PRISON MEDITATIONS. – John Bunyan

DEDICATED TO THE HEART OF SUFFERING SAINTS AND REIGNING SINNERS FRIEND, I salute thee in the Lord, And wish thou may’st abound In faith, and have a good regard To keep on holy ground.

Thou dost encourage me to hold My head above the flood; Thy counsel better is than gold:

In need thereof I stood.

Good counsel’s good at any time; The wise will it receive, Tho’ fools count he commits a crime Who doth good counsel give.

I take it kindly at thy hand Thou didst unto me write; My feet upon Mount Zion stand, In that take thou delight.

I am indeed in prison now In body, but my mind Is free to study Christ, and how Unto me he is kind.

For the men keep my outward man |Within their locks and bars, Yet by the faith of Christ I can Mount higher than the stars.

Their fetters cannot spirits tame, Nor tie up God from me; My faith and hope they cannot lame; Above them I shall be.

I here am very much refreshed To think, when I was out I preached life and peace and rest To sinners round about.

My business then was souls to save By preaching grace and faith, Of which the comfort now I have, And have it shall till death.

They were no fables that I taught, Devis’d by cunning men, But God’s own word, by which were caught Some sinners now and then.

Whose souls by it were made to see The evil of their sin; And need of Christ to make them free From death, which they were in.

And now those very hearts that then Were foes unto the Lord, Embrace his Christ and truth, like men Conquer’d by his word.

I hear them sigh, and groan, and cry For grace to God above; They loathe their sin, and to it die; ‘Tis holiness they love.

This was the work I was about When hands on me were laid; ‘Twas this from which they pluck’d me out And vilely to me said:

You heretic, deceiver, come, To prison you must go; You preach abroad, and keep not home, You are the Church’s foe.

But having peace within my soul, And truth on every side, I could with comfort them control, And at their charge deride.

Wherefore to prison they me sent, Where to this day I lie; And can with very much content For my profession die.

The prison very sweet to me Hath been since I came here, And so would also hanging be, If God would there appear.

Here dwells good conscience, also peace; Here be my garments white; Here, though in bonds, I have release From guilt, which else would bite.

When they do talk of banishment, Of death, or such like things, Then to me God send heart’s content, That like a fountain springs.

Alas! they little think what peace They help me to, for by Their rage, ray comforts do increase; Bless God, therefore, do I.

If they do give me gall to drink, Then God doth sweet’ning cast — So much thereto that they can’t think How bravely it doth taste.

For as the devil sets before Me heaviness and grief, So God sets Christ and grace much mere, Whereby I take relief.

Though they say then that we are fools Because we here do lie, I answer, Jails are Christ his schools, In them we learn to die. ‘Tis not the baseness of this state Doth hide us from God’s face; He frequently, both soon and late, Doth visit; us with grace.

Here come the angels, here come saints, Here comes the Spirit of God, To comfort us in our restraints Under the wicked’s rod.

God sometimes visits prisoners more Than lordly palaces; He often knocketh at the door When he their houses miss.

The truth and life of heav’nly things Lift up our hearts on high, And carry us on eagles’ wings Beyond carnality.

It takes away those clogs that hold The hearts of other men, And makes us lively, strong and bold Thus to oppose their sin.

By which means God doth frustrate That which our foes expects — Namely, our turning th’ apostate, Like those of Judas’ sect.

Here comes to our remembrance The troubles good men had Of old, and for our furtherance Their joys when they were sad.

To them that here for evil lie The place is comfortless, But not to me, because that I Lie here for righteousness.

The truth and I were both here east Together, and we do Lie arm in arm, and so hold fast Each other; this is true.

This jail to us is as a hill, From whence we plainly see Beyond this world, and take our fill Of things that lasting be.

From hence we see the emptiness Of all the world contains; And here we feel the blessedness That for us yet remains.

Here we can see how all men play Their parts, as on a stage — How good men suffer for God’s way, And bad men at them rage.

Here we can see who holds that ground Which they in Scripture find:

Here we see also who turns round Like weathercocks with wind.

We can also from hence behold How seeming friends appear But hypocrites, as we are told In Scripture everywhere.

When we did walk at liberty We were deceiv’d by them, Who we from hence do clearly see Are vile, deceitful men.

These politicians that profess For base and worldly ends, Do not appear to us at best But Machiavellian friends.

Though men do say we do disgrace Ourselves by lying here Among the rogues, yet Christ our face From all such filth will clear.

We know there’s neither flout nor frown That we now for him bear, But will add to our heavenly crown When he comes in the air — When he our righteousness forth brings Bright shining as the day, And wipeth off those sland’rous things That scorners on us lay.

We sell our earthly happiness For heavenly house and home; We leave this world because ‘tis less And worse than that to come.

We change our drossy dust for gold, From death to life we fly; We let go shadows, and take hold Of immortality.

We trade for that which lasting is, And nothing for it give But that which is already His By whom we breathe and live.

That liberty we lose for him Sickness might take away; Our goods might also for our sin By fire or thieves decay.

Again we see what glory ‘tis Freely to bear our cross For Him who for us took up his When he our servant was.

I am most free that men should see A hole cut through my ear; If others will ascertain ate, They’ll hang a jewel there.

Just thus it is: we suffer here For Him a little pain, Who when he doth again appear Will with him let us reign.

If all must either die for sin A death that’s natural, Or else for Christ, ‘tis best with him Who for the last doth fall.

Who now dare say we throw away Our goods or liberty, When God’s most holy word doth say We gain thus much thereby?

Hark yet again, you carnal men, And hear what I shall say In your own dialect, and then I’ll you no longer stay.

You talk sometimes of valor much, And count such bravely mann’d That will no; stick to have a touch With any in the land.

If these be worth commending, then, That vainly show their might, How dare you blame those holy men That in God’s quarrel fight?

Though you dare crack a coward’s crown, Or quarrel for a pin, You dare not on the wicked frown, Nor speak against their sin.

For all your spirits are so stout For matters that are vain, Yet sin besets you round about; You are in Satan’s chain.

You dare not for the truth engag’e, You quake at prisonment; You dare not make the tree your stage For Christ, that King potent.

Know, then, true valor there doth dwell Where men engage for God Against the Devil, death and hell, And bear the wicked’s rod.

These be the men that God doth count Of high and noble mind; These be the men that do surmount What you in nature find.

First, they do conquer their own hearts, All worldly fears, and then Also the devil’s fiery darts, And persecuting men.

They conquer when they thus do fall, They kill when they do die; They overcome then most of all, And get the victory.

The worldling understands not this, ‘Tis clear out of his sight; Therefore he counts this world his bliss, And doth our glory slight.

The lubber knows not how to spring The nimble footman’s stage; Neither can owls or jackdaws sing When they are in the cage.

The swine doth not the pearls regard, But them doth slight for grains, Though the wise merchant labors hard For them with greatest pains.

Consider, man, what I have said, And judge of things aright; When all men’s cards are fully play’d, Whose will abide the light?

Will those who have us hither cast?

Or they who do us scorn?

Or those who do our houses waste?

Or us who this have borne?

And what tho’ they us dear do cost, Yet let us buy them so; We shall not count our labor lost When we see others’ woe.

And let us count those things the best That best will prove at last; And count such men the only blest That do such things hold fast.

And let saints be no longer blam’d By carnal policy, But let the wicked be asham’d Of their malignity.