THE CHURCHES Ardent LOVE to CHRIST.
Being a PARAPHRASE on
Cant. 1.2, 3.
To the READER.
READER,
IF thou hast holy flames which ne'er do cease,
This Poem read, it may thy flames increase:
Or if thou art Prophane, here thou may'st see
To the true Church, thy Non-conformity.
Some I have known, who highly did admire
That any should be sing'd in
Cupid's fire,
Yet have themselves found it too hot at last,
To bear the scalding heat but of a Blast.
So thou that art Prophane, thou mayst admire
That any should be fond of Holy Fire,
Yet may a holy spark some time or other
Take in thy heart, which thou mayst never smother;
And who can tell, but that this
Poem may
That spark produce, wouldst thou but read and pray.
Perchance thou mayst in reading raise some Jeers,
For ought I know, thou mayst let fall some Tears:
He may be won, that longest doth resist,
The Spirits wind doth blow, where it doth list.
I'll ne'er despair of any, whilst I see
A fruitless Tree, may next year fruitful be.
But yet remember this, there's nothing brings
More danger, than to scoff at sacred things;
The Song was his, who wisest was of
Kings.
My style's too low for matter so Divine;
The R
[...] is dull, the Precious-stone doth shine,
Take thou the Stone, and let the Ring be mine.
Cant.
1. 2 & 3 Verses.
Let him Kiss me with the K [...]sses of his Mouth, for thy Love is [...]etter than Wine.
Because of th [...] savour of thy good Oyntments, thy name is as Oyntment poured out, therefore do the Virgins Love thee.
W
[...] Tongue sufficient
[...] express my grief,
W
[...]en
[...] presence gives
[...]e
[...]
In all my streights? Sole Object of my joy,
(To whom the World compar'd, is but a toy,
Which never can my poorest fancy please,
Without thy blessed Self:) O come and ease
My wounded Love-sick heart: Its sacred fire,
If thou sustainest not, 'twill soon expire.
Thou did'st inkindle it, to purge out sin,
And none besides thy self can keep it in.
Should it go out, Death soon would me surprize,
And triumph too, in closing of mine eyes.
My Love and Life, are interwoven so,
As one cannot without the other go;
O! therefore come, with thy enlivening breath,
Blow up my
[...]eals, I may not mourn to Death.
I
Salamander like, can be content
No where, but in Love's fiery Element,
Nor comfort take, but while my flames exalt
Their Curling-tops above the Azure Vault;
And thou alone canst make them so to burn:
O! therefore, how I long for thy Return!
Let there no Zenith, there no Nadir be,
To separate my dear Bridegroom from me:
Stand off thou East and West, thou North and South,
Let him me kiss with th' kisses of his mouth.
Their favours will not only keep me chaste,
But be of Glory too a good foretaste;
They will such Sweets convey into my heart,
As Heaven itself no better can impart.
So I for waiting shall a full amends
Receive, and make it known to Foes and Friends,
That all may see how sweet a Spouse I have,
And may the same endearing Kisses crave:
His Kisses so enamour will the Soul,
As nought but Love divine, shall there controul.
Be gone thou World; let not a frown or smile
Of thine, (wherewith thou many dost beguile,)
Fill any place 'twixt him and me: Go, go
To those that place their happiness below:
I'll harbour no Competitor, for I
Resolve to him to live, for him to die;
So Ardent is my Love, I cannot brook,
That ought should hinder me but of a Look.
With his sweet breath let me be so perfum'd,
As all those nasty Worms may be consum'd,
Bred by the want of it: His pow'rful breath
Can blow them all beneath the power of Death,
And cleanse my sully'd Soul and Body so,
As both shall whiter be than driven Snow.
Such distances are nothing to my Dear,
I can no sooner wish, but lo he's near:
I knew this glorious Sun was nigh to dawn,
Because I felt my frozen heart was thawn.
