An ox, and mule, stand and behold,- That a stable should enfold Him, that can thunder. Chorus. O what a gracious God have we! How good, how great! —ev'n as our misery. The third Hymn: of Christ's Birth in an Inn. THE blessed Virgin travail'd without pain, A glorious star the sign, But of a greater guest than ever came that way;· That is the God of night and day, And over all the pow'rs of heaven doth reign. And then he comes, That pays all sums, Ev'n the whole price of lost humanity, And sets us free From the ungodly empery Of sin, and Satan, and of death. O make our hearts, blest God, thy lodging place; And in our breast Be pleas'd to rest, Which, to the world dispensed by his hand, Made it stand Fix'd in amazement to behold that light, Which came From the throne of the Lamb, To invite Our wretched eyes (which nothing else could see To anticipate, by their ravish'd sight, Shall fall away, O let thy gracious hand conduct me up, May, with thy friend, in thy sweet bosom lie, For ever, in eternity. Hallelujah. Upon the Day of the Holy Innocents. Of their babes, that cry More that they lose their paps, than that they die. He, that came with life to all, Brings the babes a funeral, To redeem from slaughter him, Who did redeem us all from sin. They, like himself, went spotless hence, Which now does ride Passing, from their fontinels of clay, And they to rest and glory fled; Lord, who wert pleas'd so many babes should fall, In innocence like them, in glory, Thee. Amen. Upon the Epiphany, and the three wise Men of the East coming to worship Jesus. A COMET, dangling in the air, Presag'd the ruin both of death and sin; The King of glory, and the Sun Till they appear In this blest infant King's propitious eye, But, Lord, with what shall we Present ourselves before thy majesty, Yet it is soft, and may Accept it, Lord, and say, this thou hadst rather; Thy holy image, and it shall outshine The beauty of the golden mine. Amen. A MEDITATION OF THE FOUR LAST THINGS, DEATH, JUDGMENT, HEAVEN, AND HELL; FOR THE TIME OF LENT ESPECIALLY. A Meditation of Death. DEATH, the old serpent's son, Thou hadst a sting once, like thy sire, That carried hell, and ever-burning fire:But those black days are done; Thy foolish spite buried thy sting In the profound and wide Wound of our Saviour's side: And now thou art become a tame and harmless thing, A thing we dare not fear, Since we hear, That our triumphant God, to punish thee A porter to the gate of life, thy mortal enemy. And thither fly, Let us into the courts of heaven, through thee! Of the Day of Judgment. GREAT Judge of all, how we vile wretches quake! Our marrow freezes, when we think And horrid phials, thou shalt make When thou the winepress of thy wrath shalt tread Sinful rebellious clay! what unknown place When earth shall vanish from thy sight, But observ'd Thy laws, shall from thy presence take their flight, And kill'd with glory, their bright eyes stark dead Start from their head: Lord, how shall we, Thy enemies, endure to see So bright, so killing majesty? Mercy, dear Saviour: thy judgment seat We dare not, Lord, intreat; We are condemn'd already, there. Mercy! vouchsafe one look On thy book Of life; Lord, we can read the saving Jesus, here, And in his name our own salvation see: O BEAUTEOUS God, uncircumscribed treasure Of an eternal pleasure, Thy throne is seated far |