124. OF THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN

WHAT, hast thou run thy race, art going down? Thou seemest angry, why dost on us frown? Yea, wrap thy head with clouds and hide thy face, As threatening to withdraw from us thy grace? O leave us not! When once thou hid'st thy head, Our horizon with darkness will be spread. 1 'Trapau' is the Saxon verb to ensnare, modernized to trap.—(E.D.) Tell who hath thee offended, turn again. Alas! too late, intreaties are in vain.

Comparison.

Our gospel has had here a summer's day,

But in its sunshine we, like fools, did play; Or else fall out, and with each other wrangle, And did, instead of work, not much but jangle. And if our sun seems angry, hides his face. Shall it go down, shall night possess this place? Let not the voice of night birds us afflict, And of our misspent summer us convict.

XXXI.

UPON THE FROG.

The frog by nature is both damp and cold, Her mouth is large, her belly much will hold; She sits somewhat ascending, loves to be Croaking in gardens, though unpleasantly. Comparison.

The hypocrite is like unto this frog,

As like as is the puppy to the dog.

He is of nature cold, his mouth is wide

To prate, and at true goodness to deride. He mounts his head as if he was above

The world, when yet 'tis that which has his love. And though he seeks in churches for to crock, He neither loveth Jesus nor his yoke.

XXXII.

UPON THE WHIPPING OF A TOP.

'Tis with the whip the boy sets up the top, The whip makes it run round upon its toe; The whip makes it bither and thither hop: 'Tis with the whip the top is made to go. Comparison.

Our legalist is like unto this top,

Without a whip he doth not duty do;

Let Moses whip him, he will skip and hop; Forbear to whip, he'll neither stand nor go. XXXIII.

UPON THE PISMINE.

MUST we unto the pismire go to school,

To learn of her in summer to provide

For winter next ensuing. Man's a fool,

Or silly ants would not be made his guide. ¹ How agonizing will be the cry of the lost soul—'The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.' Jer. viii. 20.—(Ed.) Upon the brittle thread of life hang everlasting things. —Mason. But, sluggard, is it not a shame for thee To be outdone by pismires? Pr'ytbee hear: Their works, too, will thy condemnation be When at the judgment-seat thou shalt appear. But since thy God doth bid thee to her go, Obey, her ways consider, and be wise;

The piss-ant tell thee will what thou must do, And set the way to life before thine eyes. XXXIV.

UPON THE BEGGAR.

He wants, he asks, he pleads his poverty, They within doors do him an alms deny.

He doth repeat and aggravate his grief.

But they repulse him, give him no relief. He begs, they say, Begone; he will not hear, But coughs, sighs, and makes signs he still is there; They disregard him, he repeats his groans; They still say nay, and he himself bemoans. They grow more rugged, they call him vagrant; He cries the shriller, trumpets out his want. At last, when they perceive he'll take no nay, An alms they give him without more delay. Comparison.

This beggar doth resemble them that pray To God for mercy, and will take no nay,

But wait, and count that all his hard gainsays Are nothing else but fatherly delays;

Then imitate him, praying souls, and cry: There's nothing like to importunity.

XXXV.

UPON THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER.

THERE'S one rides very sagely on the road, Showing that he affects the gravest mode. Another rides tantivy, or full trot,

To show much gravity he matters not.

Lo, here comes one amain, he rides full speed, Heige, ditch, nor miry bog, he doth not heed. One claws it up-hill without stop or check, Another down as if he'd break his neck.

Now every horse has his especial guider; Then by his going you may know the rider. Comparison.

Now let us turn our horse into a man,

His rider to a spirit, if we can.

Then let us, by the methods of the guider, Tell every horse how he should know his rider. Some go, as men, direct in a right way,

Nor are they suffered to go astray;

As with a bridle they are governed,

And kept from paths which lead unto the dead. Now this good man has his especial guider, Then by his going let him know his rider. Some go as if they did not greatly care, Whether of heaven or hell they should be heir. The rein, it seems, is laid upon their neck, They seem to go their way without a check. Now this man too has his especial guider, And by his going he may know his rider.

Some again run as if resolved to die,

Body and soul, to all eternity.

Good counsel they by no means can abide; They'll have their course whatever them betide. Now these poor men have their especial guider, Were they not fools they soon might know their rider. There's one makes head against all godliness, Those too, that do profess it, he'll distress; He'll taunt and flout if goodness doth appear, And at its countenancers mock and jeer.

Now this man, too, has his especial guider, And by his going he might know his rider. XXXVI.

UPON THE SIGHT OF A POUND OF CANDLES FALLING TO THE GROUND.

But be the candles down, and scattered too, Some lying here, some there? What shall we do? Hold, light the candle there that stands on high, It you may find the other candles by.

Light that, I say, and so take up the pound You did let fall and scatter on the ground. Comparison.

The fallen candles do us intimate

The bulk of God's elect in their laps'd state; Their lying scattered in the dark may be To show, by man's lapsed state, his misery. The candle that was taken down and lighted, Thereby to find them fallen and benighted, Is Jesus Christ; God, by his light, doth gather Who he will save, and be unto a Father.

XXXVII.

UPON A PENNY LOAF.

Thy price one penny is in time of plenty, In famine doubled, 'tis from one to twenty. Yea, no man knows what price on thee to set When there is but one penny loaf to get. Comparison.

