A Dedication to my Sonn Charles to Him that made him

Is it not fitt the mould and frame
Of Man should dedicate the same
To God who first created it: and t'guive
To Him the first frutes of the span we live

In the worldes infancy could Hanna tell
She ought to offer her Son Samuell
To him that made him, and refine
That Sacrefize with flowr and wine:

Was Abrams longe-expected seed
From Sara's wombe condemnd to bleed
And shall the times now they grow owld conclude
In faithlesnes and in ingratitude

Lett shame awake us, and wher blessinges fall
Lett evry one become a prodigall
In paying vowes of thankes, and bring
The first and best for offering.

Wher am I then, whom God hath daind to bless
With'hopes of a succeeding Happines
Unto my house: why is't I Stand
At th'Altar with an Empty hand?

Have I noe Heards, noe Flocks, noe Oyle
Nor Incence-bearing-Sheba-Soyle
Is not my Graynry stor'd with flowr thats fine
Are not my strutted Vessells full of wine?

What Temporall thing is lacking, to suffize
And furnish out a lively sacrefize.
Save only this: to make a free-
Will offring of an Infancy

Which if I should not doe; that pilde-
Up wood, wheron lay Saras Childe
The Temple would accuse me, wher the Sonn
Of Elkna first had dedication

Wherfore accept I pray Thee this
Thou'st guiven and my first Son is
Lett Him be Thyne and from His Cradeling
Begin His services first reckoninge

Graunt with His Dayes thy Grace increase, and fill
His Hart, nor leav ther roome to harbour ill
That in the progress of his years
He may express whose badge he wears.