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X.A ^ jIt ^ ^ ^-i' -T^ "Hr .fr 7t^ ::1v: -: J^ "V:^" '-^^^ Iti U: y:: Ui 1}:-^ ^4r^ ^-|^ '^l 'l:tr, ji^ .-rk .tH :^: .^- :V. . r -M '^ -7^ ,^ rfe ::t^;, ^ -51? tK :*: M^ M^ .H, ^ J)^ >K TK Tfr >ft Mr 3^ 3^ , TK , :*: - ^- - tK :*; M? jfr .., .. t w w y^ ^ )^ th: yt* W *ri^' 7f^' ^ '>i^ , 51^ , . ^ j!r >K rK .Mf >H; i*:.,)fe., ^- '■^: '^" .^ *'# *:*: ;*; ^* - ''^ '^"^ '^ W '^. tI- W. rr* '^'">l^' ''t^ W 'rK tK :•!-? "^ ^. ^ 't^ 'M '7K V^ tI; iH^ :h? :h? x.>i^..^.,sk..>^^ ^. m 't^. w. yr, p, M ?^^ ^ M^ ;^ x.X.,:^.,,>^ ^ w ^ y? H? ^ :^ --K ...-. ,-.. .-.. :|{* W W 'y^ 'i^ '^,%,)^ .'^ .?^ >S., ?l^ M? ?K Mt ^ >1^ jt^ V A QUIET MIND. When all is done and said, In the end thus shall you find, He most of all doth bathe in bliss, That hath a quiet Mind : A QUIET MIND. And, clear from worldly cares, To deem can be content The sweetest time in all his life In thinking to be spent. The body subject is To fickle Fortune's power, And to a million of mishaps. Is casual every hour : And Death in time doth change It to a clod of clay ; Whenas the Mind, which is divine, Runs never to decay. Companion none is like Unto the Mind alone ; For many have been harm'd by speech, Through thinking, few or none. Fear oftentimes restraineth words. But makes not thoughts to cease ; And he speaks best, that hath the skill When for to hold his peace. Our wealth leaves us at death ; Our kinsmen at the grave ; But virtues of the Mind unto The heavens with us we have. Wherefore, for virtue's sake, I can be well content The sweetest time in all my life. To deem in thinking spent. The Paradise of Dainty Devices. b ^ THE LENT JEWELS.— P. 346. ENGLISH SACEED POETRY OF THE SIXTEENTH, SEVENTEENTH, EIGHTEENTH, AND NINETEENTH CENTUEIES. SELECTED AND EDITED BY ROBEET ARIS WILLMOTT, M.A. INCUMBENT OF BEAR WOOD. ILLUSTRATED BY HOLMAN HUNT, J. D. WATSON, JOHN GILBERT, J. WOLF, ETC. ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL. A NEW EDITION. LONDON : ROUTLEDGE, WARNE, & ROUTLEDGE, FARRINGDON STREET. NEW YOEK : 56, WALKER STREET. MDCCCLXIII. LONDON : PRINTED BY R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOU, BREAD STREET HI 1. 1.. PREFACE, My late friend Me. James Montgomery observed after quoting some lines from King's memorial of his wife, that he did not dare to offer a comment on the old- fashioned couplets, lest he should disturb the sanctity and repose which they were calculated to inspire. I share the apprehension. Our old Poems leave on the mind the same impression as our old Sermons. They are alike distinguished by intensity of purpose and naturalness of sentiment. We do not pray, was the complaint of Coleridge, with that entire, unsuspecting, childlike truth- fulness which shines so beautifully in Jeremy Taylor and Andrews. And surely our praise and thankfulness rarely swell with the fervour and exultation which inflame the songs of Crashaw and Herbert. Nor is the elevation of thought, so conspicuous in our elder literature, commonly noticeable in the modern. Along the high argument of Spenser the spiritual ear is braced, as the traveller loses his deafness on the top of the Pyramid. M545844: PREFACE. A remembrance of our Worthies is not unneedful ; the grey fathers of learning and imagination recede every day further from the eye. Science has a phrase — acoustic shadow — which is significant and suggestive. In a great city you may hear the chime of bells in one street, and lose it in the next ; the buildings bury the sound Application of the comparison is easy: our times do not favour the diffusion of solemn, thoughtful strains ; frequent obstacles come between the music and the hearers. The chime is broken by the objects that intercept it. The old is scattered by the new. The parallel between our Poets and Preachers might be pleasantly enlarged. What Butler said of Donne is true of the lighter fancies of his and the succeeding age. The poem, like the discourse, is often a voluntary, without any particular design of air ; the