Thus we prevent the last great day,

anticipate

And judge our selves. That light which sin and passion

Did before dimme and choke,

When once those snuffes are ta'ne away,

Shines bright and cleare, ev'n unto condemnation,
Without excuse or cloak.

140.¶BITTER-SWEET.

Ah, my deare angrie Lord,

Since Thou dost love, yet strike,

Cast down, yet help afford;

Sure I will do the like.

I will complain, yet praise,

I will bewail, approve;

And all my sowre-sweet dayes

I will lament, and love.

141. § THE GLANCE.

When first Thy sweet and gracious eye Vouchsaf'd, ev'n in the midst of youth and night, To look upon me, who before did lie

Weltering in sinne,

I felt a sugred strange delight,

Passing all cordials made by any art,

Bedew, embalme, and overrunne my heart,

And take it in.

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Since that time many a bitter storm

My soul hath felt, ev'n able to destroy,
Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm.
His swing and sway ;

But still Thy sweet originall joy,

ΙΟ

Sprung from Thine eye, did work within my soul,
And surging griefs, when they grew bold, controll, 15
And got the day.

If Thy first glance so powerfull be

A mirth but open'd, and seal'd up again—
What wonders shall we feel when we shall see
Thy full-ey'd love!

When Thou shalt look us out of pain,

And one aspect of Thine spend in delight
More then a thousand sunnes disburse in light,
In heav'n above.

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distribute

142. § THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALME.

The God of love my Shepherd is,

And He that doth me feed,

While He is mine, and I am His,

What can I want or need?

He leads me to the tender grasse,

Where I both feed and rest; Then to the streams that gently passe: In both I have the best.

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Or if I stray, He doth convert,

And bring my minde in frame:

And all this not for my desert,

But for His holy name.

Yea, in Death's shadie black abode
Well may I walk, not fear;

For Thou art with me, and Thy rod
To guide, Thy staffe to bear.

Nay, Thou dost make me sit and dine
Ev'n in my enemies' sight;

My head with oyl, my cup with wine
Runnes over day and night.

Surely Thy sweet and wondrous love

Shall measure all my dayes;

And as it never shall remove,

So neither shall my praise.

143.¶MARIE MAGDALENE.

When blessed Marie wip'd her Saviour's feet-
Whose precepts she had trampled on before-
And wore them for a jewell on her head,

Shewing His steps should be the street
Wherein she thenceforth evermore

With pensive humblenesse would live and tread;
She being stain'd herself, why did she strive
To make Him clean Who could not be defil'd?

Why kept she not her tears for her own faults,
And not His feet? Though we could dive
In tears like seas, our sinnes are pil'd
Deeper then they in words, and works, and thoughts.
Deare soul, she knew Who did vouchsafe and deigne
To bear her filth, and that her sinnes did dash
Ev'n God Himself; wherefore she was not loth,
As she had brought wherewith to stain,
So to bring in wherewith to wash :

And yet in washing one she washed both.

144.¶AARON.

Holinesse on the head,

Light and perfections on the breast, Harmonious bells below, raising the dead

To leade them unto life and rest:

Thus are true Aarons drest.

Profanenesse in my head,

Defects and darknesse in my breast,

A noise of passions ringing me for dead

Unto a place where is no rest:
Poore priest, thus am I drest.

Onely another head

I have, another heart and breast, Another musick, making live, not dead,

Without Whom I could have no rest:

In Him I am well drest.

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Christ is my onely head,

My alone-onely heart and breast,

My onely musick, striking me ev'n dead,

That to the old man I may rest,

And be in Him new-drest.

So, holy in my head,

Perfect and light in my deare breast,

My doctrine tun'd by Christ, Who is not dead,

But lives in me while I do rest,

Come, people; Aaron's drest.

145. THE ODOUR. 2 Cor. xi.

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cleare?

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How sweetly doth 'My Master' sound! My Master!" As amber-greese leaves a rich scent

Unto the taster,

So do these words a sweet content,

An orientall fragrancie, 'My Master.'

With these all day I do perfume my minde,

My mind ev'n thrust into them both;

That I might finde

What cordials make this curious broth,

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=both words

This broth of smells, that feeds and fats my minde. 10

'My Master,' shall I speak? O that to Thee

'My servant' were a little so,

As flesh may be;

That these two words might crcep and grow

To some degree of spicinesse to Thee!

VOL. I.

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