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A65224
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Divine poems written by Thomas Washbourne ...; Poems. Selections
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Washbourne, Thomas, 1606-1687.; Phillips, Edward, 1630-1696?
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1654
(1654)
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Wing W1025; ESTC R20784
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59,365
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164
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this life of mine To be my own but thine Not I but thou dost live In me who for me Lord thy self didst give It was thy love that made thee dye for me It is my faith that makes me live in thee Phil. 3.13 14. I count not my selfe to have apprehended but this one thing I do forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forth unto those things which are before I press toward the Mark for the prize of the high Calling of God in Christ Jesus THis ilfe is like a race Where every one 's a Runner and the prize A Crown of Glory Heavens the place Where the Mark's set before our eyes I who have not as yet Scarce run out half the way must not sit down And think I 've done enough but sweat And labour hard to get the Crown Nor may I cast an eye Behind to see how many I 've out run But with the foremost I must vie And better end then I begun For if I fail at last When I have gone the greatest part o' th' Race Or give off when the worst is past It will be much to my disgrace Nor is that all but then Another man shall take my crown from me And I with the faint-hearted men Out of the Lists quite cast shall be O Lord do thou annoint Me with thy oil of Grace from top to toe In every lim and every joint That I may never weary grow But persevering in My course with vigorous and active strength May be so happy as to win The Goal first and the Crown at length Heb. 13.14 Here we have no continuing City but we seek one to come MAn is a Creature loves society And cannot long alone be well Hence God made Eve that she Might with him dwell From these two sprung A numerous family That to a City grew ere long And that impli'd strength and stability But see how soon this City came to nought Being destroy'd with its own weight And by division brought To ruine strait Then how can we A City have that 's strong Or permanent It cannot be What 's made with hands should e're continue long The best is made with lime and stone how then Can that which is compact of such Frail matter last yet men Are frailer much Those men that make This City are all cast In moulds of Clay and do partake Of earth themselves such vessels cannot last Nor they nor yet their City can endure Many mishaps there be will end them To perish they are sure None can defend them Each little thing To pieces breaks their frame A very wind a breath will bring Them to that nothing whence at first they came Yet whiles their worst part crumbles to the dust And falls to ashes in their urn Their souls immortal must To God return That God hath made A City without hands For them which ne're shall fail nor fade Unmoveable its vast foundation stands A most magnificent and glorious place Which they that see 't can scarce set forth Or give it half the grace As to its worth There God keeps Court Millions on either side Of Saints and Angels do resort To wait on him this City's wondrous wide The least of all those many Mansions therâ— Our greatest Cities far transcend Each one 's a Kingdom which shall ne're Admit of end This then alone Requires our chiefest care In seeking it for there is none On earth's round ball that can with it compare On this lets fix our thoughts to this aspire To this let all our actions tend Be it our sole desire There to ascend For all our bliss God hath reserv'd above Our happiness there seated is There is our Treasure there must be our love James 2.20 Wilt thou know O vain man that faith without works is dead HEark vain man hark what the Apostle saith And do not boast so much of thy great faith For though 't were able mountains to remove 'T is nothing worth unless it woâ—k by love Love is the life of it 't is thaâ— alone Which quickens it or else 't is dead 't is none That man who breaths not at the mouth a jor Whose heart no motion hath whose pulse beaâ—s not We say is dead the like we â—ay infer Concerning faith that 's dead which doth not stir If it be living 't will be active too What the heart thinks mouth speaks the hands will do Let others shew their faith if that they please Without their works while I shew mine by these First my Religion shal be pure and then Peaceable if it be possible with men Forgiving wrongs giving what I can spare To those that want and in distresses are I wil be feet to th' lame eyes to the blind Helpful to all and unto none unkind If thus my faith be qualifi'd I shall Approve it to my self to God to all 1 Peter 5.7 Casting all your care upon God for he careth for you COme heavy souls opprest that are With doubts and fears and carking care Lay all your burthens down and see Where 's one that carried once a tree Upon his back and which is more A heavier weight your sins he bore Think then how easily he can Your sorrowes bear that 's God and Man Think too how willing he 's to take Your care on him who for your sake Sweat bloody drops pray'd fasted cry'd Was bound scourg'd mockt and crucifi'd He that so much for you did do Will yet do more and care for you Rev. 20.11 12. And I saw a great white Throne and him that sate on it from whose face the Earth and the Heaven fled away and there was found no place for them And I saw the dead both small and great stand before God and the Books were opened and another Book was opened which is the Book of Life and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the Books according to their works HAd I the Art in painting like to him Who did the day of Doom so lively limn That when a Heathen Prince beheld the same With terror struck a Christian he became Thus would I set it forth unto your eye The Heavens should put on a sable dye Mask'd with the blackest vail of thickest clouds Which to the Sun Moon Stars should be as shâ—owds To muffle them in one continued night Not once affording the least spark of light Hiding their heads as sham'd or griev'd to see The horrid sins of men which then should be Made manifest and naked to the world And the dire plagues that on them should be hurs'd From this sad object let your eye retire To th' other side and see the earth on fire The Sea all bloud the Throne of God on high Whereon he sits in glorious Majesty Legions of Angels him surrounding there Millions of men that newly raised were Out of their Sepulchres by his command To hear their final sentence trembling stand Below the Divels in the various shapes Of hideous
