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These are the words and works of life; this do, And live; who doth not thus, hath lost heav'n's
way. O lose it not ! look up, wilt change those lights For chains of darknes and eternal nights?
SURE it was so.
Man in those early days
Had some glimpse of his birth. [whence He saw heaven o'er his head, and knew from
He came condemned hither; And, as first love draws strongest, so from hence
His mind sure progress'd thither.
All was a thorn or weed;
As soon as they did seed;
That fell’d him, foyld them all ;
The whole frame with his fall.
With murmurers and foes ;
"Ah! what bright days were those !”
Nor was heav'n cold unto him; for each day
The vally or the mountain Afforded visits, and still paradise lay
In some green shade or fountain. Angels lay leiger here; each bush and cell,
Each oke and highway, knew them ;
And he was sure to view them.
Sits down, and freezeth on;
But bids the thread be spun.
Looks dim too in the cloud ;
The center, and his shrowd.
And hatcheth o'er thy people –
“ Arise ! thrust in thy sickle!”
WELCOME, dear book, soul's joy and food! the
feast Of spirits; heav'n extracted lyes in thee. Thou art life's charter, the dove's spotless nest
Where souls are hatch'd unto eternitie.
In thee the hidden stone, the manna lies;
Thou art the great elixir rare and choice; The key that opens to all mysteries,
The word in characters, God in the voice.
O that I had deep cut in my hard heart
Each line in thee! then would I plead in groans Of my Lord's penning, and by sweetest art Return
himself the law and stones. Read here, my faults are thine. This book and I Will tell thee so; sweet Saviour, thou didst dye!
How rich, O Lord, how fresh thy visits are ! 'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung
Sullyed with dust and mud; Each snarling blast shot through me, and did shear Their youth and beauty; cold showres nipt, and
Their spiciness and bloud. [wrung But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey Their sad decays, I flourish, and once more
Breathe all perfumes and spice;
Hath one beame from thy eyes.
To wait upon thy wreath ?
Thus thou all day a thankless weed dost dress, And when th' hast done, a stench or fog is all
The odour I bequeath.
AWAKE, glad heart! get up, and sing !
The sun doth shake
Awake, awake! heark how th' wood rings,
A concert make;
Above this inne
And rode of sin !
I would I had in my best part
Were so clean as
Thy manger was !
Cure him, ease him,
O release him!
How kind is Heav'n to man! If here
One sinner doth amend, Straight there is joy, and ev'ry sphere
In musick doth contend.
Are mercy and salvation
Of no more acceptation ?
And here for us was slain,
Of all his woes remain ?
Are we all stone and earth?