Yet heare O God onely for his blouds sake Which pleads for me For though sinnes plead too yet like stones they maâ—â— His blouds sweet current much more loud to be ¶ The Church-floore MArk you the floore that square speckled stonâ— Which looks so firm and strong Is Patience And th' other black and grave wherewith each one Is checker'd all along Humilitie The gentle rising which on either hand Leads to the Quire above Is Confidence But the sweet cement which in one sure band Ties the whole frame is Love And Charitie Hither sometimes Sinne steals and stains The marbles neat and curious veins But all is cleansed when the marble weeps Sometimes Death puffing at the doore Blows all the dust about the floore But while he thinks to spoil the room he sweeps Blest be the Architect whose art Could build so strong in a weak heart ¶ The Windows LOrd how can man preach thy eternall word He is a brittle crazie glasse â—et in thy temple thou dost him afford This glorious and transcendent place To be a window through thy grace But when thou dost anneal in glasse thy storie Making thy life to shine within The holy Preachers then the light and glorie More rev'rend grows more doth wine Which else shows watrish bleak thin Doctrine and life colours and light in one When they combine and mingle bring A strong regard and aw but speech alone Doth vanish like a flaring thing And in the eare not conscience ring ¶ Trinitie Sunday LOrd who hast form'd me out of mud And hast redeem'd me through thy bloud And sanctifi'd me to do good Purge all my sinnes done heretofore For I confesse my heavie score And I will strive to sinne no more Enrich my heart mouth hands in me With faith with hope with charitie That I may runne rise rest with thee ¶ Content PEace mutt'ring thoughts and do not grudge to keep Within the walls of your own breast Who cannot on his own bed sweetly sleep Can on anothers hardly rest Gad not abroad at ev'ry quest and call Of an untrained hope or passion To court each place or fortune that doth fall Is wantonnesse in contemplation Mark how the fire in flints doth quiet lie Content and warm t' it self alone But when it would appeare to others eye Without a knock it never shone Give me the pliant minde whose gentle measure Complies and suits with all estates Which can let loose to a crown and yet with pleasure Take up within a cloisters gates This soul doth span the world and hang content From either pole unto the centre Where in each room of the well-furnisht tent He lies warm and without adventure The brags of life are but a nine dayes wonder And after death the fumes that spring From private bodies make as big a thunder As those which rise from a huge King Onely thy Chronicle is lost and yet Better by worms be all once spent Then to have hellish moths still gnaw and fret Thy name in books which may not rent When all thy deeds whose brunt thou feel'st alone Are chaw'd by others pens and tongue â—nd as their wit is their digestion Thy nourisht fame is weak or strong Then cease discoursing soul till thine own ground Do not thy self or friends importune He that by seeking hath himself once found Hath euer found a happie fortune ¶ The Quidditie MY God a verse is not a crown No point of honour or gay suit No hawk or banquet or renown Nor a good sword nor yet a lute It cannot vault or dance or play It never was in France or Spain Nor can it entertain the day With a great stable or demain It is no office art or news Nor the Exchange or busie Hall But it is that which while I use I am with thee and Most take all ¶ Humilitie I Saw the Vertues sitting hand in hand In sev'rall ranks upon an azure throne Where all the beasts and fowls by their command Presented tokens of submission Humilitie who sat the lowest there To execute their call When by the beasts the presents tendred were Gave them about to all The angrie Lion did present his paw Which by consent was giv'n to Mansuetude The fearfull Hare her eares which by their law Humilitie did reach to Fortitude The jealous Turkie brought his corall-chain That went to Temperance On Justice was bestow'd the Foxes brain Kill'd in the way by chance At length the Crow bringing the Peacocks plume For he would not as they beheld the grace Of that brave gift each one began to fume And challenge it as proper to his place Till they fell out which when the beasts espied They leapt upon the throne And if the Fox had liv'd to rule their side They had depos'd each one Humilitie who held the plume at this Did weep so fast that the tears trickling down Spoil'd all the train then saying Here it is For which ye wrangle made them turn their frown Against the beasts so joyntly bandying They drive them soon away And then amerc'd them double gifts to bring At the next Session-day ¶ Frailtie LOrd in my silence how do I despise What upon trust Is styled honour riches or fair eyes But is fair dust I surname them guilded clay Deare earth fine grasse or hay In all I think my foot doth ever tread Upon their head â—â—t when I view abroad both Regiments The worlds and thine â—â—ine clad with simplenesse and sad events The other fine Full of glorie and gay weeds Brave language braver deeds â—hat which was dust before doth quickly rise And prick mine eyes 〈◊〉 brook not this lest if what even now My foot did tread â—ffront those joyes wherewith thou didst endow And long since wed My poore soul ev'n sick of love It may a Babel prove Commodious to conquer heav'n and thee Planted in me ¶ Constancie WHo is the honest man He that doth still and strongly good pursue To God his neighbour and himself most true Whom neither force nor fawning can Unpinne or wrench from giving all their due Whose honestie is not So loose or easie that a ruffling winde Can blow away or glittering look it blinde Who rides his sure and even trot While the world now rides by now lags behinde Who when great trials come Nor seeks nor shunnes them but doth calmly stay Till he the thing and the example weigh All being brought into a summe What place or person calls for he doth pay Whom none can work or wooe To use in any thing a trick or sleight For above all things he abhorres deceit His words and works and fashion too All of a piece and all are cleare and straight Who never melts or thaws At close tentations when the day is done His goodnesse sets not but in dark can runne The sunne to others writeth laws And is their vertue Vertue is his Sunne Who when he is to treat With sick folks women those whom passions sway Allows for that and
houre Of my whole life one grief devoure That thy distresse through all may runne And be my sunne Or rather let My severall sinnes their sorrows get That as each beast his cure doth know Each sinne may so Since bloud is fittest Lord to write Thy sorrows in and bloudie sight My heart hath store write there where in One box doth lie both ink and sinne That when sinne spies so many foes Thy whips thy nails thy wounds thy woes All come to lodge there sinne may say No room for me and flie away Sinne being gone oh fill the place And keep possession with thy grace Lest sinne take courage and return And all the writings blot or burn ¶ Redemption HAving been tenant long to a rich Lord Not thriving I resolved to be bold And make a suit unto him to afford A new small-rented lease and cancell th' old In heaven at his manour I him sought They told me there that he was lately gone About some land which he had dearly bought Long since on earth to take possession I straight return'd and knowing his great birth Sought him accordingly in great resorts In cities theatres gardens parks and courts At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of theeves and murderers there I him espiedâ— Who straight Your suit is granted said die◠¶ Sepulchre O Blessed bodie Whither art thou thrown No lodging for thee but a cold hard stone So many hearts on earth and yet not one Receive thee Sure there is room within our hearts good store For they can lodge transgressions by the score Thousands