God in the Flesh is manifeft,

And that which hath for ever been
Invifible, may now be feen,
Th' eternal Deity new dreft.

Angels to Shepherds brought the News:
And wife Men guided by a Star,
To feek the Sun are come from far:
Gentiles have got the start of Jews.
The Stable and the Manger hide
His Glory from his own: But these,
Though Strangers, his refplendent Rays
Of Majefty Divine have spy'd.

Gold, Frankincenfe, and Myrrh, they give;
And worshipping him plainly fhow,
That unto him they all things owe,
By whose free Gift it is they live.

Though clouded in a Vail of Flesh,
The Sun of Righteoufnef's appears,
Melting cold Cares and frofly Fears
And making Joys fpring up a-fresh.
O that his Light and Influence,
Would work effectually in me
Another new Epiphany,

Exhale and elevate me hence:

That, as my Calling doth require,
Star-like I may to others thine :
And guide them to that Sun divine :
Whose day-light never fhall expire.

The Paffion, or Good-Friday.
His Day my Saviour dy'd: And do I live?

Did the Immortal God vouchsafe to give

His

His Life for mine, and do I fet

More by my wretched Life, than he by his,
So full of Glory, and of Bliss?

Did his free Mercy, and meer Love to me,
Make him forfake his glorious Throne,
And mount a Crofs, the Stage of Infamy,
That so he might not die alone,

But dying fuffer more through Grief and Shame,
Than mortal Men have pow'r to name?

And can Ingratitude fo far prevail,

To keep me Living ftill? Alas!

Methinks fome Thorn out of his Crown, fome Nail,
At leaft his Spear, might pierce, and pals
Thorow and thorow, till it reviv'd mine Heart;
As the right Death-deferving part.

And doth he not expect it fhould be fo?
Would he lay down a Price fo great,
And not look that his Purchases fhould grow
Accordingly? Shall I defeat

His juft Defire? O no, it cannot be :

His Death muft needs be Death to me.

My Life's not mine, but his: For he did dye
That I might live; yet died fo,

That being dead he was alive; and I
Thorow the Gates of Death must go

To live with him; yea, to live by him here
Is a part in his Death to bear.

Die then, dull Soul, and if thou canst not die, A
Diffolve thy felf into a Sea

Of living Tears, whofe Streams may ne'er go dry. Nor turned, be another way,

Till they have drown'd all Joys, but those alone, Which Sorrow claimeth for its own...

For Sorrow hath its Joys; and I am glad

That

That I would grieve, if I do not
But if I neither could, nor would, be fad,
And forrowful, this Day, my Lot

Would be to grieve for ever, with a Grief
Uncapable of all Relief.

No Grief was like that, which he griev'd for me,
A greater Grief than can be told:
And like my Grief for him no Grief fhould be,
If I could grieve fo, as I would:

But what I would, and cannot, he doth fee,
And will accept, that dy'd for me.
Lord, as thy Grief and Death for me are mine,
For thon haft given them unto me:
So my Defires to grieve and die are thine,
For they are wrought only by thee.

Not for my fake then, but thine own, be pleas'd
With that, which thou thy felf haft rais'd.

The Refurrection, or Eafter-day.

and

U'Thy Saviour's gone before.

Why doft thou stay,

Dull Soul? Behold the Door.

Is open, and his Precept bids thee rife,
Whose Pow'r hath vanquish't all thine Enemies.
Say not, I live,

Whilst in the Grave thou lyft:

He that doth give

Thee Life, would have thee prize't

More highly than to keep it bury'd, where
Thou can'ft not make the Fruits of it appear.

Is Rottennefs,

And Duft fo pledfant to thee,
That Happiness,

And

And Heaven, cannot woe thee,

To fhake thy Shackles off, and leave behind thee Those Fetters, which to Death and Hell do bind thee?

Th'art bury'd with thy Saviour,

If thou delay'it,

To fhew, by thy Behaviour,

That thou art rifen with him; Till thou fhine
Like
e him, how can't thou lay his Light is thine?
Early he rofe,

And with him brought the Day,

Which all thy Foes

Frighted out of the way:

And wilt thou, Sluggard-like, turn in thy Bed, Till Noon Sun Beams draw up thy drowly Head?

Open thine Eyes,

Sin-feized Soul, and fee.

What Cobweb-ties

They are, that tramel thee;

t

Not Profits, Pleafures, Honours, as thou thinkeft; But Lofs, Pain, Shame, at which thou vainly winkeft, All that is good

Thy Saviour dearly bought

With his Heart's Blood;

And it must there be fought,

Where he keeps Refidence, who role this Day:
Linger no longer then; up, and away.

The Afcenfion, or Holy Thursday.

Mount, mount, my Son, and climb, or rather fly

With all thy Force on high,

Thy Saviour role not only, but afcended:
And he must be attended

f

Both

Both in his Conqueft and his Triumph too.
His Glories ftrongly woe

His Graces to them, and will not appear
In their full Luftre, until both be there.

Where he now fits, not for himself alone,
But that upon his Throne

All his Redeemed may Attendants be,
Robbed, and crown'd as he.

Kings without Courtiers are 'lone Men, they fay;
And doft thou think to stay

Behind on Earth, whil'ft thy King reigns in Heaven, Yet not be of thy Happiness bereaven?

Nothing that thou canft think worth having's here,
Nothing is wanting there,

That thou canft with to make thee truly bleft.
And above all the reft,

Thy Life is hid with God in Jefus Chrift,
Higher than what is high'ft.

O grovel then no longer here on Earth,
Where Mis'ry ev'ry moment drowns thy Mirth.
But towr, my Soul, and foar above the Skies,
Where thy true Treasure lies.

Though with Corruption and Mortality
Thou clogg'd and pinion'd be;

Yet thy flight Thoughts, and sprightly Wishes, may
Speedily glide away.

To what thou canst not reach, at least aspire,
Afcend, if not in Deed, yet in Defire.

Whitsunday

Ay ftartle not to hear the rufhing Wind, Wherewith this Place is fhaken: Attend a while, and thou fhalt quickly find. How much thou art miftaken,

If