BAXTER'S POEMS. I will no more believe a foe ; But to the holy covenant stand. Will friends turn foes ? that cannot he : They were my greatest foes before, That would have kept my soul from thee, Their malice now can do no more. I 'll bid these cruel friends farewell; Even Satan would be such a friend, He'd please and flatter me to Hell, And thither doth their friendship tend. He wants not friends that bath thy love, And may converse and walk with thee ; And with thy saints here and. above; With whom for ever I must be. In the communion of saints, Is wisdom, safety, and delight· And when my heart declines and faints, It's raised by their heat and light. Thy spirit in them speaks and prays; Their speech is holy, clean, and quick; Dead-hearted fools talk but of toys: Their speech and mirth even make me sick. Must lies and slanders me defame, That innocence may not be known ? Must proud men's malice blot my name, With epithets that are their own ? Thou justify'~t when men accuse, Thou 'lt answer all the spite Of tongues, And do them right whom men abuse, And plenteously repair their wrongs. It's no great matter what men deem, Whether they count me good or bad; 45
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