Baxter - HP PR3316 .B36 1821

154 ' BAXTER'S POEMS. , What was it made of, but the mother's food ? Curdled and quicken'd by the Maker's pow'r, And there it lay in darkness, filth,' and blood ; Ui1meet for sight till birth's .appointed hour. In pain and danger then it is brought forth, A speechless, helpless, and polluted thing; Ent'ring the world with crying at its birth, Foretellil;tg greater griefs which time will bring. How long by patient mothers' care "nd love Doth feeble, useless, troubling age subsist? Should man continue such, we .could not prove, That he in kind is better than a beast. Long do these unripe fleshly bodies keep 'The soul from shewing its essential power; Sense rules, while reason lieth half asleep, Vain toys and folly spend our childish hours. By use and prepossession flesh gets strength, Resisting light, and all that's wise and holy; Till reason be its servile slave 'at le1~gth A11:d greatest wit become t~e greatest folly. Then carnal man lives like a crafty beast, Only to .pamper flesh, and please his lust; · To make the worms and Hell a costly feast, When souls must part, and leave flesh to the dust. If flesh be man, how many men are one, From birth to death, whenas the rivers flolY? Daily new flesh succeeds· that which is gone, And now is what h/e was a year ago. That beauteous face, that pamper'd body stood But lately on my table as thy meat;