The Doctrine of the Three Sacred Persons, Part 1
FATHER.
THou that begin'ſt All things begin my ve…ſe
My words are winde;
Thy words are works:
Thou'lt lightneſs find
Where darkneſs lurks:
My Pen and Ink may me not Thee reherſe.
My Pen is but a feather'd vanitie,
Like mee that write;
Yet ſhall this feather,
If thou'lt indite,
Help me flie thither
Where Angels wings make …ens beyond the skie.
Father, mine Inks dark hue, preſents mine heart.
Ink's not more dark,
Ink's not more black;
One beam, one ſpark
Supply this lack.
Father of Lights, now ſhew thy perfect Art.
Lord teach me ſpeak and I'll not hold my peace:
Which if I ſhould,
The ſtones would come;
Though deaf, yet would
They not be dumb;
Break into praiſes, ſtonie heart, for theſe.
No man hath ſeen thee, Father, but He who
Did ſometime come
(Thy Son it was)
Thy boſom from,
Thy Looking-glaſs,
Hee's the wiſe Child that doth his Father know.
Who elſe ſings Thee, ſings what he hath not ſeen:
My Verſe hath feet,
And fain would run
Thy praiſe to meet;
But, leſt the Sun
Should hurt weak fight, the clouds do interveen.
Then may I in thy Son thy ſelf diſcover;
Sure Hee's the Mirrour
That ſhews thy face:
Prevent mine errour;
Chriſts fleſh like glaſs
A brighter Glory, but unſeen doth cover.
Since then I muſt be ſilent, or begin
To ſing th' unſeen;
Father of Mercies,
That ſet'ſt the ſcreen,
Forgive my Verſes:
Oh thou that vail'ſt their ſubject, vail their ſin.
Father's a word my child learns firſt to mutter,
And thy child too,
Thy new-born Babe
Firſt thing 't can do
Is to cry Ab;
But both come laſt to know what firſt they utter.
Thou art the Father of that Son that made
That womb on earth
That, without Father,
Did give him birth;
And might the rather,
He bee'ng begot where He no Mother had.
Then ſhall I call thee Father? Lord, thy Son
Was call'd no leſs
Before his birth;
Prophets confeſs
He had on earth
His children, ſeed and generation.
Th' Eternall Father call we Thee? or rather
Thy Child, thy Son
Born to reſtore us,
Thine Holy One
Giv'n to us, for us?
I'll call Thee th' Everlaſting Fathers Father.
All that's in God is God; and needs muſt bee.
Thou mad'ſt mine eye,
Could'ſt thou forbear
Thy ſelf to ſpie?
Or ſo to rear
The bleſſed Image of thy ſelf in Thee?
Surely thou could'ſt no more thy ſelf not view;
Then, Lord, not love
Thy ſelf when ſeen;
From whence thy Dove,
As hatcht between
Thy face and Looking-glaſs, ſprung forth and flew.
Then ſhall I not beleev Thou'rt One, yet Three?
Father, and Son,
And ſacred Spirit,
That equall run,
One bliſs inherit?
Lord, I'll believ Thee ſurely ſuch to bee.
Yet thou'rt the FATHER ſtill: Thoſe ſparkling things,
Are ſons of God:
Thoſe winged flames
That flie abroad,
(Thou know'ſt their names)
Made without Bodies, made all face and wings.
Faces they have, and eyes and tongues, with theſe,
To ſee and ſing:
But O their Grace!
A ſixfold wing
To ev'ry face!
Wiſe, happy, humble, obedientiall.
Lend's wings, dear Dove; we lag and loſe our traffick.
Poore ſhort-leg'd Rhymes,
Verſes on foot
Reach Seraphims,
They cannot do't.
Lord, now if ever make my Muſe ſeraphique.
Or if I may'nt have wings, and ſo keep ſight
Of theſe bright flames,
Shades of thy glory
Yet tell's their names
And tell's their ſtory;
And lend's a quill, dear Dove, and I'll go write.
Write Angels. Lord, 'tis done: but who are they?
Servants, or ſons?
Subjects or Kings?
Footſtools, or Thro…es?
Inferiour things,
Or Principalities? What ſhall I ſay?
Sometimes I hear thee call them Elohim;
Yet they were made:
Theſe plumed things
Are but the ſhade
Of thy bright wings,
Before whoſe Sun-ſhine, all theſe Stars are dim.
