|
|
To where they'are bred, and would press me to hell. |
Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evil, |
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. |
|
VII. |
|
At the round earths imagin'd corners, blow |
Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise |
From death, you numberless infinities |
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies goe, |
All whom the floud did, and fire shall overthrow, |
All whom warr, death, age, agues tyrannies, |
Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you whose eyes |
Shall behold God, and never taste deaths woe; |
But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space, |
For, if above all these my sins abound, |
'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace, |
When we are there. Here on this holy ground, |
Teach me how to repent; for that's as good |
As if thou had'st seal'd my pardon, with my blood. |
|
VIII. |
|
If faithful souls be alike glorifi'd |
As Angels, then my fathers soul doth see, |
And adds this even to full felicitie, |
That valiantly I hels wide mouth o'restride: |
But if our minds to these souls be descride, |
By circumstances and by signes that be |
Apparent in us not immediately, |
How shall my minds white truth by them be tri'd? |
They see Idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, |
And stile blasphemous Conjurers to call |
On Jesus name, and Pharisaicall |
Dissemblers fein devotion. Then turn
|
[CW: O] |