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V.

But ô thy side, thy deep-digg'd side!
That hath a double Nilus going.
Nor ever was the pharian tide
Half so fruitfull, half so flowing.

VI.

No hair so small, but payes his river
To this red sea of thy blood
Their little channells can deliver
Somthing to the Generall floud.

VII.

But while I speak, whither are run All the rivers nam'd before? I counted wrong.

There is but one; But ô that one is one all ore.

VIII.

Rain-swoln rivers may rise proud,
Bent all to drown & overflow.
But when indeed all's overflow'd
They themselves are drowned too.

IX.

This thy blood's deluge, a dire chance
Dear LORD to thee, to us is found
A deluge of Deliverance;
A deluge least we should be drown'd.

N'ere wast thou in a sense so sadly true, The Well of living WATERS, Lord, till now.

UPON

THE CROWNE OF THORNS

TAKEN DOWNE

From the head of our Bl. LORD,

all Bloody .

K

Now'st thou This, Souldier? 'Tis à much-chang'd plant

which yet
Thy selfe didst sett.

O who so hard a Husbandman did ever find;

A soile so kind ?

Is not the soile a kind one, which returnes

Roses for Th[or]nes ?

UPON

THE BODY OF OUR

BL. LORD ,

NAKED

AND

BLOODY.

Hey 'have left thee naked, LORD, O that they had !
This garment too I would they had deny'd.

Thee with thy self they have too richly clad; Opening the purple wardrobe in thy side.

O never could there be garment too good
For thee to wear, But this, of thine own Blood.

THE

HYMN

OF

SANITE THOMAS

IN

ADORATION OF

THE

BLESSED

SACRAMENT.

A DORO

TE

W

Ith all the powres my poor Heart hath

Of humble love & loyall Faith,
Thus lowe (my hidden life!) I bow to thee
Whom too much love hath bow'd more low for me.
Down down, proud sense! Discourses dy.
Keep close, my soul's inquiring ey !
Nor touch nor tast must look for more
But each sitt still in his own Dore.

Your ports are all superfluous here,
Save That which lets in faith, the eare.
Faith is my skill. Faith can beleive
As fast as love new lawes can give.
Faith is my force. Faith strength affords
To keep pace with those powrfull words.
And words more sure, more sweet, then they
Love could not think, truth could not say.

O let thy wretch find that releife
Thou didst afford the faithfull theife.
Plead for me, love! Alleage & show
That faith has farther, here, to goe
And lesse to lean on. Because than
Though hidd as God, wounds writt thee man,
Thomas might touch; None but might see
At least the suffring side of thee;
And that too was thy self which thee did cover,
But here ev'n That's hid too which hides the other.

Sweet, consider then, that I
Though allow'd nor hand nor eye
To reach at thy lov’d Face; nor can
Tast thee God, or touch thee Man
Both yet beleive; And wittnesse thee

My LORD too & my God, as lowd as He.

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