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But lest THAT dy too, we are bid.
Ever to doe what he once did.
And by à mindfull, mystick breath
That we may live, revive his DEATH;
With a well-bles't bread & wine.
Transsum'd, & taught to turn divine.


The Heavn-instructed house of FAITH
Here a holy Dictate hath

That they but lend their Form & face,
Themselves with reverence leave their place
Nature, & name, to be made good.

By' a nobler Bread, more needfull BLOOD.


Where nature's lawes no leave will give, Bold FAITH takes heart, & dares beleive In different species, name not things, Himself to me my SAVIOUR brings, As meat in That, as Drink in this; But still in Both one CHRIST he is.


The Receiving Mouth here makes

Non wound nor breach in what he takes. Let one, or one THOUSAND be

Here Dividers, single he

Beares home no lesse, all they no more,

Nor leave they both lesse then before.


Though in it self this SOVERAIN FEAST Be all the same to every Guest, Yet on the same (life-meaning) Bread The child of Death eates himself Dead. Nor is't love's fault, but sin's dire skill That thus from LIFE can DEATH distill.


When the blest signes thou broke shall see, Hold but thy Faith intire as he

Who, howsoe're clad, cannot come

Lesse then whole CHRIST in every crumme.
In broken formes à stable FAITH
Untouch't her pretious TOTALL hath.


Lo the life-food of ANGELLS then Bow'd to the lowly mouths of men n!

The children's BREAD; the Bridegroom's WINE. Not to be cast to dogges, or swine.


Lo, the full, finall, SACRI[F]ICE On which all figures fix't their eyes. The ransom'd ISACK, & his ramme; The MANNA, & the PASCHAL Lamb.


JESU MASTER, Just & true!

Our Food, & faithfull SHEPHARD too!
O by thy self vouchsafe to keep,

As with thy selfe thou feed'st thy SHEEP.


O let that love which thus makes thee
Mix with our low Mortality,

Lift our lean Soules, & sett us up
Convictors of thine own full cup,

Coheirs of SAINTS. That so all may

Drink the same wine; and the same WAY.
Nor chang the PASTURE, but the PLACE;
To feed of THEE in thine own FACE.











Ears't thou, my soul, with serious things
Both the Psalm and sybyll sings

Of a sure judge, from whose sharp Ray
The world in flames shall fly away.


O that fire! before whose face
Heavn & earth shall find no place.
O those eyes! whose angry light
Must be the day of that dread Night.


O that trump! whose blast shall r[u]n An even round with the circling Sun. And urge the murmuring graves to bring Pale mankind forth to meet his king.


Horror of nature, hell & Death! When a deep Groan from beneath Shall cry we come, we come & all The caves of night answer one call


O that Book! whose leaves so bright
Will sett the world in severe light.
O that Judge! whose hand, whose eye
None can indure; yet none can fly


Ah then, poor soul, what wilt thou say? And to what Patron chuse to pray? When starres themselves shall stagger; and The most firm foot no more then stand.


But thou giv'st leave (dread Lord) that we Take shelter from thy self, in thee; And with the wings of thine own dove Fly to thy scepter of soft love.


Dear, remember in that Day

Who was the cause thou cams't this way. Thy sheep was stray'd; And thou wouldst be Even lost thy self in seeking me.


Shall all that labour, all that cost
Of love, and ev'n that losse, be lost?
And this lov'd soul, judg'd worth no lesse
Then all that way, and wearynesse?


Just mercy then, thy Reckning be With my price, & not with me:

'Twas pay'd at first with too much pain, To be pay'd twice; or once, in vain.


Mercy (my judge) mercy I cry
With blushing Cheek & bleeding ey,
The conscious colors of my sin
Are red without & pale within.


O let thine own soft bowells pay
Thy self; And so discharge that day.
If sin can sigh, love can forgive.
O say the word my Soul shall live.


Those mercyes which thy MARY found Or who thy crosse confes't & crown'd, Hope tells my heart, the same loves be Still alive; and still for me.


Though both my Prayres & teares combine, Both worthlesse are; For they are mine.

But thou thy bounteous self still be;
And show thou art, by saving me.


O when thy last Frown shall proclaim The flocks of goates to folds of flame, And all thy lost sheep found shall be, Let come ye blessed then call me.


When the dread ITE shall divide
Those Limbs of death from thy left side,
Let those life-speaking lipps command
That I inheritt thy right hand.


O hear a suppliant heart; all crush't And crumbled into contrite dust.

My hope, my fear! my Judge, my Freind! Take charge of me, & of my END.

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