſeal'd it with his blood.
Now hath the Sun with more then common haſte
(Scarf'd in his Sphere) deſcended Veſta's waſte,
And (as hence frighted) of ſuch acts as theſe
Hath carried news to the Antipodes.
Here for a time though we in darkneſs grope,
Let's not deſpair, as men being void of hope:
For, ſurer then the Sun will riſe, though ſlain,
Our Sun of righteouſneſs will riſe again.
On the good Thief.
Luke 23.
43 And Jeſus ſaid unto him Verily I ſay unto thee, This day ſhalt thou be with me in Paradiſe.
1.
WHat ſhall I gloſs,
Good Giſmas, on thy Croſs?
Why may it reſemble not
To the tree of Elijah's Chariot?
By which,
To th' higheſt pitch
Thou ſhalt b' advanc'd of bliſs:
Thy Jacob's ladder 't is,
Where Angels ſtand
At hand.
Thy Croſs is but a type how Chriſt thy ſoul
This day will fix above each pole.
O happie puniſhment,
Beyond extent!
2.
Did Barabbas
Know who our Saviour was,
He'd ſcorn his life: that Jewiſh favour
Would in his choice no reliſh finde, or ſavour:
But beg'd,
By Conſcience egg'd,
That he might ſpell him yet,
Their ears how would he fret?
Accuſe that throng
Of wrong?
That Chriſt's blood ſpilt ſurpaſs'd that deed of Cain,
'T would dye Jeruſalem in grain;
That they had now gone further
Than he in murther.
3.
Good Thief, from whence
Knew'ſt thou Chriſt? not from Senſe:
Pain 's no reſpirer: its extremes
No reſpite gives to think on ſerious Themes.
No, 't was
The winde of grace,
Which as it breathes on men
Where it doth pleaſe: ſo when.
Which here did breath
In death:
So through a day ſo dark, that I might ſay
A ling'ring twilight 't were, no day;
I've ſeen the ſetting Sun
Diſplay'd anon,
4.
O happie time
Thou di'dſt now for thy crime.
So have I ſeen a neighb'ring cloud,
Th'row which the Sun ſeem'd to look beetle-brow'd,
Ere night
Sun-burnt ſo bright,
As thou by ſuff'ring neer
The righteous Phoebus here,
Thus grew'ſt acquainted,
Thus Sainted:
He of thy ſhame partook, thou of his glory;
Bleſt change, beyond conceit or ſtory!
Thy Croſs each wiſe Invention
Stiles thy Aſcention.
5.
Laverna now
No longer hath thy vow:
But he alone hath thy belief,
Whoſe inn'cence ſuffers with thee as a Thief.
This craft
He thee hath taught,
To rob hell of her aim.
Though Death not of her claim;
Not to redeem
eſteem:
For thou giv'ſt Chriſt the praiſe, thy ſelf the ſhame,
Though Diſmas doth blaſpheme his name,
And, ev'n in death, pants
His wicked taunts.
6.
Peace, Satan's martyr,
Though Chriſt nor law nor charter
Hath broke, the Scriptures have not ſlumber'd,
Which have foretold that Chriſt muſt thus be number'd.
But if
Th' hadſt been no Thief,
Chriſt had, t' appeaſe their pride,
With Barabbas thus di'd,
In equipage
Of rage:
But now thy theft 's in grain; thou doſt contract
Blood to 't, while thou approv'ſt their act:
And while thou ſhouldſt condole,
Doſt vex his ſoul.
7.
Didſt never read?
Good thief, lift up thy head;
With th' eye of faith look, and condole
The Brazen Serpent on you curſed pole.
The grief
Thou wert a Thief,
Did wound his ſoul more fierce
Then nail or ſpear can pierce.
How for thy deeds
He bleeds!
His bloody ſweat, ſweat through each gracious pore,
Claims but unfeigned tears, no more;
His giving up the ghoſt,
But ſighs at moſt.
8.
