Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, S. BARNABAS, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

S. BARNABAS, by            
First Line: Tis not so poore a thing to be
Last Line: That heathen god e'r sate upon.
Subject(s): Barnabas, Saint (1st Century); Christianity


TIS not so poore a thing to be
Servants to Heavn, Deare Lord, & Thee
As Earth would make it; no not heere
In thy Humilities low Sphear;
Not heer where scoffings & Disgraces
Use to be heaped on their faces,
As on thy blessed Selfe they were
When Thou didst breathe, & grace our Aire.
Through thine owne humble veile there broke
Sometimes such Noble Beams as spoke
The Sun within: Let Tabor be
Witnesse to this faire Veritie.
Thus didst Thou prove Thy Selfe; & thus
Assert'st thy Saints illustrious
By Glimpses of that Glory Thou
Aforehand dost on Them bestow.
This royall Splendor faire did rise
In all ye wondring Lystrians eyes,
Whilst they beheld what Power there was
Dwelling in Paul & Barnabas:
One, who since first he came into
The world, in it could never goe
On Natures errands, leapeth now,
And feeles his feet obedient grow
To Pauls command: No Lamenesse dares
Be lame, where so great Power appeares.
But, let what weakness will say nay,
Forthwith finds legs to run away.
Away that runs, & in its roome
The ravish'd People crowding come:
Great Names of Gods (though Gods alas
Lesse reall then those Names) did passe
For current in their Pagan Creed:
But now, say they, we have no need
Of perblinde Faith, who cleerly see
Naked & plaine Divinitie
Walking & working heer; nor shall
Those vocall masks, ye Names of Paul
And Barnabas, snatch from our Eyes
Our Two Omnipotent Deities:
Paul is not Paul, but noble He
Is ye most eloquent Mercurie;
And Barnabas no lesse then Jove
Father of all ye Gods above.
For Gods they are though clothed in
The Garb & countenance of Men.
Now comes ye Priest of Jove, & brings
His fattest finest Offerings,
Selected Oxen, & ye Pride
Of every beauteous Garden, tye'd
In dainty Garlands, so to please
And welcome their grand Deities.
And who shall heer forbid, says He,
Great Jupiters High Priest to be
True to his Office, & to day
Unto his God his homage pay?
Why that will We, cry They, for whom
This Pompe & Sacrifice is come.
Behold we rend our clothes, & know
Our Hearts are wounded more then so,
To think that you should Us adore,
Who are as brittle & as poore
Dust as your Selves; & Him neglect,
Whom We, you worship so, respect
As onely God & greater far
Then your greatest Jupiter.
A God that made both Him & you,
Both Things above, & Things below,
A God whose Clouds doe drop on Us
A seasonable fruitfullness,
And wet Joves rotten Grave, from whom
You needs will dreame ye Raine doth come.
Alas we were more Lame than He,
Whom heer We heal'd to day could be
Untill our God helped us; & now
That onely God we preach to you.
And thus indeed our Saints did stay
The Peoples Sin; but ope'd a way
To greater glory: Noble odds
They now have gaind on Pagan Gods,
Who might have had, but did despise
Ev'n Jupiters owne sacrifice.
Thus To be JESUS Servants, speaks
More royall Splendor far then breaks
Forth from ye most Majestike Throne
That Heathen God e'r sate upon.





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