8 The receiving mouth here makes
Nor wound nor breach in what he takes;
Let one, or one thousand be
Here dividers, single he
Bears home no less, all they no more,
Nor leave they both less than before.
9 Though in itself this sov'reign feast
Be all the same to ev'ry guest,
Yet on the same (life-meaning) bread
The child of death eats himself dead;
Nor is 't love's fault, but sin's dire skill
That thus from life can death distil.
10 When the blest signs thou broke shalt see,
Hold but thy faith entire as he,
Who, howsoe'er clad, cannot come
Less than whole Christ in ev'ry crumb:
In broken forms a stable faith
Untouch'd her precious total hath.
11 Lo, the life-food of angels then
Bow'd to the lowly mouths of men!
The children's bread, the bridegroom's wine,
Not to be cast to dogs or swine.
12 Lo, the full, final, sacrifice
On which all figures fix'd their eyes:
The ransom'd Isaac, and his ram;
The manna, and the paschal lamb.
13 Jesu, Master, just and true!
Our food, and faithful shepherd too!
Oh by thyself vouchsafe to keep,
As with thyself thou feed'st thy sheep.
14 Oh let that love which thus makes thee
Mix with our low mortality,
Lift our lean souls, and set us up
Convictors of thine own full cup,
Coheirs of saints, that so all may
Drink the same wine, and the same way,
Nor change the pasture, but the place,
To feed of thee in thine own face. Amen.
IN MEDITATION OF THE DAY OF JUDGMENT.
1 HEAR'ST thou, my soul, what serious things Both the Psalm and Sybil sings
Of a sure Judge, from whose sharp ray
The world in flames shall fly away?
2 O that fire! before whose face
Heaven and earth shall find no place:
O these eyes! whose angry light
Must be the day of that dread night.
3 0 that trump! whose blast shall run
An even round with th' circling sun,
And urge the murm'ring graves to bring
Pale mankind forth to meet his King.
4 Horror of Nature, Hell and Death!
When a deep groan from beneath
Shall cry, 'We come, we come,' and all
The caves of night answer one call.
5 0 that book! whose leaves so bright
Will set the world in severe light.
O that Judge! whose hand, whose eye
None can endure, yet none can fly.
6 Ah, then, poor soul, what wilt thou say?
And to what patron choose to pray?
When stars themselves shall stagger, and
The most firm foot no more then stand.
7 But thou givest leave (dread Lord!) that we
Take shelter from thyself in thee;
And with the wings of thine own dove
Fly to thy sceptre of soft love.
8 Dear, remember in that day
Who was the cause thou cam'st this way:
Thy sheep was stray'd; and thou would'st be
Ev'n lost thyself in seeking me.
9 Shall all that labour, all that cost
Of love, and ev'n that loss, be lost?
And this loved soul, judged worth no less
Than all that way and weariness?
10 Just mercy, then, thy reck'ning be
With my price, and not with me;
'Twas paid at first with too much pain,
To be paid twice, or once in vain.
11 Mercy (my Judge), mercy, I cry,
With blushing cheek and bleeding eye;
The conscious colours of my sin
Are red without and pale within.
12 Oh, let thine own soft bowels pay
Thyself, and so discharge that day.
If sin can sigh, love can forgive,
Oh, say the word, my soul shall live!
13 Those mercies which thy Mary found,
Or who thy cross confess'd and crown'd,
Hope tells my heart, the same loves be
Still alive, and still for me.
14 Though both my prayers and tears combine,
Both worthless are; for they are mine:
But thou thy bounteous self still be,
And show thou art, by saving me.
15 Oh, when thy last frown shall proclaim
The flocks of goats to folds of flame,
And all thy lost sheep found shall be,
Let Come, ye blessed,' then call me.
16 When the dread Ite 1 shall divide
Those limbs of death from thy left side,
Let those life-speaking lips command
That I inherit thy right hand.
17 Oh hear a suppliant heart, all crusht
And crumbled into contrite dust.
My hope, my fear! my judge, my friend!
Take charge of me, and of my end.
Ite:''Depart, ye cursed,' &c.
HAIL, most high, most humble one!
Above the world, below thy Son,
Whose blush the moon beauteously mars
And stains the tim'rous light of stars.
He that made all things had not done
Till he had made himself thy Son.
The whole world's host would be thy guest,
And board himself at thy rich breast;
O boundless hospitality!
The feast of all things feeds on thee.
The first Eve, mother of our fall,
E'er she bore any one, slew all.
Of her unkind gift might we have
Th' inheritance of a hasty grave;
Quick buried in the wanton tomb
Of one forbidden bit,
Had not a better fruit forbidden it;
Had not thy healthful womb
The world's new eastern window been,
And given us heaven again in giving him.
Thine was the rosy dawn that sprung the day,
Which renders all the stars she stole away.
Let then the aged world be wise, and all Prove nobly, here, unnatural:
'Tis gratitude to forget that other,
And call the maiden Eve their mother.
Ye redeem'd nations far and near,
Applaud your happy selves in her,
(All you to whom this love belongs)
And keep 't alive with lasting songs.
|