A Meditation

Though Zion sits in Misery, And doth in Ashes mourn, And all her Foes as they pass by, Do her deride and scorn. Though like the spotless turtle Dove, That in the Rock doth dwell, 'Wailing the Absence of her Love, Whose Grief no Tongue can tell. Though for a Season thus she may Sit, like a Widow poor And desolate, there is a Day When she shall grieve no more. Though yet she mourn, lament and weep, To see her Children dear To wander, like poor scatter'd Sheep, Through Desarts far and near: Hourly in Danger to be torn, By Tyger, Wolf or Bear, As they are seeking to return Unto their Mother dear. Yet those that would these Sheep annoy, Let them for certain know, They shall not, if such them destroy, Long unrewarded go. Ere long this Cloud of Misery Shall vanish quite away; She, that sat in obscurity, Shall see a glorious Day. Then shall her tyrannizing Foes Receive just Punishment, Who did her Children dear expose T' Exile and Banishment. These shall return to her again, With sacred Songs of Joy; But those shall roar and howl for Pain, And to the Mountains cry, Fall on us, hide us from the Wrath Of the Lamb's Anger, and Which he against us justly hath Sent forth: For who can stand When he appears? Sure only those That know his blessed Power T' surround and guard them from their Foes, As in a Refuge-tower.