Immanuel, or, The mistery of God, manifested in the flesh sung in the severall cantoes of Urania, Astræa, Melpomene / by Will. Wishartt ...

The Triumph.

CANTO 6^o.

ERE Cairo's Monarch would let Isr'el goe From out the fornace of affliction, loe, The holy one of Israel, bigge with ire, Is forc'd in wrath to blow so fierce a fire

Against him, that a Decad of stern woes Must fall upon him, ere he melt his snowes, So deeply were they froze amidst his heart That nothing but deep wrath can him convert. Of all those plagues which did on Misraim fall, Me thinks the last save one was worst of all; For what are fields, or fruits, or brooks, or trees, In respect of mans gracious faculties? And life it selfe is small, being compar'd With utter darknesse, wherein man ensnar'd By living death and dark Cimerian mist, Of Goshens childe is made a Memphytist: Such were the foggy mists that now doe stand For three houres space through all Judaea's land, So that th'inhabitants doe gaze with wonder To see the sun obscured from his splendor: But Titan once more doth reclear his eye, And shuffling off his Sisters canopy, Doth joy to see his eldest brothers bed With such triumphing trophees honored.

Now whil'st the stern Centurion sees the damp That Christ his death hath wrought in Natures camp, He shrinks away for feare, and doth professe Surely this man hath been Gods sonne, no lesse, For who did ever see so firm and strong Expressions of Deitie, ev'n among Infirmities and weaknesse saddest strains, As now burst forth in Naturesbubling vains? By this, just Joseph, Arimathea's Lord, Hath beg'd of Pilat, by submissive word, That he Christs body might have pow'r to take Down from the Crosse, and in his grave to make

Him rest, who rest and peace had promised Unto all such as sought to him for ayde: Pilat yeelds to it; Joseph's quickly gone Through Salems streets and rich stor'd shops each one, And of pure balm and myrhs elixar'd Nard A hundred weight he buyes, and afterward Embalmes my Saviours body, and doth binde It in a Tyrian lawn, more dainty fin'd Than that which Venus putteth on the eyes Of Cupid, to obscure his leacheries; Then in his Garden corner, with all haste, In his new-digged tombe he hath it plac'd, And that the body there might rest secure, He puts a stone upon the Sepulture. 'Mongst many passions of the soule, by which Man doth his guilty minde surcharge too much, Whil'st he doth wander in that desert, where Nothing is reap'd in end but griefe and care, That pultrone Feare, for most part, leads the ring, Where Cruelty hath harp'd on Envies string, For nothing can secure that sordid mind Where wrath and malice are in one combin'd: Hence doth the High Priest and his rascall-train To Pilats hall return yet once again, And under colour of a wise prevention, Belch out the vomit of their foul intention: This fellow (say they) while he liv'd, did say, Pull down this Temple, and on the third day I will re-build it: Lest therefore by night Some steal him from his grave, and so affright The world with frantick tales of's resurrection, Let us walk wisely; and 'gainst this infection

Prepare an an tidote; for by such toyes The weaker may be led to great annoyes: Goe, goe, saith Pilus, doe what ere you list, Hath not his blood yet satisfi'd your thirst? 'Tis strange to see, that death cannot put end Unto that wrath which doth on rage depend; The very beasts that live by cruell pray, Drink blood, eat flesh, but cast the bones away.

But ay me! poor faint-hearted Muse, how long Wilt thou sigh forth his obsequies? whose wrong, Though all the Main were turn'd to teares and ink, Could not suffice to write them on her brink: Weep therefore, weep a space; and weeping, look Not like a runnall or a bubling brook, Whose proudest swellings we no sooner spy But straight they are exhaust, their channell's dry; But like the Ocean, whose unfathom'd deep Sends forth those restlesse streames which never sleep, For here thou hast the deepest, deep distresse That ever heart could think, or tongue expresse; The sonne of God, heav'ns master-peece, the bright Transplendent glory of th'Almighties light, Th'eternall Word, which was e're time began, In time, for man, made man, nay, not a man, A worm, a wretch, a servant, nay, a slave To calumny, contempt, to crosse, to grave! Yet peace my Muse, and let not griefe exile Thee from due comfort; let a blushing smile Comfort thee rather; for, those wounds which stands Imprinted in his heart, his feet, his hands, Make him (although despised and disdain'd To carnall eyes, where sinne and shame's maintain'd)

