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Upon the Epiphany, and the three wise Men of the East coming to worship Jesus.

A COMET, dangling in the air,

Presag'd the ruin both of death and sin;
And told the wise men of a king,

The King of glory, and the Sun

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Of righteousness, who then begun
To draw towards that blessed hemisphere.
They, from the furthest east, this new
And unknown light pursue,

Till they appear

In this blest infant King's propitious eye,
And pay their homage to his royalty.
Persia might then the rising sun adore;
It was idolatry no more.
Great God, they gave to thee
Myrrh, frankincense, and gold;
But, Lord, with what shall we

Present ourselves before thy majesty,
Whom thou redeem'dst when we were sold?
W' have nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither,
Vile dirt and clay;

Yet it is soft, and may
Impression take:

Accept it, Lord, and say, this thou hadst rather;
Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make

Thy holy image, and it shall outshine

The beauty of the golden mine. Amen.




A Meditation of Death.

DEATH, the old serpent's son,

Thou hadst a sting once, like thy sire, That carried hell, and ever-burning fire: But those black days are done;

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Thy foolish spite buried thy sting

In the profound and wide

Wound of our Saviour's side:

And now thou art become a tame and harmless thing, A thing we dare not fear,

Since we hear,

That our triumphant God, to punish thee
For the affront thou didst him on the tree,
Hath snatch'd the keys of hell out of thy hand,
And made thee stand

A porter to the gate of life, thy mortal enemy.
O Thou, who art that gate, command that he
May, when we die,

And thither fly,

Let us into the courts of heaven, through thee!

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Of the Day of Judgment.

GREAT Judge of all, how we vile wretches quake!
Our guilty bones do ache;

Our marrow freezes, when we think
Of the consuming fire
Of thine ire,-

And horrid phials, thou shalt make
The wicked drink;

When thou the winepress of thy wrath shalt tread
With feet of lead.

Sinful rebellious clay! what unknown place
Shall hide it from thy face!

When earth shall vanish from thy sight,
The heavens that never err'd,

But observ'd

Thy laws, shall from thy presence take their flight, And kill'd with glory, their bright eyes stark dead Start from their head:

Lord, how shall we,

Thy enemies, endure to see

So bright, so killing majesty?.

Mercy, dear Saviour: thy judgment seat

We dare not, Lord, intreat;

We are condemn'd already, there.
Mercy! vouchsafe one look

On thy book

Of life; Lord, we can read the saving Jesus, here, And in his name our own salvation see:

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O BEAUTEOUs God, uncircumscribed treasure

Of an eternal pleasure,

Thy throne is seated far
Above the highest star,

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That builds his hopes on thy merit,
And loves thee with a holy charity.
What ravish'd heart, seraphic tongue or eyes,
Clear as the morning's rise,

Can speak, or think, or see,
That bright eternity?

Where the great King's transparent throne
Is of an entire jasper stone:

There the eye

O' th' chrysolite,

And a sky

Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase,
And, above all, thy holy face

Makes an eternal clarity.

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When thou thy jewels up dost bind, that day

Remember us, we pray,

That where the beryl lies

And the crystal, 'bove the skies,

There thou may'st appoint us place

Within the brightness of thy face;
And our soul

In the scroll

Of life and blissfulness enrol,

That we may praise thee to eternity.


Of Hell.

HORRID darkness, sad and sore;
And an eternal night!

Groans and shrieks, and thousands more

In the want of glorious light!
Every corner hath a snake

In the accursed lake:

Seas of fire, beds of snow,
Are the best delights below;

A viper from the fire
Is his hire,

That knows not moments from eternity.
Glorious God of day and night,

Spring of eternal light,

Allelujahs, hymns, and psalms,

And coronets of palms,

Fill thy temple evermore.

O mighty God,

Let not thy bruising rod

Crush our loins with an eternal pressure;
O let thy mercy be the measure;
For, if thou keepest wrath in store,
We all shall die;

And none be left to glorify
Thy name, and tell

How thou hast sav'd our souls from hell.


On the Conversion of St. Paul.

FULL of wrath, his threatening breath
Belching nought, but chains and death:
Saul was arrested in his way,

By a voice and a light,
That, if a thousand days
Should join in rays

To beautify one day,

It would not show so glorious and so bright.
On his amazed eyes it night did fling,

That day might break within ;

And, by those beams of faith,

Make him of a child of wrath

Become a vessel full of glory.

Lord, curb us in our dark and sinful way;

We humbly pray;

When we down horrid precipices run

With feet that thirst to be undone,

That this may be our story.


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