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ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED DEC. 16, 1646.
WHEN Faith and Love, which parted from thee never,
Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.
Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest,
ON THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX, AT THE SIEGE OF
FAIRFAX, whose name in arms through Europe rings,
Victory home, though new rebellions raise
(For what can war but endless war still breed?)
And public faith cleared from the shameful brand
TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1652,
MINISTERS AT THE COMMITTEE FOR PROPAGATION OF THE GOSPEL.
ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN
CROMWELL, our chief of men, who through a cloud
Not of war only, but detractions rude,
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud
Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued, While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, And Worcester's laureate wreath: yet much remains To conquer still; Peace hath her victories
No less renowned than War: new foes arise, Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw.
TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER.
VANE, young in years, but in sage counsel old,
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold
The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled;
Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold, In all her equipage; besides, to know
Both spiritual power and civil, what each means,
The bounds of either sword to thee we owe:
Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans
ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT.
AVENGE, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes, sow
A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way,
[ON HIS BLINDNESS.]
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
[TO MR. LAWRENCE.]
LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire,
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
He who of those delights can judge, and spare
[TO CYRIACK SKINNER.]
CYRIACK, whose grandsire on the royal bench
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws;
And what the Swede intend, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
[TO THE SAME.]
CYRIACK, this three years' day these eyes, though clear,
Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied In Liberty's defence, my noble task,
Of which all Europe rings from side to side.
This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask
Content, though blind, had I no better guide.
[ON HIS DECEASED wife.] METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,