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Chr. ALAS, poor Death! where is thy glory?

Where is thy famous force, thy ancient fting?

Dea. Alas, poor mortal, void of ftory!

Go Spell and read how I have kill'd thy King.

Chr. Poor Death! and who was hurt thereby?
Thy curfe being laid on him makes thee accurft.
Dea. Let lofers talk. yet thou shalt die ;

Thefe arms fhall crush thee. Chr. Spare not, do thy worft.
I fhall be one day better than before:

Thou so much worse, that thou shalt be no more.

The Water-Course.

HOU who doft dwell and linger here below,

Tsince the condition of this world is frail,
Where of all plants affliction fooneft grow:
If troubles overtake thee, do not wail :

For who can look for less, that loveth

Life?

Strife?

But rather turn the pipe and water's course
To ferve thy fins, and furnish thee with ftore
Of fov'reign tears, fpringing from true remorse;
That fo in pureness thou may'st him adore,

Who gives to man, as he fees fit,

Salvation.

Damnation.

Self-Condemnation.

THOU who condemneft Jewish hate

For chufing Barabbas, a murderer,"
Before the Lord of glory:

Look back upon thine own eftate,
Call home thine eye (that bufy wanderer)
That choice may be thy ftory.

He that doth love, and love amiss.
This world's delights before true christian joy,
Hath made a Jewish choice:

The world an ancient murderer is;
Thousands of fouls it hath and doth destroy
With her enchanting voice.

He that hath made a forry wedding Between his foul and gold, and hath preferr'd Falfe gain before the true,

Hath done what he condemns in reading: For he hath fold for money his dear Lord, And is a Judas-Jew...

Thus we prevent the laft great day,

And judge ourselves. That light which fin and paffion Did before dim and choak,,

When once thofe stuffs are ta'n away,

Shines bright and clear, ev'n unto condemnation,
Without excuse or cloak.

Bitter Sweet.'

AH my dear angry

y Lord!

Since thou dost love, yet strike;

Caft down, yet help afford;

Sure I will do the like.

I will complain, yet praife:
I will bewail, approve :
And all my four-fweet days,
I will lament, and love.

The Glance:

WHEN firft thy fweet and gracious eye

Vouchfaf'd even in the midst of youth and night" To look upon me, who before did lieb: Welt'ring in fin

I felt a fugar'd ftrange delight, Paffing all cordials made by any art;Bedew, embalm, and over-run my heart, And take it in.

Since that time many a bitter forms My foul hath felt, ev'n able to deftroy,bi Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm His fwing and fway:

But ftill thy fweet original joy,

Sprung from thine eye, did work withim my foul, And furging griefs, when they grew bold, control, And got the day.

If thy first glance fo powerful be,
A mirth but open'd and feal'd up again;
What wonders fhall we feel, when we fhall fee
Thy full-ey'd love!

When thou shalt look us out of pain,

And one aspect of thine spend in delight
More than a thousand funs difbarfe in light
In heav'n above!

The 23d Psalm.

HE God of love my Shepherd is,

THE

And he that doth me feed';

While he is mine, and I am his,
What can I want or need ?

1

He leads me to the tender grafs,
Where I both feed and reft;
Then to the ftreams that gently pafs:
In both I have the best.

Or if I ftray, he doth convert,

And bring my mind in frame:

And all this not for my defert,
But for his holy name.

Yea, in death's fhady black abode!
Well may I walk, not fear:
For thou art with me, and thy rod
To guide, thy ftaff to bear.

Nay, thou doft make me fit and dine,
Ev'n in my en'mies' fight;

My head with oil, my cup with wine
Runs over day and night.

Surely thy fweet and wond'rous love
Shall measure all my days:

And as it never fhall remove,

So neither fhall my praife.

1.

WHE

Mary Magdalen.

HEN blessed Mary wip'd her Saviour's feet, (Whose precepts she had trampled on before) And wore them for a jewel on her head :

Shewing his steps should be the street
Wherein the henceforth evermore

With pensive humbleness would live and tread :
She being ftain'd herself, why did she strive
To make him clean, who could not be defil'd?
Why kept fhe not her tears for her own faults,
And not his feet? Though we could dive
In tears like feas, our fins are pil'd

Deeper than they, in words, and works, and thoughts.
Dear foul, she knew who did vouchsafe and deign
To bear her filth; and that her fins did dash
Ev'n God himself: Wherefore she was not loth,
As fhe had brought wherewith to ftain,

So to bring in wherewith to wash :
And yet, in washing one, she washeth both.

Aaron.

HOLINESS on the head,

Light and perfections on the breaft,
Harmonious bells below, raising the dead,
To lead them unto life and reft;
Thus are true Aarons dreft.

Profaneness in my head,

Defects and darkness in my breast,
A noise of paffions ringing me for dead
Unto a place where is no reft;

Poor priest thus am I dreft.

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