The Doctrine of the Three Sacred Persons, Part 2
SON.
O Let that Dove, that ſometimes did thee Crown
With yellow Gold,
And ſilver Plumes,
Unto thy Poet Thee unfold
That humbly by thy leave preſumes,
To ſpread thy fame and ſcatter thy Renown.
Let thine Heroick Spirit guide my Verſe
If thou the thing
Indite,
I'le write
Touching the King,
What my weak willing heart would fain reherſe.
'Twas when Auguſtus Ceſaer laid a Tax
On all the Earth,
Grace call'd for Thee.
'Twas then thy Mother gave thee Birth,
That thou might'ſt ſet all Nations free,
Heavens fair Impreſſion's ſtampt on Virgin Wax.
To us a Child is born, grace gives a Son,
Heav'ns were too bold,
To ſay
That they
That King can hold,
Who now into a Manger crouds His Throne.
For ſince ſin made man brutiſh like the Reſt
My God did lay;
The Bread of Life,
Come down from Heav'n 'mongſt Oats, and Hay,
That man might find his food as riſe,
Yea find his Saviour whilſt he ſeeks his Beaſt.
'Tis not the Cloth but Crown that ſhews the King.
A Cave's a Court,
If there
Appear
The Princes Port.
Wiſe men, what means your Star, your ſparkling thing?
Sure you can read by that Orientall light
What is this ſtranger,
That makes his Bed,
In this poore Cottage, Crib, and Manger;
Hav'ng no where elſe to lay his Head?
'Tis Chriſt, Earths Joy, Hels Torment, Heav'ns Delight.
Satan, 'tis Chriſt my Crown, but Chriſt thy terror,
Bite if thou dare;
His heel,
I feel,
Is ſomewhat bare;
But thy bruiſ'd head ſhall ever rue thine error.
All wiſe men do, but fooliſh ſinners do not
Lye proſtrated,
Before this Babe,
Being lodg'd in ſuch a poore ſtraw-beds
Nor, to this new-born child, cry, Ab;
They 're ſo unwiſe their Maſters crib they know not.
My Lord at eight daies old began to bleed
For my diſeaſe:
To free
Poore mee,
Not for's own eaſe:
Surely this martyrs blood's the Churches ſeed.
Then went he to his Temple with his Mother.
One Dove, me thought,
That bleſſed maid,
Might then have ſpar'd, that Lamb be'ng brought
Before the Lord, whoſe fleece if laid
But rightly on, the worlds whole ſin might ſmother.
From thence, my Lord, poſts into Egypts-land.
Have at thy head,
Black Prince,
For ſince
Egypts dark bed
Hath lodg'd this light, what dungeon can withſtand?
When Bethl'hem firſt gave Judahs Lion breath
He boldly wades
Through th' ſeav'n fold ſtream:
The Dragons country he invades,
On their own ground thus daring them.
Thence ſafe returning dwells at Nazareth.
Can any good come thence? fair Nazarene!
Thou dwelleſt there:
Bu…, Lo!
The Snow
Is not ſo cleare
As thou canſt make the Black-Moore ſinner clean.
At twelve years old my Lord went thence to ſit
I'th' Temple, which
Ne'r ſhines ſo bright
As when my Saviour doth enrich
Its darkned windows with his light,
There ſits the child to teach the Doctours wit.
The ſeav'ntieth week be'ng come, the time foreſet,
In Daniels book,
Foretold
Of old:
My Saviour took
Baptiſme to him a type of's bloody ſweat:
Then was the water waſht that ſcoures my dreſs
My God, my Chriſt:
Thou could'ſt not need
For thine own ſake a John Baptiſt:
But that thou mighteſt cleanſe thy ſeed,
Thou'rt pleaſ'd thus to fulfill all righteouſneſs.
Jordan's the cleaner, Lord, for waſhing thee:
Hath John indeed,
To be
By thee
Baptiz'd, ſuch need?
O my baptiz'd Redeemer! Sprinkle me.
Chriſt, thence aſcending, meets his own dear dove
Deſcending, while
The bridegroomes friend,
The Baptiſt, doth both ſee and ſmile
Whoſe ears that heavenly voice attend
O ſon of all my pleaſure, all my love!
From Egypt call'd, th' baptiſmall ſea be'ng croſt,
My Lord, ſets foot
In haſt
On th' waſt:
Heav'n drives him to't;
To learn ith' deſart, how to ſeek the loſt.
Now with the Lion doth the Lamb converſe
God ſends his Child,
His hand to lay;
Upon theſe Beaſts that are moſt wild
Till he hath taught them to obey:
Tygres, Wolves, Leopards, Beaſts moſt fell and fierce.
My Lord's ſent thither ſure to learn to tame
Mans brutiſh heart;
(More wild,
Leſs mild,)
By dear bought art:
…o turn the Savage ſinner to a Lamb.
The firie Serpent of the Wilderneſs
Finding Chriſt there,
Doth ſpit and bite;
But th' Brazen Serpents hard and clear,
Scorning the tempters craft and ſpight,
The Bullet's batt'red, but not the fortreſs.
Our Lord now learns to faſt that we might feaſt
And to be tempted,
That wee
Might bee
Thereby exempted:
Or ſuccour'd ſo as ſtill to have the beſt.
If thou be th' Chriſt, this Stone to Bread convert,
Why foole, the Stone,
Which thou wouldſt move,
Is Bread already, or there's none,
My Lord was hungry for my love;
Yet hee's the ſtrength'ning Bread of poor mans heart.
Taking this Rock thence to a Mountain high,
Saith Satan, See;
If thou
Wilt bow
And worſhip me:
Thoſe Kingdoms all i'le give thee inſtantly.
Why, foole! Muſt th' Son buy freedome of a ſlave,
Hark how thy Chain
Doth clatter at,
Thine heel? My Lord was born to raign:
An Univerſall Monarchs ſtate,
To him long ſince Heav'ns Letters Pattents gave.
To th'Temples Pinacle, the Churches Head,
Is hurried next:
Bee'ng there,
I heare,
Hell took a Text;
The Wolf by preaching would the Lamb preach dead.
Jump down: 'Tis written th'Angels ſhall thee catch
Say th'Tempters lips;
And that he might
Perſwade my Lord to leap, he skips,
Thoſe words ſhould ſet his Doctrine right
Angels our wayes ('tis not our Treſpaſs) watch.
Thy neck-verſe found, in reading, doſt thou Falter,
Yet ſeem to preach?
For thee
Can be
No Clergy, Wretch!
Thus Haman ſometime handſel'd his own halter.
The tempter bee'ng at laſt turn'd off the Ladder,
My Lord ſits ſtill
Be'ng firmer ſtone,
Then th'wreſtling-place, the Pinacle
From whence he threw bold Satan down:
Then th' Angels bring a Chariot from his Father.
This choſen veſſell theſe temptations ſeaſon.
Now he'll begin
To preach
In each
Place he comes in.
BELIEV'S his doctrine; MIRACLES, his reaſon.
Yet who makes USE? for ev'ry tribe but one
This great High Prieſt,
'Mongſt all, doth get
Whom very near his ſacred breaſt
As precious jewels he may ſet;
And of this twelve, one's but a Briſtow ſtone.
For his firſt proof Chriſt water turns to wine,
At th' marriage-feaſt.
O pure!
Sirs, ſure
It may be gueſt
You to your wedding did invite the Vine.
If this free vine doth yield ſo rich a ſtore;
Who can expreſs
What plenty ſhall
Flow from thy croſs, my God, thy preſs
When they have bruiſ'd thy cluſters all?
May this Vines blood be my wine evermore!
Well done for th' firſt: Canſt do't again? Lord, do it;
Convert my Verſe,
To thine
Own wine,
My water-terſe:
Renew thy miracle upon thy Poet.
Soon after to his temple goes my God,
His houſe of Pray'r:
Where th' ſheep and dove
Are ſold as if there were a fair.
But where is innocence and love?
'Tis time, Lord, in thine houſe to uſe thy rod.
Doth av'rice with thy temple make thus bold?
The next ſtep hence
That we
Shall ſee
This ſinne commence,
The temple of thy body muſt be ſold.
To ſeek the ſun-ſhine, comes a man by night,
Hav'ng ſeen the things
My Lord had wrought.
Heav'ns myſteries my Lord (forth brings
But finds the teacher, how untaught?
Night's moſt within, but Chriſt turns all to light.
After, this Fountain, thirſting, ſeek a well:
But finds a ditch
Within
With ſinne
All foul, the which
He ſearcheth firſt; doth all her doings tell:
Then, by revealing her, himſelf reveal
To be the Chriſt:
Samaria finds
What blind Jerus'lem ſought and miſt.
Thou'rt Chriſt to all kindreds and kinds,
That by believing ſet to thee their ſeal.
Then ſay's Diſciples, Maſter, eat we pray
But he had got
A meat
To eat
Which they knew not
For he'd gone eating, working, all the day.
Bee'ng thence return'd again to Galile,
A Noble man,
For's dying ſon
Begs a Reprieve of's Soveraign,
The man beleev'd it ſhould be done,
And what he firſt beleev'd did quickly ſee.
Happy that Son, whom Gods Son quickeneth!
More noble ſure,
He is
For this
Ev'n for his care;
Bee'ng thus by th'Prince of life repriev'd from death▪
Then to Betheſda's Pool, Salvations Well
Carries a cure
And gives't away;
The Jews this carriage can't endure,
But think Chriſt hurts the Sabath Day,
Whilſt he poore man, for whom 'twas made doth heale.
Is there no cure, my God, for unbelief?
'Mongſt all thine art,
Doth there
Appear
None to impart,
To this diſeaſe a ſuitable relief.
My Lord invites five thouſand to a feaſt:
No ſtore of diſhes
Bee'ng dreſt or cook'd;
That, by five loves and two ſmall fiſhes,
Their unbelief might all be chok'd,
Whilſt in their mouths their meat's ſo much increaſt.
Yet …e next day, as if they'd ne'r been fed,
Theſe very men
Do fret,
And whet,
Their teeth agen,
Not to feed on, but to back-bite Heav'ns Bread.
After, The man born blind to ſight's reſtor'd
By paſte of clay,
Surely I ſhou'd
Have blinded ſeeing-eyes that way
Bee'ng ſo far, Lord, from doing good.
Yet Jews in theſe new eyes, can't ſee the Lord.
Thou tak'ſt a living mon'ment from a grave.
Thy foes may ſee
The dead
Raiſed;
Yet they'd kill thee,
Oh, my deare Lord, what ſign would ſinners have?
