To the Repiner

Dost thou repine, vain man, 'cause thou art born
Subject to pains, to scandals, and to scorn,
When Christ himself, in all perfection made,
Felt more than thou, and was himself betray'd?
Alas, poor wretched, miserable thing,
That must be dust! suppose thou wert sole King
Of all this Earth, and didst the World controul,
What would it signifie, if thy own Soul
This minute may
Be ta'en away.
When that sad hour shall come, what horrours then
Possess the hearts of such wise worldly men?
As present joys do seek, and ne'er pretend
To Heav'n, until it be too late to mend;
Till sudden death their joys surprize, and Fear
In high amazement doth unmask'd appear;
Then those Repiners will want a pretence
To Courage, and their frighted Souls fly hence,
As men were made
To be afraid.
Thus the Repiners do create their shame,
While those inspir'd with a bright Christian flame,
Humbly submit to all from Heaven sent,
Are thankful, and most happily content,
When the Divine Hand does remove those toys,
Which the Repiner counts his only joys.
But if the holy Spirit do thy heart
Possess, there dwell, thou truly happy art,
Can'st not repine,
While God is thine.