Sometimes 't ſhould ſeem that they but ſervants are;
Or Miniſters
To wait upon
Salvations heirs,
And guard thy Throne.
Yet theſe ſtand cover'd where thy ſons ſtand bare.
Servants they are, and yet Dominions:
Each holds his Crown
By caſting it
Moſt humbly down
Before thy feet.
Father, thy Throne's erected on the Thrones.
Thouſands of thouſands of theſe finite Gods
On ev'ry ſide,
I mean the Cherubs,
When thou doſt ride,
Some ſerv for ſtirrups,
And ſome thou holdeſt in thy hands for rods.
Arch-Angels, Angels that ſixwinged Nation.
Stand trembling, Lord,
Preſt to obey
Their Makers word;
And glad they may
By all their running but maintain their ſtation.
Theſe can't forget that early Funerall;
Theſe can't forget
Thoſe morning-Stars
That roſe and ſet,
Whoſe inbred wars
Blew up themſelves. But oh — their fall!
Yet Thou'rt the FATHER ſtill: theſe Abſoloms
Their beeings had
And beauties, Lord,
But not theit trade
Nor Traitours ſword
From Thee from whom All good, and only comes.
How came theſe then to fall? 't ſhould ſeem that under
Their Angels wings
Each laid ſome evil
(Oh wretched things!)
And hatch'd a Devil.
And ſo by ſinning ſing'd their wings. What wonder?
Thy fine white linnen, Lord, ſin burnt to tinder.
Satan's thy creature,
But now doth want
Firſt form and feature,
Oh miſcreant!
Thou mad'ſt him bright, but ſin turn'd all to cinder.
Yet thou'rt the FATHER ſtill: thoſe Stars in view,
Lanterns hung out
In all mens ſights
Thy Court about,
Thoſe various lights
FATHER of Lights there dwelling clearly ſhew.
That golden Globe comes trundling from thine hand:
Father, thou ſaiſt
Thou Sun of mine
Run Eaſt and Weſt,
Ceaſe not to ſhine
Rounding my Bowling-green of Sea and Land.
That burniſht ſilver Ball's hurl'd forth by Thee:
That Moon of thine
That always ranges,
Doth ſit and ſhine,
In conſtant changes,
Says plainly He that changeth not made mee.
The Pleiades, cluſter of ſix, call'd ſeaven:
The Signes twice ſix;
The Errant Train:
The Stars that fix:
The Northern Wain
And all the Conſtellations of the Heaven:
The Great Orion with thoſe Bands of his:
Stars Great and Leaſt:
The Milkie way,
With All the Reſt,
Doth plainly ſay
That He whoſe Breaſts drop Lights their Father is.
The Archt Expanſe, whoſe Props who can deſcry?
That ſurging Roof,
And Saphyre-cieling
Yeelds ample proof,
To all mens feeling,
It had its riſe from Thee, O thou moſt High!
Thoſe ſtately Offices all on a row,
Standing about
Thy ſpangled Court,
And yet without
For greater Port;
Thee Father of Heav'ns Family do ſhow.
There ſtands thy Minting-houſe, thy Bulloign brought
From 'ts place of birth;
Vapours, I mean,
From droſſie earth
Are there made clean;
And, as thou pleaſeſt, caſt and coyn'd and wrought.
There ſtands thy Treaſurie; that doth contain
Gems in great ſtore
Of orient hue:
Who can count o're
Thy Pearls of dew?
Thy golden Lightnings? or thy ſilver Rain?
There ſtands thy Wardrope. Lord, the purple ſhrouds
Which thou doſt uſe,
And dapled skie,
Like Ermins, ſhews
Thy Majeſtie.
And when thou wilt thou wea…'ſt the gold-fring'd clouds.
There ſtands thy ſtable-room. Sometimes thy mind's
To ride abroad;
That men below,
There is a God
Above may know
Hearing the neighings of thy prancing winds.
There's thy diſtillatorie. Thence thou doſt
Heav'ns drops diſtill
In ſuch great ſtore
Earth drinks its fill
Till 't needs no more.
Then the cold aſhes are caſt forth in Froſt.
There ſtands thy great Confectionary. There
Thoſe heaps of Snow
Double-refin'd
Do clearly ſhow,
And bring to mind
That they belong to th' Great Confectioner.
'Tis He that makes thoſe Froſt-works. He that makes
Moiſt Drops, when caſt
In's Comfit-mold,
Hail-ſtones at laſt,
When they grow cold,
'Tis He that candies all the Icie flakes.
