« VorigeDoorgaan »
A DIVINE POEM.
ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND.
A Clownish Poem on the Shunamite,
To Mistress Sangster, now at number eight,
I HOPE, dear madam, you will not be vex'd,
I trust your name is in the book of life;
The subject matter is a work of grace,
PREMISED ENQUIRY, AND CAUTION.
BUT if you ask what I might have in view,
Or how I came to frame these whims of mine,
Some people's heads are like a hive of bees,
Whose brood sent forth, the women ring to please. When Jesus shines, the heart with love gets warm, 'Tis then the head with thoughts begins to swarm.
Methinks, you prize an old prolific hive,
And wish their young may both increase and thrive;
A lion slain was once a hive for bees,
Against his ribs they built their cells with ease;
That beast proclaims my former state of mind,
'Tis by your means this work is brought about, You shook the stand, and then the swarm flew out; At this my fault you must in love connive,
And mind in future how you move the hive.