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THE Panting Soul.
PSAL. 42. 1.As the Hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God!
HEre's one of the sweet straines of Davids harp: one of those bright and sparkling expressions, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, which not only carry a Majesty with them, but even include a Deity: one of those holy and strong ejaculations, with which he was wont è corporis pharetra (that I may allude to that of the Prophet Esay's) to take his soul (that polished shaft) out of the quiver of the body, and to dart it up to heaven, the place of his treasure and hope, and the dwelling place of his God. And truly every Psalme may well say, as the Psalmist himselfe sayes in the 139. Psalme, I am admirably made, I am curiously wrought: 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, so ti's in the Original, Acupictus sum. I am wrought with a needle. There's a spiritual imbroidery, a most rare and sacred needle-worke in every Psalme: they are all wrought by the fin∣ger of the Spirit: and they are like the Kings daughter in the 45. Psalme, Their clothing is of wrought gold, their rayment of nee∣dle-worke, and they are all glorious within. We doubt not but that there's a most divine Emphasis in all Scripture-eloquence, and every jot and tittle in holy writ, as it has eternity stampt upon it, so it has a Majesty shining in it; But yet never did heavenly