Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
cause_n	call_v	father_n	son_n	3,252	5	5.6495	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A32308	Divine passions piously and pathetically expressed in three severall bookes / written and composed for private consolation ... by Edward Calver.	Calver, Edward, fl. 1649.	1643 (1643)	Wing C313; ESTC R28545	68,451	138

we Thou canst give quailes if we stand need of meat And thereby too canst teach us how to eate And when we have the baits of pleasure took Canst thereby curb us when we feele the hook Oh thou who canst bring day thus out of night And make our shadowes vanish with the light Make thou who thus discover'st all deceit The hooke appeare before we take the bait The prodigall Son OH most unhappy miserable wretch Whom most false joyes most deeply did bewitch False joyes indeed I may most truly say Which did but smile upon me to betray Those my companions who when I had store I made most now mock me being poore My late full cheekes which were delighted in Proud beauty scornes by sicknes now made thin Most desperat wretch to whom shall I betake me When those I thought my dearest friends forsake me And cursed pleasures I may call them so Which thus infine take pleasure in my woe I now want food who food abus'd of late Which want with sicknesse doth my strength abate Distressed creature thus inforc'd infine To want the husks which are bestow'd on swine The pitifull Father THere there my rod begins my child to bleed It is not matter make it smart indeed And yet I trust thy stroaks may be the lesse Because he is already in distresse Nor can I thus return him his desert And rest my selfe unfeeling of the smart For howsover I might be in mood I would not give one stroak but for his good But he hath been unruly make him ●ame And make him likewise to confesse the same Yet be not rough though he hath badly done He is though a rebellious yet a Son But oh he hath forgot his Father quite But oh that was but childish oversight Yet touch him till he thinke on me again That yerk I know will not be given in vain The Authors Epigram MEere Prodigalls we must that title grant Who in our plenty never thinke of want But winde up from the Cistern of our store Till silly Asses we can wind no more But when we find by making of this speed Our buckets doe come empty up at need We then can see but not till then alas What too rash drawing brings too soone to passe Then then when it is almost then too late We can accuse our courses curse our fate And curse those pleasures causes of our care Which once we thought the only joyes that were But oh how watchfull is our Fathers eye To make a vertue of necessitie Who when we fooles have thus our selves undon Doth like a Father there by call a Son The prodigall Son ALL wanton youth take warning by my woes And see in me the summe of vaine repose Which like a bud frost bitten ere it bloomes Appeares but unto no perfection comes All earthly pleasures are but like a bubble Straight turn to nothing which were rais'd with trouble The fairest faces soonest change their dye The sweetest charmers are most apt to lye Thus mov'd with sorrowes I may tell the same And make the world take notice of my shame But till I had experience of this woe No meanes could make me think it would be so But now I think upon my Father here Whose fore-sight now I find exceeding cleere He often told me and with many a teare What would befall but then I would not heare The pitifull Father HArk hark again what voyce is this I heare Is this which makes such musick in my eare Which thus tunes Father hath my Son that strain Is he restor'd unto that life again He which indeed was dead and bury'd deep In grave-like grosse security asleep Hath that lost child the name of Father found Can he that heav'n awaking trumpet sound And can I stop my eare then to his voice Where at the heav'ns inhabitants rejoyce Reject an infant calling upon me That am his Father no it cannot be Nor can he be more ready to declare His wants in calling then I am to heare Though I indeed might justly make him steep His eyes in teares who would not see me weep The Authors Epigram MOst carefull Father but most careles we Who are most blind in what thou dost fore-see Thou knowst our folly we will trust our skill Thou wouldst direct us we will have our will Thou see'st our danger we are therein blind Thou dost bemoane us we are not so kind Thou still giv'st warning still we give no care Thou dost allure us but we will not heare Thou shew'st the rod we at such shadowes scoffe Thou shak'st the same we shake the danger off Thus urg'd thou strik'st we strive to have our will Thou strik'st again we strugle with thee still At length thou wound'st we then begin to fall Thou wound'st more deep we then dear Father call Thou hear'st our cry we yeeld to thy command Thou burn'st the rod we feel thy stroaking hand The prodigall Son POore silly Pilgrim by deceit betray'd Thus from my Country and my Father stray'd Where I in plenty might have been secure I here undone must slavery indure Oh heavy yoak intolerable weight Are these the chaines so gilded by deceit Which seem'd to proffer liberties so sweet But now become such fetters to my feet Poore captive thus in miserable need Whiles poorest servants of my Fathers feed Oh now how happy should I think my state Were I but servant where a Son of late But I for ever justly am exil'd But justice ties no Father from his child But I have plaid the rebell prov'd no Son But rebells yeelding have some favour won The pitifull Father MY Son my Son repentant sighs are loud I heare thy voice though from beneath a cloud No distance place nor darknesse can deny My speedy hearing when my children ery T is true my Son t is true I do confesse I might insult now thou art in distresse But thus to heare thee thus far homward brought Doth banish all displeasure from my thought Returne returne then linger not the time Thy recantation shall acquit thy crime I do receive such losses as my gaine I take no pleasure to prolong thy paine Thou only beg'st to have a bondmans place I do not do my children that disgrace Then feare not Fathers joy in such returnes Distrust disheartens where affection burnes The Authors Epigram MOst gentle Father pitifull indeed Thy heart is wounded when our hearts do bleed And yet most wounded then when thou dost see Our hearts so hard they will not wounded be We from thee run thou callst us back againe We are undone yet thou dost not disdaine Thou giv'st that motion to return we lack And yet with praise dost crown our coming back Oh thou that dost thus Fatherly respect And workest both the will and the effect Make us more able to return at least Make us more willing when thou dost assist Thou art the potter we are but the clay Thou art the Shepheard we the sheep astray Though we be vain yet lose

