[From p. 383 in Chapter XXV On Meekness]

Were all the World a Paradise of Ease 'Twere easie then to live in Peace. Were all men Wise, Divine, and Innocent, Just, Holy, Peaceful and Content, Kind, Loving, True and alwaies Good As in the Golden-Age they stood; 'Twere easie then to live In all Delight and Glory, full of Love, Blest as the Angels are above. But we such Principles must now attain (If we true blessedness would gain) As those are which will help to make us reign Over Disorders, Injuries, Ingratitudes, Calamities, Affronts, Oppressions, Slanders, Wrongs, Lies, Angers, bitter Tongues; The reach of Malice must surmount, and quell The very Rage and Power of Hell.

Mankind is sick, the World distemper'd lies Opprest with Sins and Miseries. Their Sins are Woes; a long corrupted Train Of Poyson, drawn from Adam's vein, Stains all his seed, and all his Kin Are one Disease of Life within; They all torment themselves! The World's one Bedlam, or a greater Cave Of Mad-men that do alwaies rave.

The Wise and Good like kind Physicians are, That strive to heal them by their Care; They Physick and their Learning calmly use Although the Patient them abuse, For since the Sickness is (they find) A sad Distemper of the Mind, All railings they impute, All Injuries, unto the sore Disease They are expresly come to ease.

If we would to the World's distempered Mind Impute the Rage which there we find, We might, even in the midst of all our Foes Enjoy and feel a sweet Repose, Might pity all the Griefs we see, Anointing every Malady With precious Oil and Balm; And while ourselves are calm, our Art improve To rescue them and show our Love.

But let's not fondly our own selves beguile; If we Revile 'cause they Revile, Ourselves infected with their sore Disease Need other's Helps to give us ease; For we more Mad than they remain, Need to be cut, and need a Chain Far more than they. Our Brain Is craz'd, and if we put our Wit to theirs, We may be justly made their Heirs.

But while with open eyes we clearly see The brightness of His Majesty; While all the World by Sin to Satan sold, In daily Wickedness grows old, Men in chains of Darkness lye, In Bondage and Iniquity, And pierce and grieve themselves! The dismal Woes wherein they crawl, enhance The peace of our Inheritance.

We wonder to behold our selves so nigh To so much Sin and Misery, And yet to see our selves so safe from harm! What Amulet, what hidden Charm Could fortifie and raise the Soul So far above them and controul Such fierce Malignity? The brightness and the glory which we see Is made a greater Mystery.

And while we feel how much our God doth love The Peace of Sinners, how much move And sue, and thirst, intreat, lament, and grieve For all the Crimes in which they live, And seek and wait and call again, And long to save them from the pain Of Sin, from all their Woe! With greater thirst as well as grief we try, How to relieve their Misery.

The life and splendour of Felicity, Whose floods so overflowing be, The streams of Joy which round about his Throne Enrich and fill each Holy One, Are so abundant, that we can Spare all, even all to any Man! And have it all ourselves! Nay, have the more! We long to make them see The sweetness of Felicity.

While we contemplate their Distresses, how Blind Wretches, they in bondage bow, And tear and wound themselves, and vex and groan, And chafe and fret so near His Throne know not what they ail, but lye Tormented in their Misery, (Like Mad-men that are blind) In works of darkness nigh such full Delight: That they might find and see the sight,

What would we give! that these might likewise see The Glory of His Majesty The joy and fulness of that high delight Whose Blessedness is infinite! We would even cease to live, to gain Them from their misery and pain, And make them with us reign, For they themselves would be our greatest Treasures, When sav'd our own most Heavenly Pleasures.

O holy Jesus who didst for us die, And on the Altar bleeding lie, Bearing all torment, pain, reproach, and shame, That we, by vertue of the same, Though enemies to God, might be Redeem'd and set at liberty: As thou didst us forgive, So meekly let us love to others shew, And live in Heaven on Earth below.

Let's prize their Souls, and let them be our Gems, Our Temples and our Diadems, Our Brides, our Friends, our fellow-Members, Eyes, Hands, Hearts and Souls, our Victories, And Spoils and Trophies, our own Joys! Compar'd to Souls all else are Toys; O Jesus, let them be Such unto us as they are unto Thee, Vessels of Glory and Felicity!

How will they love us, when they find our Care Brought them all thither where they are! When they conceive what terror 'tis to dwell In all the punishments of Hell; And in a lively manner see, O Christ, eternal Joys in thee! How will they all delight In praising Thee for us with all their might! How sweet a Grace, how infinite!

Contentment is a sleepy thing If it in Death alone must die; A quiet Mind is worse than Poverty, Unless it from Enjoyment spring! That's Blessedness alone that makes a King! Wherein the Joys and Treasures are so great, They all the powers of the Soul employ, And fill it with a Work compleat, While it doth all enjoy. True Joys alone Contentment do inspire, Enrich Content and make our Courage higher. Content alone's a dead and silent Stone; The real life of Bliss Is Glory reigning in a Throne, Where all Enjoyment is. The Soul of Man is so inclin'd to see, Without his Treasures no man's Soul can be, Nor rest content Uncrown'd! Desire and Love Must in the height of all their Rapture move, Where there is true Felicity. Employment is the very life and ground Of Life itself; whose pleasant Motion is The form of Bliss: All Blessedness a life with Glory Crown'd: Life! Life is all; in its most full extent Stretcht out to all things, and with all Content!

And if the Glory and Esteem I have, Be nothing else than what my Silver gave, If, for no other ground, I am with Love or Praises crown'd, 'Tis such a shame, such vile, such base Repute, 'Tis better starve than eat such empty Fruit.