Selected quad for the lemma: world_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A57207
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The mirrour of mercy in the midst of misery, or, Life triumphant in death, wherein free-will is abolished, and free-grace exalted with the large wonders of loves wounds / written in a fit of sicknesse by Jeremiah Rich.
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Rich, Jeremiah, d. 1660?
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1654
(1654)
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Wing R1345; ESTC R36787
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20,326
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50
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Crowns policy of States purity of Saints nor power of Angels that could redeem thee from eternall death till I did pay the price and wilt not thou believe me now except my profferred love and let me lead through this darkned vale thou canst not finde the way alone see if I will not bring thee to my Fathers house and lay thee under the Canopie of Love though dangers were before thee as thick as Starres above thee my hand should crush them all and with an angry breath I 'le blast their fury in their height of pride Soul Oh my deare let me not see paradice in a vision that when I wake it may appeare a dreame I know thou canst doe all things but I am so stained with Spots and drest in raggs of such deformity that I shall but fall as dirt upon thy Cheeks or Ashes in thine Eyes the best I have is but unwilling willingnesse why dost thou descend below thy incomparable throne to trouble thine eares with me Alas what can I give thee for all thy paines but Rebellion and sure the saving of such a wretch as I will not advance thy glory but speak apace my Sighs my best Orators I faine would resigne my will to thee for ever Oh guide and direct me for I am wholly thine Christ How comely are thy eyelids in their Tears which sit upon thy face like Arythrian Pearl with a Vermylian dye they shine like to the eye-lids of the morne for when the Sun retires behinde a cloud a while to weep alone unseen methinkes he lookes like thee those drops upon thy cheeks are like the early dew that comes to kisse the Rose and in a Summer morne doth fall into the bosome of a flower the Courts of Kings or Princes Palaces are poor habitations I had rather live with thee than with the greatest Monarchs of the World Soul Oh what is there in me worthy of love I shall be the unworthiest Instrument that ever was made to celebrate thy praise The Organs of my soul are all untuned and every noble faculty of my spirit is obscure I am poore and despis'd and the world rejects me but 't is no matter if thou wilt love me though I be hated of all but how shall I spend my weary houres when thou art gone away Christ I 'le send the Spirit to beare thee company when thou dost sit alone and sometimes dropst a teare his hand shall wipe it away and glad thy heart teach sorrow how to sing and when thou walkest abroad a guard of Angels shall secure thee from injury my love Soul When I am sad alone my busie thoughts shall fly on wings of contemplation and see thee in Heaven and I will watch and pray till stealing slumbers with soft and airy wings shall bring my languishing Spirit to the Visions of Eternity where I may dream of thee and when I wake I 'le walk and view the world and when I see the spangled Canopie and behold the wondrous motion of the Orbs I 'le thinke upon thy glory there Christ I 'le goe prepare a place for thee a place in eternity above the teeth of time there where the grey-ey'd morne ushers the flaming Chariot of the day surrounded in brightnesse and glory where we will dwell in temples not made with hands in streets of Gold like to transparant glasse and when the houre-glass of thy life is run and time hath brought thy journey to an end I le dresse thy temples in a victors Orbe and arch them with a Crowne Soul Well while I live here I 'le be exceeding humble and if I can holy in all my actions I 'le resemble thee If sinfull thoughts begin to staine my Soule I 'le weep them o're ere I have thought them out If I am abused I will get upon the wings of prayer and tell thee all my wrongs my life shall be a continuall repentance I will not back-slide rather than so I will wast my Soule with Sobs and Sigh away my Body into aire Christ Farewell dearest farewell make hast and meet me in Heaven let not the assaults of sin daunt thee but with an Heroick heart stand the fiery trialls remaine as spotlesse as my love I will goe before to the Palace of Peace scituated in Eternity the purest milke white robes shall be our vestments for the Marriage day and our Musick the Halleluja's of Angels run then with patience for when thou comest to the end of the race I will welcome thee home And wee 'l knit fast the bands Of Marriage and in glory joyne our hands Soul And doth this empty world deserve thus much of me to steale my heart in the prime of all my age that I should lift up my voice in my best tunes chaunting amorous Sonets hourely to its praise no every of these have left me now dull melancholy the picture of my sorrow Oh how the object of my Soules delight did please himselfe to incourage me did I enjoy that happinesse for ever I should have some of Heaven here but now what joy have I to live whose life is but a trouble this world this poore this low this transitory world is but a scene of sorrow 't is but a dying life or living death and that which troubles me is how long it will be ere I shall have his company againe when he went away me thoughts he resembled the flod Sun when downe the Westerne world he drives his teem leaving the Vniverse in a mantle of mourning and I could wish my night were coming too why do I languish thus since I cannot see his face I will goe heare his word that I may learne to doe his will methoughts he had me fight against temptations and look for fiery tryalls I will doe it and for the love of him I will passe a thousand dangers In which my courage shall Stand up Victorious or in battle fall Ye Sons of Honour Heires of Glories Crown whose sacred feet must trample the Holy Fields what is it that makes you sing in sorrow and gloâ—y in your shame that crownes your hearts with courage and beautifies your faces with a smile that sets fortitude upon your browes and places sweetnesse in your amorous eyes that doth advance you in adversity makes you rich in poverty and glory in indignity is it not Love 〈◊〉 what is it that will keep up your spirits at that Dreadfull Day when the Trumpet shall be sounded the World shall be startled the Graves shall be opened the Dead shall be raised and the Unjust shall be Judged will it not be Love when the Fabrick of the World shall be shaken and the Axletrees or the Earth broken and Time shall lose his way when the Kings of the Earth and all their mighty Armies shall looke pale and their winged Bulwarks grapple and their battered Kingdomes fly about their eares in clouds of dust when the Spheres are sweltting in flames the Earth surrounded by fire and bufling windes beat Thunder out of Aire when with terror from on high the day shall be as black as if Don Phoebus frighted from his chaite left ugly darknesse on his Chariot wheels and indeed Love may be compared to Wine with which Kings sometimes have drunke themselves to such a height of kindnesse that they have remembred Majesty no more alas every Christian hath his crosse every day its difficulty every time its trouble and every action a a severall temptation the best of what is here is but Sunshine mixt with Raine sweet with fower and every smile intermingled with a frowne but then ye shall put off your flâ—shly garments â—â—…corruption and be drest in the habit of Heaven out of the wardâ—â—p of glory and be entertained with the pleasures of Paradice where there are incomparable delicates for the taste sweet persumes for the smell rare musick for the Eare ravishing objects for the Eye where thou shalt lye on a Bed of Roses in swelling soft Eternity and be lul'd in Angels armes but it being beyond description too high for imagination impossible for the minde to conceive it unlawfull for the tongue to utter it I shall conclude the Book for methinkes a gloomy Cloud doth stop the passage of my Pen and I can write no more FINIS