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Then constant FAITH, and holy HOP E shall die. One loft in Certainty, and one in Joy : Whilft thou, more happy Pow'r, fair CHARITY, Triumphant Sister, greatest of the three; Thy Office, and thy Nature still the fame, Latting thy Lamp, and unconsum'd thy Flame, Shalt Atill survive Shall stand before the Host of Heav'n confeft, For ever blessing, and for ever bleft.
INough, my Muse, of earthly Things,
© And Inspirations but of Wind,
Take up thy Lute, and to it bind
Loud and everlasting Strings;
And on 'em play, and to 'em fing,
The happy mournful Stories,
The lamentable Glories,
Of the grear crucified King.
Mountainous Heap of Wonders! which doft rise
Till Earth thou joineft with the Skies!
Too large at Bottom, and at Top too high,
To be half feen by mortal Eye.
How shall I grasp this boundless Thing!
What Shall I play? What Shall I fing
I'll fing the mighty Riddle of mysterious Love,
Which neither wretched Men below, nor blefied Spirits above,
With all their Comments can explain ; How all the whole World's Life to die did not disdain.
I'll.fing the search less Depths of the Compassion divine,
The Depths unfathom'd yet
By Reason's Plummet, and the Line of Wit :
Too light' the Plummet, and too short the Line :
How the Eternal Father did bestow
His own Eternal Son as Ransome for his Foe.in
I'll sing aloud, that all the World may hear
The Triumph of the buried Conqueror :
How Hell was by its Pris'ner captive led,
And the great Slayer, Death, Nain by the Dead.
Methinks I hear of murdered Men the Voice,
Mixt with the Murderers confused Noise,
Sound from the Top of CALVARY;
My greedy Eyes fly up the Hill, and fee
Who'tis hangs there the Midmost of the three;
O how unlike the others He!
Look how he bends his gentle Head with Blessings from the
His gracious Hands ne'er stretch'd but to do good, (Tree!
Are nailed to the infamous Wood :
And finful Man does fondly bind The Arms which he extends t'embrace all human Kind.
Unhappy Man, canst thou stand by, and fee
All this as patient as he ?
Since he thy Sins does 'bear,
Make Thou his Sufferings thine own,
And weep, and figh, and groan,
And beat thy Breaft, and tear
Thy Garments and thy Hair ;
And let thy Grief, and let thy Love
Through all thy bleeding Bowels move.
Do'ft thou not see thy Prince in Purple clad all o'cr,
Not Purple brought from the Sidónian Shore,
But made at Home with richer Gore?
Do'st Thou not see the Roses which adorn
The thorny Garland by him worn?
Do'st thou not see the livid Trace
Of the sharp Scourge's rude Embraces ?
If yet thou feelest not the Smart
Of Thorns and Scourges in thy Heart; .
If that be yet not crucify'd,
Look on his Hands, look on his Feet, look on his side.
Open, oh! open wide the Fountains of thine Eyes,
And let 'em call
Their Stock of Moisture forth where'er it lies,
. For this will ask it all.
'Twould all, alas! too little be,
Though thy falt Tears come from a Sea.
Canst Thou deny him this, when He
Has op'ned all his vital Springs for Thee ?
Take Heed; for by his side's mysterious Flood
May well be understood,
That he will still require some Waters to his Blood.
By John Picus, Earl of Mirandula and
Who flourished about the Year 1480.
A Lmighty God, whose Majesty alone
And We do adore, Three Persons, Three in * One,
Whom only Angels in that heav'nly Choir
With humble Rev'rence worship and admire :
Th’Almighry Breath, did all Things cause to be,
And by thy Pow'r preserv't them as we see.
'Th' Earth'thy Word, the Heavens obey thy Hand,
Thunder and Lightning wait on thy Command.
Spare us, O Lord ! and wash us clean, we pray,
Let not thy juft Displeasure us destroy.
For if our Sins with Justice thou Nould'weigh,
Or our Misdeeds in Judgment just repay;
What living Frame were able to sustain
Thy juft Displeasure, in eternal Pain ?
No, not that | Fabrick formed by thy Hand,
And made perpetual by thy own Command.
To ev'ry Man the first Man Guilt convey'd,
And ev'ry one the same in Acts bewray'd.
But Thou art he that lovest Men to spare,
And not thy Juftice with our Sins compare.
Thou didft Rewards without Desert dispense,
And Punishment much less than our Offence :
For why? Thy Mercies all our Faults surmount,
To save th’unworthy Thou thy praise doft 'count;
Thine own Elect thy Love doth worthy make,
And pardon't all their Sins for thy Son's sake.
Look down, we beg, with a propitious Eye
On us, once Servants, now thine Enemy;
For so we are, if thou mark’t what's amiss,
Such of our Life the ungrateful Product is.
Look on thy Gift, and not upon our Guilt,
Behold the Blood for us our SAVIOUR spilt :
Thy first Creation did our Service claim,
But thy free Grace it doth us Children name :
Wretches, alas! this Title we disgrace,
And by our Sins thy Mercy do deface:
We would deface, but Love doth us restrain,
Thy Love, that once beftow'd is ne'er in vain :
For, Lord, thy Wisdom other Ways did know,
To magnify thy Pow'r to us below.
But Thou thy Glory from our Fall do'ft raise,
And for Redemption, we thy Love must praise :
For that inclin d'the God of Love to leave
His Father's Bofom, us from Sin to save ;
To die, to rise, and from his Side to send
Water and Blood, what A DAM loft t'amend,
(Thy Wisdom and thy Love do fo contrive
Through the worst Acts, the best for to derive.)
Thy Love and Favour we so little prize,
The Goodness which by Sins we do despise ;
+ Soul and Body of Man.
That Love and Favour did our Sins forgive :
That Goodness, we being dead, did make us live.
Vouchsafe, () Lord, our Hearts for to inflame
With Love to Him, that for us bore the Blame.
Vouchsafe that we may Satan's Yoke lay by,
And, hating Sin, become his Enemy;
O Lord, vouchsafe that we the Flesh resist, .. .
And always in thy Love and Grace perfift;
That when this mortal Course we shall have done,
And when our Souls before thy Judgment come ;
Be, Lord, to us, beyond a Father kind,
But let not our Deserts a Judge Thee find. -
W HEN all thy Mercies, O my God,
W My rising Soul surveys;
Transported with the View, I'm lost
In Wonder, Love, and Praise :
O how shall Words with equal Warmth
The Gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd Heart!
But Thou canst read it there.
Thy Providence my Life sustain'd,
And all my Wants redrest,
When in the filent Womb I lay,
And hung upon the Breast.
To all my weak Coni plaints and Cries
Thy Mercy lent an Ear,
I remet my feeble Thoughts had learnt
To furn theinfelves in Pray'r.