« ForrigeFortsett »
I hope, I doubt, but certain yet I be not,
I am not at a point, the sun I see not.
Thus such, who are but just of grace possest
They know not yet if they be curst or blest.
This Flint, tiine out of mind has there abode,
Where crystal streams make their continual rondl;
Yet it abides a Flint as much as 't were
Before it touch'd the water, or came there.
Its hardness is not in the least abated,
'Tis not at all by water penetrated.
Though water hath a softning virtue in't,
It can't dissolve the stone, for 'tis a Flint.
Yea, though in water it doth still remain,
It's fiery nature still it doth retain.
If you oppose it with ils opposite,
· Then in your very face its fire will spit.
This flint an emblem is of those that lie,
Under the word, like stones, until they die.
Its crystal streams have not their natures changed,
They are not from their lusts by grace estranged.
The water is the Fish's element :
Take her from thence, none can her death prevent:
And some have said, who have transgressors Leen, As good not be, as to be kept from siu
The water is the Fish's element: '-
Leave her but there, and she is well content:
So's he, who in the path of life doth plod,
Take all, says he, let me but have my God.
The water is the Fish's element:
Her sportings there are to her excellent :
So is God's service unto holy men,
They are not in their element till then.
suis pretty Bird, oh! how she flies and sing?!
But could she do so if she had not wings?
Her wings bespeak my faith, her songs my peace:
When I believe and sing, my doubtings cease,
The Bee goes out, and honey home doth bring :
And some who seek that honey find a sting;
Now wouldst thou have the honey, and be free
From stinging, in the first place, kill the Bee.
This Bee an emblem truly is of sin,
Whose sweet, unto a many, death hath been.
Wouldst thou have sweet from sin and yet not die
Sin, in the first place, thou must mortify.
WELL, with the Day I see the clouds appear; And mix the light with darkness every where; This threatens those who on long journies go, That they shall meet with slabby rain or snow.
Else while I gaze, the sun doth with his beams
Belace the clouds, as 'twere with bloody streams ;
Then suddenly those clouds do watery grow,
And weep and pour their tears out where they go.
Thus 'tis when gospel light doth usher id
To us, both sense of grace, and sense of sin;
Yea, when it makes sin red with Jesus' blood,
Then we can weep till weeping does us good.
'Tis strange to see how over-nice are some About their clothes, their bodies and their home, While what's of worth, they slightly pass it by, Not doing it at all, or slovenly.
Their houses must well furnish'd be in print;
While their immortal soul has no good in't.
Its outside also they must beautify,
While there is in't scarce common honesty.
Their bodies they must have trick'd up and trim :
Their inside full of filth up to the brim.
Upon their clothes there must not be a spot,
Whereas their lives are but one common blot.