Samuel Slater's Poems

VirginiaHuguenot · #1 (**permalink**) 07-30-2007, 03:43 PM

Has anyone had occasion to read Samuel Slater's collection of poems inspired by Milton's Paradise Lost entitled Poems in two parts first, an interlocutory discourse concerning the creation, fall, and recovery of man : secondly, a dialogue between faith and a doubting soul (1679)? Thoughts?

Slater says:

Quote:

I was much taken with learned Mr. Milton's cast and fancy in his book -- viz. "Paradise Lost." Him I have followed much in his method, but I have used a more plain and familiar style.

armourbearer · #2 (**permalink**) 07-30-2007, 07:43 PM

Some favourites:

Quote:

GOD.
These broken potsherds I'll again repair,
And make them full as beautiful and fair
As erst they were. In spite of Hell, a place
For justice shall be found and saving grace.
Of man I was the Maker. When made, He
Unmade himself. Who shall repairer be?
That work I'll have accomplisht. I will not
Upon my honour suffer such a blot
As Hell design'd to cast. But I will be
Prais'd and admir'd to all Eternity.

SON OF GOD.
No sooner was this said, but Heav'n did ring,
The Angels there did Allelujah sing.
But above all, Gods only Son did grace
That great assembly; in his radiant face
Pity and love did sit triumphant. He
Man dearly lov'd, pity'd his misery.
Both now were at their full, and for mans sake
His Father he approach'd, and thus he spake.
Father, I did thy resolution hear
With joy superlative; and can't forbear
Such goodness to extol with highest praise,
Which will poor man out of his ruins raise.
Should he be lost for ever, how should flame
Rise from thy Altars? What one would thy Name
Exalt? would not thy glory, Father, fade,
Should they be lost, who for thy glory made
All know? Consult thy goodness, let it shine;
Never let Hell, by frustrating of thine,
Be master of its ends. Go on, and do
What ever thine own grace doth prompt thee to.

GOD THE FATHER.
Difference, my Son, between us there is none,
But full agreement; for we two are One.
I see myself in thee, my glory bright,
My Son thou art, in whom I do delight.
Thou liest in my bosom, and to thee
All mine eternal counsels open be.
Full well thou know'st, from everlasting we,
Mercy to man together did decree.
How sad soever matters now appear
Between us two, counsels of peace then were.
All which shall stand unshaken, for I will
My thoughts perform, my pleasure all fulfil.
All mankind sha'nt be lost. I'll offer grace,
Which when once offer'd many shall embrace;
And those that do, shall find it, and shall be
Not to themselves beholding, but to me.

From the Dialogue between faith and a doubting soul:

Quote:

Doubt 5. From inward Corruptions.

SOUL.
With such as me! believ't who will; I can't,
Whoever enters Heaven, sure I shan't.
Nought that defiles shall thither come; that place
Is fill'd with Glory for Souls fill'd with Grace.
But mine is stuff'd with sin, numberless evils,
Ill thoughts, affections, Legions of Devils,
Haunt and inhabit here. Lord! what a pow'r
Of lusts are crawling in it every hour!
I never set my self to look within,
But I discover filthy heaps of sin.
Did others see what I do, they with shame
And scorn would shun me; I disgrace that name
Which graceth me, Christ's holy name I bear.
Him I profess, his Livery I wear,
With him I live, his word I hear, yet feel
No yielding to him in this heart of Steel.
Filthy I was, and so am still; How can
An holy Christ dwell in so soul a man?
Sure he his habitation sweepeth clean;
There are not in his Temple heaps of sin.
Sin dies in him that liveth; therefore I
Have no true life, not finding sin to die.

FAITH.
Sin is in thee. But is there nothing more?
There may be Grace, though of corruption store.
In midst of enemies thy Saviour reigns,
And of those enemies still ground he gains.
That mighty one hath girt his Sword to's side,
And conquering, to conquer he doth ride.
Thou feelest thy corruptions are rife,
Such feeling is a mercy, sign of life.
Dead men feel nothing, load them, load again,
They do not groan, they do not once complain.
It's well when sin doth trouble and molest,
Which did thee please; for Christ hath promis'd rest
To heavy laden souls; nor is he slack
To take that burden off which galls thy back.
He will not pass thee by, because so ill;
Thou art the fitter for his Sov'reign skill.
A good Phisician overlooks the sound,
And goes where sicknesses do most abound.
Hate and abhor thy sins, thy self bemoan;
If sin lose love, it cannot keep the throne.
Where 'tis endear'd it lives, loathed it dies.
Christ at one time humbles and sanctifies.
As for the stirrings of thy lust, at most,
They'r but death-pangs, it shall give up the ghost.
Sampson did at his death make greatest sport.
The Devils rage grows high, when's time is short.
Be thou so wise in th' case which thou art in,
As to discern 'twixt reign and rage of sin.
What speak thy bleeding heart, & weeping eyes?
Sure this, that sin don't reign but tyrannize.
Danger of death is past, because I see
By these complainings, sin doth die in thee.

VirginiaHuguenot · #3 (**permalink**) 07-31-2007, 08:53 AM

Thanks so much for sharing that, Rev. Winzer!