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LEMNISCUS AD COLUMNAM S. SIMEONIS STYLITAE APPENSUS, by                    
First Line: For still ye reverend pillar stands
Last Line: Crowned by its nobilitie.
Subject(s): Christianity; Mark, Saint (c. 46 A.d.)


FOR still ye reverend Pillar stands,
And all religious eyes commands.
Still it stands erected high
On fairest Mount of Memorie:
High as ye top of highest Glorie,
Which writes from hence its noblest Storie.
Higher then the PRINCE of FLIES
With his swarthy Wings can rise:
High as ye flight of soules: as high
As LOVE'S illustrious Wing could flie.
As high as is the loftie pitch
Lowest Humilitie can reach.
No Pillar ever higher stood
But that which shin'd wth Gods dear Blood.
Faire Mark indeed, wch could invite
The earlyest Morne & latest Night,
The East & West to leave their home,
And into Syria Pilgrims come.
Look with what haste huge Torrents straine
To crowd themselves into ye Maine:
With as full & speedy Tide
Nations flow from every side
Into this Sea of Wonders. Some
To feed their Admiration come:
Some for health, some for Protection,
Some for Counsell & direction.
Ne'r did so thick Devoto's follow
The Oracle of Old Apollo,
Though He through all ye World did goe
For Physiks God & Wisdomes too.
Ne'r could usurping Dieties
To such exuberant honour rise,
As doth from all Quarters presse
JESU'S SERVANTS feet to kisse.
HIS SERVANT, & no more but so,
Is He to whom these Glories flow.
Honour turnes Servant unto them,
Who faithfull Service pay to Him.
If Simeons noble soule disdaine
To wait upon ye Worlds proud Traine;
The World shall humble prove, & be
Servant to his Humilitie.
Humilitie layd sure & low
Is ye root from whence did grow
Those Palms & wreathes, whose thick imbraces
Caught Him with the noblest graces
Of never sought for Fame. His first
Acquaintance with ye World was nurst
Among Things like himselfe; poor Sheep
And simple innocent Lambs to keep
Was all his young Preferment; low
And mean enough, you'l say; but know
To Him it seemd too high: His Crook
Did something like a SCEPTER look,
And all his FLOCK like SUBJECTS stand
And goe as He changd his Command.
Ev'n honours Shades & Emblems are
Too fair for his meek Soule to wear.
He thinks it work enough to keep
Himselfe, whilst others govern Sheep.
And all his Wishes onely strive
In some safe Fold a Lamb to live.
No Fold so safe immure'd can be
As a Monastik Cell, says He.
High mounted on Devotions wing
Thither hasts this simple Thing,
And shrowded in that narrow Nest
He shuts out all ye World, yt rest
And He more room might get, then now
Th' excluded Universe could show:
Room to traverse Heavn, & see
The Crest of all Sublimitie:
Room to lodge all Virtue's Traine,
Room his God to entertaine;
Room where all his Forces may
Mustered & set in array
With confidence bid battle to
His & Pieties Mighty Foe.
Light Skirmages had often past
Between these Champions, till at last
The Saint resolves about the Spring
The utmost of his Power to bring
Into ye Field. Twas strange to see
What kind of Ammunition He
Store'd up against ye Fight: all Lent
He in Fortifying spent;
Good store of Faith He did provide,
And regarded naught beside.
Meat & Drink were things too gross
And cumbersome for Him, who was
With Spirits to fight: Forty long dayes
His silence'd Appetite obeys,
Whilst his stout Soule did thrive & feast
With one perpetuall perfect Fast.
His treacherous Flesh quickly fell downe,
All his false Friends away were blowne,
His Lusts grew tame, & every Passion
To his brave Will it selfe did fashion.
Unto his great Designe most true
And trusty every Member grew.
Thus to ye Combate did He goe
Neer as much Spirit as his Foe.
Simple Foe! The Plot He layd
Is long before the fight betrayd:
The World & Flesh, wch He dispos'd
In ambuscado, are disclos'd,
And ye Poore & pined Saint
Victorious is in being faint;
Proving ye Staffe of Bread to be
No necessary weapon; He
Without it lives & fights, Gods Word
Serves Him for food & for a Sword.
No marvell if He conquers, who
Makes extream weaknes potent grow,
By casting from Him all Defense
But onely Gods Omnipotence.