of toyes dwell there yet out of doore They leave thee But that which shews them large shews them unfit What ever sinne did this pure rock commit Which holds thee now Who hath indited it Of murder Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee And missing this most falsly did arraigne thee Onely these stones in quiet entertain thee And order And as of old the law by heav'nly art Was writ in stone so thou which also art The letter of the word find'st no fit heart To hold thee Yet do we still persist as we began And so should perish but that nothing can Though it be cold hard foul from loving man Withold thee ¶ Easter RIse heart thy Lord is risen Sing his praise Without delayes â—ho takes thee by the hand that thou likewise With him mayst rise â—hat as his death calcined thee to dust â—is life may make thee gold and much more just â—wake my lute and struggle for thy part With all thy art The crosse taught all wood to resound his name Who bore the same â—is streched sinews taught all strings what key 〈◊〉 best to celebrate this most high day Consort both heart and lute and twist a song Pleasant and long Or since all musick is but three parts vied And multiplied O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part And make up our defects with his sweet art 〈◊〉 got me flowers to straw thy way 〈◊〉 got me boughs off many a tree But thou wast up by break of day And brought'st thy sweets along with thee The Sunne arising in the East Though he give light th' East perfume If they should offer to contest With thy arising they presume Can there be any day but this Though many sunnes to shine endeavour We count three hundred but we misse There is but one and that one ever ¶ Easter wings Lord who createdst man in wealth and store Though foolishly he lost the same Decaying more and more Till he became Most poore With thee O let me rise As larks harmoniously And sing this day thy victories Then shall the fall further the flight in me ¶ Easter wings My tender age in sorrow did beginne And still with sicknesses and shame Thou didst so punish sinne That I became Most thinne With thee Let me combine And feel this day thy victorie For if I imp my wing on thine Affliction shall advance the flight in me ¶ H. Baptisme AS he that sees a dark and shadie grove Stayes not but looks beyond it on the skie So when I view my sinnes mine eyes remove More backward still and to that water flie Which is above the heav'ns whose spring and rent Is in my deare Redeemers pierced side O blessed streams either ye do prevent And stop our sinnes from growing thick and wide Or else give tears to drown them as they grow In you Redemption measures all my time And spreads the plaister equall to the crime You taught the book of life my name that so What ever future sinnes should me miscall Your first acquaintance might discredit all ¶ H. Baptisme SInce Lord to thee A narrow way and little gate Is all the passage on my infancie Thou didst lay hold and antedate My faith in me O let me still Write thee great God and me a childe Let me be soft and supple to thy will Small to my self to others milde Behither ill Although by stealth My flesh get on yet let her sister My soul bid nothing but preserve her wealth The growth of flesh is but a blister Childhood is health ¶ Nature FUll of rebellion I would die Or fight or travell or denie That thou hast ought to do with me O tame my heart It is thy highest art To captivate strong holds to thee â—f thou shalt let this venome lurk And in suggestions fume and work My soul will turn to bubbles straight And thence by kinde Vanish into a winde Making thy workmanship deceit O smooth my rugged heart and there Engrave thy rev'rend law and fear Or make a new one since the old Is saplesse grown And a much fitter stone To hide my dust then thee to hold ¶ Sinne. LOrd with what care hast thou begirt us round Parents first season us then schoolmasters Deliver us to laws they send us bound To rules of reason holy messengers Pulpits and sundayes sorrow dogging sinne Afflictions sorted anguish of all sizes Fine nets and stratâ—gems to catch us in Bibles laid open millions of surprises Blessings beforehand tyes of gratefulnesse The sound of glorie ringing in our eares Without our shame within our consciences Angels and grace eternall hopes and fears Yet all these fences and their whole aray One cunning bosome-sinne blows quite away ¶ Affliction WHen first thou didst entice to thee my heart I thought the service brave So many joyes I writ down for my part Besides what I might have Out of my stock of naturall delights Augmented with thy gracious benefits I looked on thy furniture so fine And made it fine to me Thy glorious houshold-stuffe did me entwine And ' tice me unto thee Such starres I counted mine both heav'n and earth Payd me my wages in a world of mirth What pleasures could I want whose King I served Where joyes my fellows were Thus argu'd into hopes my thoughts reserved No place for grief or fear Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place And made her
in ev'ry corner sing My God and King Vers. The heav'ns are not too high His praise may thither flie The earth is not too low His praises there may grow Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing My God and King Vers. The church with psalms must shouâ— No doore can keep them out But above all the heart Must bear the longest part Cho. Let all the world in ev'ry corner sing My God and King ¶ Love I. IMmortall Love authour of this great frame Sprung from that beautie which can never fade How hath man parcel'd out thy glorious name And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made While mortall love doth all the title gain Which siding with invention they together Bear all the sway possessing heart and brain Thy workmanship and give thee share in neither Wit fancies beautie beautie raiseth wit The world is theirs they two play out the game Thou standing by and though thy glorious nâ—â—â— Wrought our deliverance from th' infernall pit Who sings thy praise onely a skarf or glove Doth warm our hands and make them write 〈…〉 II. IMmortall Heat O let thy greater flame Attract the lesser to it let those fires Which shall consume the world first make it tamâ— And kindle in our hearts such true desires As may consume our lusts and make thee way Then shall our hearts pant thee then shall our brain All her invention on thine Altar lay And there in hymnes send back thy fire again Our eies shall see thee which before saw dust Dust blown by wit till that they both were blindâ— Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kinde Who wert disseized by usurping lust All knees shall bow to thee all wits shall rise And praise him who did make and mend our eies ¶ The Temper HOw should I praise thee Lord how should my rymes Gladly engrave thy love in steel If what my soul doth feel sometimes My soul might ever feel â—â—though there were some fourtie heav'ns or more Sometimes I peere above them all Sometimes I hardly reach a score Sometimes to hell I fall 〈◊〉 rack me not to such a vast extent Those distances belong to thee The world 's too little for thy tent A grave too big for me â—â—lt thou meet arms with man that thou dost stretch A crumme of dust from heav'n to hell Will great God measure with a wretch Shall he thy stature spell O let me when thy roof my soul hath hid O let me roost and nestle there Then of a sinner thou art rid And I of hope and fear Yet take thy way for sure thy way is best Stretch or contract me thy poore debter This is but tuning of my breast To make the musick better Whether I flie with angels fall with dust Thy hands made both and I am there Thy power and love my love and trust Make one place ev'ry where ¶ The Temper IT cannot be Where is that mightie joy Which just now took up all my heart Lord if thou must needs use thy dart Save that and me or sin for both destroy The grosser world stands to thy word and art But thy diviner world of grace Thou suddenly dost