Devils are all caſt out, but unbelief,
Dead Palſies too
Receive their cure;
But Oh, Dead hearts, what aileth you,
That you do more and more obdure.
Not miracles, but blood muſt cure this grief.
Ah! My dear Lord, the wither'd hand is heal'd:
And yet the hand
Of faith
Who hath?
Jews ſtill withſtand:
And after all, to whom's thine arm reveal'd?
Feavers are quench'd; yet fury burns amain:
Iſſues of blood
Are ſtanched quite:
All evils, but their ſpleen find good;
And th' bloody iſſues of their ſpite.
Oh! how Jews hate the good Samaritan!
Do Phariſes waſh oft? Ah! they have need:
Leperds do clear,
But then
Theſe men
The liv'ry wear.
Gebazi's curſe is on them and their ſeed.
Who cures their Phrenſies, can't their rage allay,
They contradict
The tongue that taught
The dumb to ſpeak: yea when convict
By the ſtrang cures my Saviour wrought
In Falling-ſickneſſes, yet fall away.
Creeples get legs; yet mans opinions halt
Who thou ſhouldſt be:
One while
They ſmile,
Then lowre on thee;
But thou art ſtill the ſame: Lord! where's the fault?
For thy good works their heardned hearts do ſtone thee.
Sure it diſpleaſes
That they have health,
And that thou carri'ſt their diſeaſes;
Scatt'ring amongſt thy poor the wealth.
My God, ev'n of thine own how few do own thee!
Oh! how they daily carpe at righteouſneſs!
Life may not live,
If they
But may
The ſentence give.
They plot to bring ſalvation to diſtreſs.
To drag the reſurrection to the grave:
Earths health to anguiſh:
How fain would they
See their dear-cheap Phyſitian languiſh
Who freely cures them all the day.
Him to deſtroy they plot, he them to ſave.
My Lord, thy patience is a miracle
'Mongſt all the reſt
(As wee
May ſee)
None of the leaſt.
My Lord! If I may judge it doth excell.
Oh! how they grudg my Lord his drink and food!
The Bread, the Vine,
Sent down to us,
As bee'ng a bibber of much wine
They tax, and call him gluttonous
Who's only greedy for to do them good.
Theſe dunghils to aſperſe the ſun begin.
He caſts out evill,
Yet they
Do ſay
He hath a Devil;
Sinner, they call the fountain ope for ſin.
Hee is the Son o'th' Carpenter, ſay ſome;
The Son of God,
You might have ſaid,
Who raiſ'd Heav'ns roof you ſee ſo broad,
Such Carpentry's no ſuch mean trade,
Helping to ground-ſill all this lower room.
Others object, that they his country know,
The place from whence
He came
Can name,
And how long ſince.
Why, Sirs, pray when did you to Heaven go?
Then they perſwade us that the King ſpeaks treaſon
Becauſe he makes
Himſelf to be
God as he is: Becauſe he takes
His own, they cry out robbery.
Lord all men have not Faith, all have not reaſon.
Sometimes he is not Ceſars friend, they ſay,
Who's Ceſars King.
Yet hee,
We ſee,
Makes fiſh to bring
Tribute to him, that he may Ceſar's pay.
Then they crie out, that he's the ſinners friend.
But, Oh! that they,
That thus exclaime,
Had rightly known what now they ſay,
The counſell that to ſinners came,
From his deare friendly lips they'd more attend.
To make Chriſt claſh with Moſes they project.
The great Law-giver
Doth teach
Its breach;
This they deliver
Who would the Coppy by the Proof correct.
How ſharp their ſight to find faults where are none?
But Oh! how dim
For to deſcrie
That radiant deity in him?
And moſt of all, how blind to ſpie
Thoſe great prodigious evils of their own?
The Temple he'd deſtroy, and then rebuild
This, Jewes object;
But what
Of that?
Themſelves project
How th' Temple of Chriſts Body might be kill'd.
How malice mixt with blindneſs all miſconſtr'es!
My Lord ſo ſpake
As ne'r did Man:
Yet's words and works too they'll miſtake,
Say he, or do he what he can.
To match his miracles they bring forth monſters.
Have Rulers or have Phariſees beleev'd?
The Law we know;
Say thoſe
His foes.
Ah! if t'were ſo
The Law-Maker would ſure have been receiv'd.
Yet this good Shepherd finds ſome ſtragling ſheep:
The Goſpel-net
Some Fiſhers takes:
Some at receipt of cuſtome ſet
Chriſts cuſtomers his market makes.
And what he finds hee'll ſpend his life but keep.
Some wiſe and noble too, although not many
King Jeſus Court
Can ſhow:
And ſo
To keep his Fort
There's one Centurion, Lord 'tis well there's any.
Mary th' unclean from whom as many Devils,
As muddie Nile
Hath ſtreams, are caſt:
Each flood had its own Crocodile:
Yet ſhee becomes one ſtream at laſt
Of Goſpel-penitence for all her evils.
Chriſts feet waſht with her tears her haire makes dry:
And Chriſt agen
With blood
Makes good
Her waies unclean:
And with forgiveneſs wipes the weepers eye.
A Canaanite to th' King of Hebrews comes,
Begs and implores
At Iſraels feaſt
Some ſuccour from thoſe ſacred ſtores
That Jeſus for the Jews had dreſt.
Whil'ſt Children ſlight their bread, ſhe leaps at crumbs.
A little man, but ſinner not the leaſt
Climbes up on high
That he
The tree
Of life might ſpie;
And in the fruitleſs Sycamore a feaſt.
Mary, the Lords Meſſiah, doth annoint;
Diſciples grudge,
And think't too good
For him who thinketh not too much
To ſpend on them his precious blood.
See how one Judas puts all out of joynt?
Bee'ng thus annointed Chriſt as King appears,
And forth doth go,
As King
Riding
To Sion ſo.
Who brings ſalvation, him an Aſs-Colt bears:
Thus fooliſh things, and things that men deſpiſe
The Lord doth chuſe;
That this dumb Aſs
Might preach performance to the Jews
Of what of old foreſpoken was;
And Chriſt by weakneſs might confound the wiſe
Judah! thy ſceptr…'s gone but Shiloh's come.
Jeruſalem!
Look out,
And ſhout,
For Davids ſtem
Now ſprings a freſh in thy Law-givers room.
Children, by their Hoſannahs loudly cry'd,
Do teſtifie
My Saviours praiſe,
That he might ſtill his foes thereby,
His Name theſe Babes and ſucklings raiſ…,
Whilſt th' Elders and the Fathers him deride.
Thus whilſt the Fathers fall ith' Wilderneſs,
Children inherit;
Why, lo
Ev'n ſo
It pleaſ'd the Spirit,
What men deny, to teach poor Babes confeſs.
What Jews reject poor Greeks make friends to ſee.
Sion, take heed
Thou be n't the hive
That others doth with honey feed,
Not taſting what it ſelf doth give;
Whileſt Gentiles ſteal away thy Chriſt from thee.
What needs more proof? my Lord puts on the rack
Devils themſelves
(Though Jews
Refuſe,
As worſer elves)
Till they to him a full confeſſion make.
Would you believe, if your high Prieſt ſhould tell
Or who's the Chriſt,
Should teſtifie?
Sure your own Caiaphas little miſt
Saying, 'twas meet this man ſhould dye
For th' people, that they periſh not: GO-SPELL:
How ſweetly ſings this Swan before them all!
Though envy fumes
His skin
Within
His whited plumes,
Their High Prieſt ſings Heav'ns High Prieſts Funeral.
Thus men teach Parrots ſpeak, but what they know not;
The High Prieſt cries
(And ſurely hee
Should know) this man's your Sacrifice.
Yet Chriſt their Saviour muſt not be:
My Lord, men do confeſs thee though they do not.
This Sacrifice the Prieſt plots how to kill,
And yet there was
More Prieſt
In Chriſt
Then Caiaphas.
Thus types the truth, ſhadows would ſubſtance ſpil.
Innocent Lamb! although thou knew'ſt this plot,
Yet, Oh! how fain
Would'ſt thou get up
To be in read'neſs to be ſlain
'Gainſt th' Paſſover; that all might ſup?
My Lord, thou ſeeſt thy death but ſhun'ſt it not.
This is the Paſchall Lamb, ſure I may call it
Immaculate;
O God,
Thy Blood
Sprinkles my gate:
Yet is thy bitter grief my bitter ſallet.
I' th' upper room my Lord beſpeaks the feaſt
For his dear Friends;
That they might know
That from above their chear deſcends;
Who'l Feaſt with Chriſt muſt upwards go.
But, Oh! how dear for all pays this dear gueſt
Deſiring I've deſir'd this feaſt to eat
With you, before
I go
Unto
The other ſhore.
Oh! how my Lord hungers to be my meat?
Yet Friends, there's ſomething I muſt ſadly ſay:
You're not all clean,
'Mongſt you doth fit
(The man that dips with me, I mean)
A Devill, yet an Hypocrite,
That ſhall this night the God of truth betray.
'Tis my Purſe-bearers plot his Lord to ſell
Who had him bought:
The wretch
To Preach
I ſometime taught,
But not to ſell me, or himſelf to Hell.
Judas! canſt thou find death in ſuch a Pot?
Plot ſuch a matter
Againſt thy Maſter?
Whilſt thy ſop ſoftens in my platter,
Who of each diſh make thee a taſter,
Hardens thy heart the whilſt, Iſcariot?
Will nothing ſerve but ſops in blood next meal?
My Purſe, my diſh
Were free
To thee
What more could'ſt wiſh?
Wretch! what thou doſt do quickly: Run, and ſell.
Penſive Diſciples when they hear, and know it,
Each fears for one:
But he that bears
The bag, is lag; perditions Son
He is the laſt that doubts or fears:
Slow to confeſs, but Oh! how ſwift to do it.
Come children take this bread, 'tis broke for you:
Much good may't do you;
'Tis dreſt,
And bleſt,
Take it unto you,
And therewithall my broken body too.
Come my Diſciples, here's an health likewiſe
To you, not mee:
Let it go round,
Salvations cup's the cup you ſee:
Your health is in my bloody wound,
Think of my blood as oft as ye drink this.
Your Makers broken Law, your bloody ſin,
And bleeding heart
Bring mee
To ſee
And feel this ſmart.
Who would Hell conquer muſt with death begin.
My Teſtament I leave you ſeal'd in blood:
You I bequeath
When ere I die
Full conqueſt over ſin and death
With life and peace; which by and by
I the Teſtatour by my death make good.
Pledge mee, dear friends, this blood was broach'd for you
I'le drink no more
Of wine
Oth' …ine,
Till bee'ng got ore,
I may in Fathers kingdome drink it new.
