Classic Poem

Meditation V

The fifth perswades to Patience,
From that Rich future Recompense;
Minding us of our Heavenly Rest,
Which should revive us when distrest.

1

Meekly to bear Christ's yoke
It is an Honour high:
Thou Christ wilt surely them reward
Who bear it patiently
For this short Grief of ours,
And our Affliction light
Shall work of glorious Happiness,
A far more lasting weight.

2

For just men light is sown
(Reward laid up in store)
Who sow in tears shall reap in joy,
And after mourn no more.
They'll one day wear a Crown,
Who now the Cross sustain:
In Christ our Lord no suffering,
Nor labour shall be vain.

3

Reign with him long shall they,
With him that suffer do:
Who follow him in's Death, partake
Shall of his Glory too.
Not that our services,
Deserve such Recompence:
But he resolveth to set forth
His own Munificence.

4

Who can expect a Crop
Or Harvest to obtain,
That breaks no ground, that sows no seed,
That undergoes no pain?
To triumph who can hope
That doth the Battel shun?
Eternal Glory whoso findes,
Must first through rough ways run.

5

Thou art a Pilgrim here;
This world is not thy home:
Then be content with Pilgrims fare,
Till thou to Heaven come.
What if thou tossed art
With boisterous winds and seas?
Behold the Haven where thou shalt
Enjoy long rest and ease.

6

What if thy conflict with
The roaring Lion be?
If thou be call'd to fight against
World, Flesh, and Devil, all three.
Stronger is Christ in thee
Then strongest Enemy,
Who Satan under thy Souls feet
Shall tread down speedily.

7

Souldier be strong, who fightest
Under a Captain Stout:
Dishonour not thy conquering Head
By basely giving out.
Endure a while, Bear up,
And hope for better things:
War ends in peace; and Morning light
Mounts up on Midnights wing.

8

Through Changes manifold,
And Dangers perilous,
Through fiery flames, and water-floods,
Through ways calamitous
We travel towards Heaven
A quiet Habitation:
Christ shews a Kingdom there prepar'd
Ev'n from the worlds foundation.

9

O Heaven, most holy place,
Which art our country dear!
What cause have I to long for thee,
And Beg with many a tear
Earth is to me a Prison;
This Body is useless weight:
And all things else vile, vain, and nought,
To one in such ill plight.

10

O Christ make haste; from bands,
Of Sin and Death me free,
And to those Heavenly Mansions,
Be pleas'd to carry me
Where glorified Saints
For ever are possest,
Of God in Christ their chiefest Good,
And from all troubles Rest.