Much that he writes is of death, from the
dread of which he evidently suffered--a good thing when it drives a man
to renew his confidence in his Saviour's presence. It has with him a very
different origin from the vulgar fancy that to talk about death is
religious. It was refuge from the fear of death he sought, and that is
the part of every man who would not be a slave. The _door of death_ of
which he so often speaks is to him a door out of the fear of death.
The poem from which the following excerpt is made was evidently written
in view of some imminent suffering for conscience-sake, probably when the
Act of Uniformity was passed: twenty years after, he was imprisoned at
the age of sixty-seven, and lay nearly a year and a half.--I omit many
verses.
THE RESOLUTION.
It's no great matter what men deem,
Whether they count me good or bad:
In their applause and best esteem,
There's no contentment to be had.
Thy steps, Lord, in this dirt I see;
And lest my soul from God should stray,
I'll bear my cross and follow thee:
Let others choose the fairer way.
My face is meeter for the spit;
I am more suitable to shame,
And to the taunts of scornful wit:
It's no great matter for my name.
My Lord hath taught me how to want
A place wherein to put my head:
While he is mine, I'll be content
To beg or lack my daily bread.
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