Come let's now ſing, ſaith Chriſt, ſee'ng all my ſorrow
Is but your Crown:
Thorns at the breaſt
Make muſick, when the Spirit's down,
Yea ſometimes muſick of the beſt;
Let's ſing to night, for I muſt dye to morrow.
My Lord then riſeth up from whence he ſate
Whom winds obey,
And ſeas
With theſe,
Diſciples may
Now ſee him, that he may be gratious, WAITE.
Sure whilſt my Saviour SERVES, who ever came
See'ng him ſo dreſt,
Waiting on all
Girt with a Napkin, ſcarce had gueſt
This were the feaſt of's Funerall,
But Marriage Supper rather of the Lamb.
After the wine my Lord doth water take;
Heav'n ſtoops to meet,
And bow
As low
As ſinners feet.
Oh what clean work Chriſts Blood and Spirit makes.
Peter, thou think'ſt that I ſtoop down too low,
And ſai'ſt I ſhall
N'ere waſh thy feet;
Then canſt thou have no part at all
In Davids Son, nor be made meet
I th' new Jeruſalems clean ſtreets to go,
Streets that are pure as gold and clear as glaſs:
This Baſin is
Thy way
I ſay
To this fair bliſs:
Iſrael to Canaan muſt through Jordan paſs.
Sirs, ſee you what I h've done, and do you know it?
You call me well
Say'ng I'm your Lord:
If I then ſtoop, Oh! never ſwell.
If I have waſh't your feet, afoard
You to do likewiſe: Happy if you do it.
Servants, my Livery you muſt wear is Love.
This bowl's my Spirit,
Which I
Now die
That you may 'nherit:
The Lamb goes hence that he may ſend the Dove.
Oh may this towell bind your hearts in one!
My bending down,
Teach them to bow!
May pride and ſinfull paſſions drown
In this full Baſin. Men ſhall know
By this that your are mine when I am gone.
Gone? I'll go too, ſaith Peter, Lord I will
What are comes on't.
Oh no!
Not ſo;
'Tis a ſore brunt.
Beſt metall melts when men their Maker kill.
Nay Lord, though all men run, I'll ſtand by thee:
Run friends or foes,
Foes to purſue,
Or friends to ſcape the hands of thoſe.
Poore man I'll tell thee what's more true,
Ere th' Cock crow twice I thrice denied muſt be.
Su…e Peters courage ſtrangly is come on.
My Paſſion, lo!
He did
Forbid,
Now hee'll dye too.
Yet when the ſhepheard dies, the ſheep will run.
Let not your hearts be troubled, but believe
In God and Mee.
I ride before
To ſee things may in red'neſs be,
Behold I'll meet you at the door:
My Fathers houſe can me and you receive.
Whither I go ye know, and th' way ye know.
Saith Thomas, Nay
Lord, we
Can't ſee
Which is the way,
For we, alas! know n't whither thou doſt go.
Thomas, I am the true and living way.
My fleſh I gave,
(Knoweſt thou me)
A path-way unto Heav'n to pave,
Cemented with my blood to be,
So that who walks in me can't go aſtray.
Shew us the Father, Lord, that's all our bliſs;
Doth Philip ſay.
How long
Among
You muſt I ſtay,
Ere you know me, ſaith Chriſt, why here he is.
Judas replies, but not th' Iſcariot, Lord
How is't that thou
Thy ſelf to us,
But not unto the world, doſt ſhew
Thy bleſſed ſelf revealing thus:
Why, I will do't to all that keep my word,
Peace I leave with you, my peace I you give,
Not as the world,
When here
And there
You're teſt and hurl'd,
The ſweeteſt calme ſhall then your hearts relieve.
Friends, if you love me let me go, don't grieve me.
Oh! how your ſobs
Do antedate
My Paſſion! O my pulſe vies throbs.
Oh let my grief in yours abate;
My fathers arms are ready to receive me.
Sirs, I can't ſtay to talke yonder's the Prince
The world that ſwaies.
O ſee
How hee
Doth's legions raiſe;
Yet of one ſingle fault can't me convince.
I am the vine, ye branches bring forth fruit:
My blood's your ſap:
My blood's your ſeed:
'Tis well for you that others tap
The veſſell, that the vine may bleed:
The hand that empties me doth you recruit.
O if you love your ſelves let me go ſend
That guid to you
That ſhall
Ev'n all,
Ev'n all things ſhew.
I h've much to ſpeak which you can't yet attend.
A little while I diſappear, Anon
I'm ſeen agen;
For to the Father
I go, ſay they, what may this mean,
This little while? we cannot gather.
Why, Friends, when Winter's over, Spring comes on.
Truth, Lord! we now believe. Ah do you ſo?
Juſt now comes on
An houre
Whoſe ſhowre
Will make you run,
Whilſt ſolitary to my grave I go.
Yet am I not alone: O bleſſed Father!
Thou'rt with me ſtill:
Now glorifie
Thy Son, thy Son: when Butchers kill
Thy Lamb, Oh take me up on high
And thine and mine Lord with me, to me gathe…:
Theſe are thy ſtock I kept and did improve them.
For theſe I pray,
And all
That ſhall
Their word obey.
Lord, here's thine own again; O keep them, love them!
Then his Diſciples forth my Lord doth lead.
Cedron ith' way
Makes me bethink
What th' Pſalmiſt of th' Hi…h Prieſt do ſay,
He of the brook ith' way ſhall drink
Therefore he ſhortly ſhall lift up the head.
Thence they together to the garden paſs,
Where grew that ſtore
That can
Fall'n man
Make as before:
Sure my Redeemers RVE'S that herb of grace.
'Twas in a garden Adam did undo us
There grew that fruit
Whoſe bitterneſs,
That man for ever might not rue't,
My Lord did taſt and ſqueeze and preſs:
Then from a Garden brings our cure unto us.
O mount of Olives! O Gethſemane!
To all elſe yet
A ſoile
Of Oyle!
Of bloody ſweat
Only to me—ſinner! here's Oyl for thee.
Sirs, ſit you here, Peter, and James and John,
Oh! I begin
To feel ſuch ſmart
Amazeth me that n'ere knew ſin:
Yet how it cuts my very heart!
Sirs, ſit you down. I muſt pray or I'm gone.
This cup, this cup, O Father! may it paſs!
This cup, this cup
May't paſs!
Alas!
Muſt I drink't up?
Why, all thy vials dregs are in this glaſs.
Ah! friends your heav'neſs doth augment mine too.
How can your eyes
Continue ſhut
So near ſuch ſtrong and bitter cries?
Dulneſs, I now perceive, can cut:
Will you not watch with him that's ſick for you?
You three of all I choſe for ſentineſs:
I bade you lie
…erdieu,
But you
Sleep, though I die.
Yet in weak fleſh a willing ſpirit dwels.
But though my foot-guard ſleeps, mine horſe men watch
Though men do grieve me
Yet at the length
Mine Heav nly Angell doth relieve me,
Heav'ns ſuccours reinforce my ſtrength.
Sin do thy worſt now, thou'ſt meet with thy match,
Yet, Oh this cup! this cup! Lord let it paſs
If't be thy will;
Yet thine
Not mine
Perform thou ſtill.
Thy ſcalding wrath, Lord, cracks my brittle glaſs.
Sin ent'red man at firſt but by one hole:
But ev'ry pore
Throughout my skin,
My God! my God! becomes a door
Whence blood goes out whilſt wrath comes in.
Such anger, through thine anger, melts my ſoul.
Can you get ſleep, whilſt in this ſcalding ba…h
I melt away,
Blood-wet
In ſweat?
Sirs, think I pray,
'Tis for your feavers ſake of ſinne and wrath.
What, can I not one hours ſhort watch obtain?
One houres? I ſay.
Oh! you'l be tempted;
Watch, for your own ſakes then, and pray:
Oh! pray that you may be exempted.
There are no vapours left in my parcht brain:
I'm paſt all ſleeping now, but the ſl…ep of death.
But, Oh! let paſs
This cup!
Drink't up.
Thy ſword, Alas!
In thine own fellow-ſhepheard doſt thou ſheath?
Oh! how thy wrath my flow'r to hay converts!
My bones do ſtare,
My fleſh conſumes,
My skin is parcht, as bottles are
I' th' ſmoak, Lord, through thine angry fumes.
Diſciples, now ſleep on, and reſt your hearts.
This reſtleſs night of mine procures for you
A day of peace;
My ſhow'rs,
Your flow'rs,
Your joyes increaſe.
Never did night yield ſuch a bleſſed dew:
Honey to mine, though Gall and Blood to me:
I mean thoſe drops
Which from my brow
Bedew the ground. Sinners, what crops
May your dear Lord expect from you?
Bu… now let's riſe; you Traitour comes, I ſee.
Your Saviour's given into ſinners hands.
Judas! Ar… come?
Thou 'lt ſoon
Be gone
Hence to thine home.
Whilſt thou twiſts mine, I faſter knit thy bands.
Thou ſend'ſt me to my croſs: But I'll be even.
Thou ſhal't hang firſt,
Thief that thou art!
Thou'ſt broke thy faith, and thou ſhalt burſt
A ſunder, falſe perfidious heart!
'Tis fit ſuch pay be to ſuch traitours given.
Into the ſecond Adam's garden creep
Doſt thou, Serpent?
That way
Betray
The innocent?
Me thinks thou ſmil'ſt as Crocodiles do weep.
Canſt kiſs, and court me ſtill? Hail! Maſter, Hail!
'Twas ſometimes ſaid,
O kiſs the Son
Leſt he be wroth, and ſtrike you dead
Sure thy kiſs is not ſuch a one.
With unbelievers, Hypocrites ſhall waile.
Judas, thou know'ſt mine haunt. I th' very place
Me to betray
Juſt there
Ev'n where
With me to pray
Thy feigned lips were wont, haſt thou the face.
What meanes thy ſearch? wretch, thou'rt the fugitive
Your Lanthorn light,
Sirs, alſo ſhewes
Your works are darkneſs, and you night▪
Why force you what I don't refuſe?
Is it my life you ſeek? 'tis that I give.
Jeſus of Nazareth you're come to take;
Why I am he.
They all
Down fall.
Can majeſtie
Upon ſuch Rebels ſuch impreſſion make?
My Lord, thou need'ſt nor flee, nor Peter draw?
They run, they run:
Backwards they fall:
Yet, to be taken, thou comeſt on,
Yielding thy ſelf unto their thrall,
Who cannot ſlip thy curb from off their jaw.
