The Believer's reply to Death's threatenings.
I KNEW that from my birth
I was a mortal man;
My frailty is confest ;
I knew my flesh was earth,
My life was but a span,
And here is not my rest.
If thou canst say no more,
All this I knew before,
And yet thy threats defie;
Have I long sought in pain,
And would I not obtain
Joyful eternity?
O feeble thing!
How canst thou conquer Christ,
And make his promise void?
First overcome my King,
And his commands resist,
By whom thou art employ'd:
First win the world above,
And conquer endless love,
And then I'll be thy slave;
Kill an immortal soul,
And we will all condole,
And fear a darksom grave.
'Tis Christ that doth thee send,
To bring about his end;
And Him thou must obey;
He is my dearest friend,
And doth no harm intend,
In calling me away.
And why should he fear ill,
Whom love itself doth kill?
And numbereth with the blest?
Why should not death fulfil
His good all-ruling WILL,
My SPRING, my GUIDE, MY REST?
My soul, go boldly forth,
Forsake this sinful earth;
What hath it been to thee
"But pain and sorrow;
And think'st thou it will be
Better to morrow?
Why art thou for delay?
Thou cam'st not here to stay:
What tak'st thou for thy part,
But heavenly pleasure;
Where then should be thy heart,
But where's thy treasure?
Thy God, thy head's above,
There is the world of love,
Mansions there purchased are,
By Christ's own merit,
For these He doth prepare
Thee by his Spirit.
Jerusalem above,
Glorious in light and love,
Is mother of us all;
Who shall enjoy them?
The wicked hell-ward fall;
Sin will destroy them.
O blessed company,
Where all in harmony,
Jehovah's praises sing,
Still without ceasing;
And all obey their King,
With perfect pleasing.
What joy must there needs be,
Where all God's glory see;
Feeling God's vital love,
Which still is burning;
And flaming God-ward move,
Full love returning.
Hath mercy made life sweet:
And is it kind and meet,
Thus to draw back from God,
Who doth protect thee?
Look then for his sharp rod,
Next to correct thee.
Lord Jesus, take my spirit:
I trust thy love and merit:
Take home this wandering sheep,
For Thou hast sought it:
This soul in safety keep,
For Thou hast bought it.
MAN walks in a vain shew,
They know, yet will not know,
Sit still when they should go,
But run for shadows:
While they might taste and know
The living streams that flow,
And crop the flowers that grow
In Christ's sweet meadows.
Life's better slept away,
Than as they use it;
In sin and drunken play,
Vain men abuse it.
They dig for hell beneath,
They labour hard for death,
Run themselves out of breath
To overtake it.
Hell is not had for nought,
Damnation's dearly bought,
And with great labour sought,
They'll not forsake it.
Their souls are Satan's fee,
He'll not abate it;
Grace is refused that's free,
Mad sinners hate it.
Is this the world men choose,
For which they heaven refuse,
And Christ and grace abuse,
And not receive it?
Shall I not guilty be
Of this in some degree,
If hence God would me free,
And I'd not leave it?
My soul, from Sodom flie,
Lest wrath there find thee;
Thy refuge-rest is nigh,
Look not behind thee.
Bunyan, like Taylor and Baxter, is renowned for his numerous prose works,-The Pilgrim's Progress, Holy War, &c. &c. but he is scarcely recognized as a Poet. His verse, it must be owned, is of a very humble cast, and by it he never would have risen to distinction. His principal productions in rhyme, are Ebal and Gerixim, Meditations on the four last things, Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell, Prison Thoughts and Divine Emblems. A few brief specimens cannot be unworthy of a place in this collection, for no homeliness of apparel, nor rudeness of speech, can utterly disguise the nobility of such ideas as had birth in a mind like Bunyan's, pregnant with bold imaginations, full of zeal for the Lord of hosts, and glorying in persecution itself for righteousness' sake.
Speaking of his enemies, who called him heretic, and loaded him with bonds, indignities and cruel oppression, he says:
ALAS, they little think what peace
They help me to, for by
Their rage my comforts do increase;
Bless God, therefore, do I.
If they do give me gall to drink,
Then God doth sweetning cast,
So much thereto, that they can't think
How bravely it doth taste.
For as the devil sets before
Me heaviness and grief,
So God sets Christ and grace much more,
Whereby I take relief.
Though they say then that we are fools,
Because we here do lie,
I answer, gaols are Christ his schools,
In them we learn to die.
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