A Postcript to the Reader

TIs not to shew the Author's Wit but Grace, That these few Poems are expos'd to view; In which thou may'st behold Youths flow'ry face Set toward Sion, seeking things most true: Contemning worldly Vain's, but prizing high A place ith' Mansions of Eternity.

Here was hours spent indeed! and yet not spent; Time thus improv'd, is to Redeem the time. For Youth, Death's company thus to frequent, (As if a dweller in his shady Clime) Does prove a thing so rare, so seldome known, That scarce Old Age can call this act its own.

By hourly meditating on the Grave He came acquainted with that darksome Cell; Knew that from going thither none could save, (We on the Brink of Machpelah do dwell) Therefore prepar'd with sedulous desire To take his Bed there, when he should expire.

And though our Saviour with his Odours sweet Hath to the Faithful it perfum'd; yet there They can't abide for aye: away must fleet To Judgment, when the Great Judge shall appear. This of he thought upon: This, this should be Our standing thought, when all things else do flee.

Of Hell he's not forgetful; but with dread And trembling thinks & speaks thereof: doth give Warning to living ones, they should not plead For Sin, which brings a Hell without reprieve: Excites to Prayer, Repentance, and to stay By Faith on Christ for Life which last for ay.

But his most sweetest Contemplation Takes wing below, and up to Heaven doth soare: There's matter for deep Meditation, Where Pleasures do abide for evermore, Which neither Eye e're saw, Ear heard, nor can Enter into the Heart of any man.

Let the Example of this Pilot young, (So skill'd in Spiritual Sailing) thee inform To steer thy Course through Baca's Vale, along To this fair Haven, (fear nor Winds nor Storm) Till thou arrive with him, in whom did dwell Some good thing toward the God of Israel.