composer changes the key at will ; whereas, in some of our finest modern works, is traced a regular and consecutive advance in the order of the lines, causing the effect, according to its degree, which is felt in an oratorio of Handel, The labour, which modern writers bestow on the expression of thought, was lavished by their ancestors on the thoughts themselves. Style is contrasted with conception ; the armour with the giant who wears it. Indeed, the weight of sense and the gathered richness of illustration are distinguishing features of the seventeenth century, in prose, and verse. You must work a poem, as you work a problem. In a foreign language, the case of Michael vi PREFACE. Angelo may recur to the memory, and exemplify the remark. Wordsworth, who translated Ariosto at the rate of a hundred lines in the day, was only able to finish one out of the fifteen sonnets which he attempted, and he frankly confessed that the others "were too much for him." Of course, harshness of diction is the frequent and inevitable companion of compression. The line of beauty is broken under the screw. The stream runs sluggishly with the gold that enriches it. Compensation is given in vigour: you miss grace, and find strength. Cowper considered the result satisfactory, and playfully illustrated a critic's treatment of a poem, by the homely image of a cook fastening the legs of a dead turkey to a post, and drawing out all its sinews. The robust roughness of versification has a charm. In an organ the quality of tone chiefly depends on the material of the pipes. The ear is conscious of a soothing, plaintive softness in the hard and knotty rhymes of Henry Vaughan, which it does not recognise in smoother words. Without believing a poem, like a Cremona, to be absolutely improved by its years, I think that it frequently gains beauty from them. The tint that mellows glass is the effect of time. I had inserted ampler specimens of our elder verse, but circumstances made their erasure necessary. The specimens of old poetry should be printed without alteration; these medals ought to appear with their rust. vii PREFACE. Coleridge failed to embody in type his notion of a Poetical Filter, which he proposed to construct on the principle of omitting from pieces of lyrical poetry those parts, in which the bad taste of the author, or the fashion of the age, prevailed over his genius. Doubtless, a large number of exquisite wholes might, as Coleridge affirmed, be made by such a process. But the picture is injured by the partial cleaning. And even the faults of the poem may sometimes heighten the beauties. The wall of the old church is never improved by sweeping away the moss and weather-stains. The result would be similar in poetry. Lovely lines are connected by a discordant stanza. The contrast cannot be avoided. You must have lead-work in the painted window. In perusing this Volume I would ask the reader to remember the remark of Dean Alford, which Mr. Wordsworth quoted with much approval : — I mean the distinction drawn between, religion in poetry, and versified religion. The poet does not display all the varied influences which his own heart recognises, but only those which he considers himself able, as an artist, to set forth with advantage. Sometimes this exhibition is made indirectly, and, as it were, unconsciously. Thomson's "Hymn" is one example. Gray's "Elegy" is a second Pope's "Messiah" is a third. Devotional poetry, though represented in the following pages, does not occupy a prominent place. A picture- viii PREFACE. book addresses the heart through the eye. Piety must be shown in action. But wheresoever truth and beauty of heart are shaped into language, there the very essence of Sa*cred Poetry will be found. A grand Hymn of Spenser yields it, or a devout lay of Procter; just as the corn-field offers a sacrifice to God in its thousand sheaves, and the violet breathes it under the hedge. Of the Poems in the Volume I may not speak. Most of them are their own panegyrists. Some will be new to the reader, and perhaps familiar names may afford unexpected gratification. How little is Prior valued for his serious rhymes ! Yet Beattie said that much of his " Solomon " " is real poetry," and the admiration of Eogers is recorded. A few poems by American authors merit the warmest praise. I will only add that the "Elegy" of Gray is printed from the fac-simile of the original manuscript, furnished by Mr. Mathias. St. Catherine's, Septemba- 3, 1861. CONTENTS. JOSEPH ADDISON. ^"^^ THE WATCHING OF PROVIDENCE . . . 