Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A46242
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Divine raptvres; or, Piety in poesie digested into a queint diversity of sacred fancies / composed by Tho. Iordan ...
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Jordan, Thomas, 1612?-1685?
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1646
(1646)
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Wing J1028; ESTC R10497
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24,003
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58
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name Hell sent forth Heraulds to divulge thy fame But man Lord what 's he made of stupid soule Is now more greedy then the raping foule Harder then slint his nature is so grimme That questionlesse the Lyon chang'd with him Hotter then flame more boystrous then the winde More fierce then waves and hels not more unkinde Yet thou O match lesse love didst undergoe An undeserved curse to save thy foe Yea guiltlesse thou because thou would'st suffice For guilty man becom'st a Sacrifice Thou Grand Physitian for thy patients good Didst mixe thy Physicke with thy dearest blood Man from the sweetest flower did sucke his griefe But thou from venome didst extract reliefe From pleasures limbecke man distild his paine Thou out of sorrow pleasure drawd againe Sweete Eden was the garden where there grew Such sugred flowers yet there our poyson blew Sad Gethseman the arbour where was pluckt Though bitter herbes yet thence was hony suckt So have I seene the busie Bee to feed Extracting honey from the sowrest weed Whilst Spiders wandring through a pleasant bowre Sucke deadly poyson from the sweetest flower Thus thus sweete Christ thy sicknesse was our health Thy death our life thy poverty our wealth Thy griefe our mirth our freedome was thy thrall Thus thou by being conquerd conquerest all CANT. 8.7 Much water cannot quench love neither can the floods drowne it O How my heart is ravisht thoughts aspire To thinke on thee my Christ my zeales on fire What shall I doe my love me thinkes mine eyes Behold thee still yet still I Tantalize Ten thousand lets stand arm'd and all agree Conspiring how to part my love and me Presumption like Olympus scales the skye A mountaine for to part my Love and I. Despaire presents a gulfe a greedy grave Much like the jawes of the internall Cave But what of this though hils are nere so high Whose sunne-confronting tops upbraide the skye I le trample o're and make them know t is meete Their proudest heads should stoope and kisse my feete I le stride o're cares deeper then Neptunes well Whose threatning jawes doe yawne as wide as hell Although the sea boyles in her angry tides And watry mountaines knocke at Heavens sides Though every puffe of Neptunes angry breath Should raise a wave and every wave a death I le scorne his threates should stop my course or quell My pace though every death presents a hell Yea I le adventure through those swelling stormes Whose billowes seemes to quench great Phoebes hornes Mountaines shall be as molehilles every wave Tost in the fretfull region shall outbrave No more then streames that shew their wanton pranckes Gliding along by Thames his petty banckes But grant that seas should swell and tossing tides With stormes should crush my waving vessels sides Suppose for footemen mountaines are too steepe Each hill too high and every cave too deepe Suppose all earth conspire to stop care I My faith will lend me wings and then I le flye O how I le laugh to see that mounting clay O how I le smile at that that stopt my way O how I laugh to see the Ocean straine Her banckes for to oppose and all in vaine And can you blame me when I 'me once above I le care for none for none but thou my Love Thou art my path I shall not goe awry My sight shall never faile thou art my eye Thou art my clothing I shan't naked be I am no bondman thou hast made me free I am not pin'd with sickenesse thou art health I am no whit impoverisht thou art wealth Mans naturall infirmity WHat meanes my God why dost present to me Such glorious objects can a blind man see Why dost thou call why dost thou becken so Wouldst have me come Lord can a Cripple go Or why 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 I 'me blind I '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-three 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 WHat 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 wanâ—on 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