Thy Scripture's, Lord,
Thy gracious Record,
That ſhining light which through the dark
Directs us in our race unto that mark.
But this
Thy paſſage is
A circumſtance more ample
For precept then example:
We finde this one
Alone,
Whoſe late repentance Chriſt in death vouchſaf'd:
Although thy wiſdom hath me taught
This Scene not to prorogue
Till th' Epilogue.
On the Reſurrection of our Lord and Saviour Jeſus Cnriſt.
Matth. 28.
5 And the angel anſwered and ſaid to the woman, Fear not: for I know that ye ſeek Jeſus which was crucified.
6 He is not here: for he is riſen, as he ſaid. Come, ſee the place where the Lord lay.
1.
ARiſe, my active ſoul, and run;
Keep meaſure with you dancing Sun,
Who ſeems as weary of his Sphere,
As thou to be confined here:
Look, how his ſprightly beams do ſpark:
So David danc'd before the Ark.
How he deſcends his Chariot! he, in this,
Worſhips Chriſt's riſing, as the Perſian his.
2.
But why doth Phoebus mount his head
So ſoon up from Aurora 's bed?
The tother night, when we, my ſoul,
Our Saviour 's Paſſion did condole,
The frighted Sun forſook our clime
Two hours before his wonted time;
And therefore now the ſooner gilds the heaven,
By two hours time, to make his courſe up even.
3.
But how rid Satan and his Legions
In triumph th'row th' infernal Regions?
The Sp'rits which Chriſt out-caſt, did come,
With Songs of triumph on his Tomb:
All mankinde was proſcrib'd; whom death
Did in conceit to hell bequeath.
Oh how death gloried that all now was ſafe!
And hell in triumph wrote his Epitaph.
4.
How did the Devil Man upbraid,
That Christ ſo weakly was betraid?
And he who took not Angels ſeed,
But Abraham's, fail'd in the deed;
And by that ſeed ſpurn'd to his grave,
Whom he in mercy came to ſave.
That now the God of life was dead, this mirth
Had balm to cure the wounds made by his birth.
5.
But Satan, at the third days dawn,
Chriſt now hath re-aſſum'd his pawn.
Thoughtſt thou on his t' inſult, as once
Thou proudly didſt for Moſes bones?
Thy two days triumph 's like the ſtory
Of the Perſian pris'ners glory.
So thought the Gazites Samſon ſafe, till day,
When he aroſe, and bore the gates away.
6.
Deſcend, damn'd ſp'rits; as you began,
Howl on. The death of great God Pan,
At this Chriſt's conqueſt, we may call
Your ruine, Satans ſecond fall.
Come, King of terrours, yeeld thy trophies
On Heroes, Souldiers, and Sophies,
Unto our Saviour; for thou art undone;
Thy Triumph 's but an empty Skeleton.
7.
My ſoul, that Chriſt was born, nay di'd,
Did not ſo much quench Satan 's pride:
But when he roſe, this bleſſed morn,
Hell was confounded, Death forlorn.
Were 't not for what this day brings forth,
The reſt had loſt that ſolemn worth.
Hence, on this day let no foul ſpirit dare
T' aſcend the Regions of our earth or air.
8.
Lord, as by thine I am aſſur'd
My bodies riſe ſhall be procur'd:
So, let my ſoul feel 't here begin
Her reſurrection too from ſin.
Lord, 'tis too much ſhe's thus confin'd:
But is ſhe buried in this kinde?
Oh raiſe her up: if thus thou pleaſe to do,
My heart (my bodies Sun) ſhall triumph too.
On the Aſcenſion of our Lord and Saviour Jeſus Chriſt.
Pſal. 24.
8. Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up ye everlasting doors, and the King of glory ſhall come in.
9. Who is the King of glory? even the Lord of hoſts he is the King of glory.
1.
YE bleſt immortals,
Divide your glorious portals.
Who not dilates
The everlaſting gates,
While that the King of glory mounts his throne?
