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.
A SKILFUL PLAYER ON AN INSTRUMENT.
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
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 li
Under the word, without the least advance :
Sch 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.
Their parents' love and care they overlook,
As if relation had them quite forsook.
They take the counsels of the wanton, rather
Than the most grave instructions of a father.
They reckon parents ought to do for them,
Though they the Fifth Commandment do contemn;
They snap and snarl, if parents them control,
Although in things most hurtful to the soul.
They reckon they are masters, and that we,
Who parents are, should to them subject be!
If parents fain would have a hand in choosing,
The children have a heart still in refusing.
They by wrong doings from their parents gather,
And say it is no sin to rob a father.
They'll jostle parents out of place and power,
They'll make themselves the head, and them devour.
How many children, by becoming head,
Have brought their parents to a piece of bread!
Thus they who at the first their parents' joy,
Turn that to bitterness, themselves destroy.
But, wretched Child, how canst thou thus requite Thy aged parents, for that great delight
They took in thee, when thou, as helpless, lay
In their indulgent bosoms day by day?
Thy mother, long before she brought thee forth,
Took care thou should'st want neither food nor cloth. Thy father glad was at his very heart,
Had he, to thee, a portion to impart,
Comfort they promised themselves in thee,
But thou, it seems, to them a grief wilt be.
How oft-how willingly brake they their sleev,
If thou, their bantling, didst but winch or weep.
Their love to thee was such, they could have given,
That thou might'st live, all but their part of heaven.
But now, behold! how they rewarded are,
For their indulgent love and tender care;
All is forgot, this love they do despise,
They brought this bird up to pick out their eyes.
A SHEET OF WHITE PAPER
THIS Paper's handled by the sons of men,
Both with the fairest and the foulest pen.
'Twill also shew what is upon it writ,
Whether 'tis wisely done, or void of wit.
Each blot and blur it also will expose
To the next readers, be they friends or foes.
Some Souls are like unto this Blank, or Sheet,
(Though not in whiteness;) the next man they meet,
Be what he will, a good man or deluder,
A knave or fool, the dangerous intruder
May write thereon, to cause that man to err,
In doctrine, or in life, with blot or blur.
Nor will that soul conceal wherein it swerves,
. But shew itself to each one that observes.
A reading man may know who was the writer, And, by the hellish nonsense, the inditer.
WHO falls into the fire shall burn with heat, While those remote scorn from it to retreat. Yea, while those in it cry out, Oh, I burn! Some, further off, those cries to laughter turn.
While some tormented are in hell for sin,
On earth some greatly do delight therein.
Yea, while some make it echo with their cry,
Others count it a fable and a lie.
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