from comfort nay the newest pain Of studied torments could not hinder their gain Or force them from their pious Christian love They ever bore to Christ who sits above He that so loves his Saviour will arise And stoop with Mary to enrich his eyes With the fruition of that desired sight That is so full of splendor power and might And not only stoop but step into a tomb And embrace a coffin in that dismal room And look on death but as the door to bliss The Messenger of glory and happiness And with St. Paul in raptures all in flame Begging a dissolution of this frame While his soul in extasies transports its sence Into a holy zeal to be mov'd hence O Lord with what regret do we forsake Earths vanishing pleasures in which we do take So great delight the which should make us sorry That we do strive so little for thy glory But are ever unwilling to let down Our lives our pleasures for an immortal Crown In obedience to the law of the blest Kingdom Which saith thy service is a perfect freedom And yet we count the sweetest sanctuary A Prison and trouble if we find it vary From our vile lusts and think our selves to blame If that we pay due honor to thy name Pardon O Lord the corruptions of our frame And teach us how to love and prize thy name But whether we live or die we may delight In that which is most pleasant in thy sight That when this Tabernacle shall dissolve Our earthy bodies may surely involve Into everlasting joyes the seat of bliss The only residence of happiness And stoop withal due reference and fear And look into a loathed Sepulchre Ecclesiastes 12.1 Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth HOw sweet's the preachers voice that doth invite Youth to a plous care and doth excite A holy life it is the best expression In all his sermon checking youths transgression Here younger Ones are bid to have a care Of spending time least that they do ensuare Their souls in sin for none indeed can tell How soon young Men may hear their passing bell Toll the sad ditty of their latest breath Surrendring up their sences all to death The divine preachers chiefest aim is this To stir youth up to early holiness And yet the worlds not pleased with the strain It sounds too harsh though it design their gain Look on the creatures with a single eye And you this doctrine quickly will espy They plainly preach it yet we slug and slumber With open eyes our duller thoughts do cumber Our purer meditations which should be Of our backslidings and returns to thee Regardless youth delighteth not to hear This silver trumpet sounding in his ear It spoils his mirth and sours his sweeter Muse Stirs thoughts of Heaven too soon he 'd rather choose His Carnal sports than thus to dull his wit Make him look grave before he attain to it His spritely blood thinks it too hard a task To be religious he prefers a mask And rather ravel out his time in pleasure Whose vainest sports are held his chiefest treasure Fond youth call in these thoughts lament thy way Remember the approaching judgment day When we to God a sure account must give Of all our actions whilst we here do live Let not these fleshly objects of thy pleasure Transport our sences beyond a due measure From Heaven and heavenly things which should rejoyce Our very hearts to hear the Preachers voice And shall these lusts which we pursue in pleasure Bewreave us of our joy our only treasure Shall we have greater zeal for to transgress Than for to magnifie thy holiness And shall those pleasures that do quickly die Quite drown the thoughts of immortality My life that 's but a span let it decay And shorten rather than mispend my day Better this earthy tabernacle be Dissolved than I by sin should fall from thee Much better 't is that I should quickly pay Nature her debt and turn again to clay Than with thy justice run too far in score That so thy goodness may again restore Me to thy blessed self which cannot be But by thy mercies Lord alone to me 'T was thou didst bring me from the lowest dust To serve thy self not base and filthy lust Thou didst implant in me a sacred ray Of thine own self to light the ready way Of thy commands which if we do pursue With upright bearts then surely will ensue Such joyes as do accompany thy grace Then cause me Lord no longer to misplace My roving sence but henceforth fixt it fast In my desires to follow Christ at last Make me O God ever to prize thy glory Declining pleasures meerly transitory And teach me for to use this vain vain world As that which may again by thee be hurl'd Into a Chaos let me not lose thee Nor the blest mansions of eternity Dear friends prize virtue though your blood gainsay Love and delight therein 't is the true way Other are by pathes which do tend to sin Much joy you 'l find if that you walk therein Pursue it strictly 't is a serious truth Remember your Creator in your youth Luke 18.11 The Pharisee stood up and pray'd God I thank thee I am not as other Men are DId Christ reprove