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

VVHen wu't thou come deare Lord, and shew the face Shall blemish all these splendors? O the fire Burnes in this breast for an allay of Grace! Of Grace that feeds not damps such blest desire. Some drops of love still to increase the flame, And make it beare me thither whence it came.

VVas'e n't a reflection from the righteous Sun VVas glanced in my heart? Or was it one From that light-likened Angell? Then undone I am, unlesse quite out the fire be blowne By th'holy Spirit. But can the devill come So drest? He hath a cloven foot say some.

Sure this he hath, he cannot humble be. But he can counterfeit. But hee's so bad Heele not seeme good, for nothing; now what shu d'make thee Masque thy selfe in humility, who had N'advantage hence? Sure 'twas the native hew, I'm in a Labyrinth; but where's the clew?

Lord if it be of thee, then let it stand; If not, downe, downe let it for ever fall. Tis thee I seeke in it, dost thou command Mine Isaak? here tis, and my selfe and all. O how I joy I've such a sacrifice Whereby my God my Love unto him tries.

Sure many choiser splendors have I seene; Yet few so choise; was it my sensuall eye I sought to please, fit objects they had beene: But a new eye new glories did espie; Through that bright Christall a farre brighter jewell, That yet into this fire cast's in fewell.

How how I'm wrack't! love, hate, desire, averse, Sorry, rejoyce, feare, hope, angry, well pleas'd, Carefull, not care,—cannot rehearse. Hope t'ought not be, feare't ought, there am I eas'd Diseased here; well, I'le stint the strife, Nere loose my Love that lost for me his Life.

Lord how I love thee that thou did'st not leave Me in the creatures hand; alone 'tis thee Thee 'tis alone to whom I wish to cleave, My other wish serves this; if thou do'st see It cement fit to make me closer cling To thee, to me deare Lord that cement bring.

I dare not fetch it least that I should bring For morter slime, I'le set me downe and blesse; Thy name, first to thy willing of the thing, Then to thy time, meanes, manner I'le adresse

Me, my way rowle on thee, delight in thee, Thou't doe's, I my-thy hearts desire shall see.

How full I am! what shall I doe for vent? I muse, th' fire's tin'd, when will the word's burst out? They doe so crowde, throng, presse, stop, they are so pent, Come loaden with such matter, that I doubt I must be faine to let them all alone, And in ward speake what in word can't be showne.

Thy mercies Lord, I speake it with my heart, Flow in so fast I am not able t'beare The memory of them, how much lesse convert My thoughts to words, yet will I have a care Both I and others both in my word and deed The thankfull memory of Thy Loves may read.