And watch their opportunities of flight, But, is 't enough for me To be Instructed to be wise? I'll rise, And read a lecture unto them that are He that his joys would keep Must weep; And in the brine of tears And fears Must pickle them. That powder will preserve : Faith with repentance is the soul's conserve. Learn to make much of care: A rare And precious balsam 'tis For bliss; Which oft resides, where mirth with sorrow meets : Heavenly joys on earth are bitter-sweets. INUNDATIONS. WE talk of Noah's flood, as of a wonder; The Scriptures say, The water did prevail, the hills were under, And yet there are two other floods surpass As heaven one star, Which many men regard, as little, as The one is Sin, the other is Salvation : Confess indeed, That either of them is an inundation, In Noah's flood he and his household lived : A whole Ark-load Of other creatures, that were then reprieved: All safely on the waters rode. But when Sin came, it overflowèd all, And left none free: Nay, even he, That knew no sin, could not release my thrall, But that he was made sin for me; And, when Salvation came, my Saviour's blood Drown'd Sin again, With all its train Of evils, overflowing them with good, O, let there be one other inundation, Let Grace o'erflow In soul so, That thankfulness may level with Salvation, And sorrow Sin may overgrow. Then will I praise my Lord and Saviour so, That Angels shall Admire man's fall, When they shall see God's greatest glory grow, SIN. SIN, I would fain define thee; but thou art All that I bring To show thee fully, shows thee but in part. I call thee the transgression of the Law, That Sin is dead Without the Law; and thence its strength doth draw. I say thou art the sting of death. 'Tis true: Death comes behind : The work is done before the pay be due. I say thou art the devil's work; Yet he Call thee father; For he had been no devil but for thee. What shall I call thee then? If death and devil, Be names too good, I'll say thou art the quintessence of evil. TRAVELS AT HOME. OFT have I wish'd a traveller to be: Mine eyes did even itch the sights to see, That never says, enough; yet still was crost, And Afric thine affections. And if still Close up thine annals, and thine histories. And thine own nearest, dearest, self not know? THE JOURNEY. LIFE is a journey. From our mothers' wombs, As inns, we rest, till it be time to rise. 'Twixt rocks and gulfs our narrow foot-path lies: Our footsteps are our thoughts, our words, our works: The crooked turnings to perdition. One while we creep amongst the thorny brakes 14 |