by parable these Men Which trusteth in themselves and rudely bin Despisers of others in a haughty pride An humble sanctity could not abide But overvalued in a fair pretence Of self conceit not giving reverence And humility to those parts they had receivid But boasting of themselves they had deceiv'd The world till Christ did sharply them reprove In which he shew'd his mercy and his love How proudly do the Pharisee give thanks He stands on tip-toe venting his vain pranks Ungrateful pride hath alter'd his disposition Which used long prayers and vain repetition The fits not now upon him for to pray He 's out of tune but opes his mouth to bray Not to adore his God but commend himself In such proud boasting but alas poor elf That is so highly ravisht with his parts Not caring for to study divine arts But with so cold a zeal a posture ill 'T were better he had bin unthankful still He exceeded other Men in his own sence In a superlative kind of impudence How largely doth he set forth his own worth Making no Apology for his filthy froth He thanks God with a mind that 's fully bent To praise himself 't is rather complement Than prayer he thinketh it Idolatry To worship images yet his vain folly Makes him adore himself with his own praise As do the Catholick Pharisees of our days In works of superarrogation high And think by it strait unto Heaven to fly Having numbred o're their beads their Ave-Mary's Their superstitions rights that fouly varies From the true Catholick Church that blessed spouse Of Christ whose splendid glory doth even rouse My soul in contemplations of its love Which will ne're be perfected till
doth the same enrich His very grave becomes a cabinet Of precious dust the which is all beset With Saphires like a Rock that stoutly braves The raging Sea and its tempestuous Waves Or like the morning Sun that shines most bright After 't hath long bin clouded from our sight And more transparent shines to the eye of sence Attracting many muddy vapors hence For like the conquering palm that still doth flourish Under its pressures which doe never nourish His spreading limbs into a full extent Maugre the cloggs and weights of punishment Job these are but poor emblems of thy glory Like as the Lower Sphears are transitory Hurri'd with storms but still thy high-born soul Like the true loadstone points the heavenly pole And turns no other way although surrounded With griefs abounding thou art not confounded Tell me of stones whose power can expell Or herbs whose virtue can indeed repell The dangerous Thunder these are of small power Compar'd with that most glorious sparkling Tower His soul that these flames only purifie And brighter made so that we may descry Our conquering glory o're the worlds great same In which he is a Mirror still the same And shall our light afflictions temporary Discourage us from climing to thy glory And drive us from thy service by such Toyes As Satan casts to hinder purer Joyes No thou dost skreen thy love in discontent And shewest thy goodness in our punishment And whilst we do most foolishly repine And grumble at this providence of thine Being two much troubled at the smallest cross Of wealth and Honor which doe us so toss With vain affections shews we cannot take Danger of sufferings for thy blessed sake But are without true sence of thy dear Love And the Celestial Glory that 's above Treasur'd for us our duty 's to submit To thy blest will and all thou thinkest fit Triumphing in our sufferings not repine Lord bow our wills unto that will of thine Eternal wisdom Let it now be done To thine own Glory and thine only Son Romans 6.12 and part of 21. Let not Sin therefore raign in you mortal bodies that you should obey in the Lusts thereof For the end of these things are Death THe Blest and Learn'd Apostle here doth Preach Attonement made by Christ doth likewise teach Th' effects and power of Baptism here on earth Saying we'er all Baptiz'd into his Death And shall be surely raised from the Grave By th' only power of him that did us save From Death Eternal and may freely walk In a renewed Life and thereof talk To th' comfort of our Souls and Crucifie Our foul affections wherein we descry Sins large dominion in us it 's recoyl'd Which only Christ in Love did reconcile Made us alive to God by 's intercession Therefore let sin not raign to the transgression Of Gods most Holy will nor yet obey The raging Lusts thereof which do bear sway Within our mortal bodies while w'have breath Remembring that the end thereof is Death who 'l fancy such felicity on earth Which quite expireth with this present breath And the reward of Lusts will surely be Filled with horror and calamity Had we no hopes and were our sences gone Had we no thoughts of a Resurrection To raise again decayed natures frame To a more noble shape than is the same Then might we well thus drown our selves in pleasure And think on Heaven at our remotest leasure Like Epicures Study and still