Then thy fayings all my life And thy bloudy wounds, and ftrife At thy Commands Bring praise and Incense; If then, dread Lord, When to thy board Thy wretch comes begging, He hath a flowre Or, to his pow'r, Some fuch poor Off'ring; When thou haft made Thy begger glad, And fill'd his bofome, Let him, though poor, That one poor Dreffing. Thou that lovest a pure and whitend foul ! My frozen heart! and with thy fecret key Open my defolate rooms; my gloomie Brest Thou holy, harmless, undefil'd High-priest! G Give to thy wretched one That, abfent, he may fee, Live, die, and rise with thee; Let him fo follow here, that in the end may take thee, as thou doft him intend. He Give him thy private feal, Earneft, and fign! Thy gifts fo deal May make the future cleer! Whatever thou doft bid let faith make good, Give him, with pitty, love, Two flowres that grew with thee above; Anger for one short fit; And pitty of fuch a divine extent, That may thy members, more than mine, refent. Give me, my God! thy grace, The beams, and brightness of thy face; I take thy facred feast, Or the dread mysteries of thy bleft bloud Some fit to thee, and eat Thy body as their Common meat; Poor duft fhould ly still low; Then kneel, my foul and body, kneel and bow; If Saints and Angels fall down, much more thou. 康 Eafter-day. Hou, whofe fad heart and weeping head lyes low, Whofe Cloudy breft cold damps invade, Who never feel'ft the Sun, nor smooth'st thy brow, But fitt'ft oppreffed in the fhade, And in his Refurrection partake, Awake! awake! Who on this day, that thou might'ft rise as he, Awake! awake! and, like the Sun, disperse Where are thy Palmes, thy branches, and thy verse? Arife! arife! And with his healing bloud anoint thine Eyes, Eafter Hymn. Eath, and darkness get you packing, Graves are beds now for the weary, Death a nap, to wake more merry; Youth now, full of pious duty, The weak and aged tir'd with length Then, unto Him, who thus hath thrown To Him be glory, power, praise, From this, unto the last of daies! The Holy Communion. Elcome sweet, facred feast! O welcome life! But Dead I was, and deep in trouble; grace and bleffings came with thee fo That they have quicken'd even drie stubble. And thus at first when things were rude, They by thy Word their beauty had and date; All were by thee, And ftill muft be; Nothing that is, or lives, But hath his Quicknings, and reprieves, As thy hand opes or shuts; Healings, and Cuts, Darkness, and day-light, life, and death |