Selected quad for the lemma: mercy_n
Text snippets containing the quad
|
ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
Words |
Pages |
|
A46242
|
Divine raptvres; or, Piety in poesie digested into a queint diversity of sacred fancies / composed by Tho. Iordan ...
|
Jordan, Thomas, 1612?-1685?
|
1646
(1646)
|
Wing J1028; ESTC R10497
|
24,003
|
58
|
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 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
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 care 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 in spite 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 weathercocke 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 WHen 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 food is plenty this ungratefull Dove Forgets her Noah and his former love Minds nothing but her selfe shee that before Did crouch unto thee Arke returnes no more Thou art that Noah Lord and Christ the boate Afflictions are the waters that doe floate Man is that wandring Dove that often flies Vnto his Christ for shelter else he dyes How apt are we good God to use our wings And flye to thee when all these outward things With floods are drowned up though we have bin So vile how apt art thou to catch us in O how our God when we have bin astray Puts forth his armes to meete us in the way And take us home we are no sooner in But by and by we flutter out agin This time by chance like Noahs Dove we see The upper branches of some Olive tree I meane some petty shelter still we flye Vnto our God for aide or else we dye How apt are we when outward things forsake us To haste to God how apt 's our God to take us The third time we are gone now floods are husht The Sun-confronting mountaines bravely washt The Seas give place the lowest vallies seene Yea all the earth most sweetly deckt in greene Now we forget our God and post away And after make an everlasting stay When worldly wealth comes in and we can rest Vpon the creature O how we detest Our former refuge if we find a Parke We ne're returne unto our wonted arke A Meditation on a Shippe MArke how the floting vessell shewes her pride And is extold with every lofty tide But when it ebbes and all the floods retire See how the bragging barke is plungd in mire Iust so good God how apt are we to swim When mercies fill our banckes unto the brim When worldly wealth appeares and we can see Such outward blessings flow then who but we But when it ebbes and thou dost once unlinke These mercies from us O how soone we sinke Good God let not the great estate possesse Me with presumption nor despaire the lesse Let me not sinke when such an ebbe appeares No let me swim in true repentant teares A Meditation on a Windmill OBserve it alwaies t is the makers skill To place the windmill on the highest hill It stands unusefull till the potent windes Puffe up the lofty sayles and then it grinds Iust thus it is the hypocrite 's the mill His actions sayles ambition is the hill The wind that drives him is a blast of fame If blowne with this he runnes if not hee 's tame He stirres not till a puffe of praise doth fill His sailes but then O how he turnes the mill Lord drive me with thy Spirit then I le be Thy windmill and will grind a grist for thee A Meditation on Organs HArke how the Organist most sweetely plaies His Psalmes upon the tone-divided Kayes Each touch a sound but if the hand don't come And strike the kayes how soon 's the musicke dumbe A mod'rate stroke doth well but if too hard The Organ 's broke and all the raptures mard I am that Organ Lord and thou alone Canst play each prayer is a pleasant tone Affliction is the