The hen, so soon as she an egg doth lay, (Spreads the fame of her doing what she may.) About the yard she cackling now doth go, To tell what 'twas she at her nest did do.

Just thus it is with some professing men, If they do ought that good is, like our hen They can but cackle on't where e'er they go, What their right hand doth their left hand must know.

XLII.

UPON AN HOUR-GLa.s.s.

This gla.s.s, when made, was, by the workman's skill, The sum of sixty minutes to fulfil.

Time, more nor less, by it will out be spun, But just an hour, and then the gla.s.s is run.

Man's life we will compare unto this gla.s.s, The number of his months he cannot pa.s.s; But when he has accomplished his day, He, like a vapour, vanisheth away.

XLIII.

UPON A SNAIL.

She goes but softly, but she goeth sure, She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do.

Her journey's shorter, so she may endure Better than they which do much farther go.

She makes no noise, but stilly seizeth on The flower or herb appointed for her food, The which she quietly doth feed upon While others range and glare, but find no good.

And though she doth but very softly go, However, 'tis not fast nor slow, but sure; And certainly they that do travel so, The prize they do aim at they do procure.

Comparison.

Although they seem not much to stir, less go, For Christ that hunger, or from wrath that flee, Yet what they seek for quickly they come to, Though it doth seem the farthest off to be.

One act of faith doth bring them to that flower They so long for, that they may eat and live, Which, to attain, is not in others power, Though for it a king's ransom they would give.

Then let none faint, nor be at all dismayed That life by Christ do seek, they shall not fail To have it; let them nothing be afraid; The herb and flower are eaten by the snail.[37]

XLIV.

OF THE SPOUSE OF CHRIST.

Who's this that cometh from the wilderness, Like smokey pillars thus perfum'd with myrrh, Leaning upon her dearest in distress, Led into's bosom by the Comforter?

She's clothed with the sun, crowned with twelve stars, The spotted moon her footstool she hath made.

The dragon her a.s.saults, fills her with jars, Yet rests she under her Beloved's shade, But whence was she? what is her pedigree?

Was not her father a poor Amorite?

What was her mother but as others be, A poor, a wretched, and a sinful Hitt.i.te.

Yea, as for her, the day that she was born, As loathsome, out of doors they did her cast; Naked and filthy, stinking and forlorn; This was her pedigree from first to last.

Nor was she pitied in this estate, All let her lie polluted in her blood: None her condition did commiserate, There was no heart that sought to do her good.

Yet she unto these ornaments is come, Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s are fashioned, her hair is grown; She is made heiress of the best kingdom; All her indignities away are blown.

Cast out she was, but now she home is taken, Naked (sometimes), but now, you see, she's cloth'd; Now made the darling, though before forsaken, Barefoot, but now as princes' daughters shod.

Instead of filth, she now has her perfumes; Instead of ignominy, her chains of gold: Instead of what the beauty most consumes, Her beauty's perfect, lovely to behold.

Those that attend and wait upon her be Princes of honour, clothed in white array; Upon her head's a crown of gold, and she Eats wheat, honey, and oil, from day to day.

For her beloved, he's the high'st of all, The only Potentate, the King of kings: Angels and men do him Jehovah call, And from him life and glory always springs.

He's white and ruddy, and of all the chief: His head, his locks, his eyes, his hands, and feet, Do, for completeness, out-go all belief; His cheeks like flowers are, his mouth most sweet.

As for his wealth, he is made heir of all; What is in heaven, what is on earth is his: And he this lady his joint-heir doth call, Of all that shall be, or at present is.

Well, lady, well, G.o.d has been good to thee; Thou of an outcast, now art made a queen.

Few, or none, may with thee compared be, A beggar made thus high is seldom seen.

Take heed of pride, remember what thou art By nature, though thou hast in grace a share, Thou in thyself dost yet retain a part Of thine own filthiness; wherefore beware.

XLV.

UPON A SKILFUL PLAYER OF AN INSTRUMENT.

He that can play well on an instrument, Will take the ear, and captivate the mind With mirth or sadness; for that it is bent Thereto, as music in it place doth find.

But if one hears that hath therein no skill, (As often music lights of such a chance) Of its brave notes they soon be weary will: And there are some can neither sing nor dance.

Comparison.

Unto him that thus skilfully doth play, G.o.d doth compare a gospel-minister, That rightly preacheth, and doth G.o.dly pray, Applying truly what doth thence infer.

This man, whether of wrath or grace he preach, So skilfully doth handle every word; And by his saying doth the heart so reach, That it doth joy or sigh before the Lord.

But some there be, which, as the brute, doth lie Under the Word, without the least advance G.o.dward; such do despise the ministry; They weep not at it, neither to it dance.

XLVI.

OF MAN BY NATURE.

From G.o.d he's a backslider, Of ways he loves the wider; With wickedness a sider, More venom than a spider.

In sin he's a considerer, A make-bate and divider; Blind reason is his guider, The devil is his rider.

XLVII.

UPON THE DISOBEDIENT CHILD.

Children become, while little, our delights!

When they grow bigger, they begin to fright's.

Their sinful nature prompts them to rebel, And to delight in paths that lead to h.e.l.l.

Their parents' love and care they overlook, As if relation had them quite forsook.

They take the counsels of the wanton's, rather Than the most grave instructions of a father.

They reckon parents ought to do for them, Though they the fifth commandment do contemn; They snap and snarl if parents them control, Though but in things most hurtful to the soul.

They reckon they are masters, and that we Who parents are, should to them subject be!

If parents fain would have a hand in choosing, The children have a heart will in refusing.

They'll by wrong doings, under parents gather, And say it is no sin to rob a father.

They'll jostle parents out of place and power, They'll make themselves the head, and them devour.

How many children, by becoming head, Have brought their parents to a piece of bread!

Thus they who, at the first, were parents joy, Turn that to bitterness, themselves destroy.

But, wretched child, how canst thou thus requite Thy aged parents, for that great delight They took in thee, when thou, as helpless, lay In their indulgent bosoms day by day?

Thy mother, long before she brought thee forth, Took care thou shouldst want neither food nor cloth.

Thy father glad was at his very heart, Had he to thee a portion to impart.

Comfort they promised themselves in thee, But thou, it seems, to them a grief wilt be.

How oft, how willingly brake they their sleep, If thou, their bantling, didst but winch or weep.

Their love to thee was such they could have giv'n, That thou mightst live, almost their part of heav'n.

But now, behold how they rewarded are!

For their indulgent love and tender care; All is forgot, this love he doth despise.

They brought this bird up to pick out their eyes.

XLVIII.

UPON A SHEET OF WHITE PAPER.

This subject is unto the foulest pen, Or fairest handled by the sons of men.