Thursday, 4 May 2023

Verces made by Mistress Baptina Cromwell, wife to Henry Cromwell esq. Sir Oliver Cromwell's sone

Eternal power from whose allseeing eye

Nothing though masqued can remain unknown

Thou that regardest sinners when they cry

Be pleased to look on me as on thine own

Vouchsafe t'accept this exercise of mine

Not for my sake but for that Son of thine

I fear I confess I am and have been such

That had Thou not still loved me more than much

I now with little hope my state might rue.

But Thy abounding mercy more than sin

Hath freed me from the slavery I was in.

Dear God, what love is this Thou hast showed me

In giving life when death my soul did chase

And wanting power, nay will to come too Thee

Thou gavest both of Thee I might not lose

And with such sweetness hast me happy made

That where Thou mightst compel Thou didst persuade.

 

My righteousness could be no gain to Thee

My wickedness could purchase Thee no loss

Mine own is the gain godly too be

If wicked I am mine only is the cross,

In this Thy mercy then did most appear

That only for my good Thou heldst new dear

For all Thy goodness now what may I render

That may be gracious in Thy acceptation

Even of Thine own I here make tender

Which will be pleasing in Thy estimation

That thankfulness which Thou hast given to me

I here unfeignedly return to Thee.

And now I crave what only Thou canst grant

The grace I have received increase it still

In each respect so as I never want

Sufficient power, to execute Thy will.

This I ambitiously aspire unto

O bless my ambition that aspireth so.


Baptina Cromwell (c.1595-1618)

Sir Oliver was not the future Lord Protector (1599-1658); this seems to be her: https://www.geni.com/people/Baptina-Cromwell/6000000017598090125


Verse by the Princess Elizabeth, given to Lord Harington, of Exton, her preceptor


This is joy, this is true pleasure

If we best things make our treasure,

And enjoy them at full leisure,

Evermore in richest measure.


Good, most holy, high and great,

Our delight doth make complete;

When in us He takes His seat,

Only then are we replete.t


Thy affections shall increase,

Growing forward without cease,

Even until thou diest in peace,

And enjoyed eternal ease.


When Thy breast is fullest fraught

With heaven's love, it shall be caught

to the place it loved and sought,

Which Christ's precious blood hath bought.


Joys of those which there shall dwell,

No heart think, no tongue can tell;

Wonderfully they excel,

Those Thy soul shall fully swell.


Doth not that surpassing joy,

Ever freed from all annoy,

me inflame? and quite destroy

Love of every earthly toy.


O, my God for Christ his sake,

Quite from me this dullness take;

Cause me earth's love to forsake,

And of heaven my realm to make.


What care I for lofty place,

If Lord Grant Me His grace,

Showing me His pleasant face,

And with joy I end my race.


O Lord, glorious, yet most kind,

Thou hast these thoughts put in my mind

Let me grace increasing find,

Me too Thee more firmly bind.I


To God glory, thanks and praise,

I will render all my days,

Who hath blessed me many ways,

Shedding on me gracious rays.


To me grace, O Father, send,

On Thee wholly to depend,

That all may to Thy glory tend,

So let me live, so let me end.


Now to the eternal King,

Not seen with human eye,

The immortal only wise true God,

Be praise perpetually!


Selected verses

Elizabeth Stuart, later Queen of Bohemia

1596-1660


Elizabeth Jane Weston;

In you, O Christ my Hope, my hopes depend;

Amid confusing wickedness, defend;

I do not trust in images or art,

For nothing can be certain on man’s part.

My Hope, Thou art mine own, through rock and fire:

I’ll cross the seas, if that’s what you require;

Your arms will even overcome the sea,

Wherever your command to me may be.


which is a version of:

In Symbolam Westoniae Auctoris
Spes mea Christus
In te, Christe, mihi spes derivata recumbit; 
Sed ne confundant me mala tot, fer opem: 
Non ego imaginibus confido, ne arte; salutis, 
Quam spero, certae nil mihi praestat homo. 
Tu spes, tu mea res, Meus es, per saxa per ignes:
Si vis esse, sequar per freta: se esse jubes 
Per freta; freta tuo munimine vinco: petitis 
Certa, vel hic, summi vel patris aede tui.