There ſtands thy Magazine. Thou doſt erect
Thy flaming forges,
And there prepare
Thy ſhafts and ſcourges,
Weapons of war
Which, when thou wilt, thy Rebell foes correct.
Storms, tempeſts, thunders, thunder-bolts with theſe,
Great and ſmall ſhot,
Brimſtone and fire,
Father, what nor?
If thou require,
Dart thence to chaſtiſe thoſe that thee diſpleaſe.
Whole Egypt from thy ſtorm of Hail ſhot runs.
His Heathen-Head
That Royall ſlave
Slunk under-bed,
When th' Heavens gave
But one round volley from thy greater guns.
Thou'rt the Rains Father. Froſt thou'ſt gendred?
What Proſe or Verſes
Can better ſhew
Thy tender Mercies
Then melting Dew?
This ſhews thine Heart, and hoary froſt thine Head.
Th' Ancient of Days begat me, ſays the Snow.
The Lord of Hoaſts
's my Fathers Name
The Thunder boaſts,
And Lightnings flame.
I carry Fathers Colours, ſays the Bow.
So thou'rt the FATHER ſtill: Lord, 'tis alledg'd
By th' Feather'd Hoſts,
That here and there
Th' Aeriall Coaſts
And Quarters bear,
Under thy Wings they were both hatch'd and fledg'd.
That Bird of Paradiſe, Lord, thou muſt owe it.
With chattring cryes,
Swallows and Cranes
Plead th' Only wiſe
Did hatch our Braines
And He that made our ſeaſon, made us know it.
'Twas God All-ſeeing made my piercing Eye
Do h the Eagle ſay.
To th' God of Love
Our broods we lay,
Saith Stork and Dove:
If theſe be ours, ſure we're thy Progenie.
With early viſits and ſalutes from Earth
Up the Lark climbes,
As if it meant,
With Seraphims
Of high deſcent
By vieing notes and wings, prove equall birth.
The plumed Oſtriches forget their young;
But thou their Father
With carefull hand
Their Eggs doſt gather
Laid in the ſand,
Hatching to life, and hideing them from wrong.
The goodly Peacock with his Argus-train,
His Angels plumes,
His well-ſet border,
Strongly preſumes
To th'God of Order,
Unto whoſe pomp this ſplendour doth retain.
The tumbling Deeps where all the waters gather
Roundly declare
That Name of His
Whoſe Counſells are
The Great Abyſs:
Seas ſwell too big to own a meaner FATHER.
Surely the Ocean's thine. Lord, is it not?
Thou bid'ſt it boyle,
But not boyle o're:
And 't does recoile
Within the ſhore,
Thou doſt both furniſh, Lord, and ſalt the Pot.
Thou, Great-Houſe-keeper, muſt the Fiſh-pond owe,
Whoſe banks and ſhores
Are Rocks and ſands,
Whoſe fullneſs ſtores
All Coaſts and Lands,
For thou the greateſt Family canſt ſhow.
Theſe Water-works are thine invention, Lord.
Is th' Oceans force,
When moſt ſerene,
Charg'd by thine Horſe,
Thy Winds, I mean?
What mighty banks and trenches, Lord, appear?
Under the covert of theſe ſurging Seas
Thoſe Armed Bands
(Each jointed ſcale
Like Armour ſtands,
Or Coats of Male)
March here and there ſecurely as they pleaſe.
Leviathan that moving Mount or Fort,
Who can deride
ſtormes battering,
Of Sons of pride
Thou call'ſt Him King;
There tumbles he to make his Maker ſport.
So thou'rt the FATHER ſtill. Ev'n Earth can cry
From Cliffs and Mountains,
Hills high and ſteep;
Sprin…s, Mines, and Fountains
That run ſo deep,
How deep's thy wiſdom, Lord? thy pow'r how high?
Thou gav'ſt the Rocks their Riſe. Springs ſprang from thee.
Great Architect!
Earths Fabrick fair
Thou didſt erect,
And hang i'th Ayr
To ſhew its Makers Independancy.
Thy very foot-ſtoole, Lord, thou doſt inlay
With Mines of gold,
And ſilver Ore;
Who can unfold,
Or prize the ſtore,
Wherewith thou doſt enrich poor duſt and clay?
This inlay'd foot-ſtoole thou haſt round beſet
With Vegetants.
Who can declare
Thoſe various Plants,
Their Vertues rare,
That ſpring from duſt of heav'nly Fathers feet?