raise and race And ev'ry day a new Creatour art O fix thy chair of grace that all my powers May also fix their reverence For when thou dost depart from hence They grow unruly and sit in thy bowers Scatter or binde them all to bend to thee Though elements change and heaven move Let not thy higher Court remove But keep a standing Majestie in me ¶ Jordan WHo sayes that fictions onely and false hair Become a verse Is there in truth no beautiâ— Is all good structure in a winding stair May no lines passe except they do their dutie Not to a true but painted chair Is it no verse except enchanted groves And sudden arbours shadow course-spunne lines Must purling streams refresh a lovers loves Must all be vail'd while he that reades divines Catching the sense at two removes Shepherds are honest people let them sing Riddle who list for me and pull for Prime I envie no mans nightingale or spring Nor let them punish me with losse of ryme Who plainly say My God My King ¶ Employment IF as a flowre doth spread and die Thou wouldst extend me to some good â—â—fore I were by frosts extremitie Nipt in the bud The sweetnesse and the praise were thine But the extension and the room â—hich in thy garland I should fill were mine At thy great doom For as thou dost impart thy grace The greater shall our glorie be â—he measure of our joyes is in this place The stuffe with thee Let me not languish then and spend A life as barren to thy praise â—s is the dust to which that life doth tend But with delaies All things are busie onely I Neither bring hony with the bees Nor flowres to make that nor the husbandrie To water these I am no link of thy great chain But all my companie is a weed Lord place me in thy consort give one strain To my poore reed ¶ The H. Scriptures I. OH Book infinite sweetnesse let my heart Suck ev'ry letter and a hony gain Precious for any grief in any part To cleare the breast to mollifie all pain Thou art all health health thriving till it make A full eternitie thou art a masse Of strange delights where we may wish 〈◊〉 Ladies look here this is the thankfull glasse That mends the lookers eyes this is the well That washes what it shows Who can indâ—â—â— Thy praise too much thou art heav'ns Li 〈…〉 Working against the states of death and hell Thou art joyes handsell heav'n lies flat in theâ— Subject to ev'ry mounters bended knee II. OH that I knew how all thy lights combine And the configurations of their glorie Seeing not onely how each verse doth shine But all the constellations of the storie This verse marks thaâ— and both do make a motion Unto a third that ten leaves off doth lie Then as dispersed herbs do watch a potion These three make up some Christians destinie 〈◊〉 are thy secrets which my life makes good And comments on thee for in ev'ry thing Thy words do finde me out parallels bring 〈◊〉 in another make me understood Starres are poore books oftentimes do misse This book of starres lights to eternall blisse ¶ Whitsunday LIsten sweet Dove unto my song And spread thy golden wings in me Hatching my tender heart so long â—ll it get wing and flie away with thee Where is that fire which once descended On thy Apostles thou didst then Keep open house richly attended â—asting all comers by twelve chosen men Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow That th' earth did like a heav'n appeare The starres were coming down to know 〈◊〉 they might mend their wages and serve here The sunne which once did shine alone Hung down his head and wisht for night When he beheld twelve sunnes for one â—oing about the world
bitter crosse Was ever grief c. 〈◊〉 crosse I bear my self untill I faint â—â—en Simon bears it for me by constraint â—â—e decreed burden of each mortall Saint Was ever grief c. 〈◊〉 all ye who passe by behold and see â—â—n stole the fruiâ— but I must climbe the tree The tree of life to all but onely me Was ever grief c. 〈◊〉 here I hang charg'd with a world of sinne â—â—e greater world o' th' two for that came in 〈◊〉 words but this by sorrow I must win Was ever grief c. Such sorrow as if sinfull man could feel 〈◊〉 feel his part he would not cease to kneel â—â—ll all were melted though he were all steel Was ever grief c. â—â—â—t O my God my God! why leav'st thou me The sonne in whom thou dost delight to be â—â—y God my God Never was grief like mine â—â—â—me tears my soul my bodie many a wound â—â—arp nails pierce this but sharper that confound â—eproches which are free while I am bound Was ever grief c. Now heal thy self Physician now come down Alas I did so when I left my crown And fathers smile for you to feel his frown Was ever grief like mine In healing not my self there doth consist All that salvation which ye now resist Your safetie in my sicknesse doth subsist Was ever grief c. Betwixt two theeves I spend my utmost breath As he that for some robberie suffereth Alas what have I stollen from you death Was ever grief c. A king my title is prefixt on high Yet by my subjects am condemn'd to die A servile death in servile companie Was ever grief c. They gave me vineger mingled with gall But more with malice yet when they did call With Manna Angels food I fed them all Was ever grief c. They part my garments and by lot dispose My coat the type of love which once cur'd those Who sought for help never malicious foes Was ever grief c. Nay after death their spite shall further go For they will pierce my side I full well know That as sinne came so Sacraments might flow Was ever grief c. But now I die now all is finished My wo mans weal and now I bow my head Onely let others say when I am dead Never was grief like mine ¶ The Thanksgiving OH King of grief a title strange yet true To thee of all kings onely due Oh King of wounds how shall I grieve for thee Who in all grief preventest me Shall I weep bloud why thou hast wept such store That all thy body was one doore Shall I be scourged flouted boxed sold 'T is but to tell the tale is told My God my God why dost thou part from me Was such a grief as cannot be Shall I then sing skipping thy dolefull storie And side with thy triumphant glorie Shall thy strokes be my stroking thorns my flowerâ— Thy rod my posie crosse my bower But how then shall I imitate thee and Copie thy fair though bloudie hand Stâ—â—dy I will reuenge me on thy love And trie who shall victorious prove If thou dost give me wealth I will restore All back unto thee by the poore If thou dost give me honour men shall see The honour doth belong to thee I will not marry or if she be mine She and her children shall be thine My bosome friend if he blaspheme thy name I will tear thence his love and fame One half of me being gone the rest I give Unto some Chappell die or live Aâ— for thy passion But of that anon When with the other I have done 〈◊〉 thy predestination I 'le contrive That three yeares hence if I survive I 'le build a spittle or mend common wayes But mend mine own without delayes Then I will use the works of thy creation As if I us'd them but for fashion The world and I will quarrell and the yeare Shall not perceive that I am here My musick shall finde thee and ev'ry string Shall have his attribute to sing That all together may accord in thee And prove one God one harmonie If thou shalt give me wit it shall appeare If thou hast giv'n it me 't is here Nay I will reade thy book and never move Till I have found therein thy love Thy art of love which I 'le turn back on thee O my deare Saviour Victorie Then for thy passion I will do for that Alas my God I know not what ¶ The Reprisall I Have consider'd it and finde There is no dealing with thy mighty passion For though I die for thee I am behinde My sinnes deserve the condemnation O make me innocent that I May give a disentangled state and free And yet thy wounds still my attempts defie For by thy death I die for thee Ah! was it not enough that thou By thy eternall glorie didst outgo me Couldst thou not griefs sad conquests me allow But in all vict'ries overthrow me Yet by confession will I come