The Doctrine of the Three Sacred Persons, Part 5
HOPE.
DRive on, my muſe, till thou 'rt got through:
Let not Hope find thee in a ſlough:
Let that that drives the Farmers plough,
Drive thine much more.
To th' Hope of Iſr'el let me yet
In hope my running rhyme commit,
And humbly ſay, God proſper it;
Or 'twill be poor.
Hope is a door, the Scripture ſaith;
And ſo is Chriſt, and ſo is Faith:
Who 're out of theſe doores are in wrath
And Condemnation.
Faith into Chriſt doth firſt advent're:
Chriſt into Hope allows me enter:
Hope makes my very Soul to center
On Gods Salvation.
Hope is Faiths expectation:
Fa…h is the Moſes, Hope's the ſtone
That Faith in Pray'r doth reſt upon
Till't overcome.
Faith doth upon Hopes tip-toe ſtand
Stretching its neck to look for land
Beyond deaths gulf: and life beyond
The day of doom.
Hope is next door to Heav'ns gate;
'Tis but a ſtep from this to that:
Nay Hope doth Heaven antedate,
And bring down hither.
Hope's th' antidote againſt deſpair;
Coffin of fear; and Couch of care;
Cradle of patience: Hope hath fair
Even in foule weather.
Hope is the mourners Handkerchief:
Hope is the Balme of ev'ry grief.
Hope doth endorſe the beggars brief
Ere it's collected.
In Hope I have, what yet I want:
Hope makes me full, while things are ſcant:
Hope doth conſummate, what I can't
Yet ſee effected.
Hope hath an harveſt in the Spring:
In Winter doth of Summer ſing:
Feeds on the fruits whileſt bloſſoming,
Yet nips no bloom.
Hope brings me home when I'm abroad,
As ſoon as th' firſt ſtep homeward's trod:
In Hope to thee, my God! my God!
I come, I come.
Hope ſends the Ship to Sea, and then
Ere it returns, brings't home agen:
The port of all Seafaring men
Is this GOOD HOPE.
I am a Sea man too. My Soul,
Though toſs'd with doubts when weather's foul,
Doth like ſome Sea-ſick veſſell roul;
Yet Heav'n's its ſcope.
Hope doth the Souldiers weapon wield:
By Hope the Souldiers Helmet's ſteel'd:
Hope gives him, ere he fights, the field:
Hope holds his ſtation.
I am a Souldier too. My Sword,
Is that oth' Spirit, th' two-edg'd word:
Now for an Helmet give me, Lord,
Th' Hope of Salvation.
Hope ſets the poor Apprentice free
Firſt day he's bound. And why not me?
Thou haſt Indentures Lord by thee
Wherein I'm tied.
Mount Sinais Covenants they bee
Yet Hope doth, Lord, Enfranchize mee
In Sion-hill, where all are free
That do reſide.
In Hope the School. Boy doth commence
Maſter of Art, and fair ſcience:
Yea whileſt ith' loweſt form ſteps thence
To th' Doctors Chair.
I'm a School-Schollar too, My God!
But yeſterday I felt thy rod:
Yet ſtill with Hope am girt and ſhod.
Away, deſpair.
'Ti… Hope …hat doth the ſower feed;
Who ſeems to caſt away his ſeed,
But doth preſerve in very deed
And mend his ſtore.
I am a Seeds-man too, my Lord!
And but for Hope thou would'ſt affoard
Thy bleſſing, when I ſow thy word,
I had forbore.
I am a Seeds man; every teare
I ſow in Hope, 'twill bring an care
Fit for thy floor in time of yeare
For thee to gather.
Were't not for Hope the heart; ſome ſay,
Would break; yet Hope led me one day
Weeping along the Milkie way
To thee, O Father!
I am a Seeds man caſting bread
On th' waters where it ſeems lye dead;
Yet Hope aſſures me 't ſhall be fed,
And then reſtor'd.
Hope doth the pris'ners bolts unlock:
His fetters doth in ſunder knock:
Hope drives the Freemans trade and ſtock.
My deareſt Lord!
I am a captive too. Sins chain
Doth hold and hamper, but in vain:
By Hope I'm ſaved, and ſet again
At liberty.
I am a Tradeſman too. Thou art
That God with whom I deal. My heart
Takes Heav'n to be the only mart,
Thither trade I;
Exporting groans and broken pray'rs
That ſcarſe can clamber up the ſtairs.
Importing rich and precious wares,
Ev'n joy and peace.
