Classic Poem

E're the Day break, and The Shadows Fly

Est Deus in Nobis, sunt et Commercia Coeli:
Sedibus Athereis Spiritus Ille venit.
A God doth dwell in Men , from th' Blessed Seats ,
Th' Immortal Spirit, mortal Man repletes.

Suffer, much Worshipful, A meaner Flight,
In Eccho to your sacred Muse's Hight,
Of our New-year , which usher'd in the Light .
Divert from th' Holy- Path , whom Nothing can,
Nay Superstitious Rites, Thrice Ble'ssd the Man!
Who with an Heart-rene'wd, A New-Year's Day
Observe's , and Takes it with Him, on his Way :
And certain 'tis, that the Profane-Abuse
Of Observations, fright them out of Use.

E're ye Day Break.

Thrice Happy He
Whose more caelestial Phospher doth out-run
Aurora's Gleames, and ante-vert's the Sun :
On whom, Before the Breaking-Morn displai'es
The Healthful Warmth of Phoebus' Golden Rayes,
The Brighter Son of Righteousness expand's
His Healing -wings, and Saving- Health command's:
Who, Lying down to Rest, had closely fur'ld
His Spreading -Thoughts, to Mind a Better World:
Sleep's The Beloved's Arms encircled in,
And waking , ever find's himself with Him:
Who, for Those Graces , which the Soul adorn,
Wait's more than Morning -Watchers watch for Morn :
Nor can no more Jerusalem's Weal forgit,
Than his own Soul , or Nearest- Intrests quit.

And ye Shadows fly.

Thrice Happy He

Who e're the Shades to their Black -Den repair
(And th' next Half-Globe feel's the Nocturnal-Mare )
Hath rarifyd his Thoughts with purer Air ,
And Breathe's by Contemplation in that Clime,
Where Mist ne're rose, nor Sun surceased to shine:
Who in Night's Darkest-Hours his Heart hath gott
To Him, from whom The Darkness darkneth not :
Or, if the Darkness occupy his Thought,
'Tis to a Nobler Use calcined brought;
Praesenting to his sadder -Eye Those Realms,
Which Darkness and Death's Shadow overwhelm's.
And thence lift's up a Prayer that Truth and Light
Sent thither might dispel those Foggs of Night ,
And to a Goshen turn the Darksom House,
Where Daemons hold their General-Rendezvous.
Then for our Tawnys , where Convertion work
Begun so sadly in the Birth is stuck;
That This Great-Task , through Heaven's indulgent Care,
May thrive throughout our Darker-Woods, that there
It may be said, Born These and Those Men were!
But most, that That fair-Morning may arise,
Repleat wherewith are all Those Prophesies ,
In Faith whereof, so many Saints now sleep ,
And Thousands yet alive , their Vigils keep;
Which with it's Brighter-Beamings shall transfuse
The Darkned Minds o'th' Obstinater Jewes ,
On whose Obdurate Hearts , unto this Day,
Lie's Unbelief's Thick- Vail untooke away;
And Them with Mourning and Rejoiceing bring
To their Once pier'cd , but now exalted King.
Who actually Earth's-Throne shall, then, obtain,
And Gloriously before his Ancients reign.
Then's Faith , not hood-winkt by th' Opacous Screen,
Seal's th' Evidence of all these things, as seen ;
Yea, through those Sable -spectacles beholds
Conjoining into One, the seperate-Folds,
One shepherd Paramount: And Japhets stem
Exulting in the Goodlier Tents of Shem :
Through whose Rejection first They rais'd their Head
But, Gathering now, are rais'd as from the Dead .
This Happy Man , Dear Sr, is You , altho'
Tis next to'a Crime, to tell your Worship so;
In whom Humility has nearly gain'd
The Point, that is, It's perfect Work obtain'd ;
(And, but that Flesh and Blood will hold their Clue,
I fairly had left out that Nearly too)
These Universal -Holy-Breathings, yet,
Of your more Holy Soul, I might not quitt.
Nor could my shallow Muse, as take the Round
They did, but Take them thus at the Rebound .
May th' Rest with you the Reckoning better sett,
(For all the Earth save Rome is in your Debt )
Whose Hands did first to Heaven this Offring lift,
Then to the World , A Richer New-Years Gift ,
Than Either Indias Bosom could unfold,
Or Sheba's Incense yield, Or Ophir's Gold.
Your Theam's a Subject for the Richest Muse,
But most of all, (I vote) for His , in whose
Fair Name , (but more Good-Heart ) wee See the Wall
Of Bethel rise, and cursed Babel fall.

With Thy Scicilian Muses, Virgil , hence,
The Golden-Age doth with This Muse commence.
Here, than from Sibil's Leaves' Praedict, wee read,
From surer -Writ, How The Great Months proceed:
And know the Time's near, when th' Eternal Birth,
De-miss'd from Heaven , shall Bless again ye Earth.

Enter, o Mighty Monarch Thy Great State!
For which our Groaning-Tract doth Longing wait;
Whose full-Possession (to it's utmost Line)
By an Eternal Gift , is firmly Thine.

To Capt. S. S. Esq Januae. 28. 1700/1