invent New fashioned Luxury with an intent For to be thought ingenious Rich in Wit And take felicity to revel in it Thinking that all confusion would do well And make no reckning either of Heaven or Hell But mingle all into a wild confusion By making such Athistical conclusion Yea deem 't no scandal for to be thus hurld To Blasphemy as for to think the world Is without God no stop thy prophane breath Sins certain wages is eternal death 'T is not the fear of death that takes thee hence But the horror of a guilty conscience That doth affright thee when the sting of death Seizeth our vital parts and stops our breath The memory of our sins doth smartly sting Awakened conscience when we'er hovering Over our Graves where we must soon be laid Then Hell and Judgment make us most afraid Who suffred sin to vaunt thus in our blood Following our Lusts and shunning what is good Tell me O thou who makest Earth thy Treasure And wrapst thy self up in the softest pleasure 'T is but a little Span before thine eyes With age grown weak and weary yea despise Such objects when each tired limb doth crack With anguish of those pains thy crimes did make Which were th'officious instruments to act Sins fatal Scene and following the tract Of Lusts and Luxury rev'ling with heat That sets thy darling body in a sweat Afflicts thee with the terrors of these fires Which thou hast kindled with thy foul desires Strictly examine now thy self vain man Whether these flattering false enjoyments can Restore thy soul which they have stoln from Heaven Recover it again and so make even That long and vast accompt which heretofore Thou hast laid by and set it on the score Of thy blest Saviour stop I say bewail The memory of thy crimes and so prevail To get that pardoning mercy that doth heal All broken hearts that unto Christ appeal Breathing such aires whose Musick soon would charm Like Davids Harp 't will drive away all harm Still conscience cries make Musick to delight Th' Almighties ears and bring thee to his sight Where are those fond diversions that did take Up thy vain thoughts and did as shadows make A transcient splendor which prov'd little gain It could not bribe thy pardon nor obtain The least reprieve to keep thee from the Grave Or be a means at all thy soul to save See ye blind Lovers of this Mass of Clay How quickly your enjoymonts fade away Being built on such Foundations which do slide And turn to Rubbish it will not abide Your vain felicities they have no power For to secure you in the latest hour Yea that impartial Conqueror pale Death Will seize your Vitals and stop your Breath Such as delight in pleasures live in flame And Death will bring them Torments Hell and Shame All that now spurn at Virtue and it Scoff Following vain pleasures and the Lusts thereof Bewitching World thou thou betray'st our sence And smoothly wheels us to impenitence Making transitory pleasures our delight And through dark mists leads to Eternal night Yet we imbrace and hug the waies of Sin And with a pleasing madness live therein Stopping our ears to the profers of thy Love The which would raise us to the joyes above Wildly we follow the dictates of sence And all those vile affections flowing thence Pitty O Lord our Captiv'd natures frail And give us such desires as may prevail Over our Lusts that our whole Souls may be Breathings in perfect longings after thee With holy servency whilst
Leapers bodied a new But we don't see what good there doth accrue Unto his better parts and that perhaps Lies bed-rid in a very sad relaps His successor was happier whose disease And sin were both remov'd which did appease His piercing pains at the Phisicians talk Which said arise take up thy bed and walk How many are there like the Leaper foul Look no higher than their bodies do controul All other considerations but to cover Their fowler parts and willingly do smother And slight their nobler parts which should adorn It lies infected and exposed to scorn We are so eager to procure Chimestry And all that art can make to prompt Luxury To make our natures feed upon its flame While our better parts lie naked to the shame Of mankind that should with right zeal desire To feed not quench the true Celestial fire By which our souls shall ever truly be Enlivened and preserved O Lord for thee How do the Torments of a limb an hour Move us to feel and want thy healing power VVe practice more devotion in that fit Than many a moneth before we did feel it The loath'd deformities of our worser parts Gives us more grief and more aflicts our hearts Than those pale and infernal shapes that thus Dissigureth Heaven's Character in us Come shew that beauty is without a blot That hath no blush of guilt no Leprous spot That saintlike infant Man that knows no guile I 'le sit and here admire him for a while VVe're all conceiv'd in sin and cannot be VVithout our spots until we 're washt by thee VVere our vains purer than the violets smell And could perfume