Thoſe ſhort-lived Beauties that the Floriſts gather
Look up a while,
With a fair Eye;
Give God a ſmile:
And though they die
Yet leave ſuch ſeed as plainly ſhews their Father.
Thou'rt fruitfull Parent of All Trees fruit-bearing.
Who doth not ſee
Earth doth but nurſe
Theſe Plants for thee?
Thine Heav'ns disburſe
Continuall payments for theſe Plants up-rearing.
Some Trees there are, though ſuckled with earths ſap.
Yet run upright;
As if they meant,
By their vaſt height,
Prove their deſcent,
And lay their Leavie Locks in Fathers lap.
Others there are too weak to riſe alone,
Yet ſeem to know
Where Father dwells;
Why ſhould they go
To Neighbours elſe
To borrow crutches, to run up upon?
The Herds, the Folds, the Beaſts innumerable:
The multifarious
Creeping Creatures,
Whoſe food is various
As their features,
Cry ſtill to God, Our FATHER, ſpread our Table.
Father, to Live, thy Gift alone can bee;
Earth's cold and dead,
And cannot give
To what it bred
To breath or live,
Surely the fountain of all Life's with thee.
This ſpacious Houſe thus built, and furniſht ſo;
Come let's convey
Our Image juſt,
Did th' Father ſay,
To breathing duſt;
Leaving our likeneſs to keep Houſe below.
Then was clay ſtamp'd, by Act of Parliament,
With God's bright face:
A Creature Crown'd
Wish Life and Grace:
Heav'n-born, Heav'n-bound,
Of upright aſpect, of Divine deſcent.
Father, thy foot-ſteps we may find and gather
All other-where,
But in this creature,
Thy face ſhines clear,
Witneſs his feature;
Who reads mans face may quickly ſpell his Father.
Said I, one may? my God, I ſhould have ſaid
One might have done:
But things fall croſs:
Fleſh turns to ſtone,
Pure gold to droſs,
Silver degenerates to dirt and lead.
Said I, there is? I ſhould have ſaid there was:
My God! there was
Thy countenance
So in his face,
That ev'ry glance
The ſhining Sun in brightneſs did ſurpaſs.
Father, this walking, talking Plant was Hee
Whom thou didſt love,
Whom thou didſt prize
All Plants above.
Thy Paradiſe
Thou ſoon didſt quit when thou hadſt loſt this Tree.
From th' ſide whereof a female plant did ſpring
A ſplended pair?
Now th' Earth begins
T' outſhine the Ayr,
Where Heavens bright twins
(The Sun and Moon) their Light, as tribute, bring.
Woman to man's a gift of Gods own giving,
(That man alone
No more might be;
Yet as much one,
And one with thee.)
A gift endorſ'd with Doners Name, the living.
This Royall conſort to compleat mans joy
Thou God of Union
Didſt well provide
For chaſt Communion
As his dear Bride
Whom thou haſt crown'd on Earth as thy Vice-Roy.
So th' little world, with greateſt work and skill,
Was fram'd at laſt,
And being the beſt
Its grace was paſt
To rule the reſt.
Nothing's forbidden but its knowing ill.
Upon thy foot-ſtool thou hadſt built a Throne
For man to ſit,
My God, at thine;
And at his feet
Thou didſt conſigne
All other things in due ſubjection.
Thou gav'ſt him Life, 'twas fit ſhould'ſt give him Law.
His fear did fall
By thy command,
On Creatures All
In Sea and Land;
He ſtanding only in his Fathers Awe.
His Diadem was bright Intelligence,
Wiſdom in full,
Whoſe ev'ry ſpark
Makes Diamonds dull,
And Gems look dark;
His Ermine Robe was pureſt Innocence.
A Rationall-Plant-Animal was he:
Could vegetate,
Could Move and walk,
Could contemplate,
Diſcourſe and talk:
Fair Iſſue of the Bleſſed Trinity!
Parents own Picture! wiſe, juſt, holy Son!
Thou mad'ſt that ſtar,
His Heart, to be
Triangular,
Yet one with thee,
Who art the Ever-bleſſed Three in One.
That Inſtruments Three Strings thou God Trin-Unc.
(Th' Intellect, Will
And Memory)
Did'ſt Wiſdoms skill,
And Sanctity,
And Righteou…neſs give charge to keep in Tune.
And, Oh! What rare and raviſhing content
My God did take?
