Schola cordis, or, The heart of it selfe, gone away from God brought back againe to him & instructed by him in 47 emblems.

The trying of the Heart.

PROV. 17.3.

The fining pot for silver, and the furnace for gold: but the Lord trieth the hearts.

Epigr. 21.

THine heart, my deer, more precious is then gold, Or the most precious things that can be told: Provided first that my pure fire have tri'd Out all the drosse, and passe it purifi'd.

ODE. 21.

1.

What? take it at adventure, and not try What metall it is made of? No, not I. Should I now lightly let it passe, Take sullen lead for silver, sounding brasse In stead of solid gold, alas, What would become of it? In the great day Of making jewells 't would be cast away.

2.

The heart thou giv'st me must be such a one, As is the same throughout. I will have none But that, which will abide the fire. 'Tis not a glitt'ring outside I desire, Whose seeming shewes doe soone expire: But reall worth within, which neither drosie, Nor base allayes, make subject unto losse.

3.

If in the composition of thine heart

A stubborne steely wilfulnesse have part, That will not bow and bend to me, Save onely in a meer formality Of tinsell-trim'd hypocrisie, I care not for it, though it shew as faire, As the first blush of the Sun-gilded aire.

4.

The heart that in my furnace will not melt, When it the glowing heat thereof hath felt Turne liquid, and dillolve in teares Of true repentance for its faults, that heares My threatning voyce, and never feares, Is not an heart worth having. If it be An heart of stone, 't is not an heart for me.

5.

The heart, that cast into my fornace spits, And sparkles in my face, falls into fits Of discontented grudging, whines When it is broken of its will, repines At the least suffering, declines My fatherly correction, is an heart On which I care not to bestow mine art.

6.

The heart that in my flames asunder flies, Scatters it selse at randon, and so lies In heapes of ashes here, and there, Whose dry d•…•…persed parts will not draw nee•…•… To one another, and adhere In a firme union, hath no metall in't Fit to be stamp'd, and coyned in my mint.

7.

The heart, that vapours out it selfe in smoak, And with those cloudy shadowes thinks to cloak

Its empty nakednesse, how much So ever thou esteemest it, is such As never will endure my touch. Before I tak't for mine then I will trie What kind of metall in thine heart' doth lie.

8.

I'll bring it to my furnace, and there see What it will prove, what it is like to be. If it be gold, it will be sure The hottest fire that can be to endure, And I shall draw it out more pure. Affliction may refine, but cannot wast, That heart wherein my love is fixed fast.