the air yond paralel VVere Adams sin a stranger to our blood And could our innocency have withstood Thy justice our rebellious going astray VVould Check our Lusts and prompt us thus to pray The blackness of our thoughts would proclaim Though silently sin is our chiefest aim Yet was there not a generation That thought themselves clean without contagion VVere right in their own Eyes and did deride The world as Leapers in their scorning pride The Pharisee was the more polluted Man Than the soft hearted humble Publican VVhich did so proudly his best plums display VVhich carried more contagion in that sway Of pride and ostentation but he 's the winner Oh God be merciful to me a sinner But he that trusts to merit and its paint And thinks himself a convert and a Saint May loose these Joyes if that he doth despise The mercy seat where the true comfort lies And rely on his so great stock of parts His humane Learning and his skill in arts VVithout thy polishing they cannot be Made useful in our returns O Lord to thee No saint nor Angel can procure us bliss But the only begotten son whose merit it is The leaper is a beauty far beyond My soul 's more foul and my vile courses tend Yea Lazarus which had so many soars Are less in number far than my vile scores Which I have run in sin and am as lame As the poor criple cur'd of sin and shame Oh wash me Lord in thy Bethesda pure I shall be cleansed and be ever sure Of thy healing mercies let me not be One of the nine ungrateful Lord to thee It will make my soares loathsome in thy sight And me eject unto eternal might But I do know thy goodness and thy power Doth still preserve us mortals every hour That ever can keep us in a holy mean Lord if thou wilt thou canst make me clean 1 Kings 19.9 And he came unto a Cave and Lodged there DId the good prophets zeal so far provoke Proud Jezabel to threat the heavy stroak Of death did he then fle th'threatned rage Of a furious woman to be more at large He came to Beershaba in so great fear And in much hast he left his servant there While he journied on in his so great distress Until he came unto the wilderness Where under a Juniper tree he humbly sate With heavy sobs sadly bewail'd his fate Come Lord it is enough do not delay Thy severe Justice take my life away But a good Angel he doth interpose And wakes the sleeping prophet from 's repose And bids him eat and cease this moan to make Behold a cruze of water and a cake By divine providence prepar'd to be A support to natures necessity He eat he slept and willingly obeys And in that strength he travel'd forty days To Horcb the Mount of God though still in fear He came into a cave and lodged there Behold enraged Malice it doth force Eliah to a Cave there 's no remorse In a Womans fury there is no suspence No liberty for life or conscience He must fly to a narrow compass to save both They are in danger if he admit of sloth Behold him now a Hermit to his pain For prophesying against wicked Ahabs reign 'T was but a kind of tipe that did foretel To after ages such a paralel Those votaries of the Church the which did turn Caves into cloisters and therein did mourn And fill these silent grots with divine love And chant forth ecchoes with the saints above And make them Chappels there to laud and praise In sacred Halelujahs all their days The purity of their zeal I much admire Make solitude it's mirth in such retire Can make Melancholly devotion fit Object of glory and the Joyes of it And sequester themselves from vain delight To contemplate with Angels day and night So those divine retirers have done well If they ring not too loud their merit bell If in imitation of the King of glory They fast and pray I such a votary Do highly prize but if his vain tradition Take place he must be brought unto contrition If that those pious exiles in devotion Not studying humane praise but virtues motion Do contemplate with Heaven and of its glory Abandoning the world that 's transitory Such self denial no Man ought to blame But worldlings court it to their greater shame Not caring what vile courses they pursue To satisfie their lusts it is too true All rapine and disorder they commit And fondly brag and boast and glory in it But these our pious exiles they do give Up both their names and lives that they may live Religiously devout 't is strange to have A Prophet now retir'd unto a Cave No no they 've higher thoughts and their devotion Tends much the way to get the best promotion But he 's the Man that humbly can deny His tempting lusts when fortune cast him high And can out face the world and conquer it And with our Prophet in a Cave down sit VVith sweet contentment lodge in it all night VVhen high revenging rage sets him to flight Prisons and Caves are solitary places VVhere friends think it much if that they shew their faces And give a word of comfort in that condition But leave poor prisoners to their said contrition They 'l say 't is out of the way they