Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A56987
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Hosanna, or, Divine poems on the passion of Christ by Francis Quareles.
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Quarles, Francis, 1592-1644.
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1647
(1647)
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Wing Q97A; ESTC R2943
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8,022
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40
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when the Sphere of light was puffed out How could the Sunne poore Taper looke about Horrid Eclipse for now the Moone by right Was not in the Sunes signe but opposite And the same way our sinnes eclips'd that Sun Upon the Crosse by opposition Miraculous Eclipse how could the small And lesse circumference of the Moone hide all The larger Sunne but that our darker sin To aide the Moone did bring her forces in The Graves opened and many of the Saints arose THere was no Trumpet here to raise the dead And call them from their graves nor was there need Though no Arch-Angell with a Trumpet cried Yet now the Angell of the Covenant died And dying cri'd with a loud voice and those Mistooke it for the Trumpet and arose They rose as if it had been their intents To give him choise of all their Monuments And seeing that he must interment have Each Saint did seeme to cry pray take my grave When he bow'd downe his head the dead rais'd theirs And lookt out of their frighted Sepulchres The soules shot out of heav'n in to the dead And did a second time their bodies wed And though they had not left their blessed thrones To reassume their ancient flesh and bones Yet his last gaspe had been enough to have hurl'd Soules into all the bodies of the world Buried in a Garden AFter his spirituall death first Adam's cast Out of the Garden where he had been plac'd After his Corporall second Adam's put Into a Garden and there closely shut The first had not gone out but for his sin And but for ours the second not come in Hee 's in a Garden laid not as one dead But as a living Plant set in a bed Set in the Spring and without aid of showres Sprung in the spring-time like to other flowres To which he gave the beauty that they have And that 's the reason that the spring's so brave Nay wholesome as 't is brave for in that place Sprung up if ever that rich herbe of grace Our Herbalists have writ that Serpents feare The vertue of that herbe nor dare come neare Her soveraigne powre I care not though they misse I 'm sure th' old Serpent dares not come neere this Buried in a new Tombe hewen out of a Rock VVHen Emperours were crown'd Tomb-makers brought Severall stones and what the Emperour thought Rest in his choise that stone was laid aside To be the Emperours Tomb-stone when he died â—his Emperour was crown'd but choose no stone â—seph supplies that want and chooseth one â—nd such a one as might be censur'd fit â—or him that was to be inclos'd in it â—hat wondrous stone which Daniel saith was cut Out of the Rock that stone it selfe was put â—nto a stone which lately had forsaken The rockie Quarrie whence it had been taken That for his Epitaph it might be read Here in a stone a stone lies buried 'T was a new Tombe and was it not most fit For that pure body which was put in it How like his Tombe and maiden Mother is Man never lay with her nor man in this He that was taken from a Virgin Wombe Where should he lye but in a Virgin Tombe The Mount of Olives HEe 's humble and that humblenesse will show By th' Emblem Nature plants the Olive low But as presaging that from hence should bee The starting of a great ascention shee Set those upon a Hill as if shee meant They should have theirs where he had his ascent He 's a King and his Majesty will show By th' Emblem Oyle annoints the royall brow Not liquors unguents nor rich Palmes we try But Oyle for Oyle denoteth Soveraignty Blended with other liquors it will move In an ambition till it flowes above In the compounding of a Majesty A chiefe ingredient is humility The heightned spirits would be too elate â—f humblenesse should not aâ— temper state In him like friended Elements they doe Commix he was a Lambe yet Lion too Whit-Sunday There was a noise from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind WHen sad Elijah did by Horeb lye A roaring wind so buffeted the skie As if the musterd vapours had combind To make one storme God was not in the wind But when th' Apostles by consent were met After their parture from Mount Olivet A bellowing tempest vollied from the Sphere And filled all the roome and God was there The spirit and the wind may seeme to bee Imploy'd in consort for their simpathie When th' universe was made and darknesse strove For place the spirit did on the waters move When the drown'd world was to be made agen The wind did move upon the waters then Now when th' eternall Spirit was to blow And breath on them he sent a wind as though The uncreated Spirit had assign'd Th'other created spirit of the wind