143 CONSOLATION 145 HENRY ALFORD. A TRUANT HOUR 318 THE LITTLE MOURNER 320 LAST WORDS 323 HOW WE BURIED HIM 325 ANNA L. BARBAULD. ALL NATIONS CALLED TO WORSHIP GOD . 202 JAMES BEATTIE. THE HERMIT 188 ROBERT BLAIR. THE OLD CHURCH IN A STORM .... 158 ROBERT BLOOM FIELD. MOONLIGHT 257 CAROLINE BOWLES. THE LAST JOURNEY 283 NICHOLAS BRETON. A SIGH 16 LORD BROOKE. TRUE USE OF KNOWIJEDGE 40 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. WISDOM UNAPPLIED 329 THE WEAKEST THING 332 MICHAEL BRUCE. ELEGY WRITTEN IN SPRING 194 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS .... 358 THE PAST 359 ROBERT BURNS. ^''^' SCENE IN A SCOTTISH COTTAGE .... 213 WINTER — A DIRGR 216 JOHN BYROM. ENTHUSIASM DEFINED 155 LORD BYRON. THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB , , 251 THOMAS CAMPBELL. THE RAINBOW 246 THE LAST MAN 248 EDMUND CARTWRIGHT. THE CHARM OF SYMPATHY 197 THOMAS CHATTERTON. THE RESIGNATION 189 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. HYMN BEFORE SUN-RISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI 232 ABRAHAM COWLEY. THE GARDEN 117 WILLIAM COWPER. THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTH . . 169 GEORGE CRABBE. REMORSE UNSANCTIFIED 204 THE NURSING FRIEND 206 A LESSON 207 THE LOST WIFE 208 THE VILI^GE MOTHER FORSAKEN ... 209 THE BLESSINGS OF TRIBULATION ... 211 RICHARD CRASHAW. A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY 113 CONTENTS. Page ROBERT POLLOK. DAWN OP HOPE AND PEACE ON THE DARK SOUL 225 ALEXANDER POPE. THE MESSIAH 152 MATTHEW PRIOR. LIl'E EXAMINED 136 THE PRAYER OF SOLOMON AND THE A NSWER 1 38 ADELAIDE PROCTER. ONE BY ONE 307 NOW 308 FRIEND SORROW 309 EVENING HYMN 310 FRANCIS QUARLES. THE ONLY ONE 70 THE MAGNETIC NEEDLE 73 GOD HIDING HIS FACE 74 THE DAYS ARE FEW 76 FLIGHT OF A SINNER 78 WALTER RALEIGH. THE LIE 4 AN ASPIRATION 5 GEORGE SANDYS. A MEMORIAL OF MERCIES PAST .... 46 WILLIAM SHAKESPERE. THE DIRGE OF THE FAMOUS 26 WOLSEY'S WARNING 28 JAMES SHIRLEY. THE EQUALITY OF THE GRAVE .... 93 CAROLINE SOUTHEY. THE LANDING OF THE PRIMROSE . . . 286 ROBERT SOUTHEY. HYMN TO THE PENATES 238 EDMUND SPENSER. HEAVENLY LOVE 8 JOSHUA SYLVESTER. PRAISE OF COUNTRY LIFE 19 Page. JANE TAYLOR. THE TRUE INQUIRY 256 JEREMY TAYLOR. CHRIST COMING AGAIN IN TRIUMPH . . 102 OF HEAVEN 103 A PRAYER FOR CHARITY 104 FAITHFUL TEATE. HOPE 131 ALFRED TENNYSON. THE DEAD MAN OF BETHANY .... SOS MARY AT THE TABLE 305 THE heart's WITNESS TO GOD .... 306 JAMES THOMSON. A HYMN 162 MARY TIGHE. THE LILY 260 FROM TOTTLE'S MISCELLANY. THE MEAN ESTATE THE HAPPIEST ... 17 RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. COUPLETS 342 THE BANQUET 343 THE LENT JEWELS 346 PRAYER 347 THOMAS TUSSER. TIME AND THE YEAR 1 POSIES FOR THINE OWN BED-CHAMBER . 2 UNCERTAIN. PORTRAIT OF PHILIP SIDNEY ..... 38 UNKNOWN. THE BURIAL OF MOSES 326 HENRY VAUGHAN. THE RING 105 BLESSED BE THY WILL 108 THE DEPARTED 109 THE BIRD Ill SIDNEY WALKER. REST 269 CONTENTS. EDMUND WA.LLER. DIVINE liOVE THOMAS WARTON. INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE . , WRITTEN IN DUGDALE'3 MONASTICON Page 191 ISAAC WATTS. THE PROMISED LAND 146 WESLEY. A COVERT FROM THE STORM 186 KIRKE WHITE. DISAPPOINTMENT 220 TO THE HERB ROSEMARY 222 JOHN G. WHITTIER. CASSANDRA SOUTHWICK 371 MY PSALM 375 HELEN MAELA WILLIAMS. HABITUAL DEVOTION 264 ISAAC WILLIAMS. THE WAY TO THE CHAPTER-HOUSE . . 