This loaf's an emblem of the Word of God, A thing of low esteem before the rod

Of famine smites the soul with fear of death, But then it is our all, our life, our breath' 1 When the Word of God dwells us us r. ldy in all wisdom, XXXVIII.

THE BOY AND WATCHMAKER.

This watch my father did on me bestow,

A golden one it is, but 'twill not go,

Unless it be at an uncertainty:

But as good none as one 'to tell a lie.

When 'tis high day my hand will stand at nine; I think there's no man's watch so bad as mine. Sometimes 'tis sullen, 'twill not go at all, And yet 'twas never broke nor had a lad. Watchmaker.

Your watch, though it be good, through writ of skill May fail to do according to your will.

Suppose the balance, wheels, and springs be good, And all things else, unless you understood To manage it, as watches ought to be,

Your watch will still be at uncertainty. Come, tell me, do you keep it from the dust, Yea, wind it also duly up you must?

Take heed, too, that you do not strain the spring; You must be circumspect in every thing,

Or else your watch, were it as good again, Would not with time and tide you entertain. Comparison.

This boy an emblem is of a convert,

His watch of the work of grace within his heart, The watch-maker is Jesus Christ our Lord, His counsel, the directions of his Word; Then convert, if thy heart be out of frame, Of this watch-maker learn to mend the same. Do not lay open thy heart to worldly dust, Nor let thy graces over-grow with rust,

Be oft' renewed in th' spirit of thy mind, Or else uncertain thou thy watch wilt find. XXXIX.

UPON A LOOKING-GLASS.

In this see thou thy beauty, hast thou any, Or thy defects, should they be few or many. Thou mayst, too, here thy spots and freckles see, Hast thou but eyes, and what their numbers be. But art thou blind? There is no looking-glass Can show thee thy defects, thy spots, or face. Comparison.

Unto this glass we may compare the Word, For that to man advantage doth afford

(Has he a mind to know himself and state), To see what will be his eternal fate.

then with the peace of God rule in our hearts, and we shall be sweetly inclined to every good thought, word, and work.— (Ex.)

But without eyes, alas! how can he see?

Many that seem to look here, blind men be. This is the reason they so often read

Their judgment there, and do it nothing dread. XI.

OF THE LOVE OF CHRIST.

THE love of Christ, poor I! may touch upon; But 'tis unsearchable. O! there is none

Its large dimensions can comprehend

Should they dilate thereon world without end. When we had sinned, in his zeal he swore, That he upon his back our sins would bear. And since unto sin is entailed death,

He vowed for our sins he'd lose his breath. He did not only say, vow, or resolve,

But to astonishment did so involve

Himself in man's distress and misery,

As for, and with him, both to live and die. To his eternal fame in sacred story,

We find that he did lay aside his glory, Stepped from the throne of highest dignity, Became poor man, did in a manger lie;

Yea, was beholden unto his for bread,

Had, of his own, not where to lay his head; Though rich, he did for us become thus poor, That he might make us rich for evermore. Nor was this but the least of what he did, But the outside of what he suffered?

God made his blessed son under the law,

Under the curse, which, like the lion's paw, Did rent and tear his soul for mankind's sin, More than if we for it in hell had been. His cries, his tears, and bloody agony,

The nature of his death doth testify.

Nor did he of constraint himself thus give, For sin, to death, that man might with him live. He did do what he did most willingly,

He sung, and gave God thanks, that he must die. But do kings use to die for captive slaves? Yet we were such when Jesus died to save's. Yea, when he made himself a sacrifice,

It was that he might save his enemies.

And though he was provoked to retract

His blest resolves for such as good an act, By the abusive carriages of these

That did both him, his love, and grace oppose; Yet he, as unconcerned with such things, Goes on, determines to make captives kings; Yea, many of his murderers he takes

Into his favour, and them princes makes. XII.

ON THE CACKLING OF A HEN.

THE hen, so soon as she an egg doth lay. (Spreads the fame of her doing what she may.) About the yard she cackling now doth go, To tell what 'twas she at her nest did do. Just thus it is with some professing men, If they do ought that good is, like our hen They can but cackle on't where e'er they go, What their right hand doth their left hand must know. XIII.

UPON AN HOOR-GLASS.

THIS glass, when made, was, by the workman's skill, The sum of sixty minutes to fulfil.

Time, more nor less, by it will out be spun, But just an hour, and then the glass is run. Man's life we will compare unto this glass, The number of his months he cannot pass; But when he has accomplished his day,

He, like a vapour, vanisheth away.

XIII.

UPON A SNAIL.

Sue goes but softly, but she goeth sure, She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do. Her journey's shorter, so she may endure Better than they which do much farther go. She makes no noise, but stilly seizeth on The flower or herb appointed for her food, The which she quietly doth feed upon

While others range and glare, but find no good. And though she doth but very softly go,

However, 'tis not fast nor slow, but sure; And certainly they that do travel so,

The prize they do aim at they do procure. Comparison.

Although they seem not much to stir, less go, For Christ that hunger, or from wrath that flee, Yet what they seek for quickly they come to, Though it doth seem the farthest off to be. One act of faith doth bring them to that flower They so long for, that they may eat and live, Which, to attain, is not in others power, Though for it a king's ransom they would give. Then let none faint, nor be at all dismayed That life by Christ do seek, they shall not fail To have it; let them nothing be afraid;

The herb and flower are eaten by the snail. XIV.