Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
A Cry unto the Lord to Stay His Hand
By Captain Edward Johnson (1599?1672)F
From saddest soul consum’d in deepest sin,
[A]From heart quite rent with sighs and heavy groans,
My wailing muse her woful work begins,
And to the world brings tunes of sad lament,
Sounding naught else but sorrow’s sad relent.
And yet less sorrowful were my sorrows more,
[A]Grief that with grief, is not with grief prevented,
Yet grief it is must ease my grieved sore;
So grief and sorrow, care but how to grieve,
For grief and sorrow must my cares relieve.
Tears cannot come unless some grief proceed,
[A]Grief comes but slack, which doth increase my fears,
Fear, lest for want of help I still shall bleed;
Do what I can to lengthen my life’s breath,
If Christ be wanting, I shall bleed to death.
Infuse in me thy all-affecting grace,
[A]So shall my work to good effect be brought,
While I peruse my ugly sins a space,
Whose staining filth so spotted hath my soul,
That naught can wash, but tears of inward dole.
[B]Who thee and thine through troublous Seas hath led,
On earth thy parts should praise him, sudden rot,
Why dost neglect his glorious Kingdom spread?
Thy eyes have seen the Mountains mov’d with ’s hand,
And sunk in Seas to make his Sion stand.
[B]On Seas are broke, and thy best Seamen slain,
Sith thou thy gain, and not Christ’s work dost mind;
Lord, stay thy hand, I see my works are vain.
Our ships they shall thy Gospel forth convey,
And not bring home strange errors here to stay.
Thy Saints abroad relieve, by Sea them send;
No riot shall our Merchantmen allow,
Time in exchange walks, not in Taverns spend.
Godly grief and good purpose comes from thee,
Lord Christ command, and then to work go we.
With scatter’d seed of man and beast, thou hast
Seen thy great God increase thy little sum,
[C]Towns close compact in desert land hath plac’d:
In Wilderness thy table richly spread,
Thy poor therein hath satisfi’d with bread.
[C]Thy harvest hath with heaps on heaps come in;
Oh mourn, that thou no more thy God should’st mind,
His gentle rod to teach thee doth begin;
Then wonder not that swarms of Locust fly,
And that earth’s fruits for want of moisture die.
To rob the earth of her green mantle quite;
Wolves only wont on lesser beasts to fall,
[C]On great ones prey by day, and eke by night;
Thy houses are consum’d with much good store,
By fearful fires, which blustering winds blow o’er.
Thy Word, not world, shall be our sole delight,
[C]Not Meadow ground, but Christ’s rich pearl we ’ll find,
Thy Saints embrace, and not large lands down plight.
Murmur no more will we at yearly pay,
To help uphold our Government each way;
Rejoice will we, our hearts enlarged are,
[C]Those wait on th’ Altar, shall on Altar live,
Nor shall our riches their good doctrine mar;
Our pride of parts in thought of clear discerning,
No longer shall disgrace their godly learning.
With women’s hair, in gold and garments gay,
[C]Whose wages large our Commonwealth’s work mar,
Their pride they shall with moderation lay;
Cast off their clothes, that men may know their rank,
And women that with outward deckings prank.
[D]No longer shall us into corners draw,
Nor our large herds us from God’s house detain
From fellowship of Saints, who learn thy Law;
Thy righteous Judgments, Lord, do make me tremble,
Nor word, nor rod, but deep in this dissemble.
How can we, Christ, united be to thee,
[D]When from thy Law learn’d we so greatly swerve,
With watery tears unclued we will be.
From creature-comforts, Christ, thou art our stay,
Work will and deed in us, we humbly pray.
Lament, the Lord his worthies from the earth
Takes to himself, and makes our earth to be
[E]A mourning place left destitute of mirth;
Are these the days wherein that Beast shall fall,
Lord, leave us means, though thou be all in all.
S
[E]Our heavenly H
And godly B
P
And H
[E]M
What H
Follow G
Godly G
Thus thou by means thy flocks from smoiling savest.
From us, these men and means are sever’d quite;
Stretch forth thy might, Lord Christ do thou command
Their doubled spirit on those left to light;
Forth of their graves call ten times ten again,
That thy dear flocks no damage may sustain.
To quicken up my drowsy drooping soul;
Lord, I forget, and have the same abused,
Which makes me now with grief their deaths condole,
And kiss thy rod, laid on with bowels tender,
By death of mine, makes me their death remember.
Pour out thy wrath on Antichrist’s proud Thrones;
Hear thy poor flocks that on thee daily call,
Bottle their tears, and pity their sad groans.
Where shall we go Lord Christ? We turn to thee;
Heal our backslidings, forward press shall we.
Shall on thee wait, thy wonders to behold;
Thou King of Saints, the Lord in battle stout
Increase thy armies many thousand-fold.
Oh Nations all, his anger seek to stay,
That doth create him armies every day.