Meditations concerning our Imprisonment only for Conscience-sake, 1684, in Lancaster Castle

Tho' the Eternal Wisdom, Zion's King, Be pleas'd to try his Babes by Suffering; Tho' some departing from the Sinner's Way, And walking Zion-ward became a Prey; Yea, though through Tribulation Israel must Enter the promis'd Land, yet Heaven is just, And tenderly supports his patient Ones, Although he chastens his beloved Sons; And though in Prisons outwardly they be Confin'd, the Son of Love doth set them free, And leads in verdant Plains of Liberty: The fresh fat Valleys, where sweet Shiloh flows, Upon whose fertile Banks the Lily grows; Where, though he by some Exercises prove, He solaceth with Flaggons of his Love. Then why should any murmur? Jesus thus Extended single Favours unto us. Here are we with the hidden Manna fed, Though with Transgressors we be numbered: Here can we Prospect from our Tower survery, With much more innocent Delight, than they That range at large; yea, here we may descry The pleasant Path, hid from the vult'rous Eye: Wherein the Righteous follow Christ their King, And tender Shepherd, to the living Spring Of Joy; and to his Name high Praises sing. Nor can the proudest Walls (tho' ne'er so high, The Monuments of grave Antiquity) Be terrible to spotless Innocence, That knows the Rock of Ages a Defence. Though some be from their families remov'd, Here Mary's Choice may better be improv'd. And Christ take care of his, although they sit As unconcern'd, weeping at Jesus Feet: He'll be a Father to the Family Of such as, for his Name, in Prison lie, And fill their Hearts with everlasting Joy. These rugged Walls, less grievous are to me, Than those bedeck'd with curious Arras be; T' a guilty Conscience, to a wounded Heart, A Palace cannot palliate that Smart: Tho' drunk with Pleasure, dull with Opiates, Some seem as senseless of their sad Estates, Till on their dying Bed Conscience awakes. But though the Righteous be in Bonds confin'd, They inwardly sweet Satisfaction find. Neither can stately Roofs, Gates, Bars, nor all The Art of Man, suppress the Cries and Call, Or Supplication, or the poorest Sigh, Of Israel's Seed, for his Redeemer's nigh; Who will regard the Cries, and hear the Groans, Of his afflicted, tribulated Ones; And will, in his appointed Time, arise Utterly to confound his Enemies. Although by them he for a Season prove His Children dear; he'll yet in Time remove The Scourge, and cast the chast'ning Rod aside, When Israel's Faith and Patience he hath try'd. Now tho' some rage, because we cannot bow Unto their vain Traditions, since we know The blessed Truth, which hath engag'd to give Our Hearts to him, in whom alone we live: Yea, tho' for this, some fret, and storm, and rage, And study to afflict God's Heritage; Their Wrath's restrain'd by One, that if he please, Can curb the furious, rolling, raging Seas, As in a Moment; and upon the Wave Teach him to walk, and by his Presence save From sinking, as of old; his Art's the same, Eternal Praises to his holy Name. He is our Shield, our Sun, that penetrates Our closest Rooms, and sweetly consolates Our waiting Souls; and with his quick'ning Ray, Changes black Nights of Sorrow into joyful Day: So that 'tis not the Terrors of the Night, Nor Darts that fly by Day, that can affright The righteous Souls, who walk in holy Fear; They know their Captain of Salvation's near, The blessed Prince of Peace, their Joy, their King, The only Fountain, whence true saving Comforts spring.