A pretious Victime, off red up for thee, To whom of due belong'd the cursed tree; Yea, he is that great star of Jacob, who Makes Japhet unto Shem's sweet tents to go, And bids the world write anthems of Rejoyces Because his grave makes ours a bed of Roses, Where though he for a season rest and sleep, Yet shall not earth him in her armes long keep, But, as the Sonne of God, he thence shall rise, And lead Captiv'ty captive through the skies, And thence ascending to his glorious throne Shall be our all in all, and all in One; For notwithstanding all that stamp and stirre Whereby his grave is sealed and made sure, Up, up again he shall, Gods holy one Can in the grave take no corruption, But by his Resurrection makes our faith Triumph the more ore sinne, ore hell, and death; The former times prefigur'd have this truth: Did he not save one from the Lions mouth? Was not another thrown amidst the Sea, And after three dayes set at libertie? Yea, were not three at one thrown in the fire, As vassals of a Tyrants proud desire, Yet by his pow'r so preserv'd, that the flame Did neither harm their haires, nor garments seame? Did not he by his mighty pow'r, ere now, Naims poor widowes sonne to life renew? When Lazarus had four dayes ly'n in grave, Did he not, by his word, his soule receive? When as the good Centurion's daughter lay Asleep, did he not turn her night to day?

When Eutichus did from his third loft fall, Did not his quickning sp'rit his sp'rit recall? And when Tabitha (jappa's Nymph) lay dead, Did not his [Cumi] straight lift up her head? Those, and a thousand more then those, doe stand As great Herculean trophces in his hand; Those were but shaddows, he the substance is, The type was theirs, the antitipe is his, And all of those beare witnesse that his power Can kill and quicken, rescue and devoure.

Now doth the date of that appointed time Wherein he should arise from Deaths dark clime, Draw neer, for from the sixt dayes afternoon, The Sabbaths whol day he did rest eft soon; The eight daies morn no sooner'gins to break, But loe the sonne of Righteousnes doth wake, And with a better light the world recleare, Then ever Titan brought t'our Hemispheare; And as that God who did the world create, Upon the sixt day did man animate, And on the seventh day, celebrate his rest, A type of our Eternall heavenly feast: So did my Soules most grarious Redeemer Crush on the sixt day my soules sad blasphemer; And on the seventh day resting in the grave, Did from Goliahs hand his Isr'el save; And rising on the eight dayes morne, hath made The womans heel to bruise the serpents head; This day of old had small or no respect, But now to heav'n it doth our hearts erect, And justly makes his Gods a ther the Sunne, VVho in th'Eccliptick of true light doth run,

This day more sacred should be kept then any, Because by it Salvation spirings to many, And therefore 〈…〉〈…〉 as farre, As Titan hath beyond 〈…〉〈…〉 sta••re•• For look how much our second birth is more Then our first birth, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is our Sabbath, for Upon the sixth day we had our Creation, But on this Sabbath, light, life, and salvation; And since upon this day, we from our fall With him have rise, it is Dominicall, And merits to be sign'd with ink that's red, Because his blood our debt hath can celled: Th'intended period of the time now come, The sonne of Jesse, Israels brid egroome Comes from his late bed-chamber, richly deckt With Majesty, with glory and respect, His wedding garments, robes, and rings are on, His griefes, his passions, and his woes are gone, His foes are fill'd with feare, amaze, and wonder, Like Latmos rent with heav'ns high ratling thunder; Seraphick Spirits bow before his face, Mortality to glory now gives place, And all the Children of his wedding Chamber Whose lips are Corrall, and whose locks are Amber, Whose eyes Carbuncles are in dark of night, Gladly doe now attend this mornings light, And from the grave they role away that stone Which Caiaphas had fet his seale upon; 'Twere strange to see, that was could make that sure That heav'ns had destin'd to distemp'tature! But now the Scriptures are fulfill'd; which say, He gives his Angels charge 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thy way

To keep thee, lest thy foot should either slip, Or'gainst a stone at any time should trip: Yet was it neither Angels might nor power That did return life to my Saviour, But that same Godhead which in him did dwell, Restor'd his life, and did his death expell; For, though his soule was from his body cut, His Godhead from his Man hood was not shut; For, that great tye of Hypostatick union Shall never be dissolv'd, or lose communion: No, no, Mans nature which he did assume, And unite to the Word i'th' Virgins wombe, Shall in no after time, or taste Confusion,* 1.1 Or by a stronger hand 'plain of Division, Or by a change smell any Alteration, Or by or death or life have Separation, But shall for ay that union retaine Where three are one, and one is three againe: No sooner doth my Soules brave Sampson draw Gaza's gate-barrs asunder, then his aw Maketh earths wieghty globe to reatch and reele About him, like Ixyons giddy wheele, The dead arise and to the Citty goe, As witnesse of his great triumphing show; The Lyons to their dens return apace, Because great Judah's Lyon shakes his tresse, And all the beasts of neighb'ring Forrests feare, Whilst they this matchlesse Lyon's roaring heare; The chirping birds, whose sweet melodious notes Bring sweeter crotchets from their carr'ling throats Then all Apollo's nymphs can straine or sing Unto his Harps delicious fingering,

