O how this earthly temper doth debase
The noble soul, in this her humble place!
Whose wingy nature ever doth aspire
To reach that place whence first it took its fire.
These flames I feel, which in my heart do dwell,
Are not Thy beams, but take their fire from hell.
O quench them all, and let Thy light divine,
Be as the sun to this poor orb of mine:
And to Thy sacred spirit convert those fires,
Whose earthly fumes choke my devout aspires.
ON THE MERCY OF GOD
The great attribute of God--His mercy; and, to be true, and speak my
soul, when I survey the occurrences of my life, and call into account the
finger of God, I can perceive nothing but an abyss and mass of mercies,
either in general to mankind, or in particular to myself: and whether out
of the prejudice of my affection, or an inverting and partial conceit of
His mercies, I know not; but those which others term crosses,
afflictions, judgments, misfortunes, to me, who inquire further into them
than their visible effects, they both appear, and in event have ever
proved, the secret and dissembled favours of His affection. It is a
singular piece of wisdom to apprehend truly, and without passion, the
works of God; and so well to distinguish His justice from His mercy, as
not to miscall those noble attributes; yet it is likewise an honest piece
of logic, so to dispute and argue the proceedings of God, as to
distinguish even His judgments into mercies.
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