Though by his own
Here nor receiv'd nor known:
We rather worry
The bleſſed Lamb of glory.
Your Wiſdom knows him God's eternal Son.
2.
His work is ended,
Nought partial or ſuſpended.
Bleſt Angels too,
He purchas'd hath for you
A nature fix'd, which ſeem'd before unfiniſh'd.
And of a worm
Though here he took the form;
It, ſince he di'd,
Is ſo much glorifi'd,
His Godhead 's neither clouded nor diminiſh'd.
3.
'T is now no Shrine
T' his Godhead more divine:
His glorious fleſh
He needs not now refreſh
With food or reſt, from hunger or from labour.
And if he here
Shone on the mount ſo clear,
As if the Sun
With rays his coat had ſpun;
How brighter ſhines he now than on mount Tabor!
5.
Since Chriſt ſo clear
Shines in his Manhood's Sphere,
That at its graces
Ye Angels hide your faces:
See in the Trinities tranſparent myrrour
How he 's inſtal'd,
And in his robes impall'd;
How he 's renown'd,
And by his Father crown'd
With gracious Majestie, and awful terrour.
5.
At his return,
The Pearlie gates do burn;
Jeruſalem
Shines with each kinde of Gem;
The new Jeruſalem with glory burniſht:
Nought here is built
With ſuperficial gilt;
But all in gold
The Citie is inrol'd;
All thus againſt his bleſt Aſcention furniſht.
6.
Of Precious ſtones
Are her foundations;
Her Pearlie ſtreets
Do brandiſh beaming ſheets,
Reflecting from the Lamb's moſt glorious face.
Here 's conſtant noon,
No need of Sun or Moon:
Our glim'ring Globe,
Deck'd in his azur'd robe,
Here an Eclipſe were to the loweſt Grace.
7.
How are we bleſt!
That have ſo ſweet a reſt
Got by the care
Of ſuch a Harbinger,
Who all things can command, all conſummate.
The way to heaven
He hath made plain and even;
And what with thorns
Was choak'd, his grace adorns
With roſe-beds, & makes wide heav'ns narrow gate.
8.
As Olivet,
Some ſay, retains as yet
Thy foot 's laſt print,
That nought can cloſe the dint:
Grave on my ſtupid ſoul (Lord) this days love,
Ev'n at the mention
Of this thy bleſt aſcention:
Let her aſpire,
Like an excentrick fire,
To thee her Centre that art fix'd above.
On Chriſt his Seſſion at the right hand of God.
Mark 16.
19 So then, after the Lord had ſpoken unto them, he was received up into heaven, and ſate on the right hand of God.
1.
HOw well the throne
Becomes God's holy One!
How fit the Rod
Beſeems the hand of God!
How meet the Crown
Befits him! 't is his own.
How well, meet, fit, his Throne, Rod, Diadem,
Deck him with glory; but he much more them.
2.
We wiſh Good luck
To thee with theſe: go pluck
Hell by the root;
Make it quake at thy foot:
To right thy Spouſe,
Damn Death t' a Charnel-houſe.
Good luck have with thy right. Oh how we bleſs
Thee and thy Father, for thy good ſucceſs!
3.
With how ſweet bliſs
Do Grace and Glory kiſs!
So Light and Heat
We ſee in Phoebus met.
By theſe 't is known
Thou not uſurpſt thine own.
Good luck have with thy right: we willingly
Submit unto thy yoke of Liberty.
4.
We, if we might,
Would not ſupplant thy right;
But yeeld as well,
As if nor heav'n nor hell
Should crown or damn
With endleſs bliſs or ſhame.
Our better Natures will this juſt embrace;
Nor can we other by inſtinct of Grace.
5.
Satan, as heir,
Long kept his ſteely Chair;
Nay, yet uſurps
The unregen'rate corps:
But when Chriſt claim'd
His right, how was all maim'd?
Our bleſſed Gyant having run his courſe,
Now on the heavens rides, as on a horſe.
