What all mankinde could never brook,
If any (for He all invites)
His eafie yoke rejects or flights,
The Gospel then, for 'tis His word,
And not himself* fhall judge the world,
Will by loofe Duft that man arraign,
As one than duft more vile and vain.
S. John, chap. I. ver. 38, 39.
Hat happy, fecret fountain,
Fair fhade, or mountain,
Whofe undiscover'd virgin glory
Boasts it this day, though not in story,
Was then thy dwelling? did some cloud,
Fix'd to a Tent, descend and fhrowd
My diftreft Lord? or did a ftar,
Beckon'd by thee, though high and far,
In fparkling fmiles hafte gladly down
To lodge light and increase her own?
My dear, dear God! I do not know
What lodged thee then, nor where, nor how;
But I am fure thou doft now come
Oft to a narrow, homely room,
Where thou too haft but the least part;
My God, I mean my finful heart.
* St. John, chap. 12. ver. 47, 48.
Saith holy *John, then let him hear!
He, that into Captivity
Leads others, ball a Captive be.
Who with the fword doth others kill,
A fword fhall his blood likewise spill.
Here is the patience of the Saints,
And the true faith which never faints.
Were not thy word, dear Lord! my light,
How would I run to endless night,
And perfecuting thee and thine,
Enact for Saints myself and mine!
But now enlighten'd thus by thee,
I dare not think fuch villany;
Nor for a temporal felf-end
Successful wickedness commend.
For in this bright, inftructing verfe
Thy Saints are not the Conquerors;
But patient, meek, and overcome
Like thee, when set at naught and dumb.
Armies thou haft in Heaven, which fight
And follow thee all cloath'd in white;
But here on earth, though thou hadst need,
Thou wouldst no legions, but wouldst bleed.
The fword wherewith thou doft command
Is in thy mouth, not in thy hand,
*Revel. cap. 13. ver. 10.
And all thy Saints do overcome
By thy blood, and their Martyrdom.
But feeing Soldiers long ago
Did spit on thee, and fmote thee too;
Crown'd thee with thorns, and bow'd the knee, But in contempt, as still we see,
I'le marvel not at ought they do,
Because they us❜d my Savior fo ;
Since of my Lord they had their will,
The fervant must not take it ill.
Dear Jefus, give me patience here,
And faith to fee my Crown as near,
And almost reach'd, because 'tis fure
If I hold fast, and flight the Lure.
Give me humility and peace,
Contented thoughts, innoxious ease,
A fweet, revengeless, quiet minde,
And to my greatest haters kinde.
Give me, my
God! a heart as milde
And plain, as when I was a childe.
That when thy Throne is fet, and all
Thefe Conquerors before it fall,
I may be found preferv'd by thee
Amongst that chosen company,
Who by no blood here overcame
But the blood of the blessed Lamb.
Hou! who didft place me in this busie street
Of flesh and blood, where two ways meet :
The One of goodness, peace and life,
The other of death, fin and strife ;
Where frail vifibles rule the minde,
And present things finde men most kinde;
Where obfcure cares the mean defeat,
And splendid vice deftroys the great;
As thou didst fet no law for me,
But that of perfect liberty,
Which neither tyres, nor doth corrode,
But is a Pillow, not a Load:
So give me grace ever to reft,
And build on it because the best;
Teach both mine eyes and feet to move
Within those bounds fet by thy love;
Grant I may foft and lowly be,
And minde those things I cannot fee;
Tye me to faith, though above reason,
Who question power they speak treafon :
Let me, thy Afs, be onely wife
To carry, not fearch, myfteries.
Who carries thee is by thee led;
Who argues follows his own head.
To check bad motions, keep me ftill
Amongst the dead, where thriving ill,
Without his brags and conquefts, lies,
And truth, oppreft here, gets the prize.
At all times, whatsoe'r I do
Let me not fail to question, who
Shares in the act, and puts me to't?
And if not thou, let not me do't.
Above all, make me love the poor,
Those burthens to the rich man's door;
Let me admire those, and be kinde
To low eftates and a low minde.
If the world offers to me nought,
That by thy book must not be sought,
Or, though it should be lawful, may
Prove not expedient for thy way,
To fhun that peril let thy grace
Prevail with me to fhun the place;
Let me be wife to please thee still,
And let men call me what they will.
When thus thy milde, instructing hand
Findes thy poor foal at thy command,
When he from wilde is become wife,
And flights that most, which men most prize;
When all things here to thiftles turn
Pricking his lips, till he doth mourn
And hang the head, fighing for those
Paftures of life, where the Lamb goes:
O then, just then! break or untye
These bonds, this fad captivity,
This leaden ftate which men miscal
Being and life, but is dead thrall.
And when, O God! the Ass is free,
In a ftate known to none but thee,
O let him by his Lord be led
To living fprings, and there be fed,
Where light, joy, health, and perfect peace
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