Servants are let go free, while th' maſter's bound
Bold Peter now,
To ſhow his
Proweſs,
Is word and blow.
But the meek priſ'ner gently cures the wound.
Thou chid'ſt thy Champion, while thou friend'ſt thy foe,
Sweet Prince of peace!
The wounds of foes
Thou'dſt rather heale with gentleneſs;
Then thine ſhould ſteel to flint oppoſe.
Peter's too hot to hold, I fear me ſo.
What mean your ſwords and ſtaves? ſirs! who's the thief:
You've ſtol'n the fruit,
And yet
Are ſet
To make purſuit.
I've only ſtol'n the puniſhment and grief.
Was I not with you in the temple ſtill?
Have you forgot
My Sermons there?
Yet all that while ye took me not.
And muſt I now theſe ſhacles weare?
Th' Eſſentiall muſt the written word fullfill.
See, my Diſciples leave me and they fly:
Each ſhifts for one:
And ſo
I too
Could well have done:
But, lo! my bondage is their liberty.
Thus bound they drag me to the high Prieſt firſt,
Who am the goat
Doom'd thus to dye
More by Heav'ns counſell then their plot,
For ſin, in mine Humanity;
Which though it knew no ſin, for ſin's accurſt.
Then they confeſs over my guiltleſs head
Their ſins, not mine:
Yet I
Did cry,
Something divine
You'l find hath ſcap'd your hands when I am dead.
In my two natures I'm both Goats in one:
Can dye, yet ſcape;
Can ſcape, yet dye:
I can diſcharge firſt Adams rape,
Then ſecond Adams bands unty.
Sinner, I muſt do both, or thou'rt undone.
Falſe witneſs they ſuborne 'mongſt faithleſs Jewes.
Such is their grudge
Their Lord
They 'ccord
To death t' adjudge.
Though witneſſes agree not, that accuſe.
Art thou the Chriſt? they captiouſly enquire.
Not for to know
As ſometime did
Johns dear Diſciples, but to throw
Mine own confeſſions at mine head.
They watch my words with an enflam'd deſire:
This Mary ſometimes did, but not as they;
Not life, but death
They watch
And catch
From my dear breath,
Both to themſelves and me this bloody day.
Peter ſteales to their fire, to melt, not fight:
Mine ſeldome warme
Themſelves with ſuch
But quickly rue their dear-bought harme,
Saying the warmth's not half ſo much.
Sirs, is't ſo this morn? 'twas hot ith' night;
I felt it ſo. Nor find I ought yet cool,
Except it be
The love
Ev'n of
My friends to me,
Whilſt enemies my wiſdome fain would fool.
The High Prieſt rends his cloaths but not his heart
Then all condemn me
The Hall throughout,
Who muſt judge all: Abjects contemn me,
Whom Angels do admire, they flout.
They are the Iſhma'ls, I bear Iſaacks part.
Then they blindfold mine eyes, to whom the night
Shines as the day:
I can't,
Sure, want,
Who gave away
So many eyes to others wanting ſight.
Oh! how theſe Bats project to blind the Sun!
Moles plot and think
(How wiſe they are?)
With a poor clout thus to hood-wink
Jacobs true bright and morning ſtar.
Indeed if't could, you've need it ſhould be done.
How they to make me like themſelves deviſe?
I, and they, wink:
They ſee
Not mee;
And ſo they think
I can't ſee them, although I made their eyes.
Others, for ſpight, ſpit on my bleſſed face,
Which Moſes, and
Elias too,
Did once ith' mount admiring ſtand
Transfigur'd then, disfigur'd now.
How men beſpatter Gods own looking-glaſs.
Theſe pot ſheards then their potter ſmite with rods.
My white and ruddy
Theſe foes
With blows
Make black and bloody:
I'm box'd by ſlaves, who rule among the Gods.
Then propheſie who ſmote thee, ſome do cry.
Alas! who not?
Yet I'll impart;
Me, for my ſeed, my Father ſmote;
But never did mine own clean heart.
Scorners, go read Iſaiah's Propheſie.
He did eſteem me ſtricken of my God;
That ſtripes on me,
My ſmart
Of heart,
Mans cure might be:
Man did the fault, and I muſt feel the rod.
Peter, I doubt thy courage will ſoon coole
At that ſame fire;
Th' Ague'll come on:
Satan to ſift thee did deſire.
Now Peter prove thee rock and ſtone.
My dear Diſciple, do n't deny my ſchoole.
Oh! at firſt charge, I ſee, my Champion's laid!
The ſhield, the ſhield
Of faith
He hath
Near loſt this ſhield.
Who play'd the man 'mongſt men, fals by a maid.
Whom fleſh and blood reveal'd not, fleſh and blood
Can teach deny,
Ev'n his dear Lord;
Conſtant to's own unconſtancy.
Ev'n as if this had been his word,
I will deny, not dye, to this he ſtood.
Oh! my poor fiſher's caught the ſecond time.
I ſaid, abide
In me,
O ye
Will quickly ſlide:
But now it ſeems to b… of me's a crime.
Then others cry, this man's of Nazareth.
He by and by
With cu ſing doth
Me, tha… hav… born his curſe, deny:
… e…rs … …now… not what he know'th
Peter, they ſay they ſmell thee by thy breath
To be of me, Oh! that I could ſo ſay!
Sirs, don't you hear?
The man
Can ban,
Can curſe and ſwear.
That he's of me, Sirs, doth ſuch ſpeech bewray?
Surely you know my ſpeech no more then me.
Peter denies
His Chriſt—ſo crew
The Bird that wakes the ſleepers eyes;
I lookt on Peter, then he knew
The Cock his Maſters Monitour to be.
Peter thus finding all crow over him
Runs forth to weep;
His ſoul
Now foule
To wrinſe and ſteep;
Ev'n in a ſpring-ride of ſalt teares to ſwim.
I have deni'd my Lord, my Lord that's dying:
I have deni'd
My Lord, my Lord
Whom I confeſt, profeſt; bee'ng tried
I have renounc'd his and my word;
My Lord that bought me I have been denying.
Now his hot fit's come on. My Chriſt, when ever,
Through thou know'ſt what,
Thee I
Deny
In word or thought;
Oh! give me Peters ſweat, in Peters feaver.
By this time is my dooms daies dawning come.
Their rightfull King
Jewes having bound
Before an alien Judge do bring.
That guilt ith' guiltleſs might be found,
Butchers object, but I the Lamb, lye dumb.
Herod, and Pontius Pilate, Gentiles, Jewes
Counſell and plot:
I am
The Lambe
Muſt go to pot:
Satan is at mine heel, which he will bruiſe.
Who art? and, what is truth? Pilate enquires,
Bee'ng ſtrange to both,
I find it ſo:
Yet to my blood ſhed lag and loath,
Whilſt mine own people raging go
To burn King Davids branch with Gentile fires.
Take him your ſelves, ſaith Pilate; Jewiſh men,
Eaſe your own grudge.
Say they
We may
No man adjudge
To death. Our Scepter's gone. Where's Shiloh then?
See you your wants? not what ye have, O yee?
Why, Shiloh's come:
My white and ruddy
This wine and milk, though I be dumb
Speaks it; this innocence thus bloody.
This is your Shiloh's garment: can't you ſee?
'Tis not ſo long, O thou my city! ſince
Hoſannahs, cried
In thee
To mee,
Me teſtified;
Thy people gath'ring round about their Prince
'Tis not ſo long ſince I did bind my fole,
Mine Aſſes Colt,
Unto my vine;
To thee, Jeruſ'lem, now revolt;
That I might waſh my weeds in wine,
Whilſt to the death I'm pouring out my ſoul.
Judas meanwhile, conſid'ring all that's done
Through his foul ſinne,
Relents
Repents
And brings agen
That dung-hill dirt for which he ſold the Sun.
For's thirty pieces, thirty thouſand woes
Oppreſs his heart.
Then to his Prieſt,
I've ſinn'd, and th' innocent muſt ſmart.
The wretch bee'ng ſhriven, ſo confeſt.
See thou to that, ſay th' Prieſts, ſee thou to thoſe.
Oh! to what lead doth ill-got ſilver turn?
Judas can't bear
The weight
Of it;
Yet 'twas his dear:
Oh! take't agen. My fingers burn, they burn.
Into the treaſ'ry this they dare not caſt:
Oh! 'tis not good,
Poor men they dare not;
Oh! 'tis the price, the price of blood!
And yet to ſpill that blood they ſpare not:
Thus Gnats do ſtick, whilſt Camels go down faſt.
They take the money firſt, and then diſpute
Wheth'r 't ſhould be ſo.
Mean while
The vile
Traitour doth go,
Bee'ng ſelf-condemn'd himſelf to execute.
A bloody piece of Charitie's the end.
The Potters field,
That ſtrangers might
Be buri'd there, to buy they yield
Not burying there their own ſtrange ſpite.
Thus kind to ſtrangers, whilſt they kill their friend.
Mean while me at a godly price men hold;
Hereto it's come,
One field
Can yield
As great a ſumme,
As doth the Maker of the world when ſold.
Now th' Judge of all ſtands bound at Pilats bar.
Great God is tried
For's life, by man:
Yet by this ſtranger juſtified,
Say mine own people what they can.
Hurried to Her…d next, and's men of war.
Herod forſooth would ſee a miracle
And doth, whilſt I
Suſtain
Diſdain
So patiently,
Who could ſcoule theſe proud ſcorners quick to Hell.
In white and ſplendid rayment then, from thence
I'm re-convey'd
To my firſt judg.
('Twixt whom and Herod peace is made
They in my blood can ſink their grudge)
Wearing the type of my cleare innocence
Saith Pilate, ſee nor I nor Herod can
His crime diſcry
Why he
Should be
Condemn'd to dye;
Will you, this feaſt, that I releaſe this man?
Take him, and ſcourge him, ſcourge him as you liſt,
Oh! What I feel!
My God, what laſhes!
Think you my back is ſtone or ſteel
Like your hard hearts? O gage theſe gaſhes?
And ſpare your rod, or tell me wherefore is't.
Yet doth mine hand ſtill ſway that iron-rod,
Wherewith I can
All thoſe
My foes,
Ev'n as one man,
In pieces break; and make them know I'm God.
Who would have thought all government were laid
Upon theſe ſhoulders,
Thus rent and torn
By cruell ſtripes? yet they're th' upholders
Whereon both globes oth' world are born;
A load that's light to th'ſtripes of them that ſtrai'd.
I am the fruitfull field now plow'd in furrows,
That ev'ry ſinne
Might have
Its grave
To wither in.
