Comforts In Crosses.

The same who crowns the conqueror, will be
A coadjutor in the agony.

Though good things answer many good intents,
Crosses do still bring forth the best events.

'Tis no discomfort in the world to fall,
When the great crack not crushes one, but all.

Abundant plagues I late have had,
Yet none of these have made me sad:
For why? My Saviour with the sense
Of suff'ring gives me patience.

To conquered men, some comfort 'tis to fall
By the hand of him who is the general.

Our crosses are no other than the rods,
And our diseases, vultures of the gods:
Each grief we feel, that likewise is a kite
Sent forth by them, our flesh to eat, or bite.