A line that his right hand doth draw so euen, As leads the soule the hyway unto heauen. If then henceforth you aske what thing is loue, In light, in life, in grace, in God, goe looke it; And if in these you doe not truely prooue How in your hearts you may for euer booke it, Vnhappy thinke yourselues you haue mistook it: For why? the life that death hath ouer-trod Is but the loue of Grace, and that is God.
WHEN the angels all are singing
All of glorie euer springing
In the ground of high heauen's graces,
Where all vertues haue their places;
Oh that my poore soule were neare them,
With an humble heart to heare them!
Then should faith, in loue's submission
Ioying but in mercie's blessing,
Where that sinnes are in remission,
Sing the ioyful soule's confessing;
Of her comforts high commending
All in glorie neuer ending.
But, ah wretched sinfull creature!
How should the corrupted nature
Of this wicked heart of mine
Thinke vpon that loue diuine,
That doth tune the angels' voices,
While the hoast of heauen reioyces?
No! the songe of deadly sorrowe
In the night that hath no morrow,
And their paines are neuer ended
That haue heauenly powers offended,
Is more fitting to the merite
Of my foule infected spirit.
Yet while mercie is remoouing
All the sorrowes of the louing,
How can faith be full of blindnesse
To despaire of mercie's kindnesse;
While the hand of heauen is giuing
Comfort from the euer-liuing?
No, my soule, be no more sorie;
Looke vnto that life of glorie
Which the grace of faith regardeth,
And the teares of loue rewardeth ;
Where the soule the comfort getteth,
That the angels' musique setteth.
There when thou art well conducted,
And by heauenly grace instructed
How the faithfull thoughts to fashion
Of a rauisht louer's' passion,
Sing with sainctes to angels nighest
Halleluiah in the highest.
From "The Soules Harmony."
LORD, when I thinke how I offend thy will,
And know what good is in obedience to it,
And see my hurt, and yet continue still
In doing ill, and cannot leaue to do it;
And then againe doe feele that bitter smart
That inward breeds of pleasures after-paine,
When scarce the thought is entred in my heart
But it is gone, and sinne gets in againe:
And when againe the act of sinne is past,
And that thy grace doth call me backe againe,
Then in my teares I runne to thee as fast,
And of my sinnes and of myselfe complayne:
What can I doe but cry, Sweet Iesus, saue me?
For I am nothing but what thou wilt haue me.
My heauenly Loue, from that high throne of thine,
Where gracious mercy sits in glorie's seat,
In that true pity of thy power diuine,
That dries the teares that mercy doe entreat,
Behold, sweet Lord, these bleeding drops of loue
That melt my soule in sorrow of my sinne;
And let these showres some drops of mercy moue,
That in my griefe my comfort may beginne:
Let not despaire confound my praying hope,
That begs an almes at thy mercie's gate;
But let thy grace thy hand of bountie ope,
That comfort yeelds which neuer comes too late:
That in the cure of my consuming griefe
My ioyful soule may sing of thy reliefe.
AN EXAMPLE OF PRAIER AGAINST IDOLATROUS TYRANTES,
THAT SET VP FALSE WORSHIP IN THE REPROCHE OF GOD'S TRUE WORSHYP.
Out of the cxv. Psalme.
Ir vnto vs poore mortall men
No prayse is due of very ryght,
How are they mockte and blynded then,
How farre are they from perfect sight,
That to a stocke or dead image
Will geue such laude as God should haue!
How vayne is he, howe doth he rage,
That doth God's glorie so depraue!
The which sinne and most vyle offence
David did so abhorre and hate,
That he a psalme in God's defence
Compiled hath, that each estate
May vnderstande howe farre awrye
They wandred be from righteousnes,
The lyuing God that doe denye
By an image or false lykenes:
And therfore doth all men exhorte
To feare the Lorde, and in hym truste;
Which is a true and sure comforte
To all that in his hope are iust.
His harpe in hande he therfore tooke,
And on his knees this noble kyng
(As it is in the Psalter booke)
This holy psalme begun to synge:
Not vnto vs, Lord, not to vs,
PSALM CXV.
Non nobis, Domine.
NOT unto us, Lord, not to us,
But to thy holy name alwayse,
For thy mercy and truthe done thus,
Ascribed be all laude and prayse.
These heathen folke that faythles be,
Why should they saye to us in spighte,
Where is their God, let us hym see,
In whom these Christians haue delyghte?
For their false gods, their chiefe and best,
Are nothing but syluer and goulde:
The handes of men, both most and lest,
Haue forged them out of the moulde.
Yet haue they for their idols made
Mouthes wherewith they can speak nothing,
And eyes also whereof the trade
Is to be blynde from all seyng.
Suche eares also in them are wrought,
And heare nothing that one can tell;
And noses whiche are likewyse nought,
For they with them can nothyng smell.
Vayne handes haue they, and fete also;
For with their handes they handle not,
Nor with their fete they can not goe,
Nor sounde no voice out of their throte.
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