On Good-Friday

The Iews by ancient Prophecies not taught,
Nor by those miracles Christ daily wrought;
Nor at his death would they converted be,
When they did high and mighty wonders see!
The darkned Sun, the Temple Veil quite rent,
The cloven Rocks, nor risen Saints then sent,
Could e'er persuade those mis-believing men
T'avoid those miseries befell them then:
Yet we, more foolish and more blind than they,
Anew do crucifie him ev'ry day.
Our high contempts do aggravate our sin,
'Cause we believe the glory he is in.
To us his Resurrection has reveal'd,
What his Humanity from them conceal'd.
What yearly tribute should we Christians pay,
What Sacrifice will best become this Day,
On which the Lord of Life was then content
To dignifie an earthly monument!
May we rejoice to find our selves set free
From all the guilt of past impiety?
Or, must we blush at our own Crimes, for shame
To see Christ feel the pains due to our blame?
Both; we must do both: eyes dissolv'd in tears
Must raise our grief, must wash away our fears.
And yet our frighted souls may justly bring
Joys mix'd with sorrows, for his suffering.