Yet this was but the least of what He did;
But the outside of what He suffered.
God made His blessed Son under the law;
Under the curse, which, like the lion's paw,
Did rend and tear His soul, for mankind's sin,
More than if we for it in hell had been.
His cries, His tears, and bloody agony,
The nature of His death doth testify.
Nor did He of constraint Himself thus give,
For sin, to death, that man might with Him live.
He did do what He did most willingly,
He sung, and gave God thanks that He must die. Did ever king die for a captive slave?
Yet such were we whom Jesus died to save.
Yea, when He made Himself a sacrifice,
It was that He might save His enemies.
And, though He was provoked to retract
His blest resolves to do so kind an act,
By the abusive carriages of those
That did both Him, His love, and grace oppose;
Yet He, as unconcern'd about such things,
Goes on, determined to make captives kings;
Yea, mauy of His murderers He takes
Into His favour, and them Princes makes.
THE CACKLING OF A HEN.
THE Hen, SO Soon as she an egg doth lay,
Spreads the fame of her doing what she may;
About the yard a cackling she doth go,
To tell what 'twas she at her nest did do.
Just thus it is with some professing Men,
If they do aught that's good; they, like our Hen, Cannot but cackle on't where'er they go,
And what their right hand doth their left must know.
THIS Glass, when made, was by the workman's skill The sum of sixty minutes to fulfil.
Time, more or less, by it will out be spun,
But just an hour, and then the Glass is run.
Man's life we will compare unto this Glass ;
The number of his months he cannot pass;
But when he has accomplished his day,
He, like a vapour, vanisheth away.
SHE goes but softly, but she goeth sure,
She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do.
Her journey's shorter, so she may endure,
Better than they which do much further go.
She makes no noise, but stilly seizeth on
The flow'r or herb appointed for her food;
The which she quietly doth feed upon,
While others range, and glare, but find no good.
And though she doth but very softly go,
However slow her pace be, yet 't is sure; And certainly they that do travel so,
The prize which they do aim at they procure.
Although they seem not much to stir or go,
Who thirst for Christ, and who from wrath do flee; Yet what they seek for quickly they come to, Though it doth seem the furthest off to be.
One act of faith doth bring them to that flow'r
They so long for, that they may eat and live;
Which to attain is not in others power,
Though for it a king's ransom they would give.
Then let none faint, nor be at all dismay'd,
That life by Christ do seek, they shall not fail
To have it; let them nothing be afraid;
The herb and flow'r are eaten by the Snail.
WHO's this, that cometh from the wilderness,
Like smoky pillars thus perfumed with myrrh,
Leaning upon her dearest in distress,
Placed in His bosom by the Comforter?
She's cloath'd with the sun, crown'd with twelve stars,
The spotted moon her footstool she hath made.
The dragon her assaults, fills her with jars;
Yet rests she under her Beloved's shade.
But whence was she? What is her pedigree?
Was not her father a poor Amorite?
What was her mother, but as others be,
A Hittite, sinful, poor, and helpless quite?
Yea, as for her, the day that she was born,
As loathsome, out of doors they did her cast;
Naked and filthy, stinking and forlorn :
This was her pedigree from first to last.
Nor was she pitied in this low estate,
All let her lie polluted in her blood: None her condition did commiserate,
There was no heart that sought to do her good.
Yet she unto these ornaments is come,
Her breasts are fashion'd, and her hair is grown;
She is made heiress of an heavenly home,
All her indignities away are blown.
Cast out she was, but now she home is taken ;
Once she was naked, now you see she's clad;
Now made the darling, though before forsaken;
Barefoot, but now as princes' daughters shod.
Instead of filth, she now has her perfumes;
Instead of Ignominy, chains of gold:
Instead of what the beauty most consumes,
Her beauty's perfect, lovely to behold.
Those that attend and wait upon her be
Princesses of honour, cloath'd in white array:
Upon her head's a crown of gold; and she
Eats honey, wheat, and oil, from day to day.
For her Beloved, He's the high'st of all;
The only Potentate, the King of Kings:
Angels and men do Him JEHOVAH call;
And from Him life and glory always springs.
He's white and ruddy, and of all the Chief:
His head, His locks, His eyes, His hands, and feet, Do, for completeness, out-do all belief;
His cheeks like flowers are, His mouth most sweet.
As for His wealth, He is made Heir of all;
What is in heaven, what is in earth, is His:
And He this Lady His Joint-heir doth call,
Of all that shall be, or at present is.
Well, Lady, well, God has been good to thee;
Thou of an outcast now art made a Queen.
Few or none may with thee compared be,
A beggar made thus high is seldom seen.
Take heed of pride, remember what thou art
By nature, though thou hast in grace a share;
Thou in thyself dost yet retain a part
Of thine own filthiness: wherefore beware.
He that can play well on an instrument,
Will take the ear, and captivate the mind
With mirth or sadness, when it is intent;
And music into it a way doth find.
But if one hears that hath therein no skill,
(As often music lights of such a chance,)
Of its brave notes they soon be weary will:
And there are some can neither sing nor dance.
To him that thus most skilfully doth play,
God doth compare a Gospel-minister,
That doth with life and vigour preach and pray.
Applying right what he doth there infer.
Whether this man of wrath or grace doth preach,
So skilfully he handles every word,
And by his saying doth the heart so reach,
That it doth joy or sigh before the Lord.
But some there be, which, as the brute, doth lie
Under the word, without the least advance:
Such do despise the gospel-ministry;
They weep not at, neither to it dance.
OF MAN BY NATURE
FROM God he's a backslider,
Of ways he loves the wider;
With wickedness a sider,
More venom than a spider.
In sin he's a confider,
A make-bate and divider;
Blind reason is his guider,
The devil is his rider.
the disobedient child.
CHILDREN, when little, how do they delight us!
When they grow bigger, they begin to fright us,
Their sinful nature prompts them to rebel,
And to delight in paths that lead to hell.
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