I am the rock, theſe holes are ſinners burrows.
Princes, whileſt under Paedagogues they bee,
Can ſtand and ſee,
When they've tranſgreſt,
Sub…ects whipt for't, why, Pilate mee,
Thou'ſt innocent and king confeſt,
Yet for my peoples faults I'm ſcourg'd by thee.
Pilate, thou thinkſt theſe bloody ſtripes may ceaſe
Their bloody cry,
But blood
'So good,
They'll drink them dry,
And their Hydropick thirſt will more increaſe.
Alas! thou think'ſt to ſeale me a releaſe
From blood in gore,
But 'twill not bee
Till I have emptied all my ſtore.
Then, ſinner, there's releaſe for thee.
So dearly muſt I buy my Subjects peace.
Pilates own wife becomes mine advocate:
Her ſufferings in
Her dream,
To them
Shee doth begin,
So to prevent my Paſſion, to relate.
But who can harden his ſoft cowardiſe.
To take my part,
And ſhield my right?
Or molifie their hardened heart
To quit their ſpleen, or ſcirrhous ſpite?
Pilate, have nought to do with Chriſt, ſhee cries:
Woman, thy husband's like to 've nothing ſure
With me to do:
Whilſt he
For me
No heart can ſhow;
But to condemn, whom he acquits, endure.
Pilates own Lady plaies the nurſing mother;
Whileſt Jews reject,
Builders refuſe
Fair Sions precious ſtone elect
Which for the corner God will uſe.
'Ware Pilate leſt this croud thy conſcience ſmother.
Pilate and I have two hard parts to play;
Pilate, to pleaſe
All thoſe
My foes,
Yet me releaſe:
I, to make Heav'n and earth good friends this day.
Time after time he queſtions and approves
Mine innocence;
And tels the Jewes
That clearly that's all mine offence:
And doth the oyle of courtſhip uſe,
Which either more enflames, or nothing moves.
Pilate hangs firſt 'twixt two bee'ng crucified,
Conſcience and fear:
The Rout
Without
For blood appear:
By Pilates Privie Counſell 'tis denied.
Will you, ſaith Pilate, I releaſe your King,
Or Barrabas
The Murderer?
The Man of Men the Monſter was
Yet Barrabas they all preferre
Bloud upon bloud thus on themſelves they bring.
Now, O ye Heavens, ſtand aſtoniſhed!
And thou, bright Sun,
Be gon:
Get on
Thy mourning gown!
That when I bow mine, thou may'ſt hide thinehead.
Let Gad'rens now for kind commended be;
Yet they preferd
Their herd of ſwine,
But no Barabbas in that Herd.
But, Oh! the hoggiſhneſs of mine,
Ev'n of mine only people unto me!
Why ev'n theſe Butcher's trade's a myſtery.
There is a skill
That they
This day
Have learnt to fill
Their hands with blood: and that before I dye.
The murder and the murd'rer all's their own
Whilſt they thus chuſe:
And oh! what wonder?
What fitter head, for bloody Jewes,
Than this Barabbas, to liſt under;
Whilſt from their head they caſt off me their crown?
My Chriſt, there's yet a ſweeter myſtery:
Innocent breath
I ſee
In thee
Condemn'd to death;
That th' chief of ſinners might eſcape thereby.
What ſhall I do then with your King, ſaith he.
Him Crucifie,
Cries all the rout:
Oh let him, let him, let him dye!
As if they could not live without
His blood, no more can I Lord, give it me.
Why, but ſaith Pilate, tell me what's his crime,
Or take him you.
Away,
Say they,
Let him dye now.
To find his fault would ask too long a time,
Whilſt all can tell me how, none can tell why
I ſhould be kill'd.
Sirs, is 't becauſe
I gave you good and righteous Laws
Which you have broke, and I fulfill'd?
Muſt I becauſe I let you live, now dye?
Or is it for ſome injuries of old!
In Egypt, and
In the
Red Sea,
And deſert Land,
Whereof your Fathers Fathers have you told?
Or is't becauſe I ſaid I came from God
To bring a new
And great Salvation,
Greater then th' firſt, to thee, O Jew!
Proving my miſſion to my Nation,
By an all-conquering wonder-working Rod?
Is it becauſe your dumbe can ſpeak, that I'm
Cry'd out againſt?
'Gainſt me
Are ye,
O Jews! incenſt
Becauſe of all my cures? are they my crime?
Is it becauſe your dead are raiſ'd, that I
Am grudg'd my breath?
Grudg'd what I give?
Am I therefore condemn'd to death?
Dos't therefore grieve you that I live?
Why, I ſhall quicken the more, when ere I dye.
Then Pilate puts me in the ſouldiers hands:
They plat a Crown:
Alas!
It was
A thorny one
Which he muſt weare, who Heav'n and Earth commands.
Why, I am Iſra'ls King: and him I found
Ith' Wilderneſs,
That howling waſte,
Whoſe Muſick theſe outcries expreſs;
Whoſe only fruits are thorns, I taſt:
Cloath'd with their ſins I'm with their thorns too crown'd.
Thus I with ſinners change, 'tis well for them:
Their thorney Crown
So worn,
And born,
I make mine own,
Yielding for it an heavenly diadem.
Iſra'l, that ſo long brought me no ſweet Cane,
Now puts me off
With a poor weed:
For ſacrifice, they bring a ſcoff:
And for my ſcepter, bring a reed;
Yet by me Princes rule and Kings do reign.
Then in Purple Robe they me inveſt:
But that ſame colour
I wore
Before,
Through ſtripes and dolour,
Both on my ſcourged back and tortur'd breaſt.
Then gath'ring round, ev'n as they lift, they flout me.
Haile King! they cry;
And bow the knee,
But not their hearts: (Why, truly I
Ever had ſome that ſo ſerve mee)
Breathing diſdain yet can't they breath without me.
They rend my fleſh, the temples of mine Head
They ſmite with reeds:
But I
Surely
Shall quit their deeds,
By rending vaile and Temple when I'm dead.
In ſtrange diſguiſe (for ſo are Princes wont
When as they paſs
Through ſtrangers lands,
And ſuch Judea is, alas!
To me, whilſt I am in ſuch hands:)
Brought forth I am that Prieſts might me confront
A ruthfull ſpectacle! a man of grief!
Laden with woes!
With thorns;
With ſcorns
Of bitter foes!
Will not the Prieſt and Levite yield relief?
Whither, oh! whither, would I, could I flie?
Shall I repair
To th' Alters ſide?
Spight is there hotteſt. There they are
That firſt cri'd, be he Crucified.
Away, ſay they, O let him, let him die.
We have a Law, the Sonne of Death he is
Gods Sonne to be
That makes
Or takes,
Himſelf here's he.
Sirs do not quote the Second Pſalm for this.
Pilate an Heathen, dreads my reverend name,
Which Jewes deſpiſe:
Enquires the more
Whence I am? whence my kingdome is?
Not of this world, I h'd ſaid before:
So, he my dumbneſs, I his deafneſs blame.
Of what he asks I did the truth impart,
And told him ſo:
But hee
'Gan flee
The truth as though
It were ſome Ghoſt or Mormo Truth! what art?
With's pow'r of life and death he then doth brave me,
Who hold the keyes
Of David ſtill
To ſhut and open as I pleaſe,
To bind and looſe all as I will,
For ſuch Command'ment God my Father gave me:
Yet Pilates Conſcience in his face ſtill flies:
Now he projects
How mee
To free;
But all th' effects
T' enflame their fury, double their out-cries.
Yet in their anger ſo much wit they have
As to compound
Some thing to calme
Poor Pilates Conſcience, why, they've found
Some ſimples ſoveraign as balme;
Oh! 'twas good ſatisfaction that they gave.
Thou art not Ceſars friend if this man go.
Now take your Chriſt,
Fullfill
Your will,
Do what you liſt
With him, Jewes, ſo I ſentence, and ſo do.
Thus he and I ſwim down one ſtream this day.
Yet the poore man
Found want of water,
Call'd for a Baſin, and began
To waſh him from this bloody matter:
Which nothing can, but what he gav… away.
Truly his waſhing clears not him, but me:
He doth proclaim,
That I
Now die
A ſpotleſs Lamb:
Then, wretch, what Ocean can compurgate thee?
Pilate, upon us and our children fling
Thou this mans blood:
We Jewes, thus wiſh.
Is this your ſo much long'd for food,
To you of all th' forbidden diſh?
Pilate then cries, ye Jewes, behold your King.
We have no King but Ceſar, they reply.
Sirs, you forget
Whoſe hour
Of power
This is as yet.
Satan's your Ceſar, more then he or I.
Satan, not Ceſar, bad you plot my fall:
That Prince of Hell,
Philiſtia's King
Plows with mine heifer, Iſrael:
Thu… to mine end, mine own me bring.
Yet Sampſons death's Philiſtia's Funerall.
The Purple Robe then ſtrip they from my back;
Which plainly ſhews
It's worn
And born
For ſinners uſe,
That of my Righteouſneſs they might partake.
Thus is the truth ſtript naked: And agen
My ſeamleſs coat
They make me weare
Unto mine execution-plot,
That by my ſweet attonement there
I might an Union weave 'twixt God and Men,
Thence to the place of Souls, Lo! I their Head
The tree accurſt,
Before
It bore
Me, bear it firſt;
Till I, by bearing it, am almoſt dead.
Thus mine may learn in me, what burthen he
Muſt daily beare,
Taking his croſs,
That in my waies will perſevere,
Reck'ning death gain, counting life loſs:
Who ſtumbles at my croſs, can't follow me.
Now are my groanes new pickled in friends tears,
They'd ſteale, I ſpie,
This tree
From mee,
By Sympathy;
Which by conſtraint Simon of Cyrene bears.
But weep not, Daughters of Jeruſalem!
For me at all
But for your City:
Alas! who can prevent thy fall,
Who ſhew'ſt thy builder no more pity?
If they do thus to th' green tree, wo to them!
T…us under Pilates ſentence, and command
O th' Roman ſtate,
That all
May fall
On Romes proud Pate;
I th' place of Crucifixion, lo! I ſtand.
Rome! thou'rt that Sodom, Egypt, Babylon,
Though Miſticall;
Drunken with blood
Of all my Martyrs, mine withall
Now mingling with thy …ybers flood.
Rome's ſtored with croſſes and now lends me one!
Not Jabbathah but Golgotha's the ſtage
The Camp without;
Where I
Muſt dye
'Mongſt all the rout,
Taſting at once both Hells and Heavens Rage.