be crucified But so it did thy Father please and Thee To mingle Mercy with Security Boet. Met. 4. l. 1. Translated HE that lives quiet in a setled state And treads below his feet high minded fate That either fortune upright can behold With an undaunted face and courage bold Not all the raging threats o' th' sea nor yet Vesuvius smoaking fires when ere they get Out of their broken Chimneys nor the bright Flashes of lightning which are us'd to smite The highest Towers til to ground they fall Can move this man or trouble him at all Why doe men so much Tyrants rage admire Since they want strength unto their fierce desire Hope for no good from them and fear no harm So you their feeble anger shal disarme But he whose fears are great or hopes are bent To what is not his right nor permanent His Buckler casts away his ground he leaves And to enthral himself a chaine he weaves The 5. Met. of the second book THe former age but too much blest With fruitful fields content did rest Not with dul luxury yet lost Their hunger staid with little cost A slender Chessnut them suffis'd They had not yet the way devis'd To mix live hony with their wine Nor were they grown so proudly fine In their apparel as to staine White fleeces in a purple graine On Sallets sup'd sweet sleep they took And drink had from the running brook The lofty Pine was then their shade Not yet through deep seas did they wade Strange coasts the Merchant had not sought For wares far fetch'd and deerly bought Then the shril trumpets did not sound Nor bitter hatreds then were found To die their horrid arms with blood For how could fury think it good First to make War when it could see Nothing but deadly wounds to be The pay of blood-shed O â—hat now Our much corrupted times knew how From their ill customes to return To th' ancient manners but they burn With love of gain which is so great It puts down Aetna's fires for heat Alas who was 't that first made bold To dig those precious Perils Gold And richer Jewels which would fain Concealed from our sight have layne Upon the Right Reverend And most Learned Dr. PRIDEAUX late Bishop of Worcester SInce Prideaux dy'd farewel the Muses nine Farewel all Learning humane and divine For why should we pretend to any part Of Science when the Genius of all Art Lies dead and buryed Now to make a verse And think therewith to deck his golden Hearse Were like a boy t' a Generals grave that runs And shoots off squibs in stead of greater guns To solemnize his Funeral 't would he thought Done in a jeer and he be whipt if caught Alas we cannot speak his praise for death E're since it rob'd his body of his breath Hath left us speechless all tongues were his own All learned Languages to him were known He with deep judgment had more Authors read Then others Indexes and might be sed To be a living Library admir'd By this last age and by the next desir'd The University is in despair To find a Successor like him i' th' chair His clear decisions he delivered there As Oracles divine received were His Arguments and Answers would admit Of no Replies so home so sure they hit Preferment he ne're sought it sought him rather First he a Doctor was and then a Father Of this our Church we justly mourn his fall Who was a Bishop Oecumenical His Diocess of Knowledg was so vast That throughout all the Universe it past Betwixt the Puritane and Papist he Like a strong Rock fast fixt was in his see Against both Factions he did upright stand Inclining not a jot to either hand But a sound Protestant he liv'd and dy'd One of the Learnedst e're was of our side They that lov'd Learning and a Scholers name Raise Pyramids to his immortal fame To his much honoured Friend and Kinsman Sr E. B. WEre I to draw Griefs picture to the life I 'd take 't from you now mourning for your wife Armes folded fixed eyes and full of tears Repeated sighes neglected cloaths and hairs Pale face no words but what are pumpt by force Small difference is betwixt you and a corse Sure 't is not you but your Ghost come to tell How much you lov'd your Lady and how wel That having but one soul between you two She being gone you had no more to do But vanish strait such power hath love to make An husband pine away for his wifes sake Yet all this but of grief 's the outward part I cannot limâ— the sorrow of your heart Nor can I see nor can you shew the pain And anguish which you inwardly sustain Only I can imagine that a flood Runs from the red sea of your own heart-blood That every time a tear falls from your eye A crimson drop followes it instantly That every sigh like to an hollow wind Doth but presage a sanguine showres behind That to your best beloved fain you wou'd Swim through both rivers of your tears and blood But stay a little whiles the furious tide Of your swoln sorrow flowes on every side T' oppose it were the next way to be drown'd But when it ebbs you may behold dry ground And walk securely through that sea to th' shoar In which you might have been o're whelm'd before Heark then your Lady calls to you from far And prayes you turn your grief for her to care Of your deer children that as Poets fain Minerva was the issue of Joves brain Without a mothers help so they may prove The issue of your mind as of your love Thus for their being and their breeding too They 'l owe a double duty unto you To his truly honoured Lady the Lady R. MAdam Though you have many changes seen Yet y' are the same as you have alwayes been Times work no more on you then upon heav'n In all estates y' are so serene and even Surely Copernicus opinion's true The earth 's the only thing that moves and you As being of an heavenly constitution Unshaken stand in all this revolution Both in the Church and Sâ—ate with you it fares As with the Angels or the fixed Stars Which give their light and influence to men Yet are not soiled with their ills agen You are as good and vertuous nay more Religious since those times then e're before For though that most grow worse by imitation Of th' Epidemick sins are now in fashion 'T is contrary with you who do detest All sin the more the more it is profest And as when heat's with cold environ'd 't is Hotter by the Antiperistasis Just so your Piety by opposition Of others wickedness receives addition And may it still to that degree proceed That you may never more perfection need To the noble Lady and to him much endeered the Lady M. T. WE envy Shropshire now since it of late Doth you impropriate Not letting us have the least share