A47401:248
The banqueting-house, or, A feast of fat things a divine poem, opening many sacred…The banquetting-house, or, A feast of fat things a divine poem, opening many sacred…
The banqueting-house, or, A feast of fat things a divine poem, opening many sacred Scripture mysteries ... / written by Benjamin Keach, author of War with the Devil.The banquetting-house, or, A feast of fat things a divine poem, opening many sacred Scripture mysteries ... / written by Benjamin Keach, author of War with the Devil.
London: printed by J.A. for H. Barnard, 1692
Modern spelling is a reading aid: the words are the author’s, only the spelling is modernized. Original shows the page as printed, with the transcription marks.
6 From the curst Plague, Contagion great That reigns in every part; No member's free, nor faculty, But rages most i'th' heart.
7 There, there the cursed venom lies, But thou canst fetch it out; And make a perfect cure too, Of this we have no doubt.
7 There, there the cursed venom lyes, But thou canst fetch it out; And make a perfect cure too, Of this we have no doubt.
The second Part. 1 But it is true, no medicine's found Which, Lord, can do us good, So as to make us whole and sound, But our Physician's Blood; 2 And therefore thou didst pour it forth; Thy precious blood was shed, That we might it apply by Faith, And also be cured. 3 For all our hearts, Lord, naturally So hard and stony are, Till softened with thy blood, we see They can't thy Image bear. 4 Nought will dissolve the Adamant And flinty heart we know, But precious blood which from thy wounds Most plenteously did flow. 5 But such who never sick were made, Or did their sickness see, Are never like thy help to have, Nor cure find of thee. 6 Thou first does make us see our sin, And then when we do cry, Thy Oil and Wine thou dost put in, Which heals us presently. 7 But some don't love to feel the pain, But would slight healed be, ⟨p. 52⟩And have their sores but skinned o'er, Such Souls are left by thee. 8 For each dead Member off must go, Right-eyes be pulled out; Or else the soul and body too Shall go to Hell no doubt.
The second Part. 1 But it is true, no medicin's found Which, Lord, can do us good, So as to make us whole and sound, But our Physician's Blood; 2 And therefore thou didst pour it forth; Thy precious blood was shed, That we might it apply by Faith, And also be cured. 3 For all our hearts, Lord, naturally So hard and stony are, Till softned with thy blood, we see They can't thy Image bear. 4 Nought will dissolve the Adamant And flinty heart we know, But precious blood which from thy wounds Most plenteously did flow. 5 But such who never sick were made, Or did their sickness see, Are never like thy help to have, Nor cure find of thee. 6 Thou first does make us see our sin, And then when we do cry, Thy Oyl and Wine thou dost put in, Which heals us presently. 7 But some don't love to feel the pain, But would slight healed be,