Lo, at their widest spread, are here mine arms
Thee to embrace: My heart is fill'd with Charms
Of Love. Ye everlasting doors stand ope,
And let the King of Glory have full scope
To enter in; O! come, possess thine own,
Within my Heart set up thy Kingly Throne;
Rule in my Heart, and rule thou there alone,
Cast out all those which oft have made me groan;
For thy dear Love far better is than Wine,
That cheers my heart, but This makes it divine:
Yea, 't hath a Vertue too, more worth than Gold,
It changeth Enmity into Loves mold;
For even those that did thee hate, and by
False Lovers were defil'd, thy glancing Eye
Hath made them quit those Lovers all, to cleave
To thee, knowing thou ne'er wilt them deceive.
Yea, it transcends all worldly Joys so far,
As it admits not of the least compare;
Nay should they be compar'd, (substracting trouble)
The World, in full, could never weigh a Bubble.
Verse 3.
Thou great Chirurgeon of Mankind, thou hast
Both Power and Will to cure (but with a Cast
Of thy most bright and radient Eye) the heart,
Though wounded through with Satans fiery dart.
The goodness of thine
Oyntment too is such,
All Maladies 't hath cur'd but with a Toutch.
Its sovereign vertues when thou didst make known,
(How it had cur'd the World of being none;
Yea, when 'twas self-destroy'd, and had Death's groan
Upon
[...]t,) then its sweet Savour did disperse
Such sweet Perfumes throughout the Universe,
So mixt with Love and Grace, that
Virgins all,
By a most dear Impulse, could not but fall
In Love with thee. That thou that didst Eternity
Enjoy, with all above that yonder Sky,
Where true and everlasting Joys abound;
And if there no Associates had been found,
Hadst happy been in thine ownselfs enjoyment,
W
[...] the sla
[...]ish trouble of Employment,
Shouldst yet have thoughts of making Man, and for
His Dwelling-place, a World that should concur
With him, to answer all his needs; and then,
To joy to dwell among the Sons of Men;
And for that World t'employ thy Providence,
Both for its Sustentation and Defence;
And t'undertake the toyl to rule't, although
Thou knew'st that Man (thy Deputy) would grow
More wild, than wildest Bruits, and thee forsake.
And that this World thou shouldst of nothing make,
And Man but of a dirty Clod of Clay,
And dart into him such a glorious Ray,
As did thy blessed Image on him stamp,
And place within him such a heavenly Lamp,
As might have guided him in all his ways,
And brought him safe to Glory, thee to Praise!
But O! let
Seraphims speak if they can,
It is above the reach of
Finite Man,
The wonderful Stupendiousness to tell
Of thy Redeeming Love: That when Man fell
From his created state, had quite defaced
Thy sacred Image, all his Oyl was wasted,
Extinguished that Lamp, which was his Guide,
And nought became, but a huge Mass of Pride,
And yet of Misery! That thou shouldst leave
Thy glorious Throne, Mans Nature to receive!
Disrobe thy self for Raggs, and be content,
From thy Dear Fathers bosome, to be sent
Into this World of wickedness and wo,
Pains far beyond our thoughts to undergo,
Such as thou never couldst have born their Load,
Hadst thou been only Man, and not been God,
One drachm whereof t'have born, would e'er have prest
The Universe below the hope of Rest,
Yet should, if thou hadst not the whole have born!
Expos'd unto thy Vassels greatest scorn!
The worst indignities of vilest Men!
The wrath of an incensed God! And then
Thy spotless Soul a Sacrifice for Sin
To offer up! 'Tis endless to begin
Thy condescending Love t'admire, for all
Thy Sufferings were, to free vile Man from thrall,
And re-instate him in a state of Bliss
Of thy free will, for no desert of his!
That thou the
King shouldst Trayt'rous Man forgive,
Yea, die the Traytor's death, that he might live!
Well might the Worlds bold eye ashamed be,
When Men would not thy Innocency see!