297 AUTUMNAL SEED-VESSELS 300 THE ANGEL OF MARRIAGE 300 Page ARIS WILLMOTT. A BALLAD WITH A MORAL 381 SATURDAY EVENING 38 THE LAST OF SEVEN 383 THE GOLDEN BOUGH 384 A CHILD IN PRAYER 386 JOHN WILSON. THE CHURCHYARD OF THE VILLAGE . , 266 ANNE, COUNTESS OF WINCHELSEA. THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN .... 141 GEORGE WITHER. life's journey 60 the light of virtue 62 in prison ! 63 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. PLACES OF WORSHIP 235 CATECHISING 236 NEW CHURCHYARD 237 OLD ABBEYS 237 SIR HENRY WOTTON. A HYMN TO MY GOD 22 ON THE SUDDEN FALL OF A GREAT MAN 23 EDWARD YOUNG. TIME COMING AND GONE 148 god's argument WITH JOB 149 XV LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS, ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL. SUBJECT. DRAWN BY PAGE Frontispiece — The Lent Jewels . . . . TF. Holman Hunt Time and the Year J.D. Watson 1 A Quiet Mind H. S. Marks ..... 6 The Mean Estate the Happiest . . . . J. D. Watson 17 Praise op Country Life Harrison Weir .... 19 A Hymn to my God , C. Keene 22 The Dirge of the Famous H. S. Marks 26 Vanity or Learning . . . J. D. Watson 30 Search after God : — From the towering eagle to the wren .... J". Wolf 35 A Dream H. H. Armstead .... 49 Decay of Earthly Pomp : — There now the hart, fearlesa of greyhound, feeds ; And loving pelican in safety breeds ;..../. Wolf 53 Life's Journey Frederick Sandys ... 60 \s Prison H. H. Armstead .... 63 The Only One— The Earth Harrison Weir .... 78 „ The Air Harrison Weir .... 79 „ The Sea Harrison Weir .... 79 Employment J.D. Watson ... .81 The Pilgrimage J.D. Watson 86 The Quip J.D. Watson 91 XVI LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. SUBJECT. DllAWN BY PAGE The Exalting of the Humble W.P. Burton .... 98 The Ring:— The fearful miser on a heap of rust Sate pining all his life there, H. S, MarTcs 105 The Bied : — Chirping their solemn matins on each tree ; . . /. Wolf . . . . . . Ill The Garden : — The birds that dance from bough to bough . . J. Wolf 119 Contentment C. Keene 133 The Atheist and the Acorn E. S. Marks 141 The "Watching of Providence G. E. Andrews .... 143 God's Argument with Job : — Whenpain'dwithhunger, the wild raven's brood J. Wolf 149 The Old Church in a Storm ....... S. Read 158 A Hymn.— Spring /. Gilbert 163 „ Summer /. Gilbert 162 „ Autumn /. Gilbert 163 Winter /. Gilbert 163 A Hymn : — The thunder rolls ; . . . While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn . /. Gilbert 165 A Hymn. — Tailpiece /. Gilbert 167 Elegy in a Country Churchyard : — The lowing Herd wind slowly o'er the Lea . . J. D. Watson 173 Or drowsy Tinklings lull the distant Folds . . J.B.Watson. .... 174 Or climb his Knees the envied Kiss to share . /. B. Watson 175 Oft did the Harvest to their Sickle yield . . . J. B. Watson 176 How jocund did they drive their Team afield ! . J. B. Watson 177 The Paths of Glory lead but to the Grave . . J.B.Watson 178 The little Tyrant of his Fields withstood . . . J. B. Watson 179 Or heap the Shrine of Luxury and Pride . . . J. B. Watson 180 Muttering his wayward Fancies, would he rove . J.B.Watson 183 The Epitaph — Here rests his Head upon the Lap of Earth J.B.Watson 183 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. SUBJECT. DEAWN BT PAGE Inscription in a Hermitage ff. S. Marks 191 Elegy Written in Spring /. Slie^h 194; Ode Written in a Visit to the Country IN Autumn /. Slie^k 196 The Two Weavers H. S. Marks 199 The Nursing Friend Frederick Walker ... 206 Scene in a Scottish Cottage J. JD. Watson 313 An Autumn Sabbath Walk J.B. Watson 317 Sunday in the Fields J. D. Watson 333 Dawn of Hope and Peace on the Dark Soul /. B. Watson 335 Places of Worship J. D. Watson 335 Thou art, God:- When Day, with farewell beam S. Read 343 The Destruction of Sennacherib . . . . F. B. Pickersgill, R.A. . 251 Moonlight J, J). Watson 257 A Lament Frederick Walker . . . 363 The Churchyard or the Village . . . . W. P. Burton .... 366 A Father Reading the Bible H. S. Marks 375 Evening Prayer at a Girls' School ... 7. Gilbert 277 To A Child Embracing his Mother . . . J. D. Watson 280 The Landing oe the Primrose /. Gilbert 286 Bereavement J. D. Watson 291 Children's Thankfulness J. B. Watson 294 The Way to the Chapter House . . . . W. P. Burton .... 