6.
On man 's agreeing
With Hell, ſin had its being;
And by this blot,
Death had her eſſence got.
Should Chriſt theſe things
Suffer as fellow-Kings?
No, if they ſtir in us while here we breath,
They 're the laſt pangs but of a dying Death.
7.
But how large Scenes
Hath this Chriſt's act? What means
He to prorogue
His wiſhed Epilogue?
And not concludes
Without more Interludes?
Is not th' earths harveſt ripe? hath it ſo dull
In ſinning been? yet are the Fats not full?
8.
Hell, Sin, and Death,
Which yet too ſtrongly breath,
Seem to blaſpheme,
As if they were Supreme,
Or their pow'r here,
Some Interregnum were.
Lord, 'tis long ſince, long, ſince thy promiſe ſpake,
Theſe days I'll ſhorten, for my choſen's ſake.
On Chriſt's Interceſſion with the Father for us.
Heb. 7.
25 Wherefore he is able to ſave them to the uttermoſt, that come unto God by him; ſeeing he ever liveth to make interceſſion for them.
1.
NOr is our Saviour ſo much given
Unto the contemplation of himſelf,
That he forgets us now in heaven,
As, once, prophanely thought that glutton elf:
But having travers'd hence his journey,
He ſtill remembers us amidſt his glory;
He ſtill remains our bleſt Attorney,
Whereof the leaſt act, on our true repentance,
Is able to reverſe the ſtrongeſt ſentence.
2.
Hence, then, let 's Fortune fear, nor Fate,
Or what blear-ey'd Star-gazers can rehearſe;
Becauſe we have an Advocate,
Who can each ominous preſage reverſe.
Let Satan never hence appeal
To heaven, in his wonted Dialect,
Leſt he be doom'd by Chriſt his zeal,
As who would make his Death of none effect;
And aim'd to hinder him, leſt he inherit
The dear-bought purchaſe which his death did merit.
3.
But if he dare us to attaint,
He'll ſtrait be ſilenc'd at Chriſt's counter-ſuit,
As daring to accuſe a Saint
To whom Chriſt will his righteouſneſs impute.
You then, whoſe troubled ſouls do languiſh
In pining ſorrow for your ſins and follies,
Baniſh your fears, and calm your anguiſh;
Exult, and vent your joy in ſprightly vollies:
Go, ſee him with your tears, & leave the tryal
To him alone, whoſe Suit ne'er found denial.
4.
If Artaxerxes took ſo kinde
A handful but of water from a Peaſant,
Preſent thy tears, and thou ſhalt finde
More gracious acceptance of that preſent.
And if thy ſins ſo thick ſhould croud,
To fill heav'ns ears with a condemning matter,
And ſtand between you like a cloud,
Which not the windes of all thy ſighs can ſcatter;
By him that ſable cloud ſhall be diſſolv'd,
Wherein the Sun of glory ſeem'd involv'd.
5.
In vain let Satan henceforth wander,
Like to a baſe accuſing Ottacus,
As daring to inform by ſlander
Him that's all ear and eye, concerning us:
Thus let us then foreſtal his malice;
Accuſe our ſelves; let not that ſeem uncouth:
Who will not ſo; with Juſtice dallies:
But ſo we do his office, ſtop his mouth.
Our Caſe thus op'ned, if Chriſt intercede,
What envious boldneſs dares againſt us plead?
6.
What means that Man of ſin, that rallies
The Saints as Chriſt's corrivals in this Function?
And if they were ſo neer his allies,
How was it purchaſed? when was their Unction?
True, with him are the Saints co-heirs;
But Chriſt did purchaſe it, and them elected:
And they to whom now Rome repairs,
If Saints, now by him reign, ſo here expected.
He is our elder Brother, and he ſure
Enjoys his right of primogeniture.
7.
Then have our hands tranſgreſs'd the warrant
Of heav'ns Laws? Chriſt pleads his hands bor'd through:
Or have our devious feet been errant?