Well might the senseless Rocks in sunder rent,
When Reas'n-endowed Men would not relent!
Well might the sacred
Temple's vail be broken,
When Worshippers would shew, of grief, no Token!
Well might dead Bodies rise out of their Graves,
When living Men would not be Free, but Slaves!
And well might Angels stoop themselves, to see
The greatness of so great a Mistery!
These works of Love and Wonder have such Fame
In Heaven and Earth thee got, as that thy Name
Is as most precious
Oyntment poured out,
Attracting
Virgins Love the World throughout,
Mounting their Faith above their Hope, with me
For e'er to love, and be belov'd of thee.
And are some of thine
Oyntments sweet Perfumes,
Whose Fragrancies have filled all the rooms
Of
Virgin-hearts, whereby they are made fit
For thee their King to enter in, and sit
And sup with them, and make them long to see
Thy glorious self their welcom
[...]st Guest to be.
The savour of thine
Oyntment too, is sweet
Both in thy Word and Temples where they meet;
O! how they joy, that thou hast so contriv'd,
That in thy Word (to keep their hearts reviv'd)
As in a glass, they may thee still behold:
That thou their Spots, and their depraved Mold,
Dost by thy Spirit cleanse, and make them whiter
Than scouring can by Fullers Soap and Nitre,
And hast engag'd for ever me t'uphold
Against Hell gates, or ought that can be told.
Thy Graces too, prepar'd with heavenly Art,
Do Cordialize thine
Oyntment for the Hea
[...]t,
Being sweet'ned with thy
Promises; these deck
Thee more than Chains of Gold the purest Neck,
And send such Odours forth, as that they draw
With sweeter Violence than Jet the Straw
All
Virgins unto thee, with power such,
The Load-stone draws not Iron half so much.
And thou with these, all
Virgins hast adorn'd:
These Rubies, and these Pomanders, though scorn'd
By others are, yet are by them so priz'd,
As by thy help, they have them Temperiz'd,
So are fit Habitations of thy Spirit,
Meet for that glorious Light which Saints inherit,
And will at last be my Companions found,
For they with me, with Love to thee are Crown'd;
And these our Crowns, which here are made of Love,
Will help make up our glorious Crowns above.
To the Ingenious Mr. Joshua Jordan, on his foregoing Poem.
I.
SAY sacred Bard? What Muse did thee inspire?
none of the Poets nine, it could not be;
I rather think 'twas some Diviner fire,
and wish the same would so inspire me.
II.
So sweet each Cadence flows, replete with sense,
the more I read it, I admire thee more;
And so attractive is your Eloquence,
methinks I have no power to give o'er.
III.
Your sacred Accents with bright vertue fraught,
declares your thoughts are pure, immaculate;
Wisdom and Grace together there is wrought,
and sprightly Wit triumphant sits in state.
IV.
Some may (perhaps) in these debauched times,
censorious be, but let them do their worst;
The Wise and Vertuous will affect your Rhimes,
whilst impious Criticks do with envy burst.
V.
As when bright
Sol, hid in a gloomy Cloud,
breaks forth, it shines more glorious than before;
E'en so your Verse, though darkness may it shroud
a while, at length 'twill please us more and more.
Oxcynthes, R. B.
To the Bookseller, on the foregoing Poem.
THE Author's yet unknown to me, so I
forbear to speak, for fear I should thereby
Detract from his desert, and hurt his Name,
Who once may gain an everlasting Fame.
His
Aim is good, the Subject's too divine,
To be made better by a Pen of mine:
The Genius may, by use, be more sublime,
And
Dr—n may become his Friend in time.
His
Name (perhaps) may make the faithless World
Believe his Muse from
Helicon was hurl'd.
Till then, I'll say no more, than that I am,
Your faithful Friend, and still will be the same.
C. B.
Licens'd,
May 4. 1687.
R. M.
LONDON, Printed for John Taylor, at the Ship in St. Paul's Church-yard, 1687.