But ere they came, how she in bitter tears
Bewail'd the loss, or lack, of her dear love,
As to her words my vision witness bears,
And my remembrance may for truth approve,
The whole discourse her passions seem'd to move,
In heart's deep grief and soul's high joy conceived,
Was, as I write,---were not my thoughts deceived.
If ever sorrow in a sinner's heart
Liv'd, to distil those drops of bitter tears,
That to the world in passions can impart
Part of that pain the troubled spirit bears,
Smothering the woes wherein all pleasure wears,
Oh, let her show the deepest of her skill,
In drawing out the essence of mine ill.
The loss of health the heart may somewhat craze,
The loss of wealth distemper may the mind,
The loss of honour is a fearful maze,
The loss of friends, a care of grievous kind;
But all these woes upon one heart to wind
Were much to think; but much more to believe,
How it could live, whom far more crosses grieve.
But from the brag of naked poverty,
To have more wealth than all the world can give;
And from the care of all calamity,
In all the comfort of content to live,
Where settled joy all grief away doth drive,
And suddenly grow sick and poor again,
Who can conceive the plague of such a pain?
I, wretched I, the outcast of all grace,
And banish'd for my sin from heavenly bliss;
I, that to hell did headlong run my race,
Not caring how my soul was led amiss,
While I was couzen'd by the serpent's hiss,
I, caitiff wretch, of all the world the worst,
By sin's just doom to endless sorrow curst.
I, wretched soul, whom sin had bared so,
As left me naked of all Nature's grace;
I, sink of sin, and also full of woe,
As knew not how in heaven to have a place;
And in the depth of all this desperate case,
To be reliev'd and cloth'd, grac'd and beloved,
And on the sudden from all these removed.
To lose the vesture of that virtue's grace,
That cloth'd my naked soul, asham'd of sin,
To lose the beauty of that blessed face,
Where Mercy's love did comfort's life begin;
To lose the joys that heavens were glad to win,
To lose the life of such a lovely friend,
Oh! let me weep, and never make an end.
The child that hath his father dearly loving,
Who sees his faults and greatly doth abhor them,
Yet so from wrath will have his thoughts removing,
As he will neither check nor chide him for them,
But puts them back, while pity stands before them,
And doth not only all his faults forgive,
But makes him kindly in his grace to live:
That happy child that in his heart hath felt
The blessed life of such a father's love;
Think how his heart must needs in sorrow melt,
That must the loss of such a father prove,
And curse the death doth such a life remove,
And, as a creature in all comforts friendless,
Bleed out his time in tears of sorrow endless.
That wicked child of too much ill am I,
That had a father held me all too dear;
Who from my sins did turn his angry eye,
And on my sorrow show'd a smiling cheer,
As when asham'd to come his face before,
He said but this---Take heed thou sin no more!'
My sins forgiven, what joy my soul received
None can express but the repentant heart;
Nor can that sorrow ever be conceived,
To see that father from that child depart,
But in that soul that, in the bitter smart
Of the true feeling of that father's love,
Had rather death than his departure prove.
The careless servant that the goods misspends,
Which his kind master to his trust committeth,
And his neat house to thieves and varlets lends,
And cares for nought but what his humour fitteth;
That gracious lord that all such faults remitteth,
And in his goodness doth so dearly love him,
That from his favour nothing shall remove him.
So ill a servant, that doth find the love
Of such a lord, as never like was found;
And in the midst of all his joy must prove
The death, to see his comfort all aground:
Scoff'd, scourg'd, and beaten; sorrowing, sighing, dying;
How can that servant cease continual crying?
That wicked servant, wretched wretch, am I!
That loving master was my living Lord!
Whose gracious gifts abused ungraciously,
Whose house, my soul, foul spirits laid aboard;
Fill'd full of sins, of graces all abhor'd:
Yet for all this, and all that I could do,
My Lord forgave me, and did love me too.
He cleansed my soul from all my filthy sin,
And with my tears did wash it clean again;
Drave out the fiends, and kindly enter'd in,
With grace to heal, that sorrow would have slain;
And in his love did so my tears retain,
That every drop that fell upon his feet,
Unto my soul did give a heavenly sweet.
Now such a master as was never such,
So good unto a servant, none so ill;
So much abused abuses; oh! too much;
A cursed crew, to work their hellish will,
Like ravening wolves, a silly lamb to kill:
Foul darkness, so to govern over light,
Who would not weep to death at such a sight?
A sorry sister that hath such a brother,
As for her love would venture loss of life,
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