Btli.XTER'S POEMS. So we look up, and wait, and pray, And yet still feel we live in clay. Here we are keep1ng sin's account~ While some small sparks ·do upward mount, Crying, "how long, holy and true_," 'Till we are taken up· to you. Thus also we must foUow Love*, "fo find our head and life above. He that is made by the new-birth, A Burgesse of the Church on Ear1h~ And then by faith can rise so high~ In divine love to live and die, Shall be translated to your soil, Remov'd from sin, and fear, and toil"; And from this house of worms and .moles Unto that element of souls, ·where every branch becomes a Vine ; And where these clods like staTs will shine. God is not there known-by the book! You need not there the pruning-hook : There you have wine without the press; And God his praise without distress. There we shall find our eyes and sight, When we come to our head and light. The kernel is where you now dwell, And we here strive about the shell: * Mr. A. Burgesse was Minister at Lawrence ch urch. Mr. Love succeeded him, and was beheaded by the remnant of the Long Parliament which cut off the K., for sending; money t~ some ~bout the present King. Mr. Vines SlKceeded him.
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy OTcyMjk=