. Emblems, divine and moral . our guilt;Thou seest not what thou mayst, but what thou wilt:The hand that formd us is enforcd to beA screen set up betwixt thy work and thee:Look, look upon that hand, and thou shalt spyAn open wound, a thoroughfare for thine eye;Or if that wound be closd, that passage beDenyd between thy gracious eye and me,Yet view the scar; that scar will countermandThy wrath: O read my fortune in thy hand. 148 E3IBJ,EMS. BOOK 3. S. Chrys. Horn. iv. in seem to abound in wealth, when theywant all things; they seem to enjoy happiness,when indeed they are only most mis
. Emblems, divine and moral . our guilt;Thou seest not what thou mayst, but what thou wilt:The hand that formd us is enforcd to beA screen set up betwixt thy work and thee:Look, look upon that hand, and thou shalt spyAn open wound, a thoroughfare for thine eye;Or if that wound be closd, that passage beDenyd between thy gracious eye and me,Yet view the scar; that scar will countermandThy wrath: O read my fortune in thy hand. 148 E3IBJ,EMS. BOOK 3. S. Chrys. Horn. iv. in seem to abound in wealth, when theywant all things; they seem to enjoy happiness,when indeed they are only most miserable; nei-ther do they understand that they are deluded bytheir fancy, till they be delivered from their folly. S. Greg, in so much the more are we in\\ ardly foolish,by how much we strive to seem outwardly wise. EpiG. fool, what has thy folly done?Controlld thy God, and crucifyd his Son?How sweetly has the Lord of life deceivd thee!Thou sheddst his blood, and that shed blood hassavd thee. EMBLE3IS. 119. PSALM VI. 2. Have mercy, Lord, upon me, for I am weak; OLord, heal me, for my bones are vexed. SOUL. JESUS. Soul. Ah\ Son of David,help. cryImplores the son of David ? Soul. It is Who art thou ? Soul. Oh! a deeply woundedbreastThats heavy laden, and would fain have rest. IjO emblems. book 3. Jes. I have no scraps, and dogs must not be fed,Like household children, with the childrens bread. Soul. True, Lord; yet tolerate a hungry whelpTo lick their crumbs: O Son of David, help. Jes. Poor soul, what ailst thou? Soul. O Iburp, I fry,I cannot rest, I know not where to fly,To find some ease; I turn my blubberd faceFrom man to man; I roll from place to placeT avoid my tortures, to obtain still am doggd and haunted with my grief:My midnight tonnents call the sluggish , when the mornings come, they woo the night. Jes. Surcease thy tears, and speak thy free desires. Soul. Quench, quench my flames, and suagethose scorching
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