Why I am the great Sacrifice for ſin,
And therefore muſt
Without the gate
Unto the Earth commend my duſt,
Whilſt my deare blood doth expiate
From all tranſgreſſions that thoſe are within.
Behold, my dear Diſciple, my dear Mother!
Her I bequeath
To thee,
To bee
After my death
Provided for as by her Son, my Brother.
Now ſee your Brazen Serpent lift, on high,
Upon the pole!
My bloody croſs
Bears fruit to quit what Adam ſtole:
Juſtice, I find, may n't go by th' loſs,
Yet grace ſhall reign by righteouſneſs, hereby.
Oh! how I'm ſtretcht and tortur'd on this tree!
Oh! how each vein,
And nerve
Doth ſerve
A ſev'rall pain!
'Twas man grew looſe, and I muſt ſtraitned bee.
Oh! how thoſe hands, I ſtretcht forth all the day,
To Iſrael,
Are ſtretcht again?
That as my Patience did excell,
So now I might exceed in pain;
Whilſt ſinners to mine heart find open way.
Oh! how my feet, that nere took ſtep awry,
Are pierced through!
Made faſt
In haſt
My croſs unto;
Till the tranſgreſſours may find time to flie.
I am the doore, they naile me to the tree:
And, as is fit,
Over this gate
A royall ſuperſcription's writ
That in all tongues might preach my ſtate.
Oh! all ye that paſs by, turn in by mee.
To th' croſs I'm hing'd in mine humanity.
That from the floor
Ev'n each
Might reach
That living door
Whoſe upper hinge claſps in with th'Deity.
Romans, and Greeks, and Hebrews, come and look:
Theſe open arms
Shew th' open way,
How by mine, you may caſe your harms;
And may become one fold this day:
I am the ſhepheard, and my croſs the crook.
I am the ſhepheard, and my crook, the croſs;
Whereby I gather
And keep
My ſheep,
And thine, O Father!
I'll ſuffer death, ere thou ſhalt ſuffer loſs.
Living, my bread of life among my Jewes
I ever brake,
For 'twas their right;
Who whilſt they ſpread theſe arms, do make
A feaſt for Gentiles through their ſpight;
That, dying, I might none, that come, refuſe.
Come unto me all ye that laden be
With ſin and wrath;
Come ye
To me;
O come in faith.
I'll bear your burthens whilſt my Croſs bears me.
Mine hands are not ſo nail'd, but that I can
Ev'n with theſe nailes
Still pick the lock
Hung on your heel, if your key failes:
But whilſt I preach, alas! they mock.
If thou be th'Chriſt be thine own Jeſus, man.
Why Jewes remember what your high Prieſt taught
How needfull 'twas
That I
Should dye,
That th'cup might paſs
My people, whilſt I drink their bloody draught.
But, oh Jeruſalem! canſt laugh at mee?
And at my griefs?
As thou didſt know
My preſſures to be thy reliefs;
Repent, believe; and be it ſo.
But laugh not at me who h've wept over thee,
And yet weep blood, for this thy ſtupid ſtate.
Father, I pray
Reprieve,
Forgive
Theſe foes for they
Alas! my God, they do they know not what.
They curſe, I bleſs: I pray whilſt they revile.
Whilſt Prieſts do ſcoff
And ſore diſdain
The Sacrifice that comes not off
Th' Altar, but ſuffers to be ſlain,
My bloud makes interceſſion all the while.
Who'd raſe then raiſe the Temple (this is he)
In three daies ſpace;
Yet hee,
We ſee,
Can't quit this place
Where all the nailes that hold him, are but three
Yet mock not, paſſenger; wag not thine head
In ſo much ſcorne,
When thou thinkſt leaſt,
When I this bitter death have borne,
To earneſt I'… ſoon turn thy jeſt;
And raiſe this Temple ere't be three daies dead,
Come down ſay ſome, and ſo convince thy foes:
Which if I ſhou'd
How ſore
A ſtore
Of wrath, and blood,
Would come down too? Sirs, I beare of your blowes.
With the tranſgreſſours numbered am I:
On either ſide,
Truth bee'ng between,
Falſhood and theft hang crucified;
Yet if Heav'ns Rolls theſe men had ſeen
They'd found me in another Trinity.
But, oh my grief! not only mine own Nation
But thoſe, that be
Juſtly
To dye,
Firſt ſcoff at me;
Their partner not in crimes, but condemnation.
Yet can I not forget my dear Compaſſions:
Though both reproach
And flout at me,
My blood for ſinners ſince I broach,
I will not ſuffer both to be
At once partakers of two condemnations
Th' one I call home though in th' eleventh hour:
And thereby ſhew
How kind
A mind
I bear to you
That turn, though late, to me your Saviour.
But oh his rare Converſion! oh how he
Juſtifies God!
Rebukes his mate!
Open his ſin! kiſſeth his rod!
Takes me for Lord, beſeeching that
In my Salvation he might ſharer be.
Thus on my Croſs I work a new Creation:
Looſing the bands
Of ſin
Within
From th' ſinners hands.
My bitter ſacrifice brings ſweet ſalvation.
Thus I give life to others, yet I dye;
I heal their wounds,
And break their bands;
Yet anguiſh mine own ſoul confounds
More then theſe nailes do pierce mine hands
My God! why doſt thou me forſake? Oh! why?
They rend my garments, caſt lots for my coate,
Whilſt I hang here;
Shame doth
Me cloath,
Elſe nak'd I were
Yonder's thy Joſephs coat, Lord! doſt not know't?
The ſeamleſs veſture of thy ſinleſs child,
How bloody is't?
My God! My God!
Yet not ſo bloody as thy Chriſt
Is all within by thy ſharp rod.
O be not fierce to me, for I am mild.
See, how I'm nail'd to this moſt bitter tree!
How I'm accurſt!
How gall
Is all
My drink in thirſt!
And wilt thou ſo, my God, my God! leave mee?
See, how men turn my Glory into ſhame.
Mocking my faith
And confidence;
Some ſay he for Elias pray'th:
But, Lord, thou know'ſt my mind and ſenſe.
They flout, they fleete, whilſt I call on thy name.
Yet ſave me, for I'm thine: thine handmaids ſon
Made of this woman:
Thy ſhade
This maid,
When known by no man,
Impow'rd to bring forth me, thine holy one.
Father! I'm the only fatherleſs on earth:
All others have
Fathers, or had:
O pity, pity, Lord! and ſave
Thy Fatherleſs, ſupport the ſad.
Oh! leave me not in death, who gav'ſt me birth.
My God! my God! why doſt thou me forſake?
Who never thee
Forſook,
Or took
One ſin to mee,
Except the ſins that thou didſt bid me take.
They fill the ſpunge with vinegar, but thou
My ſoul doſt fill
With ſharper grief.
Oh! ſinner, here's a bitter pill,
Yet for thy ſickneſs ſweet relief.
My God! my God! O do not leave me now!
How darkneſs vailes the land! yet clouds do hover
Darker by far:
Thy wrath
Lord, hath
Eclyps'd thy ſtar,
Whilſt from thy darling thou thy face doſt cover.
How both Suns ſuffer while thy Son lies under
Thy fierce diſpleaſure!
Th' Sun bears a part
But mine eclypſe it cannot meaſure.
Lord thy ſore frowns do teare my heart
More then the Temples vaile, that's rent aſunder.
Now come thy breaches and thy darkneſs on,
O Jewiſh Land!
For thou
Haſt now
Both rid thine hand
Of thy bright light and of thy Corner-ſtone.
Father, the earth's all ague, and I more:
Ev'n rocks are rent,
My ſoul's more torne:
Yet flinty Jewes don't once relent.
My God: leave not mine hope forlone.
I h've done. Lord, open th' everlaſting Doore.
Father, into thine hands I give my Spirit,
And utmoſt breath;
Whileſt I
Thus dye;
And, with me, death:
That my dear ſeed henceforth may life inherit.
Then Chriſt, in ſweet ſubmiſſion, bowes his head
To all Gods pleaſure:
I think on't ſtill:
Lord make the bowing heart my treaſure
An heart to bow to all thy will;
That dying I may ſay, all's finiſhed.
This done, my Saviour quickly ſhews his force
Graves open flie;
They ſhake
And quake
That ſee him die:
The rude Centurion's ſtruck with ſtrange remorſe.
Thus Chriſt lets looſe his pris'ners, captivates
His ſcornfull foes;
They knock their breaſt,
Confeſſing whom they did oppoſe
To be Gods SON, now not in jeſt.
Thus Sampſons death brake the Phyliſtians pates.
Then with a ſpear his ſide a Souldier ſtrikes;
Cleaving the Rock
That may
Each day
Water that Flock,
Whoſe Shepheard is now paſt all puſh of pikes.
This is the fountain op'ned for thy ſin,
Jeruſalem!
Thy filth, thy guilt;
Here is for each a proper ſtream,
Water and Blood: Let none be ſpilt:
O quench thy guilt, and cleanſe thy filth herein.
Iſra'l thy Paſchall Lamb, thy Chriſt is dead,
That Lamb from Heav'n:
Have care,
Prepare,
Purge out thy Leaven:
Mingle no more thy malice with thy bread.
Or if the Jewiſh lump won't leave their leaven
Make me leave mine:
I have in me
(Lord, nail it to this Croſs of thine)
An evill heart of enmity.
Lord kill this enmity 'twixt Earth and Heaven.
Be thou my fort, and hiding-place, my ſoul
Would lodg in thee:
My Lord
Affoard
One cleft for mee.
Thy walls are ſhatt'red, yet thou'rt timber-whole.
Satan and ſin I h've ſeen, ith' Tragick ſtory,
Shoot through and through
Thy bleſſed heart;
Yet not one bone was broken, though
Mount Sinai's Cannons plaid their part.
In this rock hide me, till I h've ſeen thy Glory.
Shall not Chriſt Crucified far dearer be
To me then Pelf,
Then name
Or fame
Or life it ſelf?
'Twas thus with Joſeph, why not thus with me?
The Souldiers having broke the others leggs,
But not my Lords;
Joſeph, a man
Rich in the goods this world affoards
But more in faith, moſt boldly ran
To Pilate, and Chriſts lifeleſs body beggs.
Then in clean linnen wraps that skin and bones,
That martir'd treaſure:
And why
Can't I
Take as much pleaſure
To cloath thy members, Lord, thy naked ones?
Jewes, now ou… king's come down: Sirs do you ſee him?
Your Temple lies
Flat by the ground:
Will you believe when't doth ariſe?
Catching your Chriſt at his rebound?
Why if his own won't have him, Lord! give me him.
