Poetical fragments heart-employment with God and it selfPoetical fragments heart-imployment with God and it self

While my unholy Soul, in fleshly thrall, Should be lamenting its own Funeral?

But when my Soul had sixth on God her End, Then all my Studies unto him did tend. They all were ordered in due place and season, Guided by Faith, allowed by sound Reason: Thou taughtest me first the Only Needful Thing; And all my Studies harped still on that string: Judging the greatest Knowledge to be vain, Which tendeth not to the Immortal gain. There is a Knowledge which increaseth sorrow, And such whose fruit will die before to morrow: ⟨p. 32⟩Yea, there's a knowledge which occasions sin: Desire of Knowing did Man's woe begin: All means are to be judged of by their End: That's good wch doth good, or doth good portend Its End and Objects which ennoble acts: Those that do glorious things are glorious facts. Who calls a self-condemning sinner, Wise, That on a syllable can criticize; That can in mode and figure talk in vain; Or learnedly his pride and sin maintain? That's best at the resolving of a Riddle, Or playing on a Bag-pipe, or a Fiddle: But hath not learned how to Live and Die, Nor where his Soul must dwell eternally? God and all wise men judge him but a fool, Who is not wise enough to save his Soul. When Heaven's made sure, all Knowledge then is good For Faith and Love can turn it into food: It's pleasant then to study any Book, When we see GOD the sense, where ere we look: When as the way to Heaven we know each place: And see God's beauty in each creature's face: And when we stick not in the form and letter, But all our Knowledge tends to make us better. When still the more we Know, the more we Love, And draw more with us to the Joys above. Fine Fancies are not like clear minds; nor those Like Love, by which the Soul with God doth close. Wisdom it self will make the Mind most wise. He that ascends to God, doth Highest rise. ⟨p. 33⟩Sure Pisgah was Parnassus, or the Mount, Where three Apostles did three Glories count: Christ's living streams are the true Helicon: None make true Poets but Heaven's springs alone. What poor, low, toyish work make frothy wits? Like Bacchus Scholars in their Pot-wise fits. Like Children's Poppets dressed with Lace and Pin; Like handsome Pictures; something wants within: A painted Feast, carved with a painted Knife: A Living Soul can feel it wanteth Life. Without a Holy Subject, End and Spirit, True Wisdom's sacred Titles none can merit. O my Dear God! how precious is thy Love? These are the drops; what are the streams above?