â—â—to the conquest Though I can do nought â—gainst thee in thee I will overcome The man who once against thee fought ¶ The Agonie PHilosophers have measur'd mountains â—â—thom'd the depths of seas of states and kings Walk'd with a staffe to heav'n and traced fountains But there are two vast spacious things The which to measure it doth more behove â—et few there are that sound them Sinne and Love Who would know Sinne let him repair â—nto mount Olivet there shall he see â— man so wrung with pains that all his hair His skinne his garments bloudie be â—nne is that presse and vice which forceth pain â—o hunt his cruell food through ev'ry vein Who knows not Love let him assay â—nd taste that juice which on the crosse a pike â—nd set again abroach then let him say If ever he did taste the like â—ove is that liquour sweet and most divine Which my God feels as bloud but I as wine ¶ The Sinner LOrd how I am all ague when I seek What I have treasur'd in my memorie Since if my soul make even with the week Each seventh note by right is due to thee I finde there quarries of pil'd vanities But shreds of holinesse that dare not venture To shew their face since crosse to thy decrees There the circumference earth is heav'n the centre In so much dregs the quintessence is small The spirit and good extract of my heart Comes to about the many hundredth part Yet Lord restore thine image heare my call And though my hard heart scarce to thee can grone Remember that thou once didst write in stone ¶ Good Friday O My chief good How shall I measure out thy bloud How shall I count what thee befell And each grief tell Shall I thy woes Number according to thy foes Or since one starre show'd thy first breath Shall all thy death Or shall each leaf Which falls in Autumne score a grief Or cannot leaves but fruit be signe Of the true vine Then let each
they supplie New thoughts of sinning wherefore to my shame Sorrie I am my God sorrie I am ¶ Time MEeting with Time slack thing said I Thy sithe is dull whet it for shame No marvell Sir he did replie If it at length deserve some blame But where one man would have me grinde it Twentie for one too sharp do finde it Perhaps some such of old did passe Who above all things lov'd this life To whom thy sithe a hatchet was Which now is but a pruning-knife Christs coming hath made man thy debter Since by thy cutting he grows better And in his blessing thou art blest For where thou onely wert before An executioner at best Thou art a gard'ner now and more An usher to convey our souls Beyond the utmost starres and poles And this is that makes life so long While it detains us from our God Ev'n pleasures here increase the wrong And length of dayes lengthen the rod. Who wants the place where God doth dwell Partakes already half of hell Of what strange length must that needs be Which ev'n eternitie excludes Thus farre Time heard me patiently Then chafing said This man deludes What do I here before his doore He doth not crave lesse time but more ¶ Gratefulnesse THou that hast giv'n so much to me Give one thing more a gratefull heart See how thy beggar works on thee By art He makes thy gifts occasion more And sayes If he in this be crost All thou hast giv'n him heretofore Is lost But thou didst reckon when at first Thy word our hearts and hands did crave What it would come to at the worst To save Perpetuall knocking 's at thy doore Tears â—ullying thy transparent rooms Gift upon gift much would have more And comes This not withstanding thou wentst on And didst allow us all our noise Nay thou hast made a sigh and grone Thy joyes Not that thou hast not still above Much better tunes then grones can make But that these countrey-aires thy love Did take Wherefore I crie and crie again And in no quiet canst thou be Till I a thankfull heart obtain Of thee Not thankfull when it pleaseth me As if thy blessings had spare dayes But such a heart whose pulse may be Thy praise ¶ Peace SWeet Peace where dost thou dwell I humbly crave Let me once know I sought thee in a secret cave And ask'd if Peace were there A hollow winde did seem to answer No Go seek elsewhere I did and going did a rainbow note Surely thought I This is the lace of Peaces coat I will search out the matter But while I lookt the clouds immediately Did break and scatter Then went I to a garden and did spy A gallant flower The crown Imperiall Sure said I Peace at the root must dwell But when I digg'd I saw a worm devoure What show'd so well At length I met a rev'rend good old man Whom when for Peace I did demand he thus began There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt who liv'd with good increase Of flock and fold He sweetly liv'd yet sweetnesse did not save His life from foes But after death out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat Which many wondring at got some of those To plant and set It prosper'd strangely and did soon disperse Through all the earth For they that taste it do rehearse That vertue lies therein A secret vertue bringing peace and mirth By flight of sinne Take of this grain which in my garden grows And grows for you Make bread of it and that repose And peace which ev'ry where With so much earnestnesse you do pursue Is onely there ¶ Confession O What a cunning guest Is this same grief within my heart I made Closets and in them many a chest And like a master in my trade In those chests boxes in each box a till Yet grief knows all and enters when he will No scrue no piercer can Into a piece of timber work and winde As Gods afflictions into man When he a torture hath design'd They are too subtill for the subt'llest hearts And fall like rheumes upon the tendrest parts We are the earth and they Like moles within us heave and cast about And till they foot and clutch their prey They never cool much lesse give out No smith can make such locks but they have keyes Closets are halls to them and hearts high-wayes Onely an open breast Doth shut them out so that they cannot enter Or if they enter cannot rest But quickly seek some new adventure Smooth open hearts no fastning have but fiction Doth give a hold and handle to affliction Wherefore my faults and sinnes Lord I acknowledge take thy plagues away For since confession pardon winnes I challenge here the brightest day The clearest diamond let them do their best They shall be thick and cloudie to my breast ¶ Giddinesse OH what a thing is man how farre from power From setled peace and rest He is some twentie sev'rall men at least Each sev'rall houre One while he counts of heav'n as of his treasure But then a thought creeps in And calls him coward who for fear of sinne Will lose a pleasure Now he will fight it out and to the warres Now eat his bread in peace And snudge in quiet now he scorns increase Now all day spares He builds a house which quickly down must go As if a whirlwinde blew And crusht the building and it 's partly true His minde is so O what a sight were Man if his attires Did alter with his minde And like a Dolphins skinne his clothes combin'd With his desires Surely if each one saw anothers heart There would be no commerce No sale or bargain passe all would disperse And live apart Lord mend or rather make us one creation Will not suffice our turn Except thou make us dayly we shall spurn Our own salvation ¶ The bunch of grapes JOy I did lock thee up but some bad man Hath let thee out again And now me thinks I am where I began Sev'n yeares ago one vogue and vein One aire of thoughts usurps my brain I did toward Canaan draw but now I am Brought back to the Red sea the sea of shame For as the Jews of old by Gods command Travell'd and saw no town So now each Christian hath his journeys spann'd Their storie pennes and sets us down A single deed is small renown God works are wide and let in future times His ancient justice overflows our crimes Then have we too our guardian fires and clouds Our Scripture-dew drops fast We have our sands and serpents tents and shrowds Alas our murmurings come not last But where 's the cluster where 's the taste Of mine inheritance Lord if I must borrow Let me as well take up their joy as sorrow But can he want the grape who hath the wine I have their fruit and more Blessed be God who prosper'd Noahs vine And made it bring forth graâ—es good store But much more
