Selected quad for the lemma: love_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A53302
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Some new pieces never before publish'd by the author of the Satyrs upon the Jesuites.
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Oldham, John, 1653-1683.
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1684
(1684)
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Wing O249; ESTC R236893
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41,131
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146
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Who didst attone us with thy Bloud Thy self the Offering Altar Priest and God Thy self didst die to be our glorious Bail From Death's Arrests and the eternal Flaming Jail Thy self thou gav'st th' inestimable Price To Purchase and Redeem our morgag'd Heav'n and Happiness Thither when thy great Work on Earth had end When Death it self was slain and dead And Hell with all its Powers captive led Thou didst again triumphantly Ascend There do'st Thou now by Thy great Father sit on high With equal Glory equal Majesty Joynt-Ruler of the everlasting Monarchy 6. Again from thence thou shalt with greater triumph come When the last Trumpet sounds the general Doom And lo thou com'st and lo the direful sound does make Through Deaths wide Realm Mortality awake And lo they all appear At Thy Dread Bar And all receive th' unalterable Sentence there Affrighted Nature trembles at the dismal Day And shrinks for fear and vanishes away Both that and Time breath out their last and now they die And now are swallow'd up and lost in vast Eternity Mercy O mercy angry God! Stop stop thy flaming Wrath too fierce to be withstood And quench it with the Deluge of thy Bloud Thy precious Bloud which was so freely spilt To wash us from the stains of Sin and Guilt O write us with it in the Book of Fate Amongst thy Chosen and Predestinate Free Denizens of Heav'n of the Immortal State 7. Guide us O Saviour guide thy Church below Both Way and Star Compass and Pilot Thou Do thou this frail and tott'ring Vessel steer Through Life's tempestuous Ocean here Through all the tossing Waves of Fear And dang'rous Rocks of black Despair Safe under Thee we shall to the wish'd Haven move And reach the undiscover'd Lands of Bliss above Thus low behold to thy great Name we bow And thus we ever wish to grow Constant as Time does thy fix'd Laws obey To Thee our Worship and our Thanks we pay With these we wake the chearful Light With these we Sleep and Rest invite Anâ—… thus we spend our Breath and thus we spend our Days And never cease to Sing and never cease to Praise 8. While thus each Breast and Mouth and Ear Are filled with thy Praise and Love and Fear Let never Sin get room or entrance there Vouchsafe O Lord through this and all our days To guard us with Thy pow'rful Grace Within our hearts let no usurping Lust be found No rebel Passion tumult raise To break thy Laws or break our Peace But set thy Watch of Angels on the Place And keep the Tempter still from that forbidden ground Ever O Lord to us thy mercies grant Never O Lord let us thy mercies want Ne're want Thy Favour Bounty Liberality But let them ever on us be Constant as our own Hope and Trust on Thee On Thee we all our Hope and Trust repose O never leave us to our Foes Never O Lord desert our Cause Thus aided and upheld by Thee We 'll fear no Danger Death nor Misery Fearless we thus will stand a falling world With crushing Ruins all about us hurl'd And face wide gaping Hell all its slighted Pow'rs desie A Letter from the Country to a Friend in Town giving an Account of the Author's Inclinations to Poetry Written in July 1678. AS to that Poet if so great a one as he May suffer in comparison with me When heretosore in Scythian exile pent To which he to ungrateful Rome was sent If a kind Paper from his Country came And wore subscrib'd some known and faithful Name That like a pow'rful Cordial did infuse New life into his speechless gasping Muse And strait his Genius which before did seem Bound up in Ice and frozen as the Clime By its warm force and friendly influence thaw'd Dissolv'd apace and in soft numbers flow'd Such welcome here dear Sir your Letter had With me shut up in close constraint as bad Not eager Lovers held in long suspence With warmer Joy and a more tender sense Meet those kind Lines which all their wishes bless And Sign and Seal deliver'd Happiness My grateful Thoughts so throng to get abroad They over-run each other in the crowd To you with hasty flight they take their way And hardly for the dress of words will stay Yet pardon if this only fault I find That while you praise too much you are less kind Consider Sir 't is ill and dang'rous thus To over-lay a young and tender Muse Praise the fine Diet which we 're apt to love If given to excess does hurtful prove Where it does weak distemper'd Stomachs meet That surfeits which should nourishment create Your rich Perfumes such fragrancy dispense Their sweetness overcomes and palls my sense On my weak head you heap so many Bays I sink beneath 'em quite oppress'd with Praise And a resembling fate with him receive Who in too kind a triumph found his Grave Smother'd with Garlands which Applauders gave To you these Praises justlier all belong By alienating which your self you wrong Whom better can such commendations fit Than you who so well teach and practise Wit Verse the great boast of drudging Fools from some May most of Scriblers with much straining come They void 'em dribling and in pain they write As if they had a Strangury of Wit Your Pen uncall'd they readily obey And scorn your Ink should flow so fast as they Each strain of yours so easie does appear Each such a graceful negligence does wear As shews you have none and yet want no care None of your serious pains or time they cost But what thrown by you can afford for lost If such the fruits of your loose leisure be Your careless minutes yield such Poetry We guess what proofs your Genius would impart Did it employ you as it does divert But happy you more prudent and more wise With better aims have fix'd your noble choice While silly I all thriving Arts refuse And all my hopes and all my vigour lose In service on that worst of Jilts a Muse For gainful business court ignoble ease And in gay Trifles wast my ill-spent days Little I thought my dearest Friend that you Would thus contribute to my Ruine too O're-run with filthy Poetry and Rhyme The present reigning evil of the time I lack'd and well I did my self assure From your kind hand I should receive a cure When lo instead of healing Remedies You cherish and encourage the Disease Inhumane you help the Distemper on Which was before but too inveterate grown As a kind looker on who int'rest shares Tho not in 's stake yet in his hopes and fears Would to his Friend a pushing Gamester do Recall his Elbow when he hastes to throw Such a wise course you should have took with me A rash and vent'ring fool in Poetry Poets are Cullies whom Rook Fame draws in And wheadles with deluding hopes to win But when they hit and most successful are They scarce come off with a bare saving share Oft