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1682 - Postscript to A Looking-Glass for the Recorder - by Anne Docwra

1682 - Postscript to A Looking-Glass for the Recorder - by Anne Docwra

The Mystery of Profession great,
And Lifeless Forms I here repeat,
That all may see, that want of Light
Makes men like Bats and Birds of Night,

Profession was a lovely Tree,
And very green appeared to bee,
With Blossoms fair as Eye can see;
And when the times with it did suit,
It seem'd as it would bear some fruit.

Great Storms of Persecution blew,
That nipt the bud, and chang'd the hew,
and so, away the Blossoms flew.
What Fruit can then expected be,
From a seared and blasted Tree?

The Husband-man did his good Will;
No fault is found, nor want of Skill:
What's done in love can think no Ill.
And when that he expected Fruits,
It brought forth nothing but Disputes.

This Tree stands still upon the Ground,
Small hopes of Life, it being Unfound.
Who know how Mercy may abound?
None can pluck up, but only he
That plants and plucks to Eternitie.

Profession thus grown out of Date,
Through change of times and change of State,
In steps the Monster of Debate.
I'll shew her in her Colours true,
And set her forth to publick view.

Make-bate Opinion, she appears,
With swarms of jealousies and fears,
Sets men together by the Ears;
And courts the times what soe'er they be,
And makes that pass for Loyaltie.

The Sun hath shin'd so long upon her,
Her brood grows great, and comes to Honor,
and strives to be as big as BONNER.
These Vipers in the Sun do play,
Makes all the year a Holyday.

But Storms will come to make them Creep
Into their Holes, in hopes of Sleep;
Instead of Rest, with Sorrow Weep.
This is the Portion that will be
Due to so great Hypocrisie.

Source: "The Light Within", a collection of writings by Quaker women,
courtesy of Tina Helfrich of the Society of Friends
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