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34. LIP-LABOUR.
In the old Scripture I have often read, The calf without meal ne'er was offered; To figure to us nothing more than this, Without the heart lip-labour nothing is.
35. THE HEART.
In prayer the lips ne'er act the winning part, Without the sweet concurrence of the heart.
36. EARRINGS.
Why wore th' Egyptians jewels in the ear?
But for to teach us, all the grace is there, When we obey, by acting what we hear.
37. SIN SEEN.
When once the sin has fully acted been, Then is the horror of the trespa.s.s seen.
38. UPON TIME.
Time was upon The wing, to fly away; And I call'd on Him but awhile to stay; But he'd be gone, For ought that I could say.
He held out then A writing, as he went; And ask'd me, when False man would be content To pay again What G.o.d and Nature lent.
An hour-gla.s.s, In which were sands but few, As he did pa.s.s, He show'd, and told me, too, Mine end near was; And so away he flew.
39. HIS PEt.i.tION.
If war or want shall make me grow so poor, As for to beg my bread from door to door; Lord! let me never act that beggar's part, Who hath Thee in his mouth, not in his heart: He who asks alms in that so sacred Name, Without due reverence, plays the cheater's game.
40. TO G.o.d.
Thou hast promis'd, Lord, to be With me in my misery; Suffer me to be so bold As to speak, Lord, say and hold.
41. HIS LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT.
In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart and sick in head, And with doubts discomforted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the house doth sigh and weep, And the world is drown'd in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the artless doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When his potion and his pill Has, or none, or little skill, Meet for nothing, but to kill; Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the pa.s.sing bell doth toll, And the furies in a shoal Come to fright a parting soul, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the tapers now burn blue, And the comforters are few, And that number more than true, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the priest his last hath prayed, And I nod to what is said, 'Cause my speech is now decayed, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When, G.o.d knows, I'm toss'd about, Either with despair, or doubt; Yet before the gla.s.s be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the tempter me pursu'th With the sins of all my youth, And half d.a.m.ns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the flames and h.e.l.lish cries Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
When the judgment is reveal'd, And that open'd which was seal'd, When to Thee I have appeal'd, Sweet Spirit, comfort me!
42. THANKSGIVING.
Thanksgiving for a former, doth invite G.o.d to bestow a second benefit.
43. c.o.c.k-CROW.
Bellman of night, if I about shall go For to deny my Master, do thou crow.
Thou stop'dst St. Peter in the midst of sin; Stay me, by crowing, ere I do begin: Better it is, premonish'd for to shun A sin, than fall to weeping when 'tis done.
44. ALL THINGS RUN WELL FOR THE RIGHTEOUS.
Adverse and prosperous fortunes both work on Here, for the righteous man's salvation; Be he oppos'd, or be he not withstood, All serve to th' augmentation of his good.
45. PAIN ENDS IN PLEASURE.
Afflictions bring us joy in times to come, When sins, by stripes, to us grow wearisome.
46. TO G.o.d.
I'll come, I'll creep, though Thou dost threat, Humbly unto Thy mercy-seat: When I am there, this then I'll do, Give Thee a dart, and dagger too; Next, when I have my faults confessed, Naked I'll show a sighing breast; Which if that can't Thy pity woo, Then let Thy justice do the rest And strike it through.
47. A THANKSGIVING TO G.o.d FOR HIS HOUSE.
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry; Where Thou my chamber for to ward Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate, Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come, and freely get Good words or meat; Like as my parlour, so my hall And kitchen's small; A little b.u.t.tery, and therein A little bin Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unclipt, unflead.
Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it.
Lord, I confess, too, when I dine, The pulse is Thine, And all those other bits, that be There placed by Thee; The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent; And my content Makes those, and my beloved beet, To be more sweet.
