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On the Miracle of Loaves.
YOW, Lord, or never, they'll believe on Thee;

Thou to their teeth hast proved Thy deity.



Why are ye afraid, O ye of little faith?

S if the storm meant Him;
Or, 'cause Heaven's face is dim,

His needs a cloud.
Was ever froward wind
That could be so unkind,

Or wave so proud ?
The wind had need be angry, and the water black,
That to the mighty Neptune's self dare threaten wrack.



There is no storm but this
Of your own cowardice

That braves you out;
You are the storm that mocks
Yourselves ; you are the rocks

Of your own doubt:
Besides this fear of danger there's no danger here,
And he that here fears danger does deserve his fear.

reai itself

On the Blessed Virgin's bashfulness.
HAT on her lap she casts her humble eye,

'Tis the sweet pride of her humility.

The fair star is well fixt, for where, 0 where, Could she have fixt it on a fairer sphere?

'Tis Heav'n, 'tis Heav'n she sees, Heav'n's God there lies; She can see Heaven, and ne'er lift up her eyes: This new guest to her eyes new laws hath given, 'Twas once look up, 'tis now look down to Heaven.

Upon Lazarus's Tears.

ICH Lazarus! richer in those gems, thy tears,
Than Dives in the robes he wears:

He scorns them now, but O, they'll suit full well With th' purple he must wear in hell.

Two went up into the Temple to pray.

WO went to pray? O rather say,
One went to brag, th' other to pray.

One stands up close, and treads on high,
Where th' other dares not lend his eye.

One nearer to God's altar trod,
The other to the altar's God.

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Upon the Ass that bore our Saviour.
ATH only anger an omnipotence
In eloquence?

Within the lips of love and joy doth dwell
No miracle?


Why else had Balaam's ass a tongue to chide
His master's pride?
And thou, Heaven-burthen'd beast, hast ne'er a word
To praise thy Lord?

That he should find a tongue and vocal thunder,
Was a great wonder;

But O, methinks 'tis a far greater one,

That thou find'st none.


I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my


HY God was making haste into thy roof, Thy humble faith and fear keeps Him aloof: He'll be thy guest; because He may not be, He'll come into thy house? No, into thee.

Upon the Powder-day.

OW fit our well-rank'd Feasts do follow,
All mischief comes after All-Hallow.

I am the Door.

ND now th' art set wide ope, the spear's sad art,
Lo hath unlock'd Thee at the very


He to himself, I fear the worst,

And his own hope,

Hath shut these doors of heaven, that durst
Thus set them ope.


The Blind cured by the Word of our Saviour.
HOU speak'st the word, Thy word's a law;
Thou spak'st, and straight the blind man saw.
To speak and make the blind man see,

Was never man, Lord, spake like Thee.

To speak thus was to speak, say I,
Not to his ear,

but to his


And He answered them nothing.
MIGHTY Nothing ! unto thee,
Nothing, we owe all things that be.

God spake once when He all things made,
He saved all when He Nothing said.
The world was made of Nothing then ;
'Tis made by Nothing now again.

To our Lord, upon the Water made Wine.
HOU water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life;

Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of Thy reign,

Distils from thence the tears of wrath and strife, And so turns wine to water back again.

Neither durst any Man from that day ask Him any

more Questions.
IDST all the dark and knotty snares,

Black wit or malice can or dares,

Thy glorious wisdom breaks the nets,
And treads with uncontrolled steps.
Thy quell'd foes are not only now
Thy triumphs, but Thy trophies too:
They, both at once Thy conquests be,
And Thy conquest's memory.
Stony amazement makes them stand

Waiting on Thy victorious hand,
Like statues fixed to the fame
Of Thy renown, and their own shame :
As if they only meant to breathe,
To be the life of their own death.
'Twas time to hold their peace when they
Had ne'er another word to say:
Yet is their silence unto Thee,
The full sound of Thy victory:
Their silence speaks aloud, and is
Thy well pronounced panegyris.
While they speak nothing, they speak all
Their share in Thy memorial.
While they speak nothing, they proclaim
Thee with the shrillest trump of fame.
To hold their peace is all the ways
These wretches have to speak Thy praise.

Upon our Saviour's Tomb, wherein never man was laid.
OW life and death in Thee

Thou hadst a virgin womb

And tomb.
A Joseph did betroth

Them both.

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It is better to go into Heaven with one Eye, &c.

NE Eye? a thousand rather, and a thousand more,
To fix those full-faced glories. 0, he's

poor Of eyes that has but Argus' store; Yet, if thou'lt fill one poor eye with Thy Heaven and


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