Joy that exceeds all underſtanding
Oth' Spirits ſealing, Chriſts own handing:
Peace that is of Gods own commanding
And can't ſurceaſe.
Hope makes the labourer to run
A race as 'twere with each daies Sun
Paying his wages ere's work be done,
And mine much more.
I daily dig and delve within
Stubbing at th' roots and ſtumps of ſin
And but for Hope one day to win
I ſhould give ore.
O come that long'd for day! come quickly!
This Hope defer'd makes my heart ſickly.
Grace is a Roſe, but ſin is prickly
And ſtill adheres.
Amphibion like the diver tries,
Whet ſharp with Hope, t' anatomize
And geld the deeps: his hop'd for prize
Forbids his feares.
I am a diver too. Thy word
Doth richer rarities affoard:
A greater deep, and better ſtor'd
With Pearls and treaſure.
Angels deſire to dive into
Theſe deeps; and ſo I daily do:
Whoſe Pearls are rich and Cordiall too;
Health, Wealth, and Pleaſure.
'Tis Hope that makes the racer fleet,
Bringing the wager to his feet,
Make haſt, ſaith Hope, what? don't you ſee't?
You've won, you've won.
I am a racer too. My race
From ſin to glory is by grace;
Hope ſets Heav'ns Bliſs before my face,
And then I run.
I heard the witty world once ſay,
The bird ith' buſh may flie away:
Take Heav'n who will, 'tis preſent pay
For which we trade.
To Faith and Hope I told this ſtory;
Their havings are but tranſitory,
Said Faith: ſaid Hope, and I have glory
That cannot fade.
Haſt it? ſaid I; Hope, ſhew it me.
What's this, ſaid Hope, thou here doſt ſee?
Said I, an Acorn: No, ſaid he
But 'tis an Oake.
What is't, ſaid Hope, thou ſee'ſt faſt by?
A grain of Muſtard ſeed, ſaid I.
A plant, ſaid Hope, reaching the sky;
And thou'dſt right ſpoke.
Then I perceiv'd the meaning was
Hope ripens ſeeds of Grace to Grace:
Makes Grace, when grounded, Mount and paſs
To th' higheſt ſtory.
Hope ſhew'd me then a ſparkling ſtone
What's this, ſaid Hope, that I've got on?
I ſtrait reply'd, 'tis Grace begun.
Said Hope, 'tis glory.
Then learnt I that Grace inchoate,
By lively Hope doth maturate:
And rip'ning, doth anticipate
Heav'n here on Earth.
I ſpake to Hope of a reverſion
I had in Heaven ſince converſion:
Said Hope, why caſt you an aſperſion
On th' ſecond birth?
Reverſion ſounds, ſaid Hope, to mee
Your ſtate at preſent dead to bee
But I have Heav'n in hand, you ſee.
Whereon I live.
I am Faiths preſent recompence:
My Grammar knows no Future tenſe:
The Verbs that make up all my ſenſe
Are Subſtantive.
Who 're theſe, ſaid Hope, thou ſee'ſt before,
Proſtrate and begging at a door.
Said I, they are Heav'ns Pariſh Poor:
Said Hope, they're Kings.
Kings? ſaid I. But where are their Crowns?
Their Scepters, Kingdoms, Countries, Towns?
Their Armine Robes, and Purple Gowns,
Thoſe royall things?
I can, ſaid Hope, tell where they bee:
Safely they are reſerv'd by mee,
Safely reſerv'd from them and thee:
Look here are they.
All's lockt. Hope, lend's the key, ſaid I.
Hope fetch a Bible preſently:
On which when I h'd but caſt mine eye
I found a key.
The right key 'twas oth' door of Hope
Enter, ſaid Faith, thou …edſt not …rope:
I turn'd the key, and th' door flew ope,
And I went on.
But O the things that there I ſaw!
Jewels of joyes, in foiles of awe!
But blab not, Muſe. Know'ſt not the Law?
Peace, and have done.
'Tis not allow'd thee to diſplay
The brightneſs of Hopes holy day.
Unutterable things to ſay;
Muſe, do not vent're.
Hope ſhew'd me, but I can't ſay what.
Only let him that queſtions that,
But get the key, that then I gat;
And let him enter.
Then let him ſay, If ever he
The like things unto thoſe, did ſee:
Or yet can utter what they bee
That there he ſaw.
This only can I ſay, that there
Crowns, Scepters, all enameld were
With Grace and Peace, with Faith and Fear,
With Love and Awe.
