Oh! feek, and find me then; or else deny
Thy Truth, thy felf. O! thou canst not lie,
Shew thy felf conftant to thy word draw nigh,
Find me. Lo, here I lie.
The Return.
O, now my Love appears ;
My Tears
Have clear'd mine Eyes: I fee
'Tis he.
Thanks, bleffed Lord, thine Abfence was my Hell;
And, now thou art returned, I am well.
By this I fee I must
My Joys unto my self:
This Shelf
Of too fecure, and too presumptuous Pleasure
Had almost funk my Ship, and drown'd my Treasure.
Who would have thought a Joy
And go
So fuddenly away? As if enjoying
Full Pleasure and Contentment were annoying,
Hereafter I had need
Take heed,
Joys, amongst other things.
Have Wings,
And watch their Opportunities of Flight,
Converting in a Moment Day to Night.
But, is't enough for me
And read a Lecture unto them that are
Willing to learn how Comfort dwells with Care.
He that his Joys would keep,
And in the brine of Tears,
And Fears,
Muft pickle them. That Powder will preserve:
Faith with Repentance is the Soul's Conferve.
Learn to make much of Care:
And precious Balfam 'tis
For Blifs;
Which oft refides, where Mirth with Sorrow meets : Heavenly Joys on Earth are Bitter-sweets.
E talk of Noah's Flood, as of a Wonder
And well we may :
The Water did prevail, the Hills were under,
And nothing could be feen but Sea.
And yet there are two other Floods furpafs
That Flood as far,
As Heaven one Star,
Which many Men regard as little, as
The ordinary'st Things that are.
The one is Sin, the other is Salvation:
And we must need
Confefs indeed,
That either is an Inundation,
Which doth the Deluge far exceed.
In Noah's Flood he and his Houfhold liv'd:
And there abode.
Study thy felf, and read what thou haft writ
In thine own Book, thy Conscience. Is it fit
To labour after other Knowledge so,
And thine own nearest, deareft, felf not know?
Travels abroad both dear and dangerous are,
Whilft oft the Soul pays for the Body's Fare :
Travels at home are cheap, and safe. Salvation,
Comes mounted on the Wings of Meditation.
He that doth live at Home, and learns to know
God and Himself, needeth no further go.
Ife is a Journey. From our Mothers Wombs, As Houses, we fet out; and in our Tombs, As Inns, we rest, till it be time to rise.
'Twixt Rocks and Gulfs our narrow Foot-path lies:
Haughty Prefumption and Hell-deep Despair
Make our way dangerous, though seeming fair.
The World with its Inticements feek and fly,
Slabbers our Steps, and makes them flippery.
The Flesh, with its Corruptions, cloggs our Feet,
And burdens us with Loads of Lufts unmeet.
The Devil, where we tread, doth spread his Snares,
And with Temptations takes us unawares.
Our Footsteps are our Thoughts, our Words, our
These carry us along; in these there lurks (Works:
Envy, Luft, Avarice, Ambition,
The crooked Turnings to Perdition.
One while we creep among the thorny Brakes
Of worldly Profits; and the Devil takes
Delight to fee us pierce our felves with Sorrow
To day, by thinking what might be to Morrow.
Another while we wade, and wallow in
Puddles of Pleasure; and we never lin
Dawbing our felves with dirty damn'd Delights,
Till felf-begotten Pain our Pleasure frights,
Sometimes we fcramble to get up the Banks
Of icy Honour; and we break our Ranks
To ftep before our Fellows; though, they say,
He fooneft tireth, that ftill leads the way.
Sometimes when others juftle and provoke us,
We stir that Duft our felves, that ferves to choke us
And raise those Tempefts of Contention, which
Blow us befide the way into the Ditch.
Our Minds fhould be our Guides. But they are blind,
Our Wills out-run our Wits, or lag behind.
Our furious Paffions, like unbridled Jades,
Hurry us headlong to th' infernal Shades.
If God be not our Guide, our Guard, our Friend,
Eternal Death will be our Journey's end.
EN often find, when Nature's at a stand,
And hath in vain try'd all her utmost ftrength,
That Art, her Ape, can reach her out an Hand,
To pierce her Powers with to a full Length.
And may not Grace have means enough in store,
Wherewith to do as much as that, and more
She may She hath Engines of ev'ry kind,
To work what Art and Nature, when they view,
Stupendious Miracles of wonder find,
And yet muft needs acknowledge to be true;
So far tranfcending all their pow'r and might,
That they stand ev'n amazed at the fight,
Take but three Inftances; Faith, Hope, and Love.
Souls help'd by the perspective Glass of Faith
Are able to perceive what is above
The reach of Reafon : Yea the Scripture faith,
Ev'n him that is invifible behold,
And future things, as if they'd been of old.
Faith looks into the fecret Cabinet
Of God's Eternal Counfels, and doth fee
Such Myfleries of Glory there, as set
Believing Hearts on longing, till they be
Transform'd to the fame Image, and appear
So altered, as if themselves were there.
Faith can raise Earth to Heaven, or draw down
Heaven to Earth, make both Extreams to meet
Felicity and Mifery, can crown
Reproach with Honour, feafon Sowre with Sweet.
Nothing's impoffible to Faith: a Man
May do all Things that he believes he can.
Hope founded upon Faith can raife the Heart
Above it felf in Expectation
Of what the Soul defireth for its part!
Then, when its time of Tranfmigration
Is delay'd longeft, yet as patiently
To wait, as ift were answer'd by and by.
When Grief unweildy grows, Hope can abate
The Bulk to what Proportion it will:
So that a large Circumference of late
A little Centre fhall not reach to fill.
Nor that, which Giant-like before did ftrout,
Be able with a Pigmy's Pace t'hold out.
Hope can difperfe the thickest Clouds of Night,
That Fear hath overfpread the Soul withal,
And make the darkest Shadows fhine as bright,
As the Sun-beams fpread on a Silver Wall.
Sin-fhaken Souls Hope, Anchor like, holds fteady,
When Storm and Tempefts make them more than
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