XLVIII. INUNDATIONS.

WE talk of Noah's flood, as of a wonder;
And well we may;

The Scriptures say,

The water did prevail, the hills were under,
And nothing could be seen but sea.

And yet there are two other floods surpass
That flood, as far,

As heaven one star,

Which many men regard, as little, as
The ordinariest things that are.

The one is sin, the other is salvation :
And we must need

Confess indeed,

That either of them is an inundation,

Which doth the deluge far exceed.

In Noah's flood he and his household lived:
And there abode

A whole Ark-load

Of other creatures, that were then reprieved: All safely on the waters rode.

But when sin came, it overflowed all,

And left none free:

Nay, even he,

That knew no sin, could not release my thrall, But that he was made sin for me;

And, when salvation came, my Saviour's blood Drown'd sin again,

With all its train

Of evils, overflowing them with good,
With good that ever shall remain.

O, let there be one other inundation,
Let grace o'erflow
my soul so,

In

That thankfulness may level with salvation,
And sorrow sin may overgrow.

Then will I praise my Lord and Saviour so,
That Angels shall

Admire man's fall,

When they shall see God's greatest glory grow, Where Satan thought to root out all.

XLIX. SIN.

SIN, I would fain define thee; but thou art
An uncouth thing:

All that I bring

To show thee fully, shows thee but in part.

I call thee the transgression of the Law,
And yet I read

That sin is dead

Without the Law; and thence it strength doth draw.

I say thou art the sting of death. 'Tis true:
And yet I find

Death comes behind :

The work is done before the pay be due.

I say thou art the devil's work; Yet he
Should much rather

Call thee father ;

For he had been no devil but for thee.

What shall I call thee then? If death and devil, Right understood,

Be names too good,

I'll say thou art the quintessence of evil.

L. TRAVELS AT HOME.

OFT have I wish'd a traveller to be:
Mine eyes did even itch the sights to see,
That I had heard and read of. Oft I have
Been greedy of occasion, as the grave,
That never says, enough; yet still was crost,
When opportunities had promised most.

At last I said, what mean'st thou, wandering elf,
To straggle thus? Go travel first thyself.
Thy little world can show thee wonders great:
The greater may have more, but not more neat
And curious pieces. Search, and thou shalt find
Enough to talk of. If thou wilt, thy mind
Europe supplies, and Asia thy will,

And Afric thine affections. And if still
Thou list to travel further, put thy senses

For both the Indies. Make no more pretences,

Of new discoveries, whilst yet thine own,
And nearest, little world is still unknown.
Away then with thy quadrants, compasses,
Globes, tables, cards, and maps, and minute glasses:
Lay by thy journals, and thy diaries,

Close up thine annals, and thine histories.
Study thyself, and read what thou hast writ
In thine own book, thy conscience. Is it fit
To labour after other knowledge so,

And thine own nearest, dearest, self not know?
Travels abroad both dear and dangerous are,
Whilst oft the soul pays for the body's fare:
Travels at home are cheap, and safe. Salvation
Comes mounted on the wings of meditation.
He that doth live at home, and learns to know
God and himself, needeth no further go.

LI. THE JOURNEY.

LIFE is a journey. From our mothers' wombs, As houses, we set out and in our tombs,

As Inns, we rest, till it be time to rise.

'Twixt rocks and gulfs our narrow foot-path lies:
Haughty presumption and hell-deep despair
Make our way dangerous, though seeming fair.
The world, with its enticements sleek and sly,
Slabbers our steps, and makes them slippery.
The flesh, with its corruptions, clogs our feet,
And burdens us with loads of lusts unmeet.
The devil where we tread, doth spread his snares,
And with temptations takes us unawares.

Our footsteps are our thoughts, our words, our

works:

These carry us along; in these there lurks
Envy, lust, avarice, ambition,

The crooked turnings to perdition.

One while we creep amongst the thorny brakes
Of worldly profits; and the devil takes
Delight to see us pierce ourselves with sorrow
To-day, by thinking what may be to-morrow.
Another while we wade, and wallow in
Puddles of pleasure: and we never lin
Daubing ourselves, with dirty damn'd delights,
Till self-begotten pain our pleasure frights.
Sometimes we scramble to get up the banks
Of icy honour; and we break our ranks
To step before our fellows; though, they say,
He soonest tireth, that still leads the way.
Sometimes, when others justle and provoke us,
We stir that dust ourselves, that serves to choke us ;
And raise those tempests of contention, which
Blow us beside the way into the ditch.

Our minds should be our guides; but they are blind:
Our wills outrun our wits, or lag behind.
Our furious passions, like unbridled jades,
Hurry us headlong to the infernal shades.

If God be not our guide, our guard, our friend,
Eternal death will be our journey's end.