True Hope though pleaſant, yet is gracious:
Not light, though lightſome: Not audacious,
Though bold: though joyous, not ſalacious:
Merry, not vain.
Hope can rejoyce, but never rant:
Allwaies feeds high, but revell can't:
Chaſt Scripture comforts that provant
Doth Hope ſuſtain.
The word whereon I hope, doth urge
Pureneſs: the fire wherein I forge
The Anchor of mine Hope, doth purge
My droſs, my …in.
That Hope makes not aſham'd, but ſure
The bottom's rock, and ſhall endure;
That makes me ſtrive, as God is pure,
To purge my ſin.
True Hope's a Jacobs ſtaff indeed:
True Hope is no Egyptian reed:
That ſprings from mire, or elſe can feed
On dirt, or mud.
By Hope juſt men and ſanctified
Ith' Ocean ſafe at Anchor ride
Fearleſs of wrack by wind or tide
By ebb or flood.
Hope's the top-window of that ark
Where all Gods Noahs do imbark:
Hope lets in skie-light, elſe how dark
Were ſuch a ſeaſon?
But wouldſt not be engulf'd, or drown'd
When ſtorms and tempeſts gather round;
Ere thou canſt Anchor, try the ground:
Hope muſt have reaſon.
Hopes Anchor-hold can not be good
Where th' bottom's all or only mud.
Shall th'Sinner in his Native-blood
To Hope pretend?
Or th' Hypocrite ſtrengthen his maſt,
(Who boldly doth Hopes Anchor caſt
On's ſandy bottom) when at laſt
Heav'ns ſtorms deſcend?
'W…re Cob-web-Hopes, when God ſhall come
With's beſome of impartiall doom
To ſweep mans heart, that inner room;
Shall they ſtand ſure?
Oft have I ſeen a branch in ſpring
Rent from the root, yet bloſſoming,
As 'twere ſome Hopefull growing thing,
But can't endure.
He that is at the pains and coſt
To plant and water it, next froſt
Is like to ſee his labour loſt,
And hope to periſh,
Surely 'twill poſe all skill and art
But only his, that can convert
This lively Hope in a dead Heart
To plant and cheriſh.
And where there's but a name to live,
Though for a ſeaſon Hope ſeems thrive,
When ſuch give up the Ghoſt they give
Their Hopes up too.
Good Hopes through grace. And whoſoever
Part Righteouſneſs from Hope endeavour
The Helmet from the Breſtplate ſever,
Which who would do?
But let what waters will aſſaile,
The Hope oth' righteous cannot faile,
Whoſe Anchor's caſt within the vaile
Till th' flood aſſwages.
His Hope's no Lott'ry, hit or miſs;
But an Inheritance it is:
Chriſt is in him the Hope of Bliſs,
That rock of ages.
Mine eyes are unto Sion-hill
Longing in Hope, yet waiting ſtill
For he that ſhall, will come, and will
Not alwayes linger.
Therefore in Hope will I rejoyce,
Yea when the floods lift up their voice;
When Seas ſhall roare, to drown their noiſe,
I'll turn a ſinger.
I'll turn a ſinger, and my ſong
Shall be by book, leſt I go wrong:
For I h've not skill'd of muſick long,
Or holy mirth.
Weeping into the world I came,
Bringing a world of ſin and ſhame:
Bearing the firſt Apoſtates blame
Ev'n at my birth.
The fruit old Adam and his Eve
Did ſo long ſince together thieve,
Wringing my mother made us grieve
And groan together
And as I thus did weeping come
Out of one grave, I mean the womb;
My face was tow'rds a deader Tomb
And I bound thither.
My life was but a Bondage through
The fear of death, that fatall ſlough.
But lively Hope forbids me now
All ſlaviſh fears.
Oft have I been contemplating
Of death that melancholick thing;
Weeping, till Hope hath made me ſing
Drying my tears.
Author and rock of all my Hope,
That haſt deaths priſon-doors broke ope,
So faſtning to Faiths Cable-rope
Hopes Anchor ſtrong.
What though I ſail through foaming Seas?
Billows are Pillows, Beds of eaſe:
Deaths blaſt rocks me aſleep in theſe;
Waiting erelong
At thy ſhrill ſuddain voice to riſe,
And rub deaths duſt out of mine eyes
When death ſhall have diſgorg'd its prize
Safe on the ſhore.
Then hold my rudder in thine hand
Who put to Sea at thy command
Till I may make ſome new-found land
Oh! help me ore.
I need not want an anchor, Lord,
With wood and iron, bee'ng ſo ſtor'd.
