Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A19974
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A new spring of divine poetrie. I. Day. philomusus composuit - inest sua gratia parvis
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Day, James, fl. 1637.
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1637
(1637)
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STC 6410; ESTC S109421
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21,603
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56
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dost thou expect that I should raise Thy glory with my voice the dumbe can't praise Vnscale my duskye eyes then I le expresse Thy glorious objects strong attractivenesse Dip thou my limbes in thy Bethesdaes lake I le scorne my earthly crutches I le forsake My selfe touch thou my tongue and then I le sing An Allelujah to my glorious King Raise me from this my grave then I shall be Alive and I le bestow my life on thee Till thou Eliah-like dost overspread My limbs l'me blind l'me lame I 'me dumbe I 'me dead The Melancholicke Soules comfort O That I had a sweete melodious voice O that I could obtaine the chiefest choice Of sweetest musicke pre-thee David lend Thy well-resounding harpe that I may send Some praises to my God I know not how To pay by songs my heart-resolved vow How shall I sing good God thou dost afford Ten thousand mercies trebled songs O Lord Cannot requite thee O that I could pay With life-lifetime songs the mercies of one day I oft beginne to sing and then before My songs halfe finisht God gives sense for more Alas poore soule art puzzeld canst not bring Thy God some honour though thou strive to sing The Cause is this thou art become his debter Hee le make thee play-on musicke that is better I Cannot play my sobs doe stop my course My grones doe make my musicke sound the worse What nought but grones ah shall th' Almighties eares Be fild with sighes all vsherd in with teares I this is musicke such a tune prolongs Gods love and makes him listen to thy songs T is this that makes his ravisht soule draw nigher T is this outstrips the Thracian with his Lyre T is this inchants thy God t is this alone That drags thy spouse from heaven to heare thy tone No better Musicke then thy sobs and cries If not a Davids harpe get Peters eyes The Soule in love with Christ. VVHat though my Love doth neate appeare And makes Aurora blush to see her Though nature paints her cheekes with red And makes proud Venus hide her head What though her crimson lips so mute Doe alwayes wooe a new salute What though her wanton eyes doe shine Like glistring starres and dazell mine T is Christ alone Shall be my owne T is him I will embrace T is he shall be A Spouse to me All beauty 's in his face What though the earth for me prepares A present from her golden Quarres And braggeth of her earely gaines Exhausted from her silver vaines What though shee shew her painted brates And bids me smell her Violates And deckes her selfe in spring attire To make my ravisht soule admire Yet all this shant My Soule inchant I le smile to see her pride I know where lies A better prize For Christ hath broch'd his side What though the world doth me invite And daily play the Parasite Or with her gilded tales intice Me to a seeming Paradise And paints her face and all day long Sits breathing out a Syrens song And shewes her pompe and then in fine Tells me that shee and hers are mine Yet none of this Shall be my blisse I le scorne the painted whore I will deride Her and her pride For Christ is this and more What though insinuating pleasure Preferres me to her chiefest treasure And every day and every night Doth feede me with a new delight And slumbers me with lullaby Dandling me on her whorish thigh What though with her sublime pretencēs Shee strives t' imprison all my senses Yet shee shant be A trap to me Her freedome is but thrall Her greatest coy Will but annoy Till Christ doth sweeten all Or what though profit with her Charmes Grasping the world within her armes Vnlades her selfe and bids me see What paines shee takes and all for me And then invites me to her bower Filling my coffers every houre What though shee thus inlarge my store With every day a thousand more Yet let her packe And turne her backe Her purest gold's but-drosse Her greatest paines Produce no gaines Till Christ come all is losse Or what though Fortune should present Her high Olympicke regiment And never my Ambition checke But still be pliant to my becke What though she lends me wings to flie Vnto the top of Dignity And make proud Monarches with her wheele Vncrowne their heads to Crowne my heele I le not depend On such a friend T is Christ is all my stay Shee can revoke The highest spoke Her wheeles turnd every day Let none of these in me take place Fond Venus hath a Vulcans face And so till heaven be pleasd to smile Poore earth sits barren all the while The world that 's apt to winne a foole It is my burden not my stoole Nor pleasure shall enchant my mind Shee s smooth before but stings behind I will disdaine Their greatest gaine And fortun 's but a feather T is none of these Can give me ease But Christ's the same for ever Lord why hidest thou thy face from me VVHat drowsie weather 's this the angry skies Doe threaten stormes and heav'n it selfe denies Her lovely visage ah these darkned dayes Doe make my vitals drowsie and decayes My soules delight good God can I controule Or drive these pensive humours from my soule Ah no I can't my lively spirits keepe Such drowsie weather 's fit for nought but sleepe O thou eternall light that hast the sway In Ioves broad wals thouscepter of the day Thou heav'ns bright torch thouglistring worlds bright eye Why dost thou hide and so obscurely lye Come wrap thy selfe in thy compleate attire Shew forth thy glory make my soule admire Thy splendor come and doe no longer stay But with thy glorious beames bestrow my way Extirpe these foggy mists from out mine eyes That I may plainly see where heaven lyes Then I le awake sweete Christ doe thou display Thy glittering beames send out a Summers day I 'le rub my slumbring eyes O then I 'le roame A life-time journey from my native home The soule will sleepe and can't hold up her eyes Vntill the sunne of righteousnesse arise Christs Resurrection COme Rise my heart thy Master 's risen Why slug'st thou in thy grave Dost thou not know he broke the prison Thou art no more a slave He rowled of the sealed stone That once so pondrous lay And left the watchmen all alone And bravely scapt away When flesh the world and Satan too Wont suffer thee to quatch Learne of thy Master what to doe And cozen all the watch Let not these clogging earthly things Make thee poore soule forsake him Goe ask of Faith she 'le lend thee wings Haste fly and overtake him But harke my soule I 'le tell thee where Thy Master sits in state Goe knocke at heavens dore for there He entred in of late If Peter now had kept the key Thou mightst get in with ease But Iustice onely beares the sway And le ts in whom shee please Shee 's wondrous sterne