He pleads his pierc'd, by a ſufficient proof.
Or if our hearts have Ill invented,
Chriſt pleads his for us by the Souldier pierc'd;
All was on him by ſtripes indented:
He ſues the Fine of all on him amerc'd.
In him our ſins were ſcourg'd, bor'd, nail'd, and rack'd;
Nor will his Father them again exact.
8.
Our ſins but whiſper to that cry
Which his wounds make; the ſorrow & compunction
Of his perplexed Agony;
Nay, with our ſins if hell howl'd in conjunction.
Our thanks he graciouſly perfumes;
Our ſupplications with odours balms;
Sweetens with myrrhe repentant rheums;
With incenſe ſanctifies our vows and alms.
Bleſt be thy Father, and that ſacred Unction.
That did conſigne thee to this bleſſed Function.
On Chriſt his final coming to Judgment.
Revel. 5.
12 And the Sun became black as ſackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood.
13 And the ſtars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig-tree casteth her untimely figs, when ſhe is ſhaken of a mighty winde.
14 And the heaven departed as a ſeroll when it is rolled together, and every mountain and iſland were moved out of their places.
1.
NOr here our Saviour concludes
His act: theſe are his Interludes:
The eye of faith in theſe he asks,
As being an Interview of Masks.
But he upon a flaming ſtage,
In an Angelick equipage;
Now comes in perſon at the day of Audit,
When troops of angels ſhall trump forth his plaudit.
2.
When righteouſneſs and equitie
The pillars of his Seat ſhall be;
The elements together mixt,
And the two Poles of th' world unfixt:
Whoſe Genius ſhall feel that ſtory
Of the imagin'd Purgatory,
When wild Diſorder, and amaz'd Confuſion,
Shall be the Whifflers to a ſad concluſion?
3.
But, Lord, how long wilt thou defer
To hear! Wilt ſtill our hopes deter?
How long that Quaere wilt ſuſpend,
Whether the world ſhall have an end?
Come, let thy judgement and thy mercy
Finiſh at length that Controverſie.
Come, come away, our panting hearts are drumming
At thy approach, and yet thou ſeem'ſt not coming.
4.
Haſte, Lord, deſcend, thy Saints to gather,
And to reſigne them to thy Father.
What wilt thou loſe by that thy tender?
'Tis no ſurpriſal or ſurrender:
Thou 'lt be the King of glory ſtill.
For who dares to oppoſe thy will?
Safe in thy Eden grows the tree of life:
Thou now not doubtſt of Adam or his wife.
5.
But ſtay, my ſoul; what, canſt thou meet
Thy Judge with clean prepared feet?
Art thou not naked, or art cloth'd
As one to ſuch a Lord betroth'd?
If ſo, go meet thy coming Groom;
Thy wedding-day's the day of Doom.
But, Lord, we build, wed, feaſt; we vaunt and jet,
As 't were but now thou ſaidſt, But th'end's not yet.
6.
As morning-light precedes the Sun,
Let grace thy glory here fore-run:
For glory never there will come,
Where grace hath not prepar'd the room.
Give grace, Lord, and, with that, the ſinew
Of ſtrength and vigour to continue.
Thou haſt been foreign, and begun to do;
But ſeem'ſt foreign. be foreign too.
7.
O let not Hell upbraid thy power,
As his that 'gan to build that tower
He could not end. Finiſh at length
My Citadel with mighty ſtrength.
Yet, faith and hope faint; joys are ſory,
Till grace be ſwallow'd up of glory.
As grace, like Orphah, leaves me when I die;
Let Ruth-like glory fill my Naomi.
8.
Bleſt God, I know we ought to pray,
Thy kingdom come, each day by day;
And ſhould thy coming damn us all,
We durſt but it a mercy call.
Thy time, dread Lord, 's the beſt; and thou
Long-ſuff'ring art, of old and now.
O let thy grace make way for glory; then
Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. Amen.