The true Panchreston 'tis for every sore And sickness, which The poor, and rich With equal ease may come by. Yea, 'tis more, An antidote, as well As remedy 'gainst hell. 'Tis heaven in perspective, and the bliss Of glory here, If any where, By Saints on earth anticipated is, It is the Looking-glass of souls, wherein All men may see, Still, as by nature they are, deform'd with sin; Or in a better case, As new adorn'd with grace. "Tis the great Magazine of spiritual arms, Wherein doth lie The artillery Of heaven, ready charged against all harms, Of our infernal foes. God's Cabinet of reveal'd counsel 'tis : Where weal and woe Are order'd so, That every man may know which shall be his ; Unless his own mistake False application make. It is the Index to Eternity. He cannot miss Of endless bliss, That takes this chart to steer his voyage by. Nor can he be mistook, That speaketh by this Book. A Book, to which no Book may be compared For excellence; Preeminence Is proper to it, and cannot be shared. Belongs to it, or none. It is the Book of God. What if I should Say, God of Books? Let him that looks Angry at that expression, as too bold, XV. THE PULPIT. 'Tis dinner time and now I look For a full meal. God send me a good cook : This is the dresser-board, and here I wait in expectation of good cheer. God grant me taste and stomach good: My feeding will diversify my food; "Tis a good appetite to eat, And good digestion, that makes good meat. Not fed on well, poison, not food, to me. 'Tis Manna that I look for here, Here the same fountain poureth forth Water, Wine, Milk, Oil, Honey, and the worth Of all transcendent, infinite In excellence, and to each appetite In fitness answerable; so That none needs hence unsatisfied go, Yea, dead men here invited are But, that the soul may feed, itself must be To milk the strongest men must be As new born babes, whenever they it see, Desiring, not despising it. For strong meat babes must stay, and strive to fit Get by degrees (which best beseem a man) Good to discern from evil, truth from fable. Here I will wait then; till I see Although no Benjamin's choice mess, Like an invited guest, I will Be bold, but mannerly withal, sit still And see what the Master of the feast Myself desire: yea, though I should espy So that the meat be wholesome, though To feed my foolish fancy; but control Which oft instead of strength diseases brings: XVI. THE COMMUNION TABLE. HERE stands my banquet ready, the last course, And best provision, That I must feed upon, Till death my soul and body shall divorce, Call'd to the marriage-supper of the Lamb. Some call't the Altar, some the holy Table. Whether't be this, or that, I care not much, so that I may be able Both why it is, and may be called so. And for the matter whereof it is made, Although it be of tuch, Or wood, or metal, what will last, or fade ; So vanity And superstition avoided be. Nor would it trouble me to see it found Of any fashion, That can be thought upon, Square, oval, many-angled, long, or round: If close it be, Fix'd, open, moveable, all's one to me |