297 The Dead Man or Bethany H. H. Armstead .... 803 Evening Hymn H. E. Armstead .... 310 A Mother's Grief J. B. Watson 313 A Truant Hour J". Wolf 318 The Little Mourner Frederick Sandys . . . 321 Last Words J.B. Watson 333 Wisdom Unapplied : — And screamed the thunder back aloud. And faced the lightning from the cloud ... J. Wolf 329 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. SUBJECT. DBAWK BT P461 The Weakest Thing :— The cloud, a little wind can move Where'er it listeth ^'- P- BuHon .... 332 A Father's Lament F. Stnallfield 338 The Death of the Flowers W.P. Burton .... 358 Tuesday in Whitsun-Week : — Summer blooms with glorious promise . . . J. Sliegh 368 The Autumn Evening W.P. Burton .... 376 The Last of Seven JI>- Watson 383 A Child in Prayer Frederick Walker ... 386 TIME AND THE YEAR God, to Thy doings, a time there is sent, Which endeth with time that in doing is spent For time is itself, but a time for a time, Forgotten full soon, as the tune of a chime. 1 B TIME AND THE YEAR. In Spring-time we rear, we do sow, and we plant; In Summer get victuals, lest after we want; In Harvest we carry in corn, and the fruit, In Winter to spend, as we need of each suit. The 3^ear I compare, as I find for a truth, The Spring unto Childhood, the Summer to Youth, The Harvest to Manhood, the Winter to Age, All quickly forgot, as a play on a stage. Time past is forgotten, ere men be aware ; Time present is thought on, with wonderful care ; Time coming is feared, and therefore we save, Yet oft ere it come we be gone to the grave. The lands and the riches that here we possess, Be none of our own, if a God we profess ; But lent us of Him, as His talent of gold, Which being demanded, who can it withhold 1 Thomas Tusser. POSIES FOE THINE OWN BED-CHAMBER What wisdom more, what better life, than pleaseth God to send? What worldly goods, what longer use, than pleaseth God to lend? What better fare, than well content, agreeing with thy wealth, What better guest than trusty friend in sickness and in health? What better bed than Conscience good, to pass the night with sleep, What better work, than daily care, from sin thyself to keep? What better thought than think on God, and daily Him to serve, What better gift than to the poor, that ready be to sterve? What greater praise of God and man, than mercy for to shew. Who merciless shall mercy find, that mercy shews to few? What worse despair, than loth to die, for fear to go to hell? What greater faith than trust in God, through Christ in heaven to dwell ? Same. 2 REMEMBER. To die, dame Nature did man frame ; Death is a thing most perfect save : We ought not IS'ature's works to blame ; She made no thing still to endure. That law she made when we were born, That hence we should return again : To render right we must not scorn ; Death is due debt; it is no pain. Death hath in all the earth a right ; His power is great, it stretcheth far; No lord, no prince, can 'scape his might ; No creature can his duty bar. The wise, the just, the strong, the high. The chaste, the meek, the free of heart. The rich, the poor, — who can deny 1 — Have yielded all unto his dart. Seeing no man then can Death 'scape. Nor hire him hence for any gain, We ought not fear his carrion shape; He only brings ill men to pain. If thou have led thy life aright. Death is the end of misery ; If thou in God hast thy delight, Thou diest to live eternally. Each wight, therefore, while he lives here, Let him think on his dying day ; In midst of wealth, in midst of cheer, Let him account he must away. This thought makes man to God a friend; This thought doth banish pride and sin ; This thought doth bring a man in th' end Where he of Death the field shall win. Thomas Marshall. THE LIE. Go, soul, the body's guest, upon a thankless arrant ; Fear not to touch the best; — the truth shall be thy warrant; Go, since thou needs must die, and give the world the lie. Say to