Betake themselves unto their wings to flie, Rather then in an Earthquakes arms to die; The nibling Lambs which graze on Vesta's kirtle, And sips her hony, suckles, and her mirtle Leaving their breakfast, bleat, and cry, and call Each one to gaze anothers festivall; Great Neptune and his Thetye now sing dumbe, Because the Soveraign of the Seas is come To put a hooke in their nostrills, and draw Leucotheo from Achelous maw: But above all, the long-liv'd Phenix seems, As freshly wak'd from her reviving flames, To greet him with the rarest welcome that E're Lark, or Finch, or Linot modulat; And at his foot her starry Spangled Crown, As to the righteous owner, she throws down; For she reviv'd, hath thousand years in store, But he requickneth lives for evermore: In end comes Titan, dayes bright shining eye, Who lately slept in darknesse Cannopy, And from his Orient or Eoan wave, Where Neptune doth his steps in pearle engrave, Seeing a clearer Sun i'th' West arise To all his Naids and his Napaeis, cries Look here, and see the rare, yea rarest wonder That ever Earth held up, or Heav'ns kept under; Two Suns arise at once, and in one day Two Titans to the world their lights display; The one wherof, although he rise, must fall, The other knowes no Occident at all: Thus is my Saviour up, and mangre hell And all the pow'rs of darknesse there doe dwell,

A new light, life, and liberty is given To all that hunger for the light of Heaven; 'Tis true, no article o'th' Christian faith, More faithlesse or reluctant en'mies hath, Then hath the Doctrine of the Resurrection Whil'st it stands canvass'd by humane direction; Yea, nature ne'er requir'd a better sport Then tosse this Ball within her Tennis-court; For faith it selfe can hardly sound this deep, How a scatter'd non ens to an ens can creep, Although that Nature and the Scriptures both Have writ the hieroglyphicks of this truth; The Phoenix spicie nest her Mistris burneth, Yet she from out her fatall Urne returneth; When length of time sun-staring Eagles spills, They doe revive by casting off their bills; Hearbs, trees, and plants, which in the winter wither, I'th' spring receive both sap and life together; The Corn we sow doth first corrupt and die, Yet from that death their grains doe multiply; And if't be true, Medaea for the sake Of Jason, made old Aesons youth t' awake: But Scripture tells us, that the first man hath By sinne subdu'd all mankinde unto death, And that the second man doth yeeld more grace, Requickning that which dy'd by our trespasse; And unto Abram's seed the Lord hath said, I am the livings God, and not the dead; Adde unto this, that he who first did make All things of nothing, can from something take With lesser pain, this little world of Man, Then when at first he from the dust it span,

Nor is it just, that any coupled paire Who work together, should not have like share Of glory after death, who in their life 'Gainst Sin and Sathan kept a conjunct strife: Why art thou then so sad my Soule? and why Art thou cast down with such anxiety? Dost not thou know that Christ is made thy head, And thou by faith his living member made; He is thy husband, thou his wedded wife, Whil'st he doth live, how canst thou doubt of life? He is the root, and thou his ingraft-branch, When thou art judg'd, he sitteth on the bench; He is our Main, which by our faith's hid pores Refreshing waters to our springs restores, And till his never ebbing streams goe dry We need not fear to lack a new supply; Naked from out our mothers wombe we come, And thither naked must we once goe home, Yet we believe earth shall not still enfold Us in her arms, that were too base a hold For any, in whose soule the sp'rit of grace Hath made his mansion or a dwelling place: No sure, suppose these putrid tents of clay Wherein we sojourn for a night or day, Must be dissolved, better buildings we In heav'n shall have: For Immortalitie Shall this our Mortall swallow and devoure Our weaknes then shall be exchang'd to power, Corruption shall to incorruption turne, And, shame shak'd off, we shall no longer mourn; For what by Nature we doe here inherit, Shall there renew'd be by th'Eternals Sp'rit:

Though then the grave, unto weak natures taste, Relish no better then the hemlocks feast, Yet from her arms we reap a richer store Then ever nature did possesse before; For there the poore have peace from their oppression, There earths horsleeches shrink from their possession, There rich and poore, the high, the low, and all To earthly tempest ly no more made thrall, But waiting for the return of their Judge, In secret, for a while, lye still and lodge; Since then I know that my Redeemer liveth, And that he shall perform what faith believeth, In all the periods of my lifes poore date I for my last and glorious change shall waite, For He who was dead, is alive, and shall To me be Alpha and Omega, All.

Notes

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  〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.