When thou dost greater judgments SPARE, And with thy knife but prune and PARE, Even fruitful trees more fruitful ARE. Such sharpness shows the sweetest FRIEND : Such cuttings rather heal than REND: And such beginnings touch their END. THE METHOD. POOR heart, lament, For since thy God refuseth still, Thy Father could Quickly effect, what thou dost move; Go search this thing, Tumble thy breast, and turn thy book : If thou hadst lost a glove or ring, Wouldst thou not look ? What do I see Written above there? Yesterday And should God's ear To such indifferents chained be, Who do not their own motions hear? But stay! what's there? Late when I would have something done, And should God's ear, Which needs not man, be tied to those Then once more pray: Down with thy knees, up with thy voice: DIVINITY. As men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod, As if a star were duller than a clod, Which knows his way without a guide : Just so the other heaven they also serve, Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve. Could not that wisdom, which first broach'd the wine, And jagg'd his seamless coat, had that been fine, But all the doctrine, which he taught and gave, Love God, and love your neighbour. Watch and pray. O dark instructions, even as dark as day! But he doth bid us take his blood for wine. Then burn thy Epicycles, foolish man ; Break all thy spheres, and save thy head ; Faith needs no staff of flesh, but stoutly can AND art thou grieved, sweet and sacred Dove, When I am sour, And cross thy love? Grieved for me? the God of strength and power Then weep, mine eyes, the God of love doth grieve: Weep foolish heart, And weeping live; For death is dry as dust. Yet if we part, Your sins express; melt into dew. When saucy Mirth shall knock or call at door, Or cry no more. Almighty God doth grieve, he puts on sense: But to my God's too; he doth groan. O take thy lute, and tune it to a strain, There can no discord but in ceasing be. Marbles can weep; and surely strings More bowels have, than such hard things. Lord, I adjudge myself to tears and grief, Without relief. If a clear spring for me no time forbears, Yet if I wail not still, since still to wail And flesh would fail, If my deserts were masters of mine eyes: Lord, pardon, for thy Son makes good My want of tears with store of blood. THE FAMILY. WHAT doth this noise of thoughts within my heart, What do these loud complaints and pulling fears, But, Lord, the house and family are thine, Turn out these wranglers, which defile thy seat: First Peace and Silence all disputes control, And giving all things their set forms and hours, Humble Obedience near the door doth stand, Than whom in waiting nothing seems more slow, Joys oft are there, and griefs as oft as joys; Yet speak they louder, than distemper'd fears: This is thy house, with these it doth abound: Perhaps thou comest sometimes, and for a day; |