Thy hand above did burn and glow, Danting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits.

But now that Christs pure vail presents the sight,

I see no fears:

Thy hand is white,

Thy scales like buckets, which attend
And interchangeably descend,

Lifting to heaven from this well of tears.

For where before thou still didst call on me,

Now I still touch

And harp on thee.

Gods promises hath made thee mine: Why should I justice now decline? Against me there is none, but for me much.

THE PILGRIMAGE.

TRAVELL'D on, seeing the hill, where lay
My expectation.

A long it was and weary way.
The gloomy cave of Desperation

I left on th' one, and on the other side

The rock of Pride.

And so I came to phansies medow strow'd

With many a flower:

Fain would I here have made abode,

But I was quicken'd by my houre.

So to cares cops I came, and there got through With much ado.

That led me to the wilde of passion; which

Some call the wold;

A wasted place, but sometimes rich.
Here I was robb'd of all my gold,

Save one good Angell, which a friend had ti’d

Close to my side.

At length I got unto the gladsome hill,

Where lay my hope,

Where lay my heart; and climbing still,
When I had gain'd the brow and top,
A lake of brackish waters on the ground

Was all I found.

50

ITH that abash'd and struck with many a sting

Of swarming fears,

I fell, and cry'd, Alas my King;

Can both the way and end be tears?

Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceiv'd
I was deceiv'd:

My hill was further: so I flung away,

Yet heard a crie

Just as I went, None goes that way

And lives: If that be all, said I,

After so foul a journey death is fair,

And but a chair.

THE HOLDFAST.

I THREATNED to observe the strict decree
Of my deare God with all my power and might:
But I was told by one, it could not be ;

Yet I might trust in God to be my light.

Then will I trust, said I, in him alone.

Nay, ev'n to trust in him, was also his :
We must confesse, that nothing is our own.

Then I confesse that he my succour is :

But to have nought is ours, not to confesse

That we have nought. I stood amaz’d at this,
Much troubled, till I heard
friend expresse,

That all things were more ours by being his.
What Adam had, and forfeited for all,
Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall.

COMPLAINING.

DO not beguile my heart,
Because thou art

My power and wisdome.

Put me not to shame, Because I am

Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls.

Thou art the Lord of glorie;

The deed and storie

Are both thy due: but I a silly flie,

That live or die,

According as the weather falls.

Art thou all justice, Lord?

Shows not thy word

More attributes? Am I all throat or eye,

To weep or crie?

Have I no parts but those of grief?

Let not thy wrathfull power

Afflict my houre,

My inch of life or let thy gracious power

Contract my houre,

That I may climbe and finde relief.

THE DISCHARGE.

BUSIE enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know?
Why dost thou prie,

And turn, and leer, and with a licorous eye
Look high and low;

And in thy lookings stretch and grow?

Hast thou not made thy counts, and summ'd up

Give

up

Did not thy heart

the whole, and with the whole depart?

Let what will fall:

That which is past who can recall ?

all?

Thy life is Gods, thy time to come is
And is his right.

gone,

He is thy night at noon: he is at night
Thy noon alone.

The crop is his, for he hath sown.

And well it was for thee, when this befell,
That God did make

Thy businesse his, and in thy life partake :
For thou canst tell,

If it be his once, all is well.

Onely the present is thy part and fee.
And happy thou,

If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow,
Thou couldst well see

What present things requir'd of thee.

They ask enough; why shouldst thou further go?
Raise not the mudde

Of future depths, but drink the cleare and good.
Dig not for wo

In times to come; for it will grow.

Man and the present fit: if he provide,
He breaks the square.

This houre is mine: if for the next I care,

I

grow too wide,

And do encroach upon

deaths side:

For death each houre environs and surrounds.

He that would know

And care for future chances, cannot go

Unto those grounds,

But thro' a Church-yard which them bounds.