Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, S. PHILIP YE DEACON, by JOSEPH BEAUMONT

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S. PHILIP YE DEACON, by            
First Line: Faith, thou art boundless; not one graine
Last Line: He throws himselfe into ye fire againe.
Subject(s): Clergy; Faith; Jesus Christ; Priests; Rabbis; Ministers; Bishops; Belief; Creed

FAITH, thou art boundless; not one Graine
Of Thee, but doth more weight conteine
Then vastest Mountains: Yet full well
Thou In Mens narrow Hearts canst dwell,
Which Mystick Cells ye lesse they be
And humbler, allways yeild to Thee.
The larger roome:
Thou lov'st to come
To such as these with all thy Noble Traine,
And fixing there thy potent Throne doth reigne.

And Thus of old in Philips breast
Thou kept'st thy Court; so great a Guest
We never knew herselfe bestow
Under a roofe more poor & low.
Yet with such glory didst Thou there
On thy commanding Throne appeare,
That thy strong hand
None dares withstand
But all Samaria doth acknowledge Thee
Her best & gentlest Conquerour to be.

Sturdy Diseases, wch could dare
All Physiks Powers, modest are
Before ye face of Philip, and
Aw'd by his conquering Command;
Rather then they with Men will fight
Against themselves they'l turne their spight
And by & by
Grow sick & dy:
And well ye Servant Sicknes may destroy,
Whose Master lately Death itselfe did slay.

But these were easy Cures: His Art
Wrought cheifely on ye inmost Heart,
By Teaching it a Life to live,
Wch mortall Seed could never give:
A Life wch might ye First-fruits be
And Dawne of Immortalitie.
He rubs ye rust
From off ye Dust,
And fairely prints Heavn in its Head; for where
JESUS is stamp'd ye sweetest Heavn is there.

No Thunders Rage so dreadfull is
To our most timorous ears as this
All-conquering Name appears to those
Who are Mans everlasting Foes:
They exercise ye utmost skill
That could be forg'd & hatch'd in Hell
To fortifie
Themselves, & trie
Whither their Immortall Legions cannot be
As strong as one poore Mortall Enemie.

They trie indeed; but trie in vaine,
Still Philip Victor doth remaine;
And As ye mighty Tempest throws
The Sea before 't where e'r it goes;
So doth his Potent Voices Blast
Foameing & roaring Spirits cast
Out from Mens breasts
The Proper Nests
Of a Mild Spirit: for there should onely dwell
The Dove of Heavn, & not these Ravens of Hell.

Black Simon startled much to see
The Forces feild, & routed He
Had sided with, swells wth Disdaine,
And falls to rave & curse amaine:
Now all yee Powers below, full well
And justly are yee damnd to Hell,
If yee whose Pride
Did swell too wide
For Heav'n, if yee, who feard not to oppose
The great Eternall yeild to Mortall Foes.

Blame not their God; the Place is due,
And they succeed in right to you
If they can beat you thus: Poor Fiends,
Ev'n We your best & surest Friends
Sham'd by your weaknes, shall no more
The Deitie of Hell adore;
No more shall We
Spit Blasphemie
Against ye God of Heavn at your Devotion,
If Earth can intercept Hells strongest Motion.

Look how Samaria laughs at Me
Conquered by Philips Potencie:
Look how great Belzebubs dread Name
Shrinks into Nothing at ye fame
Of upstart JESUS, whilst we straine
And play ye Devills all in vaine.
No furie could
Have stoutlier stood
For your accursed Cause, then I have done,
Nor earn'd a gallanter Damnation.

And must I now be foold, must I
Stoop unto any Deitie
But thine great Lucifer; & now
In Spells & charmes I aged grow
Be thus out-conjur'd by a new
And not hard Name? the words, wch you
Upon my Tongue
Did print, were strong
And dismall barbarous Sounds, but Philip by
One sweet & easy Name doth them defie.

Me thinks had I thy Hornes & Voice
Dread Satan, by my Looks & Noise
I could affright ye Stars, & throw
The torne Heavns headlong downe below.
Had I thy doubled-steeled Paws
And thy long Adamantine Claws.
Anew I'd tosse
That Christ to's Crosse
Where e'r he lurks, nor any Nailes would need
To fix Him there, but what my fingers bred.

For Shame renounce thy baffled Throne
And let ye Airs Sweet Realme alone
To Him yt rules in it; Goe dwell
A Coward in ye holes of Hell:
Thy conquerd Head & Shame goe hide
In thy old Night, where by thy side
Deaths & Despairs
Thy Comforters
Shall bid Thee welcome home, & make thee be
Content with that sole Principalitie.

Search there ye black Records, & send
If thou canst find them, to thy Friend
Some choice Receits, & charmes, wch yet
Were never belched from thy Pit:
Once more I'l trie for Hell & Thee;
But if I faile, farewell for Mee
Devills & Feinds,
I'l get me Friends
With Philip; blame not what you taught me, Pride;
Though against Hell, I'l take ye nobler side.

Thus vex'd, ye Wizard does his best
Great Philips Power to resist;
But finds him selfe too weak to fight
With holy Faith's Mysterious Might,
Which so amazeth him, yt he
No longer dares its Enemie be:
He yeilds, & cries
I sacrifice
My black & weak Profession to the Light,
Which from ye Crosse doth break so strong & bright.

Victorious Saint, thus at thy Feet
Convinc'd & conquerd lies ye Great
Champion of Darknes; Heare how He
Beggs for his better Life of Thee.
Grant Him his Prayer, & drench Him in
The Fountaine purgative of sin;
The Fount, wch will
Quench all ye Hell
That flam'd in Him; unlesse releas'd in vaine
He throws Himselfe into ye Fire againe.

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