question if thy wisdome can Is there no God how came there then a man But here I know thou wilt to nature fly All things thou saist by nature live and die And natures force doth all conclusions draw Nature shall therefore be thy only law I grant in all things that created be We may a power which is call'd nature see Which to such creatures is a law indeed Whose skill no other Dialect can read But thou who hast an understanding part And hast besides much benefit by art Sparks rak'd up in thy ashes of such light As death nor divell can extinguish quite Canst thou be grosser then the beast that dies Blind as the beast is yet hast better eyes Admit no maker but ingendring power As earth brings forth the herb the herb the flower But canst thou into natures secrets pry And canst not view a Deitie there by Earth may bring forth but not create fond head Can that give life which in it selfe is dead But here thou wilt out of thy wisdome say There is indeed both dead and living clay The dead brings forth the creature dull and base The living doth produce a living race The sensles earth we may with safety grant Brings forth the sensles grasse the hearb the plant That living morter which is man by name By generation doth produce the same Produce I say as instruments whereby Creating power continues a supply God first indeed mans God-head to convince Made man of dust but man so manking since Man then was made made not himselfe to live How can he then have any life to give Or if he hath we must subject it still Unto the force of the Creators will But be it so what can be granted thence That sensles earth or earth indu'd with sense Can out of their created substance frame An other substance or indeed the same This is but only to preserve t is plain That which before was made not make again Nor can the creature bring forth as is said Without the help of a creating ai'd Thou mad'st not then thy selfe nor yet thy Son Who did that work then which thou see'st is done Thou canst no just apologie invent Confesse there is a God then and repent Thy soule besides though now inclos'd in earth Yet pure in substance and of noble birth Cannot but at some time or other dart Some heavenly rayes into thy earthly heart Which doth convince thy knowledge of thy errour And strikes into thy conscience such a terrour As makes thee feele the power of the most high Which in thy heart thou dar'st thus to deny Were this too little at it is perchance To work upon thy wilfull ignorance Yet God hath further witnesses no doubt Thousands he hath not left himselfe without His word and works uncessantly declare him In such a voice that all the world may heare him His word reveales his truth his works his glory All creatures being do confirme the story But here againe thy wretched heart replies Those works of wonder which no mortall eyes Can see into their center something pose Thy desp'rate thoughts thou stand'st amaz'd at those But for Gods word though writ with his own pen Or from his mouth by heav'ns inspired men That suites not with thee sincks not in thy brain Tush words saist thou they are but wind or vaine Thou can'st those rules which we call Scripture read With no such trust to think them true indeed But mans invention so to keep in awe Men which by nature stand in need of Law But dust and ashes dar'st thou make a tush Which makes both Angels and the heav'ns to blush Racing besides those truths which are ingraven Upon thy soule by truth it selfe from heaven Prints of eternity upon thy soule Are stamp'd by heav'n canst thou then slight that roule Which to thee reades eternity in print Is heav'nly ●ire so hidden in thy flint Thy flint indeed but when this powerfull word Which is more sharpe then a two edged sword Strikes home upon thy flintie soule no doubt It doth force sparks of heavenly fire there out But lest these sparks should burst out into flame Thou seek'st by all meanes to put out the same Though making thus these heavenly sparks retire Thou keepst thy selfe unto eternall fire Againe this word besides the ghostly power That rests within that never raced tower The potent truth which hath so well been try'd With sweet consent and harmony supply'd That harbours in this heav'nly word is such As may convince thy marble heart asmuch The truth indeed that we may truly call One jot whereof did never faile nor shall And did thy sight not dazell at this Sun Thou there mightst cleerly read the same and run But oh thou wretched Atheist that dost find The seeing Organ of thy soule too blind To view the truths in sacred Scripture pend Or wilfull that thou wilt not apprehend O rest not under that Egyptian cloud Cast not away the meanes of light alow'd But read the Scripture to avoid that curse Disuse of reading makes thee read the worse Hadst thou a heart could truly understand Or eyes set ope by faith to read that hand Thou shouldst discerne such wonders in that glasse As nothing but a God can bring to passe The truth of this most perfectly appeares By the consent of past foure thousand yeares Each Promise tipe and Prophesie fulfil'd Do here of certain testimonies yeeld The seed to break the Serpents head was sown Three thousand yeares before the blade was grown All humane hopes might then have been casshierd And yet at length a glorious crop appear'd God once drown'd all the mountaines here below But then above in mercy set his bow To be a sign which hath been still made good That heav'ns no more should poure down such a flood Thus heav'ns by Scripture often times fore-shew What by experience men in time find true That men in Scripture so may learn to read Their Makers glory by his pen and dread Again besides the truth that Scriptures carry That in themselves they from themselves not varry Whereby they are with that perfection crown'd Which in no humane Author can be found The loftie stile that sacred Scriptures bare Their height of birth and majestie declare So powerfull so impartiall and sincere As partiall man could never yet come neere Men deeply learned and of highest wit Unlesse instructed by this holy writ Write at the fairest but with natures quill Dip'd in some fountaine on Pernassus hill Their wisdomes to no higher pitch can hover Then principalls of nature do discover Imploys that agent which we Reason call About no objects but meere naturall But sacred writ that hath a further reatch That is transcending flies a higher pitch That came from heav'n is spirituall and here Made by the spirit to us men appeare That conquers reason subdues natures Lawes As far unable to dispute the cause That is eternall therefore sent to try That part in man which hath no