Sololoqvies theologicall. I am alone, and yet I am not alone, for the Father is with mee. By J. S. Gent.

I Am the fountaine and I purpose through These neighbouring intermixed Channells to Convey my selfe to each, he who'l not part His interposing earth, let out his heart, Reciprocate the freshning streames I send, May stand, stink, dry, not borrow who'l not lend. They're Idiots indeed who h've private spirits, But who is not himselfe he onely merits Not to be counted mad, and so sought he Us not himselfe in whom made wise we be. We're not our owne, we're purchas'd with a prise To live no more t' our selves, but now to rise To higher things to live beyond our selves In, By, To Him who bought's, brought's off the shelves' 'F so great a death to bring us of our selves Our greatest death; when selfe-besotted Elfes Were we dissolved in the open Maine What spatious libertie were gotten to refraine Th' land bordering Rockes? O wu'd the righteous Sun Looke on our frozen hearts, how fast they'd runne

Their hardned selfe contracted clods (so oft Dash one against another) into soft To giving inlarged streames wu'd friendly close Themselves? wu'd quickly in each other loose And all with sweet concurrence nimbly flow To their imbracing Ocean. O wu'd we soe Change each to other till we each were none With what advantage shu'd we be our owne? For one have all, thus happily unite Are growne too strong for th' world for hells despight We 're all disjoyned by our fall, but set In one againe the greater strength we get. What I lay out in prayers purse, study paines For them with how farre multiplyed gaines Of quick returnes I finde them all in theirs. Shu'd I as I shu'd not be overwhelm'd with teares, Feares griefes grow weak and feeble, or as I shu'd Be alwayes poore and needy in spirit how good How good it is to know that he who is In all my thoughts hath me in his, Who is more beneficiall by one thought then all The world can be by all their deeds. I fall No sooner now but straite one helpes me rise. So farr's two better in one, how rais'd how high's My drooping soule? though absent in the body Present i'th' spirit with all the spirituall body. How heartily I joy in, sweetly injoy Their better ordered more establish'd joy! M' affections are not mine nor theirs are theirs But each in th' other's mirth and sorrowes shares. How steddy stand in ballance't griefes and joys While others still supply fresh counter poyses?

I live not in my self but them-and-thee; Live thou and they, and that's enough for mee. I live not in my self but them-and-thee; Live thou and they, I needs must living be. And if all comforts God-and-h's Saints comprises All comfort then from one another rises. Conspire we then in one, in one expire, That makes his melting Saints a mounting fire. 'Tis good being here, and hither rise might all Wh'have skill have will int' one and other t'fall.

But he that will be of himselfe May glut not glad himself with pelfe. Yea let him laugh his belly full, Yet doth the shark himself but gull; His seeming sweet straite turnes to gall, And vomits straite his stollen all, His Done joy's cooled by and by With reall ills in Fieri.

But stay, all this is but to seek my selfe While I am studying how to loose it, I Must flie a braver pitch, far far more high Above the thoughts of all this selfish pelfe.

Notes

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