Divinities transcendent skie Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve Reason triumphs and faith lies by Could not that wisdome which first broacht the wine Have thicken'd it with definitions And jagg'd his seamlesse coat had that been fine With curious questions and divisions But all the doctrine which he taught and gave Was cleare as heav'n from whence it came At least those beams of truth which onely save Surpasse in brightnesse any flame Love God and love your neighbour Watch and pray Do as ye would be done unto O dark instructions ev'n as dark as day Who can these Gordian knots undo But he doth bid us take his bloud for wine Bid what he please yet I am sure To take and taste what he doth there designe Is all that saves and not obscure Then burn thy Epicycles foolish man Break all thy spheres and save thy head Faith needs no staffe of flesh but stoutly can To heav'n alone both go and leade Ephes. 4.30 Grieve not the Holy Spirit c. ANd art thou grieved sweet and sacred Dove When I am sowre And crosse thy love Grieved for me the God of strength and power Griev'd for a worm which when I tread I passe away and leave it dead Then weep mine eyes the God of love doth grieve Weep foolish heart And weeping live For death is drie as dust Yet if ye part End as the night whose sable hue Your sinnes expresse melt into dew When sawcie mirth shall knock or call at doore Cry out Get hence Or cry no more Almightie God doth grieve he puts on sense I sinne not to my grief alone But to my Gods too he doth grone Oh take thy lute and tune it to a strain Which may with thee All day complain There can no discord but in ceasing be Marbles can weep and surely strings More bowels have then such hard things Lord I adjudge my self to tears and grief Ev'n endlesse tears Without relief If a cleare spring for me no time forbears But runnes although I be not drie I am no Crystall what shall I Yet if I wail not still since still to wail Nature denies And flesh would fail If my deserts were masters of mine eyes Lord pardon for thy sonne makes good My want of tears with store of bloud ¶ The Familie WHat doth this noise of thoughts within my heart As if they had a part What do these loud complaints and pulling fears As if there were no rule or eares But Lord the house and familie are thine Though some of them repine Turn out these wranglers which defile thy seat For where thou dwellest all is neat First Peace and Silence all disputes controll Then Order plaies the soul And giving all things their set forms and houres Makes of wilde woods sweet walks and bowres Humble Obedience neare the doore doth stand Expecting a command Then whom in waiting nothing seems more slow Nothing more quick when she doth go Joyes oft are there and griefs as oft as joyes But griefs without a noise Yet speak they louder then distemper'd fears What is so shrill as silent tears This is thy house with these it doth abound And where these are not found Perhaps thou com'st sometimes and for a day But not to make a constant stay ¶ The Size COntent thee greedie heart Modest and moderate joyes to those that have Title to more hereafter when they part Are passing brave Let th' upper springs into the low Descend and fall and thou dost flow What though some have a fraught Of cloves and nutmegs and in cinamon sail If thou hast wherewithall to spice a draught When griefs prevail And for the future time art heir To th' Isle of spices Is 't not fair To be in both worlds full Is more then God was who was hungrie here Wouldst thou his laws of fasting disanull Enact good cheer Lay out thy joy yet hope to save it Wouldst thou both eat thy cake and have it Great joyes are all at once But little do reserve themselves for more Those have their hopes these what they have renounce And live on score Those are at home these journey still And meet the rest on Sions hill Thy Saviour sentenc'd joy And in the flesh condemn'd it as unfit At least in lump for such doth oft destroy Whereas a bit Doth tice us on to hopes of more And for the present health restore A Christians state and case â—s not a corpulent but a thinne and spare Yet active strength whose long and bonie face Content and care Do seem to equally divide Like a pretender not a bride Wherefore sit down good heart Grasp not at much for fear thou losest all If comforts fell according to desert They would great frosts and snows destroy For we should count Since the last joy Then close again the seam Which thou hast open'd do not spread thy robe In hope of great things Call to minde thy dream An earthly globe On whose meridian was engraven These seas are tears and heav'n the haven ¶ Artillerie AS I one ev'ning sat before my cell Me thoughts a starre did shoot into my lap I rose and shook my clothes as knowing well That from small fires comes oft no small mishap When suddenly I heard one say Do as thou usest disobey Expell good motions from thy breast Which have the face of fire but end in rest I who had heard of musick in the spheres But not of speech in starres began to muse But turning to my God whose ministers The starres and all things are If I refuse Dread Lord said I so oft my good Then I refuse not ev'n with bloud To wash away my stubborn thought For I will do or suffer what I ought But I have also starres and shooters too Born where thy servants both artilleries use My tears and prayers night and day do wooe And work up to thee yet thou dost refuse Not but I am I must say still Much more oblig'd to do thy will Then thou to grant mine but because Thy promise now hath ev'n set thee thy laws Then we are shooters both and thou dost deigne To enter combate with us and contest With thine own clay But I would parley fain Shunne not my arrows and behold my breast Yet if thou shunnest I am thine I must be so if I am mine There is no articling with thee I am but finite yet thine infinitely ¶ Church-rents and schismes BRave rose alas where art thou in the chair Where thou didst lately so triumph and shine A worm doth sit whose many feet and hair Are the more foul the more thou wert divine This this hath done it this did bite the root And bottome of the leaves which when the winde Did once perceive it blew them under foot Where rude unhallow'd steps do crush and grinde Their beauteous glories Onely shreds of thee And those all bitten in thy chair I see Why doth my Mother blush is she the rose And shows it so Indeed Christs
precious bloud Gave you a colour once which when your foes Thought to let out the bleeding did you good And made you look much fresher then before But when debates and fretting jealousies Did worm and work within you more and more Your colour faded and calamities Turned your ruddie into pale and bleak Your health and beautie both began to break Then did your sev'rall parts unloose and start Which when your neighbours saw like a north-winde They rushed in and cast them in the dirt Where Pagans tread O Mother deare and kinde Where shall I get me eyes enough to weep As many eyes as starres since it is night And much of Asia and Europe fast asleep And ev'n all Africk would at least I might With these two poore ones lick up all the dew Which falls by night and poure it out for you ¶ Justice O Dreadfull Justice what a fright and terrour Wast thou of old When sinne and errour Did show and shape thy looks to me And through their glasse discolour thee He that did but look up was proud and bold The dishes of thy ballance seem'd to gape Like two great pits The beam and scape Did like some tort'ring engine show Thy hand above did burn and glow Danting the stoutest hearts the proudest wits But now that Christs pure vail presents the sight I see no fears Thy hand is white Thy