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Though clouded in a veil of flesh,

The Sun of Righteousness appears,

Melting cold cares, and frosty fears,
And making joys spring up afresh.

O that his light and influence,

Would work effectually in me

Another new Epiphany,
Exhale, and elevate me hence :.

That, as my calling doth require,

Star-like I may to others shine ;

And guide them to that Sun divine,
Whose day-light never shall expire !

THE PASSION, OR GOOD FRIDAY.

This day my Saviour died : and do I live?

What, hath not sorrow slain me yet?
Did the immortal God vouchsafe to give

His life for mine, and do I set
More by my wretched life, than he by his,

So full of glory, and of bliss ?

Did his free mercy, and mere love to me,

Make him forsake his glorious throne, And mount a cross, the stage of infamy,

That so he might not die alone ; But dying suffer more through grief and shame,

Than mortal men have power to name?

And can ingratitude so far prevail

, To keep me living still ? Alas! Methinks some thorn out of his crown, some nail,

At least his spear, might pierce, and pass Thorough, and thorough, till it rived mine heart,

As the right death-deserving part.

And doth he not expect it should be so ?

Would he lay down a price so great,
And not look that his purchases should grow

Accordingly? Shall I defeat
His just desire ? O no, it cannot be :

His death must needs be death to me.

My life's not mine, but his : for he did die

That I might live : yet dièd so,
That being dead he was alive; and I

Thorough the gates of death must go
To live with him : yea, to live by him here

Is a part in his death to bear.

Die then, dull soul, and if thou canst not die,

Dissolve thyself into a Sea Of living tears, whose streams may ne'er go dry,

Nor turnèd be another way, Till they have drown'd all joys, but those alone,

Which sorrow claimeth for its own.

For sorrow hath its joys: and I am glad

That I would grieve, if I do not :
But, if I neither could, nor would, be sad

And sorrowful, this day, my lot
Would be to grieve for ever, with a grief

Uncapable of all relief.

No grief was like that, which he grieved for me,

A greater grief than can be told :
And like my grief for him no grief should be,

If I could grieve so, as I would :
But what I would, and cannot, he doth see,

And will accept, that died for me.

Lord, as thy grief and death for me are mine,

For thou hast given them unto me;
So my desires to grieve and die are thine,

For they are wrought only by thee.
Not for my sake then, but thine own, be pleased

With that, which thou thyself hast raised.

THE RESURRECTION, OR EASTER-DAY.

UP, and away,

Thy Saviour's gone before. Why dost thou stay,

Dull soul ? Behold, the door Is open, and his Precept bids thee rise, Whose power hath vanquish'd all thine enemies,

Say not, I live,

Whilst in the grave thou liest : He that doth give

Thee life would have thee prize 't More highly than to keep it buried, where Thou canst not make the fruits of it appear.

Is rottenness,

And dust so pleasant to thee, That happiness,

And heaven, cannot woo thee, To shake thy shackles off, and leave behind thee Those fetters, which to death and hell do bind thee?

In vain thou say'st,

Thou art buried with thy Saviour,
If thou delay'st,

To show, by thy behaviour,
That thou art risen with him ; Till thou shine
Like him, how canst thou say his light is thine ?

Early he rose,

And with him brought the day,
Which all thy foes

Frighted out of the way:
And wilt thou sluggard-like turn in thy bed,
Till noon-sun beams draw up thy drowsy head?

Open thine eyes, ,

Sin-seized soul, and see What cobweb-ties

They are, that trammel thee; Not profits, pleasures, honours, as thou thinkest ; But loss, pain, shame, at which thou vainly winkest,

All that is good

Thy Saviour dearly bought
With his heart's blood;

And it must there be sought,
Where he keeps residence, who rose this day :
Linger no longer then ; up, and

away.

J

THE ASCENSION, OR HOLY THURSDAY.

MOUNT, mount, my soul, and climb, or rather fly

With all thy force on high, Thy Saviour rose not only, but ascended ;

And he must be attended Both in his conquest and his triumph too.

His glories strongly woo His graces

to them, and will not appear In their full lustre, until both be there,

Where he now sits, not for himself alone,

But that upon his throne All his redeemèd may attendants be,

Robed, and crown'd as he. Kings without Courtiers are lone men, they say ;

And dost thou think to stay Behind on earth, whilst thy King reigns in heaven, Yet not be of thy happiness bereaven?

Nothing that thou canst think worth having's here.

Nothing is wanting there,
That thou canst wish, to make thee truly blest.

And, above all the rest,
Thy life is hid with God in Jesus Christ,

Higher than what is high’st.
O grovel then no longer here on earth,
Where misery every moment drowns thy mirth.

But tower, my soul, and soar above the skies,

Where thy true treasure lies.

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