Selected quad for the lemma: ground_n

Word A	Word B	Word C	Word D	Occurrence	Frequency Band	MI	MI Band	Prominent
ground_n	bring_v	fruit_n	good_a	9,065	5	4.7327	4	true

Text snippets containing the quad

ID	Title	Author	Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication)	STC	Words	Pages
A19974	A new spring of divine poetrie. I. Day. philomusus composuit - inest sua gratia parvis	Day, James, fl. 1637.	1637 (1637)	STC 6410; ESTC S109421	21,603	56

and suffers not A passenger to enter Without thy Masters ticket got Thou mayst not touch her Center But come my soule let me advise What needst thou to implore The Saints for ayde I know where lies For thee a private doore Dost not remember since the pride Of base perfidious men Did thrust thy Master through the side We rt not thou wounded then When Iustice is so sterne that thou Vnto a straight art driven Come hearke and I will tell thee now Creepe through that wound to heaven Sanctificat O My head alas my bones O my wounded joynts doe smart Flesh ere while as hard as stones Now it akes in every part Lord 't is thy Art All thy Iudgements could not scare Me nor make my soule to fly Now one angry looke can reare Me and make me pensive lye In misery Lord there where I tooke my rise There did I begin to reele Surfetted in Paradise And there I got a bruised heele Which now I feele Surely my disease was great Sicke and yet I felt no paine Hungry yet I could not eate Sore yet could I not complaine Yet all was gaine For good God thy care was such That thou gavest me much reliefe Yea thou lendedst me a Crutch And didst make me know my griefe Lord thou art chiefe Thou hast made the rocke to weepe And my stony heart to groane Thou hast rais'd me from my sleepe And dost smile to heare my tone And lov'st my mone But what need'st thou lend a Crutch Thou canst make me perfect whole Thou canst heale me with a touch By this thou know'st a woman stole Cure for her dole When leave I this halting pace When shall I most perfect be When thou shalt my glistring face In the land of glory see Lord perfect me A Meditation on a Mans shadow WHen as the Sunne flings downe his richest rayes And with his shining beames adornes my wayes See how my shadow trackes me where I goe I stop that stops I walke and that doth so I runne with winged flight and still I spye My waiting shadow runne as fast as I. But when a sable cloud doth disaray The Sunne and robs me of my smiling day My shadow leaves me helpelesse all alone And when I most neede comfort I have none Iust so it is let him that hath the hight Of outward pompe expect a parasite If thou art great thy honours will draw nigh These are the shadowes to prosperity O how the worldlings make pursuite to thee With cap in hand and with a bended knee But if disastrous fate should come betwixt Thee and thy Sunne thy splendor's all eclipst Thy friends forsake thee and thy shadow 's gone And thou poore sunne-lesse thou art left alone This is thy Soules estate the worldly gaine And greatest pompe in stormy times are vaine They are but shadowes when distresse comes nigh They are as nothing to a faithfull eye Yet here 's my comfort Lord if I can see My shadow I must needes a substance be O let me not with worldly shadowes clogge My selfe grant me more wit then Esops dogge A Meditation on Childrens rashnesse WHen Mothers are desirous for to play The wantons with their babes and shew the way To finde their feete to give their brats content They wagge their sporting fingers and present A penny in the forehead or some pap To win the Children to the Mothers lap How soone will they their little grissels stretch And runne apace aspiring for to fetch This petty object never caring though Their way be full of stumbling blockes below Thou art that Mother Lord thou usest charmes And still art dandling Christ within thine armes Presents most glorious objects to our eyes And shewes us where thy choisest mercies lies Why then are we so backward why so slow Or why so loth into thy armes to goe Small molehils seeme as mountaines in our way And every light affliction makes us stay Why should we stop at petty strawes below Make us thy Children Lord we shant doe so A Meditation on a good Father having a bad Sonne QVerkus of late was minded to dispute Of this A tree that 's good brings forth good fruite Hence he concludes such parents that have bin Converted bring forth children void of sinne Peace Querkus peace and hold thy tongue for shame Dost not perceive that thy conclusion's lame May not a graine that 's free from chaffe and cleare Cast in the ground bring forth a chaffy eare A Meditation on a Weathercocke SEe how the trembling Weathercocke can find Noe setled place but turnes with every wind If blustring Zephyr blowes and gives a checke How soon's this cocke made pliant to his becke If Boreas gets the day t will change its side And turne inspite of bragging Zephyrs pride Thus temporizers turne at every puffe And yet forsooth they thinke they 're good enough If stand they stand if he that seemes to be The greatest turne they turne as fast as he I wonder at such wav'ring feathers did I So often turne t' would make me wondrous giddy Lord let that wind that blowes upon thy flocke Turne me and make me Lord thy weather cocke A Meditation on Cockfighting SEe how those angry creatures disagree Whilst the spectators sit and laugh to see Doe not two neighbours often doe the same Whilst that the Lawyers laugh to see the game A Meditation on an Echo and a Picture SEe how Apelles with his curious art Pourtraies the picture out in every part If he can give 't a voyce no doubt he can Compleatly make the shape a living man Surely his worke would to his praise redound Could he but give the shape he made a sound What wants the Echo of a living creature But Shape and what but voice this comely feature Yet both can't meete together God alone Will have this secret Art to be his owne A Meditation on Noahs Dove VVHen God the floods from lands did undivide And made the skye aspiring mountaines hide When heaven raind seas and fountaines were unbound And all mankind except eight soules were drownd Then did Ioves Pilot Noah make an Arke And thrust this little world into a barke Yea then he sent a Dove to range about The Floods to answer his uncertaine doubt O how shee wanders up and downe the Seas Fluttring her weary wings but findes no ease Shee sees no food no resting place no parke But soone returnes into her wished Arke Observe how tender Noah full of Love Opens the window to this weary Dove Puts forth his hands to meete her takes her in But by and by shee flutters out agin Shee findes an Olive leafe and that shee brings Betweene her bill hov'ring her tyred wings Vpon the Arke still Noah is the same Le ts in his wandring Dove that 's now made tame With restlesse flight once more shee gets away And now shee spies the earth that lately lay Sok'd in the impartiall deluge in her pride Adornd with dainty hearbes on every side When