the Court, it glows and shines like rotten wood ; Say to the Church, it shows what's good, and doth no good ; If Church and Court reply, then give them both the lie. Tell Potentates, they live acting by others' action ; Not loved, unless they give : not strong, but by a faction ; If Potentates reply, give Potentates the lie. Tell men of high condition, that manage the Estate, Their purpose is ambition ; their practice only hate ; And if they once reply, then give them all the lie. Tell them that brave it most, they beg for more by spending, Who, in their greatest cost, seek nothing but commending; And if they make reply, then give them all the lie. Tell Zeal it wants devotion ; tell Love it is but lust ; Tell Time it is but motion; tell Flesh it is but dust; And wish them not reply, for thou must give the lie. Tell Age it daily wasteth ; tell Honour how it alters ; Tell Beauty how she blasteth ; tell Favour how it falters ; And as they shall reply, give every one the lie. Tell Wit how much it wrangles in tickle points of niceness; Tell Wisdom she entangles herself in over-wiseness ; And when they do reply, straight give them both the lie. Tell Physick of her boldness ; tell Skill it is pretension ; Tell Charity of coldness ; tell Law it is contention ; And as they do reply, so give them still the lie. 4 THE LIE. Tell Fortune of her blindness ; tell Mature of decay : Tell Friendship of unkindness ; tell Justice of delay : And if they will reply, then give them all the lie. Tell Faith it's fled the City ; tell how the Country erreth ; Tell Manhood shakes off pity ; tell Virtue least preferreth ; And if they do reply, spare not to give the lie. So, when thou hast, as I commanded thee, done blabbing — Although to give the lie deserves no less than stabbing, — Stab at thee he that will, no stab the soul can kill Walter Raleigh. AN ASPIRATION. Rise, O my Soul, with thy desires to Heaven, And with divinest contemplations use Thy time, where time's eternity is given, And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse; But down in darkness let them lie ; So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die ! And thou, my Soul, inspired with holy flame, View and review with most regardful eye That holy Cross, whence thy Salvation came. On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die ! For in that sacred object is much pleasure. And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure. To Thee, Jesu ! I direct my eyes, To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees; To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice ; To Thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees; To Thee myself, — myself and all I give; To Thee I die ; to Thee I only live ! Raleigh. 5 A QUIET MIND. When all is done and said, In the end thus shall you find, He most of all doth bathe in bliss, That hath a quiet Mind : 6 A QUIET MIND. And, clear from worldly cares, To deem can be content The sweetest time in all his life In thinking to be spent. The body subject is To fickle Fortune's power, And to a million of mishaps. Is casual every hour : And Death in time doth change It to a clod of clay ; Whenas the Mind, which is divine. Runs never to decay. Companion none is like Unto the Mind alone ; For many have been harm'd by speech. Through thinking, few or none. Fear oftentimes restraineth words, But makes not thoughts to cease ; And he speaks best, that hath the skill When for to hold his peace. Our wealth leaves us at death ; Our kinsmen at the grave; But virtues of the Mind unto The heavens with us we have. AVherefore, for virtue's sake, I can be well content The sweetest time in all my life. To deem in thinking spent. The Paradise of Dainty Devices. HEAVENLY LOVE. Before this World's great frame, in which all things Are now contain' d, found any being place, Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas wings About that mighty bound which doth embrace The rolling spheres, and parts their hours by space, That high Eternal Power, which