724) Come finful wights, did you delight in glorifying God? Or was the end you did intend The men that stand at the right hand, Could you believe you should receive God looks upon th' effection and temper of the heart; Not only on the action, and the external part. Whatever end vain men pretend, And by the end which they intend Without true Faith the Scripture faith God cannot take delight In any deed that doth proceed from any finful wight. And without love all actions prove but barren empty things; Deat works they be, and vanity, the which vexation brings. Nor Nor from true faith, which quencheth wrath hath your obedience Alown: Nor from true love which wont to move believers hath it grown. Your argument fhews your intent, in all that you have done: You thought to fcale heav'ns lofty wail by ladders of your own. Your blinded fpirit hoping to merit You trusted to what you could do, All men have gone aftray, and done had no fuch fin as this: Yet as if all your fins were fmall, you fay all did amifs. Again you thought, and mainly fought a name with men t' acquire; Pride bear the bell, that made you fwell and your own felves admire. Means fruit it is, and vile, I wifs, that fprings from such a root: Virtue divine and genuine wonts not from pride to fhoot. Such deeds as your are worfe than poor; they are but fins, gilt over With filver drois, whole glistering gloss can them no longer cover. The best of them would you contemn, and run you alone, Although you were from faults fo clear A wondrous crou'd then 'gan aloud Our true intent was to repent, Let our good will to turn from ill, That from your birth you liv'd on earth, to compafs faving grace: It It was free grace that any space was given you at all, To turn from evil, defy the Devil, and upon God to call. You had a feafon, what was your reafon fuch precious hours to wat? What could you and, what could you mind, that was of greater haft ? Could you find time for vain paftime, for loofe licentious mirth ? For fruitless toys, and fading joys Had you good leifure for carnal pleasure, In younger years beyond your fears, You oft were told, and might behold Had your intent been to repent, and had you it defir'd, There would have been endeavors feen God makes no treasure, nor hath he pleasure in idle purposes: Such fair pretences are foul offences, Others argue, and not a few, are they not marvellous ? Unto thy name more glorious fame would not fuch mercy bring? Would not it raife thine endless praise more than our fuffering? With that they ceafe, holding their peace but cease not fill to weep; Grief ministers a flood of tears, in which their words do fteep. But all too late, grief's out of date, when life is at an end. The glorious King thus anfwering, all to his voice attend: With cords of love God often ftrove your ftubborn hearts to tame, Nevertheless your wickedness, did ftill refift the fame. Your |