To usher him the way as he should come Or be his Harbinger to take his roome There appeared unto them Tongues WHen Babel first rear'd her ambitious crest Upon the Plaine of Shinar to contest With heav'n a different language did beguile The Founders hopes and stay the rising Pile So when the Church was to be edified The builders language was diversified But difference of tongues had different power It rais'd the Church and ruined the Tower Th' Apostles were Ambassadors assign'd By the King of Heav'n to go to all Mankind And 't was both reason and their Kings intent That they should know the tongues before they went Yet they had none but as the haste requir'd Their language was infused not acquir'd Unletter'd soules poore Fisher-men that spoke Hardly more tongues then the mute fish they tooke He who 's the Fathers word a promise gave That he should send and they a present have This mission did the miracle afford He sent the Tongues who was himselfe the Word Tongues of fire and sate upon each of them VVHen fire like the Postilian was past Elijah a soft language came at last But here was no precedencie in either The fire and language did come both together For he who Father of all language is Was in the Apostles fire but not in his That fierce apparition which did flame In Moses bush and not enfire the same Helpt not his tongues defect nor did him store With any dialects unknowne before Here it did both here the divided blaze Refin'd their stile and varied their phrase The Prophet had not power to forbeare Because it was fite in his bones 't was here Fire in their tongues they needs must silence breake Tongues tipt with fire how can they choose but speak The Prophets tongue once with a â—oale had bin Toucht at the Altar by a Cherubin But here it were superfluous to require Coales for these tongues these tongues themselves were fire These tongues the Spirir would not represent In the drie cold or the moist Element That temper were too languishing and weake So powerfull an Embassie to speake They must be fire whose doctrine must be hurl'd Swift as the wings of lightning through the world And worke th' effects of lightning will not hit A heart of flesh but gently passe by it But grindes these hearts to dust whose hardnesse dare Provoke a Nether Mill-stone to compare And like the lightnings uncontrouled stroake Slides by a Reed but ruinates an Oake Like fire they were to separate the gold From the admixture of th' impurer mould To take the masse of the whole rationall creature To fine and quintessentiate their nature And with the Alchimie of heavenly fire Make the extracted spirits to aspire Which with repeated heates they so refin'd That they drew out th' Elixar of Mankind Steele-temper'd consciences and hearts conflate Of sturdiest metals as unmov'd as fate Were by the working of the fire made fit Coelestiall formes and notions to admit Their Sermons were not only heard but felt And made a leaden Auditory melt Which being so dissolved they imprest Divine Ideas in the softned brest Those parted blazes fix'd on them did shine Like prettie Commets whence one might divine Some alteration and there was for then There was the change of soules and change of men Or else like Starres these little flames did slide With which th' Apostles were all stellified And turn'd to the twelve Signs through which the Sun Of Righteousnesse should as his Zodiack run Or from the Phantasme which did then appeare There was some order instituted there The badge was fiery tongues and they may bost Themselves of th' Order of the Holy Ghost FINIS
HOSANNA OR DIVINE POEMS ON THE PASSION OF CHRIST BY FRANCIS QUARELES LONDON Printed for Iohn Benson and are to be sold at his shop in Chancery Lane neare the Roules 1647. VPON THE DAY OF OVR SAVIOVRS NATIVITY THis day 's a riddle for the God that made This day this day from his owne Creature had His making too his flesh and bone and lim And breath from her that had her breath from him Th' unbribed Judge of Mans eternall doome This day was Pris'ner in a Virgins wombe And the Lord Paramount of all the Earth Was wanting a poore Tenement at his birth Into the Inne this meane guest must not come Strange he that fills all roomes should have no roome The Sunne dropt from his spheare and did decline His unshorne head to the Earth his radiant shine Peep'd from the windores of the East to breath New life on People in the shades of Death Deare Sunne since from thy sphere thou once were sent Here is a Soule make it thy firmament Borne of a Virgin ALthough the eye of Faith not reason can Behold a Virgin Mother of a Man Yet Natralists affirme some things may breed And have their propagation without seed As that rich crop of Pease which Story sayes Made Orford famous in our Gransires dayes Th' admir'd Phoenix which admits no paire In her perfumed ashes leaves an heire And this Maiola dares to justifie To be no false but true history By seminall commixtion I had bin Distain'd and soiled with originall sin Pure must the Pipe pure must the Conduit bee That must convey water of-life to mee Our Sunne