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Of what unmeasurable love

Art thou possest, who, when thou couldst not die,
Wert fain to take our flesh and curse,
And for our sakes in person sin reprove;
That by destroying that which tied thy purse,
Thou might'st make way for liberality!

Since then these three wait on thy throne,
Ease, Power, and Love; I value Prayer so,
That were I to leave all but one,

Wealth, fame, endowments, virtues, all should go;
I and dear Prayer would together dwell,
And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell.


My God, if writings may

Convey a lordship any way
Whither the buyer and the seller please;
Let it not thee displease;
If this poor paper do as much as they.

On it my heart doth bleed

As many lines, as there doth need To pass itself and all it hath to thee. To which I do agree,

And here present it as my special deed.

If that hereafter Pleasure

Cavil, and claim her part and measure,

As if this passed with a reservation,

Or some such words in fashion ;

I here exclude the wrangler from thy treasure.

O let thy sacred will

All thy delight in me fulfil!

Let me not think an action mine own way,
But as thy love shall sway,

Resigning up the rudder to thy skill.

Lord, what is man to thee,

That thou shouldst mind a rotten tree? Yet since thou canst not choose but see my actions; So great are thy perfections,

Thou may'st as well my actions guide, as see.

Besides, thy death and blood

Show'd a strange love to all our good: Thy sorrows were in earnest; no faint proffer, Or superficial offer

Of what we might not take, or be withstood.

Wherefore I all forego :

To one word only I say, No:
Where in the deed there was an intimation
Of a gift or donation,

Lord, let it now by way of purchase go.

He that will pass his land,

As I have mine, may set his hand
And heart unto this deed, when he hath read;
And make the purchase spread
To both our goods, if he to it will stand.

How happy were my part,

If some kind man would thrust his heart Into these lines; till in Heaven's court of rolls They were by winged souls

Enter'd for both, far above their desert!


PEACE, prattler, do not lour:

Not a fair look, but thou dost call it foul:
Not a sweet dish, but thou dost call it sour:
Music to thee doth howl.

By listening to thy chatting fears
I have both lost mine eyes and ears.

Prattler, no more, I say:

My thoughts must work, but like a noiseless sphere.
Harmonious peace must rock them all the day:
No room for prattlers there.

If thou persistest, I will tell thee,
That I have physic to expel thee.

And the receipt shall be

My Saviour's blood: whenever at his board
I do but taste it, straight it cleanseth me,
And leaves thee not a word;

No, not a tooth or nail to scratch,
And at my actions carp, or catch.

Yet if thou talkest still,

Besides my physic, know there's some for thee:
Some wood and nails to make a staff or bill
For those that trouble me :

The bloody cross of my dear Lord
Is both my physic and my sword.


LORD, with what glory wast thou served of old,
When Solomon's temple stood and flourished!
Where most things were of purest gold;

The wood was all embellished

With flowers and carvings, mystical and rare :
All show'd the builder's, craved the seer's care.

Yet all this glory, all this pomp and state,

Did not affect thee much, was not thy aim; Something there was that sow'd debate :

Wherefore thou quitt'st thy ancient claim : And now thy Architecture meets with sin; For all thy frame and fabric is within.

There thou art struggling with a peevish heart,
Which sometimes crosseth thee, thou sometimes it:
The fight is hard on either part.

Great God doth fight, he doth submit.

All Solomon's sea of brass and world of stone
Is not so dear to thee as one good groan.

And truly brass and stones are heavy things,
Tombs for the dead, not temples fit for thee:
But groans are quick, and full of wings,

And all their motions upward be;

And ever as they mount, like larks they sing:
The note is sad, yet music for a king.


COME, Lord, my head doth burn, my heart is sick,
While thou dost ever, ever stay:

Thy long deferrings wound me to the quick,
My spirit gaspeth night and day.
O show thyself to me,

Or take me up to thee!

How canst thou stay, considering the pace

The blood did make, which thou didst waste? When I behold it trickling down thy face, I never saw thing make such haste. O show thyself, &c.

When man was lost, thy pity look'd about,
To see what help in th' earth or sky:
But there was none; at least no help without :
The help did in thy bosom lie.

O show thyself, &c.

There lay thy Son: and must he leave that nest,
That hive of sweetness, to remove

Thraldom from those, who would not at a feast
Leave one poor apple for thy love?
O show thyself, &c.

He did, he came : O my Redeemer dear,
After all this canst thou be strange ?

So many years baptized, and not appear;
As if thy love could fail or change?
O show thyself, &c.

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