Vox Meditantis

28th August, 1660

The Lord hath delivered me unto this accursed place once more, where the very earth doth cry out with the blood of the righteous. I am returned to Naseby field, though fifteen years have passed since that dreadful June morning when Parliament’s horse did break the King’s lines asunder. Now the son of that martyred King sits upon his father’s throne, and I, aged threescore and ten, find myself a stranger in mine own land.

The rain falls without cease upon these sodden grounds, as if Heaven itself doth weep for the sins we have committed in pursuing our zealous course. Each droplet that strikes my weathered countenance feels as a reproach from the Almighty, reminding me how we did think to wash clean this realm with the blood of our enemies, yet succeeded only in staining our own souls past redemption.

Mine anger burns within me like a consuming fire, for I see now how the Lord hath made sport of our endeavours. We that did fight for His glory, we that did seek to build His kingdom upon earth, are now accounted as traitors and regicides. The bishops return to their palaces, the Book of Common Prayer is restored to every parish, and those ungodly cavaliers who did flee to foreign shores now swagger through London’s streets as if they were the very angels of righteousness.

Yet in mine daily observances, I find some small comfort that doth sustain my weary spirit. Each morning, ere the sun doth break through the eastern clouds, I do take myself to the banks of whatever stream or river lies near at hand. There, in the flowing waters that know neither king nor parliament, neither episcopal nor presbyterian governance, I do wash my hands and face whilst reciting the ninety-first Psalm. This simple ablution, performed in solitude before the Almighty’s creation, doth cleanse away the accumulated bitterness of each day and remind me that His mercies are new every morning.

For water, in its eternal course, knoweth no master save the Lord who did set its bounds. It floweth past the scenes of our earthly contentions with perfect indifference, carrying away the stains of battle and the tears of the defeated alike. In this daily communion with His creation, I am reminded that all our human strivings – whether for crown or commonwealth – are but vapour that appeareth for a little time and then vanisheth away.

The very brook beside which I now make my camp did once run red with Christian blood, yet today it runs clear and sweet, having purged itself through God’s providence of all our mortal corruptions. Would that my own soul might achieve such cleansing through His grace, that I might forgive mine enemies even as they have triumphed over all that I held sacred.

But still mine heart rebels, and I confess before the Lord that I cannot yet find peace in this new dispensation. How can it be His will that those who fought for His truth should now be cast down, whilst those who upheld superstition and prelacy are exalted? Yet I must trust that He who commanded the waters to stand upright as walls for the children of Israel doth still rule over the kingdoms of men, and that in His own time He shall make all things plain.

The waters continue to fall, and I shall abide here yet another night, seeking in prayer and meditation some understanding of His mysterious ways.

Finis

Restoration England (1660) followed the Civil Wars and Interregnum, culminating in Charles II’s return to the throne after the Commonwealth under Oliver Cromwell collapsed. The Battle of Naseby (1645) had been the decisive Parliamentarian victory against King Charles I, leading to his eventual trial and execution in 1649 and the abolition of the monarchy and House of Lords. In 1660, monarchy, bishops, and the Book of Common Prayer were reinstated, while many Parliamentarian leaders faced prosecution; several regicides were executed. Subsequent events included the Clarendon Code restricting Nonconformists, the 1665–66 crises (plague and Great Fire), and enduring religious-political tensions shaping later conflicts, including the Glorious Revolution of 1688.

Bob Lynn | © 2025 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved. | 🌐 Translate