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Church Rents and Schisms.
Where thou didit lately fo-triumph and shine,
Their beauteous glories. Only throds ofithee;
Why doth my mother blush ?' Is. The the Ráfe,,
Turned your ruddy into pale and bleak;
Then did you sev'ral parts ynloose and ftart :
With these two poor ones lick up all the dew,
Justice. O Dreadful Justice, what all rights and terror
thou of old,
When lin and esror;
And thro' their glass discolour thee!
Like two great pits;
The beam and scape Did like some tott'ring engine show:
Thy hand above did burn and glow, Danting the stouteft hearts, the proudest wits. But now that Christ's pure vail presents the light,
I fee no fears :
Thy hand is white,
Aud interchangeably descend,
Now I still touch
And harp on thee,
Why should I: Justice now decline ?
The gloomy cave of desperation
The rock of pride.
And so I came to Fancy's Meadows ftrow'd
With many a flower :
But I was quicken'd by my hour.
With much ado.
That led me to the wild of passion; which
Some call the world;
Here I was robb’d of all my gold,
Close to my side.
At length I got unto the gladsome hill,
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.
With that abash'd, and struck with many'a Ating,
Of swarming fears,
Can both the way and end be tears ?
I was deceiv'd.
My hill was further : fo I flung away,
Yet heard a cry
And lives; If that be all, said I,
And but a chair.
Nay, ev'n to trust in him alone.
Of my dear God with all my power and might :
But I was told b: one it could not be ;
was also his :
That we have nought. I stood amaz'd at this,
Much troubled, till I heard a friend express,,
What Adam had, and forfeited for all,
not beguile my heart,
Because thou art
Because I am
The deed and story
That live or die,
Shows not thy word
To weep or cry?
Let not thy wrathful power
Aflict my hour,
Contract my hour,
The Discharge. BUSY inquiring heart
, what would & thon know ? And turn and leer, and with a licorous eye
Look high and low,
And in thy' lookings ftretch and grow? Haft thou not made thy counts, and summ'd up all?
Did not thy heart
Let what will fall :
That which is part who can recal ?
And is his right!
Thy noon alone.
The crop is his, for he hath fowit.
That God did make
For thou can't tell,
If it be his once, ali is well
And happy thous
Thou could'nt well see