What if in prison I must dwell? May I not there converse with thee? Save me from sin, thy wrath, and hell, Call me thy child, and I am free. No walls or bars can keep thee out; None can confine a holy soul; The streets of heaven it walks about; None can its liberty control. This flesh hath drawn my soul to sin: If it must smart, thy will be done! O fill me with thy joys within, And then I'll let it grieve alone. Frail, sinful flesh is loath to die; Sense to the unseen world is strange; The doubting soul dreads the Most High, And trembleth at so great a change. O let me not be strange at home, Strange to the sun and life of souls, Choosing this low and darkened room, Familiar with worms and moles! Am I the first that go this way? How many saints are gone before! How many enter every day Into thy kingdom by this door! Christ was once dead, and in a grave; Yet conquered death, and rose again; And by this method he will save His servants that with him shall reign. The strangeness will be quickly over, When once the heaven-born soul is there: One sight of God will it recover From all this backwardness and fear. To us, Christ's lowest parts, his feet, Union and faith must yet suffice To guide and comfort us: it's meet We trust our head who hath our eyes. We see here that faith in the Lord leads Richard Baxter to the same conclusions immediately to which his faithful philosophy led Henry More. There is much in Baxter's poems that I would gladly quote, but must leave with regret. Here is a curious, skilful, and, in a homely way, poetic ballad, embodying a good parable. I give only a few of the stanzas. THE RETURN. Who was it that I left behind When I went last from home, That now I all disordered find When to myself I come? I left it light, but now all's dark, And I am fain to grope: Were it not for one little spark I should be out of hope. My Gospel-book I open left, Where I the promise saw; But now I doubt it's lost by theft: I find none but the Law. The stormy rain an entrance hath Through the uncovered top: How should I rest when showers of wrath Upon my conscience drop? I locked my jewel in my chest; I'll search lest that be gone:-- If this one guest had quit my breast, I had been quite undone. My treacherous Flesh had played its part, And opened Sin the door; And they have spoiled and robbed my heart, And left it sad and poor. Yet have I one great trusty friend That will procure my peace, And all this loss and ruin mend, And purchase my release. The bellows I'll yet take in hand, Till this small spark shall flame: Love shall my heart and tongue command To praise God's holy name. I'll mend the roof; I'll watch the door, And better keep the key; I'll trust my treacherous flesh no more, But force it to obey.