now doth move In all these things, mov'd in itself by love. It lov'd itself, because itself was fair ; (For fair is love ;) and of itself begot Like to itself His eldest Son and Heir, Eternal, pure, and void of sinful blot. The firstling of His joy, in whom no jot Of love's dislike or pride w^as to be found, Whom He therefore with equal honour crown' d. With Him He reigned before all time prescribed. In endless glory and immortal might Together with that third from them derived. Most wise, most holy, most Almighty Spright ! Whose kingdom's throne no thoughts of earthly wight Can comprehend, much less my trembling verse With equal words can hope it to rehearse. Yet, most blessed Spirit ! pure lamp of light. Eternal spring of grace and wisdom true. Vouchsafe to shed into my barren spright Some little drop of Thy celestial dew. That may my rhymes with sweet infuse embrew, And give me words equal unto my thought To tell the marvels by Thy mercy wrought. HEAVENLY LOVE. Yet being pregnant still with powerful grace, And full of fruitful love, that loves to get Things like Himself, and to enlarge his race, His second brood, though not of power so great, Yet full of beauty, next He did beget, An infinite increase of Angels bright All glistring glorious in their Maker's light. To them the heavens' illimitable night (Not this round heaven, which we from hence behold, Adorn'd with thousand lamps of burning light. And with ten thousand gems of shining gold,) He gave as their inheritance to hold. That they might serve Him in eternal bliss^ And be partakers of those joys of His. There they in their trinal triplicities About Him wait, and on His will depend. Either with nimble wings to cut the skies. When He them on His messages doth send, Or on His own dread presence to attend. Where they behold the glory of His light, And carol hymns of love both day and night. Both day and night is unto them all one ; For He His beams doth unto them extend. That darkness there appeareth never none ; Ne hath their day, ne hath their bliss, an end. But there their termless time in pleasure spend ; Nor ever should their happiness decay, Had they not dared their Lord to disobey. But pride, impatient of long resting peace. Did puff them up with greedy bold ambition, That they 'gan cast their state how to increase Above the fortune of their first condition, And sit in God's own seat without commission ; The brightest Angel, even the child of light. Drew millions more against their God to fight. 9 c HEAVENLY LOVE. IV Almighty, seeing their so bold assaj, Kindled the flame of His consuming ire And with His only breath them blew away From heaven's height, to which they did aspire, To deepest hell, and lake of damned fire, Where they in darkness and dread horror dwell, Hating the happy light from which they fell. So that next offspring of the Maker's love, ]N'ext to Himself in glorious degree, Degenering to hate, fell from above Through pride (for pride and love may ill agree) And now of sin to all ensample be : How then can sinful flesh itself assure, Sith purest angels fell to be impure 1 But that Eternal Fount of love and grace, Still flowing forth His goodness unto all, Now seeing left a waste and empty place In His wide palace, through those angels' fall, Cast to supply the same, and to enstall A new unknowen colony therein, Whose root from earth's base groundwork should begin. Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to nought. Yet form'd by wondrous skill, and, by His might. According to a heavenly pattern wrought, Which He liad fashion'd in His Avise foresight. He man did make, and breathed a living spright Into his face, most beautiful and fair, Endued with wisdom's riches, heavenly rare. Such He him made, that he resemble might Himself, as mortal thing immortal could : Him to be lord of every living wight He made by love out of His own like mould, In whom He might His mighty self behold; For love doth love the thing beloved to see, That like itself in lovely shape may be. 10 HEAVENLY