Chriſt having now giv'n death his deadly wound,
Follows him home:
Invades
Deaths ſhades,
Enters a tombe,
To ſee what ſpoils may in a grave be found.
Great Conquerour, who haſt kill'd death ith' duel
After this art
Lodg'd in a ſtone?
Rather take up in my poor heart
How hard ſoever, or how none.
Oh! that I were thy Cabinet, dear jewell?
But Joſephs rock was pure, that grave was new:
Firſt in a womb,
Which none
Had known;
Then in a tombe
Where none had lain, my Lord log'd, this doth ſhew,
I muſt be clean and new firſt. Yet thy paſſion
And ſtreame of blood,
What did it mean,
That Purple yet a Chriſt all flood?
Was't not the making of me clean?
Doth not thy riſing mean my renovation?
Then make and take for ſuch this heart of mine
And dwell in it:
This breaſt
Is beſt
That I can get,
Had I a better, Lord, it ſhould be thine.
Surely the King of terrour I could brave,
If my Lord would
This Sepulcher,
This heart, as his own quarters hold;
I would nor goale nor goaler fear.
Oh how my Saviours Corps perfume the grave!
Lord, make this heart of mine a living one
Through thy deaths merit
Convey
I pray
To me thy ſpirit,
Who thy dead fleſh didſt Coffin in dead ſtone.
With th' Arimathean Counſellour combin'd
A learned Rabbi
To ſhew Chriſt kindneſs;
An Iſraelitiſh Doctor: may be
Some wiſer man will blame my blindneſs,
And Antichriſt in Law and Learning find.
But may my ſoul with bleſſed Joſeph dwell
And Nicodem:
Yet, down
With th' Gown,
Cry ſome of them
Who ſcarce I doubt from theſe can bear the Bell.
A ſpicie mixture, 'bout an hundred pounds,
Who came by night
To Jeſus brings
T' embalme his Lord, that gave him light,
With Aromatick precious things:
Y… not one half ſo precious as thoſe wounds.
Now Jeſus (Jonah-like) Heav'ns ſealed one,
Enters the deep:
But ſhall
The Whale,
The grave, him keep?
See, Souldiers watch, and Pilate ſeales the ſtone.
As Daniel's ſeal'd when caſt into the Den,
Malitious Jewes
Require a ſeale,
And watch, which Pilate won't refuſe,
Left ſome the Coffin'd Corps ſhould ſteale.
They'll keep the Sun from riſing; Crafty men!
Lo! in a Garden ſtood the ſealed Tomb.
Adam the firſt
Hav'ng bin
For ſin
Ith' Garden curſt
To th' Grave. My Saviour thus fullfills the doom.
Then dawns that bleſſed light that ever ſince
Makes one day ſhine
More then ſix other;
For ſhould ſix week-day lights combine,
One Lords-Day brightneſs would then ſmother
With thee, Thy Day Lord riſeth and proves Prince
That Day is now obſcur'd wherein Chriſt ſlept;
That Day's made bright
In which
That rich
And orient light
Quit that blind priſon where he had been kept.
Surely that day's the whole weeks Jubilee
(That day's the beſt
Which my dear Lord
By ceaſing from his labour bleſt,
Labour that coſt more then a word)
Wherein redemption ſet the ranſom'd free.
This firſt day finds more then the ſeaventh day loſt
Can ſupe…add
And raiſe
More praiſe
Then th' other had:
So th' old Commandment is fullfill'd, not croſt:
That bids me celebrate what day of ſeaven
God hath moſt bleſt;
And HIS, doth call:
Such WAS the Jewiſh, IS our reſt.
We ſowr'd Gods firſt works by our fall,
Till Chriſts laſt Paſſover purg'd out the leaven
Was not Chriſts Buriall part of 's Humiliation?
His day of reſt
From that
Dark ſtate
Shall't not be bleſt?
Shall I leſs prize a new then old Creation?
Redemption is a making old things new.
Rouze Chriſtians then:
Though dead before,
Let Lords-Dayes find you living men;
That with your Chriſt can riſe and ſoare.
And for the Chriſtian, quit thy Sabbath, Jew.
The firſt in ſin runs firſt to th' Sepulcher
Poor woman kind:
But Chriſt
Is miſt:
Oh! they can't find
Their Lord; though two of his Life guard appear,
The two bright pointers of that bleſſed Star
His countenance,
Who h'd roll'd the ſtone,
Strikes keepers hearts, at's firſt advance,
As dead as what he ſate upon.
Thieves were, now Angels Chriſts attendants are.
Say th' women who ſhall roll the ſtone away?
'Twas done before.
Thus may,
I pray,
I find my ſcore
Quit to mine hand, when I cry who ſhall pay?
Surely my ſurety did my debt diſcharge:
Lord, elſe why ſhould
Thine Angell be
Sent down t' unlock that priſon-hold
Wherein my Saviour lay for me?
My ſurety's free, why may n…t I walk at large?
They would with Oyntments, Odours, pretious things
Perfume his Priſon:
But th' dead
Was fled;
Their Sun was riſen
With ſweeter balme with healing in his wings.
Mary the ſinner, Mary Magdalen
Marcheth ith' van
To th' Sepulcher,
But th' ſtone's remov'd, and ſo's the man:
Shee miſſing her dear Saviour there,
To Iohn and Peter runs, and comes agen.
Theſe run a race, the wager's precious truth.
But Iohn outran:
Alas
He was
The younger man.
Happy the man runs after Chriſt in youth.
Peter, ſucceſſour to his Maſters Croſs,
Whileſt John keeps out
Enters Chriſts Tombe;
Looks for his Chriſt but finds a clout,
And winding-ſheet in Saviours Room:
But Chriſt is gone. O bleſſed, gainfull loſs!
Mary th' old weeper ſtands without and cryes;
But ſtooping down,
Spies here
And there
The Grave cloaths thrown,
Which linnens ſcarce can ſerve to wipe her eyes,
Shee is ſtill anxious, turns her round, and lo
There the Gard'ner ſtood,
As ſhee conceiv'd,
Ev'n he that waters with his blood
Each plant of his. Thus Chriſt's receiv'd
By the true ſeeker oft when't thinks not ſo.
Sir, if thou have borne him hence (and 'twas well gueſt)
Tell me, ſaith ſhee:
Mary!
Lo I
Ev'n I am he.
Ah! my dear Lord, that word revives my heart.
Yet touch me not, ſaith he, I'm not aſcended:
But go thou rather
And tell abroad
Unto my Brethren, to my Father
And yours I go, mine and your God.
So richly is the pooreſt Saint befriended!
How ſtudious is my Lord that they ſhould know,
And ſo partake
Of this
His Bliſs
That did forſake
Him in his captive ſtate and ſufferings ſo.
Surely theſe men that fled then from their colours,
Might have expected
Another kind
Of meſſage ſhould have been directed
From their now riſing Lord: but find
Their ſins in his Grave buri'd with his dolours.
No word of th' old uncomfortable ſtory.
But ſay I'm riſen:
Let tears
And fears
Take up my priſon.
Run tell my Brethren thou haſt ſeen my Glory:
Alſo the Angell cries, be not affraid:
Jeſus you'd have:
I know it well:
But think you David in a cave,
Or Davids Son muſt ever dwell?
Come ſee the place where your dear Lord was laid.
Women, your Lord's not here; your Lord is riſen
Have you forgot
Your Lords
Own words?
Or have you not?
Seek you the Prince of life in this dead priſon?
Run, tell the reſt and Peter, Chriſt is gone
Tow'rds Galilee
As he did ſay.
With joy and feare away they flee
All dapled like the time of day
And as they march, behold! they ſee the SON.
O may my Lord thus evermore appear,
And ſhine upon
Poor me,
When he
Saith, get thee gone,
And unto others, of me, tidings bear.
Oh bleſſed meeting! Courtſhip, and devotion!
All Haile! ſaith he:
They bow t'his feet;
Light that forbids us courteous be
Was then ſo dark Chriſt could not ſee't.
That maſter taught his ſchollers no ſuch notion.
Men, 'tis obſerv'd the riſing ſun adore;
Chriſt's riſen now:
And bright
Day light
Beames from his brow;
Shall not all worſhip the Son of God much more?
The watch mean while bring news of all that's done.
To th' Prieſts within,
Ev'n that Chriſt's riſen;
Who ſeeing him paſt reach, begin
To plot how they this truth m' impriſon.
Chriſts ſecond Grave-ſtone is a ſilver one.
What potent pranks can mighty Mammon ſhew!
Powerfull pelf
In'ts facts
Out acts
Ev'n pow'r it ſelf:
Money can make truth falſehood, falſehood true.
Money betrai'd my Lord to all theſe wrongs:
Now they're deviſing
To keep on foot
Something to cloud this bright Suns-riſing;
And 'tis large money that muſt do't.
This ſilver key muſt turn the ſouldiers tongues.
Souldiers are taught a ſorry tale to tell;
Which ſhould methinks
Nere ſlip
Their lip;
But that which chinks
So ſweetly, can make all ſound pretty well.
Say, Whilſt we keepers ſlept at th' Sepulcher,
's Diſciples came
And ſtole him thence;
Which if the governour ſhall blame
We'll mediate and make your defence.
Now hear O Heavens! and O Earth! give eare.
Can'ſt thus, O Iſr'ell, fool away thy Glory?
Is ſuch a wiſe
Fable
Able
To blind thine eyes?
Is this th' authentick, yet received ſtory?
Why, ſouldiers, if you ſlept at th' Sepulcher
Whilſt that vaſt ſtone
Was rolling back
(Which may a Jew believe, or none)
And ſome by ſtealth the corps did take;
I marvaile you could ſee what men they were.
Or if you ſaw the thieves, why did you not
Stop or purſue?
So ſhort
Report
Want ſo much giuegive?
See how the laſt words have the firſt forgot.
But oh fond Prieſts and Elders whence is it
That you can ſtroak
Theſe ſouldiers pates?
Sure ſuch neglect would you provoke
Of all. Yet you're their advocates.
Alas! how fury doth befoole their wits!
Mean while Diſciples were ſo far from thieving
That, when this newes
They btought
That ſaw't,
Yet, they refuſe
To take't for truth, being ſo far from believing.
As two of them were to Emaus going
Their buſie tongue
Bee'ng well imploy'd,
My deareſt Lord ſtands them among;
No ſooner talk't of, then enjoy'd.
Happy the Servants whom he finds ſo doing.
What is your talk that makes your walk ſo ſad?
Saith Cleopas
Doſt thou
Not know
Theſe things? Alas!
