A Poem by John Flavel

johnflavelaBare seeds have no great beauty but inhum’d
That which they had is lost, and quite consumed;
They soon corrupt and grow  more base by odds,
when dead and buried underneath the clods
It falls in baseness but at length doth rise,
In glory which delights the beholders eyes;
How great a difference hath a few days made
Betwixt it, in the bushel and the blade!
This lovely lively emblem aptly may
Type out the glorious  resurrection day.
Wherein the saints that in dust do lie
Shall rise in glory, vigour, dignity.
With singing in that morning they arise
And dazzling glory; such as  mortal eyes
Never viewed on Earth; The sparkling beauties here,
No more can equalize their splendour there
Than glimmering glow worms do the  fairest star
That shines in Heaven, or the Stones that are
In every street,  may competition hold
With glittering diamonds in rings of gold.
For unto Christ’s most glorious body they
Shall be conformed in glory at that day;
Whose lustre would should it on mortals fall
Transport a Stephen, and  confound a Paul.
Tis now a course, a crazy house of clay?
But O! How dear do souls for lodging pay!
Few more than I, for thou, my soul hast been,
Within these tens of Kedar, cooped in.
Where with distempers clogged, thou makest thou moans,
And for deliverance, with tears and groans
Hast often said: cheer up, the time will be
When thou from all these troubles shall be free.
No jarring humours, cloudy vapours, Rheums,
Pains aches or whatever else consumes.
My days in greif while in the Christian race
Flesh lags behind and can’t keep equal pace
With the more equal spirit; none of these
Shall thencefore clogg thee or disturb thy ease.

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