The Mystery of the Saint's Life, State and Frame.
Y Life's a Pleasure and a Pain
A real Lofs, a real Gain ;
A glorious Paradife of Joys,
A grievous Prison of Annoys.
I daily joy, and daily mourn,
Yet daily wait the Tide's Return:
Then Sorrow deep my Spirit chears,
I'm joyful in a Flood of Tears.
Good Caufe I have ftill to be fad,
Good Reafon always to be glad.
Hence ftill my Joys with Sorrows meet,
And still my Tears are bitter-fweet.
I'm croft, and yet have all my Will,
I'm always empty, always full.
I hunger pow, and thirst no more,
Yet do more eager than before.
With Meat and Drink, indeed I'm bleft,
Yet feed on Hunger, drink on Thirst.
My Hunger brings a plenteous Store,
My Plenty makes me hunger more.
6.
Strange is the Place of my Abode,
I dwell at Home, I dwell Abroad.
I am not where all Men me see,
But where I never yet could be.
I'm full of Hell, yet full of Heav'n,
I'm ftill upright, yet ftill unev'n.
Imperfect, yet a perfect Saint,
I'm ever poor, yet never want.
8.
No mortal Eye fees God and lives,
Yet Sight of him my Soul revives.
I live beft when I fee moft bright,
Yet live by Faith and not by Sight.
I'm lib'ral, yet have nought to spare,
Moft richly cloth'd, yet ftript and bare.
My Stock is rifen by my Fall,
For having Nothing, I have All.
I'm finful, yet I have no Sin;
All fpotted o'er, yet wholly clean.
Blackness and Beauty both I fhare,
A hellish Black, a heavenly Fair.
They're of the Dev'l, who fin amain;
But I'm of God, yet Sin retain:
This Traitor vile the Throne affumes,
Prevails yet never overcomes.
I'm without Guile an Ifra❜lite,
Yet like a guileful Hypocrite;
Maintaining Truth in th' inward Part,
With Falfhood rooted in my Heart.
Two Mafters fure I cannot ferve,
But must from one regardless fwerve;
Yet Self is for my Mafter known,
And Jefus is my Lord alone.
I feek myself inceffantly,
Yet daily do my felf deny.
To me 'tis lawful evermore,
Myself to love and to abhor.
Glad in this World I live, yet fee
I'm dead to it, and it to me.
My Joy is endless, yet at best
Does hardly for a Moment laft.
Myfteries about the Saints Work and Warfare, Sins,
Sorrows, and Joys.
HE Work is great I'm call'd unto, Yet nothing's left for me to do: Hence for my Work Heav'n has prepar'd, No Wages, yet a great Reward.
To Works, but not to working dead,
From Sin, but not from finning freed;
I clear myself from no Offence,
Yet wash my Hands in Innocence.
My Father's Anger burns like Fire,
Without a Spark of furious Ire :
Tho' ftill my Sins difpleafing be,
Yet ftill I know he's pleas'd with me.
Triumphing is my conftant Trade,
Who yet am oft a Captive led?
My bloody War does never cease,
Yet I maintain a ftable Peace.
My Foes affaulting conquer me,
Yet ne'er obtain the Victory;
For all my Battles loft or won,
Were gain'd before they were begun.
I'm ftill at Eafe, and still oppreft,
Have conftant Trouble, conftant Reft:
Both clear and cloudy, free and bound:
Both dead and living, loft and found.
7.
Sin for my Good does work and win;
Yet 'tis not good for me to fin.
My Pleasure iffues from my Pain;
My Loffes ftill increase my Gain.
I'm heal'd even when my Plagues abound, Cover'd with Duft ev'n when I'm crown'd: As low as Death, when living high,
Nor fhall I live, yet cannot die.
For all my Sins my Heart is fad,
Since God's dishonour'd; yet I'm glad,
Tho' once I was a Slave to Sin,
Since God does thereby Honour win.
My Sins are ever in his Eye,
Yet he beholds no Sin in me:
His Mind that keeps them all in Store
Will yet remember them no more.
Because my Sins are great I feel,
Great Fears of heavy Wrath; yet still
For Mercy feek, for Pardon wait,
Because my Sins are very great.
I hope, when plung'd into Defpair,
I tremble when I have no Fear.
Pardons difpel my Griefs and Fears,
And yet diffolve my Heart in Tears.
Myfteries in Faith's Extractions, Way and Walk, Prayers and Anfwers, Heights and Depths, Fear and Love.
WITH Wafps and Bees my bufy Bill,
Sucks Ill from Good, and Good from Ill. Humil'ty makes my Pride to grow, And Pride aspiring lays me low.
My Standing does my Fall procure,
My Falling makes me ftand more sure.
My Poifon does my Phyfick prove,
My Enmity provokes my Love.
My Poverty infers my Wealth,
My Sickness iffues in my Health:
My Hardness tends to make me foft,
And killings Things do cure me oft.
While high Attainments caft me down,
My deep Abafements raise me foon :
My best Things oft have evil Brood,
My worft Things work my greatest Good.
My inward Foes that me alarm,
Breed me much Hurt, yet little Harm:
I get no Good by them, yet fee
To my chief Good they caufe me flee.
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