A Meditation Upon the Sight of a Lily and a Violet by William Spurstowe (ca. 1666)   These two flowers brought to my mind a saying of Hierom to this effect, “That it is better and more honorable to be a lily than a violet”, which, when stripped of its metaphorical clothing comes to thus much:  that to be always pure is more commendable, than to bear the blush of a sin.  Spotless innocency doth far exceed the greatest penitency.  A truth questionless it is beyond controversy, and no way needing the aid of the school to determine:  the innocent is more worthy than any penitent.  Innocency being the only robe of glory, with which man was covered when first created; and of which, had he not divested himself, he had never experienced shame, or sorrow; they both being passions that had their entrance into the world with sin, and shall in the same moment with it die and expire.  But yet next to this virgin purity from sin:  The most desirable thing is true and unfeigned penitency for sin, which, though it cannot restore a man to his primitive state (time, lost, and innocency being two irrecoverable things), yet it will (through God’s ordination) abundantly capacitate him for mercy and pardon.  When Ephraim smote upon the thigh, and was ashamed, because he bare the reproach of his youth, how earnestly did God remember him:  “Is Ephraim my dear Son?”  When the prodigal returns a penitent, how affectionately doth his father embrace him, and falling upon his neck kiss him?  How doth he cut off, and prevent a part of his confession, which he was purposed with himself to have made, by his speedy calling for the ring, the robe, the shoes, to adorn him, and the fatted calf to feast him?  O blessed Lord!  How willingly would I therefore (who have nothing of the unspotted purity of the lily) partake plentifully of the tincture of the violet?  How fain would I, who have had a forehead to commit sin before Thee, have a face to blush for sin done against Thee?  My sins are as the sand of the sea for number, O that my tears were as the water of the sea for abundance.  But who, Lord, can make me of a proud and unhallowed sinner, a real and broken convert but thyself?  That grace, by which mine whole man must be molded to a penitential frame, is altogether Thine:  heart, hand, eyes, tongue, cannot in the least move without Thee:  they are lifeless members till Thou quicken them; yea rebellious till Thou subdue them:  do Thou therefore by a powerful energy fit every part for its proper duty; let my hand smite the breast, as the fountain and root from whence all mine iniquities do spring; let my tongue confess them, mine eye mourn for them, by face blush, and my heart bleed for them:  then shall I unfeignedly say, and acknowledge, “My ruin is from myself, but in Thee is my help O Lord.”    -----------------------  This article is taken from:  Spurstowe, William.  The Spiritual Chymist: or, Six Decads of Divine Meditations on Several Subjects. London: Philip Chetwind, 1666.  A PDF file of this book can be downloaded, free of charge, at http://www.ClassicChristianLibrary.com