Till, on a day,
A fall did crack
(ſpoiling his play)
The ſtrings together with the Inſtrumenc.
But, oh, what tongue? what pen? what proſe? what verſe?
What tears? what cryes?
What melting moanes?
What ſobs? what fight?
What piercing groanes
Can mans ſo ſuddain, ſo ſad fall reherſe?
Of late a moſt compleat and upright Piece
My God did frame,
Of crooked bone:
But th' Serpent came,
When God was gone,
And wound his work to greater crookedneſs.
Wound out of Heaven, but into Paradiſe,
In a Friends guiſe,
That cankerd Devil,
By fallacies,
Drew Eve to evil:
And thus the Mother of all living dies.
Man being thus on th' one ſide mortified,
How quickly doth
The Gangrene ſpread?
Infecting both
The heart and head.
Thus Adam liv'd and reign'd, rebelld and died.
Down comes the Son by leaping Fathers hedge:
An Apple there,
As ſome do gather,
But a choak-Pear
As I think rather,
Did tempt him, Oh my teeth are yet on edge!
O fruit, Death was thy fruit! thy gall, thy foot
Mee thinks I taſt
With all my bread;
Which makes me haſt
Unto the dead:
Thou bredſt that worm that kill'd me in my root.
Which bee'ng once wither'd, root and branch did fall
With ſuch aweight
Made the earth to groan
From ſuch an height
Man fell upon
The inferiour creatures, and ſo cruſht them all.
Theſe ſubjects, thus oppreſt, ſoon take up Arms
'Gainſt Rebell-Man,
Heav'ns deputie,
(Who firſt begun
to mutinie
Againſt his Sov'raign) to revenge their Harms.
For ſin that made man Naked, Arm'd the Earth:
So poor man ſcrambles,
In ſweat and blood,
'Midſt thorns and Brambles
For ſorry food,
Till's Duſt turns thither whence it had its Birth.
Now the Earth, that ſometimes own'd him for its King
Makes him Diſtrain
With plow or ſpade
For every grain
Or't can't be had,
That wont, of'ts own Accord, its Tribute bring.
Man having broke Gods Peace, all turns to ſtrife:
'Gainſt his Creatour
Ev'n Dogs proclaime
Fal'n man a Traitour.
A two edg'd Flame
Cries Come not, Rebell, near this Tree of Life.
Beſides theſe wares without that worm doth gnaw
Mans in moſt ſoul;
A worm late breeding
O th' fruit he ſtole,
Whereof man feeding
Became as broken as his Makers Law.
Yet thou'rt the FATHER: theſe mourning Verſes
Do prove thee ſo;
Mans miſeries,
The Creatures wo,
And all their cries
Plainly proclaime thee FATHER of all mercies.
Thy Providence and Patience towards man
Do ſeem to ſtrive,
O bleſſed ſtrife —
Who ſhall reprieve
The Traitours life,
By lenghthening out his poor contracted ſpan.
Though man made ſo much haſt to ſtir thine ire;
Yet thou art ſlow,
My God, thou art;
I find it ſo:
Thou melt'ſt mine heart
With burning Coles, but of another fire.
Thine En'my hungers, and thou giv'ſt him food:
Thine En'my thirſts,
Thou giv'ſt him drink:
Oh! mine heart burſts.
Oh! Who would think
Man were ſo bad, that ſees his God ſo good?
Father, Thou mak'ſt thy Sun ſtill ſhine on thoſe
That lowr on thee;
And when Heav'n lowers
'Tis love we ſee;
For fruitfull ſhowrs
Thou makeſt then to fall on thankleſs foes.
Man, what art made of? Doſt not feel that Sun,
Diſſolve the Ice?
But thou art Clay,
Th'harder for this:
Yet ſhowrs, we ſay,
Soften the hardned Clay; But thou art ſtone.
Father, When man had ceaſ'd thy ſonne to be,
And turn'd thy foe,
Yet didſt thou not
Deſert him ſo;
Nor haſt forgot
To ſet thy child, though batter'd, on thy knee.
When man firſt, ſtript himſelf, and ſhew'd his ſhame,
Cloaths from the Backs
Of Beaſts leſs wild,
Mans FATHER takes
To dreſs his Child:
Man loſt his Robe, and Beaſts muſt bear the blame
Could I, to cloath a Foe, thus ſtrip a Friend?
My God! My God!
What have theſe done?
And yet thy Rod,
Due to thy Son
Falls on theſe ſervants backs that never find.
