14 BAXTER'S POEMS. The many precious books of holy men, Thy spirit used on me as his pen : Perkins, Sibbs, Bolton, Whately, holy Dod, Hildersham, Preston, other men of Go~, How pertinently spake they to my case ? They open'd Heav'n and Hell before my face. They did unfold the Gospel mysteries, And set Christ crucified before my eyes : They shamed sin, they shewed me the snare, Opened the danger, charged me to beware. In every duty they did me direct ; Told me the sin and danger of neglect ; They search'd my heart, help'd me to try my state, My earthly mind they help'd to elevate. What strong and quick'ning motives did they bring To raise my heart, and wind the slack'ned spring ! These happy counsellors were still at hand ; The maps and landscapes of the holy land. This food was not lock'd from me; but I could Go read a holy sermon when I would. How cheaply kept I many rare divines ! And for a little purchased golden mines ! My griefs they eased, my many doubts resolved 1 With great delight I daily them revolved. 0 my dear God! how precious is thy love! Are these thy candles? what's the sun above? At last my fears became my greatest fear, Lest that my whole religioi1 should lie there : No man hath more of holiness than love: Which doth free souls by complacency move. Common grace goes as far as fear alone ; 'f'his eateth 11ot the meat, but gnaws the bone. 'fJ
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