scales like buckets which attend And interchangeably descend Lifting to heaven from this well of tears For where before thou still didst call on me Now I still touch And harp on thee Gods promises have made thee mine Why should I justice now decline Against me there is none but for me much ¶ The Pilgrimage I Travell'd on seeing the hill where lay My expectation A long it was and weary way The gloomy cave of Desperation I left on th' one and on the other side The rock of Pride And so I came to phansies medow strow'd With many a flower Fain would I here have made abode But I was quicken'd by my houre So to cares cops I came and there got through With much ado That led me to the wilde of passion which Some call the wold A wasted place but sometimes rich Here I was robb'd of all my gold Save one good Angell which a friend had ti'd Close to my side At length I got unto the gladsome hill Where lay my hope Where lay my heart and climbing still When I had gain'd the brow and top A lake of brackish waters on the ground Was all I found With that abash'd and struck with many a sting Of swarming fears I fell and cry'd Alas my King Can both the way and end be tears Yet taking heart I rose and then perceiv'd I was deceiv'd My hill was further so I flung away Yet heard a crie Just as I went None goes that way And lives If that be all said I After so foul a journey death is fair And but a chair ¶ The Holdfast I Threatned to observe the strict decree Of my deare God with all my power might But I was told by one it could not be Yet I might trust in God to be my light Then will I trust said I in him alone Nay ev'n to trust in him was also his We must confesse that nothing is our own Then I confesse that he my succour is But to have nought is ours not to confesse That we have nought I stood amaz'd at this Much troubled till I heard a friend expresse That all things were more ours by being his What Adam had and forfeited for all Christ keepeth now who cannot fail or fall ¶ Complaining DO not beguile my heart Because thou art My power and wisdome Put me not to shame Because I am Thy clay that weeps thy dust that calls Thou art the Lord of glorie The deed and storie Are both thy due but I a silly flie That live or die According as the weather falls Art thou all justice Lord Shows not thy word More attributes Am I all throat or eye To weep or crie Have I no parts but those of grief Let not thy wrathfull power Afflict my houre My inch of life or let thy gracious power Contract my houre That I may climbe and finde relief ¶ The Discharge BUsie enquiring heart what wouldst thou know Why dost thou prie And turn and leer and with a licorous eye Look high and low And in thy lookings stretch and grow Hast thou not made thy counts and summ'd up all Did not thy heart Give up the whole and with the whole depart Let what will fall That which is past who can recall Thy life is Gods thy time to come is gone And is his right He is thy night at noon he is at night Thy noon alone The crop is his for he hath sown And well it was for thee when this befell That God did make Thy businesse his and in thy life partake For thou canst tell If it be his once all is well Onely the present is thy part and fee. And happy thou If though thou didst not beat thy future brow Thou couldst well see What present things requir'd of thee They ask enough why shouldst thou further go Raise not the mudde Of future depths but drink the cleare and good Dig not for wo In times to come for it will grow Man and the present fit if he provide He breaks the square This houre is mine if for the next I care I grow too wide And do encroach upon deaths side For death each houre environs and surrounds He that would know And care for future chances cannot go Unto those grounds But through a Church-yard which thē boūds Things present shrink and die but they that spend Their thoughts and sense On future grief do not remove it thence But it extend And draw the bottome out an end God chains the dog till night wilt loose the chain And wake thy sorrow Wilt thou forestall it and now grieve to morrow And then again Greive over freshly all thy pain Either grief will not come or if it must Do not forecast And while it cometh it is almost past Away distrust My God hath promis'd he is just ¶ Praise KIng of Glorie King of Peace I will love thee And that love may never cease I will move thee Thou hast granted my request Thou haft heard me Thou didst note my working breast Thou hast spar'd me Wherefore with my utmost art I will sing thee And the cream of all my heart I will bring thee Though my sinnes against me cried Thou didst cleare me And alone when they replied Thou didst heare me Sev'n whole dayes not one in seven I will praise thee In my heart though not in heaven I can raise thee Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears Thou relentedst And when Justice call'd for fears Thou dissentedst Small it is in this poore sort To enroll thee Ev'n eternitie is too short To extoll thee ¶ An Offering COme bring thy gift If
blessings were as slow As mens returns what would become of fools What hast thou there a heart but is it pure Search well and see for hearts have many holes Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow In Christ two natures met to be thy cure O that within us hearts had propagation Since many gifts do challenge many hearts Yet one if good may title to a number And single things grow fruitfull by deserts In publick judgements one may be a nation And fence a plague while others sleep and slumber But all I fear is lest thy heart displease As neither good nor one so oft divisions Thy lusts have made and not thy lusts alone Thy passions also have their set partitions These parcell out thy heart recover these And thou mayst offer many gifts in one There is a balsome or indeed a bloud Dropping from heav'n which doth both cleanse and close All sorts of wounds of such strange force it is Seek out this All-heal and seek no repose Untill thou finde and use it to thy good Then bring thy gift and let thy hymne be this Since my sadnesse Into gladnesse Lord thou dost convert O accept What thou hast kept As thy due desert Had I many Had I any For this heart is none All were thine And none of mine Surely thine alone Yet thy favour May give savour To this poore oblation And it raise To be thy praise And be my salvation ¶ Longing WIth sick and famisht eyes With doubling knees and weary bones To thee my cries To thee my grones To thee my sighs my tears ascend No end My throat my soul is hoarse My heart is wither'd like a ground Which thou dost curse My thoughts turn round And make me giddie Lord I fall Yet call From thee all pitie flows Mothers are kinde because thou art And dost dispose To them a part Their infants them and they suck thee More free Bowels of pitie heare Lord of my soul love of my minde Bow down thine eare Let not the winde Scatter my words and in the same Thy name Look on my sorrows round Mark well my furnace O what flames What heats abound What griefs what shames Consider Lord Lord bow thine eare And heare Lord Jesu thou didst bow Thy dying head upon the tree O be not now More dead to me Lord heare Shall he that made the eare Not heare Behold thy dust doth stirre It moves it creeps it aims at thee Wilt thou deferre To succour me Thy pile of dust wherein each crumme Sayes Come To thee help appertains Hast thou left all things to their course And laid the reins Upon the horse Is all lockt hath a sinners plea No key Indeed the world 's thy book Where all things have their leafe assign'd Yet a meek look Hath interlin'd Thy board is full yet humble guests Finde nests Thou tarriest while I die And fall to nothing thou dost reigne And rule on high While I remain In bitter grief yet am I stil'd Thy childe Lord didst thou leave thy throne Not to relieve how can it be That thou art grown Thus hard to me Were sinne alive good cause there were To bear But now both sinne is dead And all thy promises live and bide That