A mighty Man and Prophet we have had;
Mighty in word and deed with God and Men:
Jeſus was he
Of Nazareth
We'd hop'd might our Redeemer be:
But him, our Rulers put to death
This bee'ng the third day ſince. And yet agen
We know not what to think on't, hurried
'Twixt hope and fear;
For ſome,
That come
From th' Sepulcher,
Aſſure us that he's riſen from the Dead.
But oh this evill heart of unbelief!
This want of faith
That can provoke
The gentle Lamb of God to wrath,
Setting in ev'ry wheel a ſpoke,
Clouding the riſing Sun with gloomy grief!
O fooles, and ſlow of heart replies my Lord
Slow to believe me!
But oh
Not ſo
Not ſlow to grieve me,
Ought not your Chriſt fulfill the written word?
But Chriſt can't alwaies hold his chiding ſtory:
Sugars his checks
With ſweet inſtructions;
Moſes his vaile in pieces breaks;
Proves by prophetick fair deductions,
Through Seas of ſufferings Chriſt muſt land in Glory.
My Lord then makes as he would further go:
But they begin
ſo pray
Him ſtay,
And he turns in:
Happy, who love their cloſe reprovers ſo.
This bread of life thus broken when he had,
He breaks more bread
And makes them eat:
Their Lord's their Sheepheard, they're well fed,
Body and Soul, with bleſſed meat.
My ſoul, ſeek Chriſt firſt; and thoſe things he'll add.
Juſt now my Lord makes them ſee who he is,
Then ſlips away.
And, oh!
'Twas ſo
With me laſt day,
One moment op'ned and ſeal'd up like bliſs.
When Chriſt was gone, ſay they we might have gueſt
What light 'twas brought
So bright a day
To darkeſt Scriptures: might have thought
The riſen Sun was in our way
Finding our hearts ſo burn within our breaſt.
Then they return back to Ieruſalem
Brimfull of joy
To feaſt
The reſt;
But they are coy
Till Chriſt Himſelf ſtands in the midſt of them.
And 'tis ſo ſtill. Whoever's ſent about
To tell thy ſtory,
Hardneſs of hearts
And unbelief blinds all thy glory:
Lord, who believes? Lord, who converts?
Till thy deare preſence puts all out of doubt.
Their doores bee'ng ſhut, and hearts much more, that even
My Lord to put
All out
Of doubt;
(None elſe can do't)
This newes imparts in perſon to th' eleven.
Yet oh how hard a thing is this believing?
A ſprite appears
As they ſuppoſe;
The ſame that in their ſtorms of fears
Walk't on the Seas when winds aroſe.
Phant'ſies fooles-bolt, how't hinders truths receiving.
Jeſus ſalutes them with a peace be to you
Once and agen:
'Tis I;
Sirs, why
Diſtruſt you then?
Why do you let ſuch thoughts ariſe, why do you?
Down doubtings; I'm got up: And ready have
(Sirs, come and ſee
And feel, I pray)
A Tombe, dead unbelief, for thee
Dig'd in my ſide but t'other day,
And for your doubtings, in each hand a grave.
If theſe ſuffice not, handle, feel my feet
There are two more.
Doubt not,
I've got
All as before:
Rather then miſs their faith their ſenſe he'll meet.
Then for the further feeding of their faith
He calls for food;
They give him fiſh,
And Honey-Combe: but, oh! his blood
And body is a ſweeter diſh.
Then, breathing, take the Holy Ghoſt, he ſaith.
Now doth the froſt-nipt Tree of life recover:
Puts forth again:
New ſprings,
And brings
Fruits that remain
Spirit and Life, ſo prove's Deaths Winter's over
Thomas mean while bee'ng abſent from the reſt
Freezing from th' fire,
(Like them that miſs.
Th' aſſemblies Chriſt is wont t' inſpire
With ſweet aſſurance, joy and bliſs)
Can't feed his faith with hear-ſay of a feaſt
He muſt firſt hold a Coroners inqueſt:
Muſt ſee Chriſts ayles,
And muſt
Firſt thruſt
Ith' print of oth' nailes
His fingers; e're this faith enter his breaſt.
His faith muſt go on ſtilts or not at all:
See with the eye,
Feel with the hand,
His faith muſt in his fingers lye,
His faith muſt in his feeling ſtand,
At th' bound from ſorry ſenſe he'll catch the ball.
Th' week after he and they be'ng all together
With bleſſed greeting
(Increaſe
Of peace)
Chriſt Crowns their meeting.
Thomas, ſaith he, come reach thy finger hither.
As men are wont who've Children to be taught
My Lord was fain,
(Though ev'ry letter
In's hands and feet were printed plain)
With's finger teach him ſpell the better,
The Child to faith by fealing muſt be brought.
My Lord! and my God! (how this ſight relieves me!)
Poor Thomas cries.
Chriſt ſaith,
Thy faith
May thank thine eyes:
Bleſſed is he who ſees not, yet believes me.
Diſciples after this, a fiſhing go:
But nothing's caught,
Throughout the night;
Till Jeſus comes, and brings a draught:
Lord ſhew me ſo which ſide's the right,
When to catch ſouls thy Goſpell net I throw.
Chriſt look't into their cup-board juſt before▪
Children, have ye
Got meate
To eate?
Elſe come to me:
I've food and firing for you on the ſhore.
Hence ſinfull cares; infeſt my ſoul no longer,
Baſe diffidence:
Doubtings retreat:
Soul, mind thy Saviours providence:
Do thine own work, and he'll find meat.
Or give thee ſomethings better if thou hunger.
Dinner bee'ng done, Chriſt ſpeaks of working then:
And ſo ſhould we:
Our whet,
Not let
Our food ſhould be.
Shepheards Chriſt feeds, to feed his ſheep agen.
Shepheards who love to eat but not to feed
Are what they're not,
Not what they are;
(A Paradox, and Gordian knot,
Which Chriſt will cut, and will not ſpare)
Shepheards in name but rav'ning wolves indeed.
Peter, doſt love me more then theſe? I'll prove thee.
Then feed and keep
My flock;
My ſt…ck
Of Lambs and Sheep.
All knowing Lord, ſaith he, thou know'ſt I love thee.
Peter, when thou waſt young, then thou waſt free
To come and go
As thou'dſt a mind,
Girding thy ſelf: 't ſhall not be ſo
When thou art old, others ſhall bind,
And gird, and carry thee. Man! follow mee.
Peter replies, and what muſt this man do?
What's that to thee?
Follow
Me thou.
How buſie wee
Are to mind others works, our own not ſo.
In an appointed mount in Galilee,
Chriſt meets th' eleven:
Chargeth them there,
By all his pow'r in Earth and Heav'n,
To Preach the Goſpell ev'ry where;
Baptizing in the name of One and Three.
And in ſo doing, ſaith, I'm with you ſtill.
He ſhews Hells loſs:
Deaths gate,
Sins ſtate
Spoil'd by his Croſs.
Now is our Sampſon got on Gaza's hill.
To prove my new bought right to ev'ry Nation,
New tongues I give
Unto you: Though
You drink what's deadly, you ſhall live:
Serpents and ſickneſſes ſhall know
And Devills too, that I have wrought Salvation.
A… many years as Iſr'el juſt had been,
Chriſt▪ daies doth ſpend
'Twixt the
Red Sea
Of's bloudy end,
And Heav'nly Canaan: forty daies he's ſeen.
Meanwhile Chriſt Summons others from the dead
To evidence
His Reſurrection:
From types, from texts, from faith, from ſenſe,
Of proofs how full, how faire collection.
Shew'ng Chriſt is Riſen as the Churches head.
Now, O devourer! where's thy victory?
Out of the grave
That old
Strong hold
And cating cave
Comes meat and ſweetneſs; which who taſts can't die:
Ev'n Chriſt comes thence. And now in Olivet
Where he laid down
In part of pay
For th' purchaſe of his new bought crown,
His bloody ſweat: ev'n there this day
To ſee's Inthronization Saints are me…:
Wilt thou reſtore the kingdome, Lord, they cry,
To Iſr'el yet?
For you
To know
Times is not fit:
I'll ſend my ſpirit! thats my Lords reply.
O what an eager fooliſh thing is man!
Buſie to know
What leaſt concern him!
But to take forth, alas! how ſlow
The leſſons that my God would learn him.
A ſieve that lets go th' flow'r but holds the bran.
Melchiſedeck mean time, our Prieſt for ever,
With lift up hands
On his
All bliſs
And grace commands;
Whom clouds receiving from their ſight do ſever.
But not from th' eye of faith, which fixedly
Purſues their king;
Till Angels do
Tidings of 's ſecond coming, bring,
In ſuch ſort as they'd ſeen him go.
Chear up, my drooping heart, thine head's on high.
Yet not ſo high, but that his heart's as low
As ſtill to mind
Poor thee
Till hee
Hath made thee find
What for thy gain he ſometime did forego.
Now'… the forerunner ent'red in for thee:
Thy Lord's aſcended;
Up and away:
When Chriſt firſt roſe; this flight he 'ntended:
And art thou quickned here to ſtay?
May all my life but one Aſcenſion bee.
But I'm all fits and ſtarts, and cannot get
Hold of mine own:
But clouds
Prove ſhrouds:
And all ſeemes gone:
Sometimes I riſe with Chriſt, but cannot fit.
Yet am I fixt, whilſt Saviour ſits in Heaven;
There are no hills
And dales on high:
My Swampes my Saviours merit fills,
That all might in a levell lie,
Making my ſtate, though not my comfort even.
Why art thou then, my ſoul, diſquieted?
Chriſt dwelt in duſt
As thou
Doſt now;
Shall I not truſt
Him, that drank of my brook, to lift mine head?
Is this the Butler that bore Pharaohs cup?
Though he forgot
Joſeph ith' Priſon,
When rais'd himſelf, thy Lord will not
Reckon that hee's compleatly riſen,
Till all his foes are down and friends got up.
Down then, thou evill heart of unbelief!
Thou art a foe,
To mee
I ſee,
To him I know:
A goale would fit thee well, for thou'rt a thief.
Thou pick'ſt my comforts and thou ſteal'ſt his praiſe,
His and my loſs
We lay to thee:
Betwixt two thieves Chriſt left one Croſs
Void, that there hanged thou mightſt bee.
Th' arch-thief of all that rob on Gods highwayes.
Now as Mount Olivet for Sion Mount
Thou didſt forgo
Teach mee
Like thee,
Sweet Saviour, ſo
Heav'ns joyes before earths fatneſs to account.
I determined not to know any thing ſave Jeſus Chriſt, and him Crucified,
1 Cor. 2.2.