Thus Man's both fed and clad at thine expence,
Kept at thy charge,
Yet keeps it not;
But lives at large,
As having got
His force to fight thee from thy Providence.
Heaps upon Heaps! One load upon another!
God gives Man ſtore,
Like a Dear Friend,
Man ſins the more,
Till in the end,
Or Mercies ſins, or ſins do Mercies ſmother.
Yet thou'rt the FATHER ſtill: of mercies Father:
When through ſins curſe,
Such Rebels dye;
Thou doſt yet nurſe
Their Progenie:
As th' Hen her Chickens, ſo thou doſt them gather.
Thus are all things conſerved ſince the fall,
Both man and Beaſt:
The Raven's fed:
The Lillie's dreſt;
Then put to Bed.
All's kept in 'ts kind, or Individuall.
How beauteous in its ſeaſon is each thing?
Summer ſupplies
What Winter ſpends:
When Autumn dies,
Such ſtock deſcends
As may ſet up the next ſucceeding Spring.
Thy Providence makes Clouds feed th'Earth with Rain:
Th' Earth feed the Plant;
Plant, th'Animal:
So there's no want,
Nor waſt at All.
Then th' Earth with Vapours feeds the Clouds again.
By theſe, the Marſhes make the Mountains drink,
And liquid Seas,
At thy Commands,
Water, by theſe,
The parched Lands.
Who, but thy ſelf ſhould ſuch a thing forethink.
Thou doſt for ev'ry mouth provide a Meat:
For ev'ry meat,
A mouth provide:
Thy Board's full ſet
On ev'ry ſide:
If ought do fall to th'ground, that th'earth doth eat.
Father, for All things thou doſt well provide.
Thou didſt Erect
This fair Creation,
And doſt project
Its preſervation:
And being the Houſe-Keeper art the great Houſe-Guide.
Thou ſerv'ſt Thy ſelf of All. Ev'n Satans Brain
Ripens thy Plot;
And his deſign,
When he thinks not,
Promoteth thine:
Thou mak'ſt that Black-ſmith forge his own dark chain.
Thou mak'ſt mans wrath praiſe thee: And all his evil
Thou turn'ſt to good:
In all mans Story,
Ev'n in mans blood,
Thou ſav'ſt thy glory:
Goodneſs rules all in ſpight of man and Devil.
Yea ſuch is Fathers care, and Fathers skill,
When fooliſh man,
Led by that elf,
Doth all he can,
T' undo himſelf,
T' extract mans greateſt good from ſuch an ill.
So thou 'rt the FATHER ſtill: Thy new Creation
Moſt ſweetly ſhews
Thy Father-hood:
My God renews
Faln man to good:
By a new word through th' Spirits Incubation.
Adam comes forth but in a new Edition:
Gods bright Portraiture
Is new impreſt,
The Divine Nature,
On mans breſt;
Clear from all treaſon, and from all Miſpriſion.
Father, thou ſoak'ſt this Adament in blood
Of thy firſt-born.
Mine heart, I felt,
Did the impreſs ſcorn,
And would not melt
Till that red Sea reſolv'd it to a flood.
Father, I heard thee beg the Rebels peace
Riſing betimes
To ope thy doores:
For all my crimes,
My God implores
Me to take pardon for my wickedneſs.
Then ſaid I turn me O my Lord my God!
And I will turn
To bear thy yoak;
Mine heart doth burn
That I it broke.
O my dear child! Ile run and burn my rod.
Thus ſpake my father. Pains oth' ſecond birth
Did pinch and grieve,
But Gods dear ſtrength
Did ſoon relieve:
And at the length,
His child bee'ng waſht and dreſt, my God makes mirth.
Nor doth mans elder brother grudg or grieve,
But ſing and ſmile,
Angels do ſhout
Heav'n rings the while
Th' whole court throughout,
To ſee poor ſpend-thrift man return and live.
Man thus adopted and regenerate
Searcheth his Fathers
L…ſt Teſtam…nt,
And thence man gathers
H av'ns full …nte…t
For his inheritance and fa…ur ſt….
Thou prov'ſt thy ſelf my FATHER all theſe waie…
Now let thy Dove,
Teach me to fear,
To ſ ve and love,
Thee, Father Dear,
Proving my ſelf thy Child, ev'n all my Dayes.
If you call on the FATHER, paſſe the time of your ſojourning herein fear,
1 Pet. 1.17.