of righteousnesse when he would-shine Vpon the world choose Virgo for his signe Borne in Augustus time NOw was the man of men great Iulius slaine And with his blood had dy'd the chaire in graine Hee sate in in the Senate and the flood Which streamd from civill warre dri'd in his blood And now the milde Augustus sate above The Sphere of Rome like a propitious Iove And with a milder influence clear'd the skies And purg'd these exhalations which did rise From so much blood effused or was sent Like some Apollo to Romes firmament For in his sunnie dayes was learnings spring All the Arts flourish'd and each Muse did sing The fulnesse of all time who will not thinke When Peace and Learning were so fairely link't When Wisdome hadits flourish on the earth Then had the Wisdome of the Father birth And when the Olive branch of Peace was showne Then not before the Prince of Peace came downe Borne in Winter PHlegmatick Winter on a bed of Snow Lay spitting full of rhewme the Sunne was now Inn'd at the Goat the melancholique Earth Had her wombe bound and hopelesse of the birth Of one poore flowre the fields wood meads and all Fear'd in this snowie sheet a funerall Nor only senselesse Plants were in decay Man who 's a Plant revers'd was worse then they He had a spirituall Winter and bereft Not of his leaves but juyce nay nothing lesse His passive power to live was so abated He was not to be rais'd but new created When all things else were perished and when No flowers were but in their causes then This wondrous Flower it selfe to act did bring And Winter was the Flowre lesses spring Borne in the Night THe hav'ns was now but mask'd and now forbids His eyelike starres to looke out of their lids For it had been a shame unto the night If but one starre had miss'd so great asight Or else it waâ— muffled in silent shade And dress'd in sullen blacks and was afraid To let one starre gaze out for had it seene This sight it had for ever blinded been There was a double night a night of sinne Darke Heav'n design'd the darknesse we were in The darknesse which through heav'n with silence roules Was the sad Emblem of our darkned soules Now when the Sun which daily rounds the skies Was gone to bed this other Sunne did rise For happy 't was not fit there should appeare Two Suns at once in the same Hemisphere The Angels tell it to the Shepheards THere is a point of happinesse a time seâ— Wherein felicity either must be met Or miss'd for ever and that certaine now Is when w' are at our Calllngs from the Plow Rome painfull Quintus her Dictator makes While Matthew gathers toule and custome takes Hee 's call'd to write a Gospell At their Net The sonnes of Zebedee their conversions met And while these men stand Centinells and keep Strict watd and watch about their charge their sheep They from themselves are rapt with sacred Hymnes And ravish'd with a noise of Chernbimes That sung this infants lullabie The storie Hath some proportion with the Auditorie They Shepherds were to them the tydings came And the first Gospel of the Holy Lambe Of the Starres that appeared to the wise men AStrologie hath this rule Heav'ns seldome shine With idle fires like Prophets they devine Stupendious events That spark'ling beame That did so long in Cassiopia streame And shot upon the world an angery glance Shew'd in its lookes the Massacree of France This Starre whose comming Balaam had profest From some wise men thinke these wise men were guest Not fram'd by Natures fingers but the hand That framed Nature did not move and stand A non significant but it selfe a wonder Sew`d that a greater miracle lay under How was th' eternall Sonne obscured here A Stable was his Heav'n a Crib his sphere Never had Sun such an Eclips as this To want a Starre to shew â—en where it is Of the wise men LEt them not boast that they first saw this Starre A brawnie brainlesse Clowne might goe as farre The Starre in Cassiopea as I find Ticho confesse was shew'd him by a Hinde Wise though they were they 'd gone they knew not whether Had this Starre then been sent to lead them thither So that the Starre which did before them goe Both shew'd them light and shew'd their blindnesse too But why a Starre when God doth meane to woe us He useth meanes that are familiar to us Peter a fisher was and with a draught Of many fishes was the fisher caught These men were vers'd in Starres and well could read them Therefore a Starre is chose â—â—out to lead them How are men drawne to heaven the way they please A fish toâ—â—â—Peter and a Starre takes these Of the Innocents HArke what is that I heare O t is the sound Of Rachel cause her children can'nt be found Herod that Fox so is his title good He slayes the tender Lambs and sucks their blood Strange tempered hearts whose edges would not yeeld Suppled with all the teares that day were spild Hearts of the Rock which like to Diamonds must Be cut or ner'e be cut with their owne dust There a child giving death a lovely looke Smiles on his executioner there an other Asleep is slaine Sleep chang'd to death his brother Dennis who sweats to put on