With what thy Croſs and Nailes affoard
Had I but skill.
Anchors, I ſee, by th' Forgers art,
Have both a ſtrait and bending part:
Hope ſtrengthens, yet it bows the heart
To wait Gods Will.
The Scripture ſaith that tribulation
(And 'tis a ſtrange Concatenation)
Works patience; as if vexation
Did make more quiet;
And Patience works Experience:
Experience, Hope: Yet Patience,
I'm ſure: doth live on Hopes expenſe
For daily diet.
Thus have I ſeen the Grand-Childs purſe
For the Grand-Siers ſupport disburſe
Thus Hope doth Patience feed and nurſe;
Patience again
Doth tutor Hope, and teach it know
All points of Heavenly Courtſhip; How
To wait on God, to bend, to bow,
To bear his train:
To follow him in all his wayes,
And ſo to hold ev'n all its dayes,
Seeking that honour, glory, praiſe
That God ſhall give.
Patience of Hope makes Heaven ſmile
To ſee the troden Camomile,
Whilſt underfoot, ſpring up the while
And the more thrive.
When death comes, with his leaden foot,
Hoping to cruſh mine Hope ith' root,
The utmoſt hurt that death can do't
Is but to make
Mine Hope grow up into fruition;
Whileſt Faith's tranſlated into viſion
Mending thereby my ſouls condition
Doubling my ſtake,
What though mine Haven, Heaven lye
Beyond the dead Sea? what though I
Deceaſe? mine Hope ſhall never dye,
Never decay.
What though I walk through th' vale of tears?
Hope is a ſtaff that ever bears:
Hope is a rod chaſing my fears
Guiding my way.
What though revengfull Papiſts burne
Dear Bucers bones ſtill Hope's his urne
Till's aſhes to a Phaenix turne
And live afreſh.
What though deaths ſcorching flames preſume
To turn my moiſture to dry fume?
My ſoul ſhall one day reaſſume
Calcined fleſh.
Therefore my dying tongue ſhall ſing:
Yea ev'n my fleſh that fading thing
Shall reſt in Hope for that day-ſpring
All th' night of death.
And when I lay my weary head
And bones ith' grave as in a bed,
Let not the mourner ſay he's dead,
But ſlumbereth.
Yet bonie death ſometimes looks in
Bringing a liſt of all my ſin
Pinching mine Hope till it looks thin
And's like to dye:
Death in my very face doth ſtare
So gaſtly, as if't meant to ſcare
And fright mine Hope into deſpaire,
While ſin ſtands by.
Ah Conſcience! Conſcience! when I look
Into thy Regiſter, thy Book,
What corner of my heart, what nook
Stands clear of ſin?
And though my skin feels ſoft and ſleek,
Scarce can I touch my chin and cheek,
But I can feel deaths jaw-bone prick
Ev'n through my skin.
Yet why art thus caſt down, my ſoul?
Hope ſtill in God, and on him roule.
If Heaven ſmile, what though death ſcoule,
And Conſcience loure.
A Book of my dear Chriſts I have
By which I look my God will ſave
My ſoul from ſin, my fleſh from grave,
And from deaths pow'r.
O death, where is thy victory?
That I might live, my Lord did dye
He fled thee not, but made thee flie,
Hav'ng drawn thy ſting.
Thou hadſt of teeth a double row,
Till Chriſt by's Croſs took thee a blow
When faſtning on him. But thou'rt now
A tooth-leſs thing.
Well maiſt thou bark, but canſt not bite,
Bending thy brow, ſhewing thy ſpight:
Death do thy worſt: Hope ſets me quite
Beyond thy ſpleen.
What though my death ſeems written in
The very parchment of my skin
With the black ink of my foul ſin;
Yet have I ſeen
On both hands of a friend once ſlain,
But ſince return'd to life again,
A better ſtory Printed plain,
My ſights but dim;
Yet in the print oth' nailes I ſee
Life in a Saviours hands for mee
Whilſt as he hung upon the tree,
Hope hangs on him.
And ſtill ſhall hang on him untill
My bones have learnt to climbe that hill
Where now he ſits, and whence he will
Yet come down hither
That he may gather into one
Each duſt of his, and ſcatt'red bone;
Then ſhall he, as a living ſtone
Tranſlate me thither.
And now, my Lord, what wait I for,
Standing, and knocking at thy door?
I ſtand and knock at th' door of Hope
Till knocking makes the door ſtand ope.
We are ſaved by HOPE, but Hope that is ſeen, is not Hope,
Rom. 8.24.