wants his head These speak and chide And in thy bosome poure my tears As theirs Lord JESU heare my heart Which hath been broken now so long That ev'ry part Hath got a tongue Thy beggars grow rid them away To day My love my sweetnesse heare By these thy feet at which my heart Lies all the yeare Pluck out thy dart And heal my troubled breast which cryes Which dyes ¶ The Bag. AWay despair my gracious Lord doth heare Though windes and waves assault my keel He doth preserve it he doth steer Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel Storms are the triumph of his art Well may he close his eyes but not his heart Hast thou not heard that my Lord JESUS di'd Then let me tell thee a strange storie The God of power as he did ride In his majestick robes of glorie Resolv'd to light and so one day He did descend undressing all the way The starres his tire of light and rings obtain'd The cloud his bow the fire his spear The sky his azure mantle gain'd And when they ask'd what he would wear He smil'd and said as he did go He had new clothes a making here below When he was come as travellers are wont He did repair unto an inne Both then and after many a brunt He did endure to cancell sinne And having giv'n the rest before Here he gave up his life to pay our score But as he was returning there came one That ran upon him with a spear He who came hither all alone Bringing nor man nor arms nor fear Receiv'd the blow upon his side And straight he turn'd and to his brethren cry'd If ye have any thing to send or write I have no bag but here is room Unto my fathers hands and sight Beleeve me it shall safely come That I shall minde what you impart Look you may put it very neare my heart Or if hereafter any of my friends Will use me in this kinde the doore Shall still be open what he sends I will present and somewhat more Not to his hurt Sighs will convey Any thing to me Heark despair away ¶ The Jews POore nation whose sweet sap and juice Our cyens have purloin'd and left you drie Whose streams we got by the Apostles sluce And use in baptisme while ye pine and die Who by not keeping once became a debter And now by keeping lose the letter Oh that my prayers mine alas Oh that some Angel might a trumpet sound At which the Church falling upon her face Should crie so loud untill the trump were drown'd And by that crie of her deare Lord obtain That your sweet sap might come again ¶ The Collar I Struck the board and cry'd No more I will abroad What shall I ever sigh and pine My lines and life are free free as the rode Loose as the winde as large as store Shall I be still in suit Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me bloud and not restore What I have lost with cordiall fruit Sure there was wine Before my sighs did drie it there was corn Before my tears did drown it Is the yeare onely lost to me Have I no bayes to crown it No flowers no garlands gay all blasted All wasted Not so my heart but there is fruit And thou hast hands Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit and not forsake thy cage Thy rope of sands Which pettie thoughts have made and made to thee Good cable to enforce and draw And be thy law While thou didst wink and wouldst not see Away take heed I will abroad Call in thy deaths head there tie up thy fears He that forbears To suit and serve his need Deserves his load But
as I rav'd and grew more fierce and wilde At every word Me thoughts I heard one calling Childe And I reply'd My Lord. ¶ The Glimpse WHither away delight Thou cam'st but now wilt thou so soon depart And give me up to night For many weeks of lingring pain and smart But one half houre of comfort for my heart Me thinks delight should have More skill in musick and keep better time Wert thou a winde or wave They quickly go and come with lesser crime Flowers look about and die not in their prime Thy short abode and stay Feeds not but addes to the desire of meat Lime begg'd of old they say A neighbour spring to cool his inward heat Which by the springs accesse grew much more great In hope of thee my heart Pickt here and there a crumme and would not die But constant to his part When as my fears foretold this did replie A slender thread a gentle guest will tie Yet if the heart that wept Must let thee go return when it doth knock Although thy heap be kept For future times the droppings of the stock May oft break forth and never break the lock If I have more to spinne The wheel shall go so that thy stay be short Thou knowst how grief and sinne Disturb the work O make me not their sport Who by thy coming may be made a court ¶ Assurance O Spitefull bitter thought Bitterly spitefull thought Couldst thou invent So high a torture Is such poyson bought Doubtlesse but in the way of punishment When wit contrives to meet with thee No such rank poyson can there be Thou said'st but even now That all was not so fair as I conceiv'd Betwixt my God and me that I allow And coin large hopes but that I was deceiv'd Either the league was broke or neare it And that I had great cause to fear it And what to this what more Could poyson if it had a tongue expresse What is thy aim wouldst thou unlock the doore To cold despairs and gnawing pensivenesse Wouldst thou raise devils I see I know I writ thy purpose long ago But I will to my Father Who heard thee say it O most gracious Lord If all hope and comfort that I gather Were from my self I had not half a word Not half a letter to oppose What is objected by my foes But thou art my desert And in this league which now my foes invade Thou art not onely to perform thy part But also mine as when the league was made Thou didst at once thy self indite And hold my hand while I did write Wherefore if thou canst fail Then can thy truth and I but while rocks stand And rivers stirre thou canst not shrink or quail Yea when both rocks and all things shall disband Then shalt thou be my rock and tower And make their ruine praise thy power Now foolish thought go on Spin out thy thread and make thereof a coat To hide thy shame for thou hast cast a bone Which bounds on thee and will not down thy throat What for it self love once began Now love and truth will end in man ¶ The Call COme my Way my Truth my Life Such a Way as gives us breath Such a Truth as ends all strife And such a Life as killeth death Come my Light my Feast my Strength Such a Light as shows a feast Such a Feast as mends in length Such a Strength as makes his guest Come my Joy my Love my Heart Such a Joy as none can move Such a Love as none can part Such a Heart as joyes in love ¶ Clasping of hands LOrd thou art mine and I am thine If mine I am and thine much more Then I or ought or can be mine Yet to be thine doth me restore So that again I now am mine And with advantage mine the more Since this being mine brings with it thine And thou with me dost thee restore If I without thee would be mine I neither should be mine nor thine Lord I am thine and thou art mine So mine thou art that something more I may presume thee mine then thine For thou didst suffer to restore Not thee but me and to be mine And with advantage mine the more Since thou in death wast none of thine Yet then as mine didst me restore O be mine still still make me thine Or rather make no Thine and Mine ¶ Praise LOrd I will mean and speak thy praise Thy praise alone My busie heart shall spin it all my dayes And when it stops for want of store Then will I wring it with a sigh or grone That thou mayst yet have more When thou dost favour any action It runnes it flies All things concurre to give it a perfection That which had but two legs before When thou dost blesse hath twelve one wheel doth riâ—â— To twentie then or more But when thou dost on businesse blow It hangs it clogs Not all the teams of Albion in a row Can hale or draw it out of doore Legs are but stumps and Pharaohs wheels but logs And struggling hinders more Thousands of things do thee employ In ruling all This spacious globe Angels must have their joy Devils their rod the sea his