Emblemes by Francis Quarles.

XII.

[illustration]

JOB 14. 13.

O that thou wouldst hide me in the grave, that thou wouldst keep me secret untill thy wrath be past!

O Whither shall I fly? what path untrod Shall I seek out to scape the flaming rod Of my ostended, of my angry God?

Where shall I sojourn? what kind sea will hide My head from Thunder? where shall I abide, Untill his flames be quench'd or laid aside?

What, if my feet should take their hasty flight, And seek protection in the shades of night? Alas, no shades can blind the God of Light.

What, if my soul should take the wings of day, And find some desart; if the spring away, The wings of vengeance •…•…ip as fast as they.

What if some solid rock should entertain My frighted soul? Can solid rocks restrain The stroke of Justice, and not cleave in twain?

Nor Sea, nor Shade, nor Shield, nor Rock, nor Cave, Nor silent Desarts, nor the sullen Grave, Where slame-ey'd fury means to smi•…•…e, can save.

The Seas will part; Graves open; Rocks will split; The Shield will cleave; the frighted Shadows slit; Where Justice aims, her fiery darts must hit.

No, no, if stern-brow'd vengeance means to thunder, There is no place above, beneath, nor under, So close, but will unlock, or rive in sunder.

'T is vain to flee; 't is neither here nor there Can scape that hand untill that hand forbear; Ah me! where is he not, that's every where?

'T is vain to flee; till gentle mercy shew Her better eye, the farther off we go, The swing of Justice deals the mightier blow.

Th' ingenious child, corrected, doth not flie His angry mothers hand, but clings more nigh, And quenches with his tears her flaming eye.

Shadows are faithlesse, and the rocks are false; No trust in brasse, no trust in marble walls; Poore cots are even as safe as Princes halls.

Great God, there is no safety here below; Thou art my Fortresse, though thou seem'st my fo, 'Tis thou that strik'st the stroke must guard the blow.

Thou art my God; by thee I fall or stand; Thy Grace hath giv'n me courage to withstand All tortures, but my conscience and thy hand.

I know thy Justice is thy self; I know, Just God, thy very self is Mercy too; If not to thee, where? whither should I go?

Then work thy will; If passion bid me flee, My reason shall obey; my wings shall be Stretcht out no further then from thee to thee.

S. AUGUST. in Psal. 30.

Whither flie I? To what place can I safely flie? To what mountain? To what den? To what strong house? What castle shall I hold? What walls shall hold me? Whithersoever I go, my self followeth me: For whatsoever thou fliest, O man, thou maist, but thy own conscience: wheresoever O Lord, I go, I find thee if angry, a Revenger; if appeased, a Redeemer: what way have I, but to flie from thee to thee: That thou maist avo••d thy God, addresse thee to thy Lord.

EPIG. 12.

Hath vengeance found thee? Can thy fears command No rocks to shield thee from her thund'ring hand? Know'st thou not where to scape? I'll tell thee where; My soul make clean thy conscience; hide thee there.