Little remains of Simeon;
God fights, & almost God alone.
This Strategeme found such successe
That henceforth He doth professe
It as his Trade; No Spring but He
Incounters thus his Enemie;
And whilst He other food denyes
Diets Himselfe wth Victories.
Now twas time no more to dwell
In Obscurities dark Cell:
Heavn dar'd venture Him abroad
In some large & fair Abode,
Large as his mighty Soule, & fair
As his high Atchievments were.
His loftie Theater shall be
An emblem of his Constancie,
A Pillar stout & tall set forth
To ye view of Heavn & Earth;
That mounted in ye Aire on high
That Elements Prince He may defie,
And Angells, Men, & God may fill
Their eyes wth this brave Spectacle.
Brave Spectacle indeed! Great Rome
Had no such noble sight at home,
No Pillar Arch, or Monument
Of conquerd Worlds gave such content
As this one Column: wherfore Shee
With devout Humilitie
Its Shadow borroweth, to gild
All her Streets, wch now are filld
With copied Simeon: every Door
Henceforth will ope & shut no more
But under His Protection, who
Ingraven stands above to show
On whose stout Prayers & Charitie
Th' Inhabitants within relie.
And in these senselesse Shapes indeed
The Saint might stand long years, & need
No reliefe: but how shall He
Advance soft Flesh & Blood to be
Of Marbles Constitution, and
Unmoved as his Pillar stand?
The World now staggers at ye sight,
Grows jealous that it sees not right:
And One ye Speaker for ye rest
Humbly doth ye Saint contest
To clear Ages Jealousie
And his Temper to descry;
To speak whether his Metall were
No other then it did appeare:
Whither it were not of ye same
Pure cast, whence Heavn did Angells frame,
Whose blessed Wings still fann away
All ye wearines which They
May seem to gather as they flie
On Errands round about ye skie.
A gracefull Blush quickly made good
That Simeon guilty was of Blood:
And that his Flesh was truly so,
A deep ingraven Mark will show;
Which now He could no longer hide,
He shews his foot: where loe a wide
Mouth of a putrifyed Wound
Drops large confession on ye ground.
Look heer, says He, how rottennesse
Gins Me already to possesse,
And judge whither I a Spirit be,
Or weaker Worme then these you see,
Which on my foot in Triumph pray
Unto my Heart eating their way.
O mighty Patience! Simeon
As sure & steady stands upon
This most vexatious gnawing wound
As stood his Pillar on ye ground:
And fighting with Immortall Foes
Indures from Wormes those piercing Woes,
If yet they pierce Him, & all sense
Of Mortall Pains be not long since
Quite drownd in that exuberant Sea
Of his Angelik Fervencie,
Whose Mystik Power hath made Him now
All Soule: Sure Simeon feels no blow
Nor wound, but those, wch LOVE'S sweet Darts
Bestow on Saints Delicious Hearts.
Twas LOVE, which on ye Pillar set
Him as his fairest Mark, whereat
To aime, & trie his Heavnly skill,
Which wth Darts of Life doth kill,
And in ten thousand Deaths doth give
A sweet Necessitie to Live:
To Live a LIFE of WOUNDS, but those
So healing, that ye Soule would choose
Rather Ease's Pangs, then not
By those Arrows to be shot.
LOVE shot full oft, & every Dart
Flew directly to the Heart
Of this fair Mark; At last He cries,
Mine alone, Mine is ye Prize:
The Tempters Arrows are in vain,
Mine alone the Man have slain:
Mine He is, & Mine shall be;
No Title to Himselfe hath He:
Him I challange by ye Law
Of greatest Arms, & mean to draw
Him home in Triumph after Me
In token of my Victorie.
Then farewell Noble Captive, goe,
Thy Conqueror will make Thee so:
No state so glorious is, & free,
As that of Thy Captivitie.
That holy Appetite, which thy
Long Fasts begot, shall satisfie
Itselfe with Heavn: far higher now
Then was thy loftie Pillar, Thou
Shalt be exalted, & above
In ye warme bosome of thy LOVE
Be payd for thy cold Station heer.
Farewell, Brave Soule, & though thy Sphear
Be too high for Us, & our
Poor Songs to reach, yet will we poure
Them on ye noble Place of thy
Dear feet, & heap our Prayses high
To crowne thy Column, or to be
Crowned by its Nobilitie.





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