shore The windes their stint and yet when I did call Thou heardst my call and more I have not lost one single tear But when mine eyes Did weep to heav'n they found a bottle there As we have boxes for the poore Readie to take them in yet of a size That would contain much more But after thou hadst slipt a drop From thy right eye Which there did hang like streamers neare the top Of some fair church to show the sore And bloudie battell which thou once didst trie The glasse was full and more Wherefore I sing Yet since my heart Though press'd runnes thin O that I might some other hearts convert And so take up at use good store That to thy chests there might be coming in Both all my praise and more ¶ Josephs coat WOunded I sing tormented I indite Thrown down I fall into a bed and rest Sorrow hath chang'd its note such is his will Who changeth all things as him pleaseth best For well he knows if but one grief and smart Among my many had his full career Sure it would carrie with it ev'n my heart And both would runne untill they found a biere To fetch the bodie both being due to grief But he hath spoil'd the race and giv'n to anguish One of Joyes coats ticing it with relief To linger in me and together languish I live to shew his power who once did bring My joyes to weep and now my griefs to sing ¶ The Pulley WHen God at first made man Having a glasse of blessings standing by Let us said he poure on him all we can Let the worlds riches which dispersed lie Contract into a span So strength first made a way Then beautie flow'd then wisdome honour pleasure When almost all was out God made a stay
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure Rest in the bottome lay For if I should said he Bestow this jewell also on my creature He would adore my gifts in stead of me And rest in Nature not the God of Nature So both should losers be Yet let him keep the rest But keep them with repining restlesnesse Let him be rich and wearie that at least If goodnesse leade him not yet wearinesse May tosse him to my breast ¶ The Priesthood BLest Order which in power dost so excell That with th' one hand thou liftest to the sky And with the other throwest down to hell In thy just censures fain would I draw nigh Fain put thee on exchanging my lay-sword For that of th' holy word But thou art fire sacred and hallow'd fire And I but earth and clay should I presume To wear thy habit the severe attire My slender compositions might consume I am both foul and brittle much unfit To deal in holy Writ Yet have I often seen by cunning hand And force of fire what curious things are made Of wretched earth Where once I scorn'd to stand That earth is fitted by the fire and trade Of skilfull artists for the boards of those Who make the bravest shows But since those great ones be they ne're so great Come from the earth from whence those vessels come So that at once both feeder dish and meat Have one beginning and one finall summe I do not greatly wonder at the sight If earth in earth delight But th' holy men of God such vessels are As serve him up who all the world commands When God vouchsafeth to become our fare Their hands conucy him who conveys their hands O what pure things most pure must those things be Who bring my God to me Wherefore I dare not I put forth my hand To hold the Ark although it seem to shake Through th' old sinnes and new doctrines of our land Onely since God doth often vessels make Of lowly matter for high uses meet I throw me at his feet There will I lie untill my Maker seek For some mean stuffe whereon to show his skill Then is my time The distance of the meek Doth flatter power Lest good come short of ill In praising might the poore do by submission What pride by opposition ¶ The Search WHither O whither art thou fled My Lord my Love My searches are my daily bread Yet never prove My knees pierce th' earth mine eies the skie And yet the sphere And centre both to me denie That thou art there Yet can I mark how herbs below Grow green and gay As if to meet thee they did know While I decay Yet can I mark how starres above Simper and shine As having keyes unto thy love While poore I pine I sent a sigh to seek thee out Deep drawn in pain Wing'd like an arrow but my scout Returns in vain I tun'd another having store Into a grone Because the search was dumbe before But all was one Lord dost thou some new fabrick mold Which favour winnes And keeps thee present leaving th' old Unto their sinnes Where is my God what hidden place Conceals thee still What covert dare eclipse thy face Is it thy will O let not that of any thing Let rather brasse Or steel or mountains be thy ring And I will passe Thy will such an intrenching is As passeth thought To it all strength all subtilties Are things of nought Thy will such a strange distance is As that to it East and West touch the poles do kisse And parallels meet Since then my grief must be as large As is thy space Thy distance from me see my charge Lord see my case O take these barres these lengths away Turn and restore me Be not Almightie let me say Against but for me When thou dost turn and wilt be neare What edge so keen What point so piercing can appeare To come between For as thy absence doth excell All distance known So doth thy nearenesse bear the bell Making two one ¶ Grief O Who will give me tears Come all ye springs Dwell in my head eyes come clouds rain My grief hath need of all the watry things That nature hath produc'd Let ev'ry vein Suck up a river to supply mine eyes My weary weeping eyes too drie for me Unlesse they get new conduits new supplies To bear them out and with my state agree What are two shallow foords two little spouts Of a lesse world the greater is but small A narrow cupboard for my griefs and doubts Which want provision in the midst of all Verses ye are too fine a thing too wise For my rough sorrows cease be dumbe and mute Give up your feet and running to mine eyes And keep your measures for some lovers lute Whose grief allows him musick and a ryme For mine excludes both measure tune and time Alas my God! ¶ The Crosse. WHat is this strange and uncouth thing To make me sigh and seek and faint and die Untill I had some place where I might sing And serve thee and not onely I But all my wealth and familie might combine To set thy honour up as our designe And then when after much delay Much wrastling many a combate this deare end So much desir'd is giv'n to take away My power to serve thee to unbend All my abilities my designes confound And lay my threatnings bleeding on the ground One ague dwelleth in my bones Another in my soul the memorie What I would do for thee if once my grones Could be allow'd for harmonie I am in all a weak disabled thing Save in the sight thereof where strength doth sting Besides things sort not to my will Ev'n when my will doth studie thy renown Thou turnest th' edge of all things on me still Taking me up to throw me down So that ev'n when my hopes seem to be sped I am to grief alive to them as dead To have my aim and yet to be Farther from it then when I bent my bow To make my hopes my torture and the fee Of all my woes another wo Is in the midst of delicates to need And ev'n in Paradise to be a weed Ah my deare Father ease my smart These contrarieties crush me these crosse actions Doe winde a rope about and cut my heart And yet since these thy contradictions Are properly a crosse felt by thy sonne With but foure words my words Thy will be done ¶ The Flower HOw fresh O Lord how sweet and clean Are thy returns ev'n as the flowers in spring To which besides their own demean The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring Grief melts away Like snow in May As if there were no such cold thing Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart Could have recover'd greennesse It was gone Quite under ground as flowers depart To see their mother-root when they have blown Where they together AH the hard weather Dead to the world keep house unknown These are thy wonders Lord of