LOVE. But man, forgetful of his Maker's grace No less than angels, whom he did ensue, ^ Fell from the hope of promised heavenly place Into the mouth of Death, to sinners due. And all his offspring into thraldom threw Where they for ever should in bonds remain, Of never dead yet ever-dying pain. Till that great Lord of Love, which him at first Made of mere love and after liked well, Seeing him lie like creature long accurst In that deep horror of despaired hell, Him, wretch, in dole would let no longer dwell, But cast out of that bondage to redeem And pay the price, all were his debt extreme. Out of the bosom of eternal bliss In which He reigned with His glorious Sire He down descended, like a most demisse And abject thrall, in flesh's frail attire That He for him might pay sin's deadly hire, And him restore unto that happy state In which he stood before his hapless fate. In flesh at first the guilt conmiitted was, Therefore in flesh it must be satisfied ; 'Not spirit, nor angel, though they man surpass. Could make amends to God for man's misguide, But only man himself, whose self did elide : So taking flesh of sacred Virgin's womb. For man's dear sake He did a man become. And that most blessed body, which was bom Without all blemish or reproachful blame, He freely gave to be both rent and torn Of cruel hands, who with despightful shame Eeviling Him, that them most vile became. At length Him nailed on a gallow-tree. And slew the just by most unjust decree. 11 HEAVENLY LOVE. blessed Well of Love ! Flower of Grace ! glorious Morning Star ! Lamp of Light ! Most lively image of Thy Father's face, Eternal King of Glory, Lord of Might, Meek Lamb of God, before all worlds beliight,^ How can we Thee requite for all this good? Or what can prize that Thy most precious blood 1 Yet nought Thou ask'st in lieu of all this love, But love of us for guerdon of Thy pain ; Ay me ! What can us less than that behove ? Had He required life of us again, Had it been wrong to ask His own with gain? He gave us life. He it restored lost. Then life were least, that us so little cost. But He our life hath left unto us free, Eree that was thrall, and blessed that was bann'd ; ^ Ne ought demands but that we loving be, As He Himself hath loved us aforehand, And bound thereto with an eternal band. Him first to love that was so dearly bought, And next our brethren, to His image wrought. Him first to love great right and reason is, Who first to us our life and being gave, And after, when we fared had amiss, Us wretches from the second death did save ; And last, the food of life, which now we have, Even He Himself, in His dear Sacrament, To feed our hungry souls, unto us lent. Then next, to love our brethren that were made Of that self mould, and that self Maker's hand. That we, and to the same again shall fade. Where they shall have like heritage of land. However here on higher steps we stand, Which also were with self-same price redeemed, That we, however of us light esteemed. 12 HEAVENLY LOVE. And were they not, yet sith that loving Lord Commanded us to love them for His sake. Even for His sake, and for His sacred word Which in His last behest He to us sj^ake, We should them love, and with their needs partake. Knowing that whatsoe'er to them we give, We give to Him by whom we all do live. Such mercy He by His most holy reed* Unto us taught, and, to approve it true, Ensampled it by His most righteous deed. Showing us mercy (miserable crew !) That we the like should to the wretches shew. And love our brethren, thereby to approve How much Himself that loved us we love. Then rouse thyself, O earth ! out of thy soil In which thou walloAvest like to filthy swine. And dost thy mind in dirty pleasures moil, Unmindful of that dearest Lord of thine ; Lift up to Him thy heavy-clouded eyne That thou this sovreign bounty maist behold. And read through love His mercies manifold. Begin from first where He encradled was On simple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hay. Between the toilful ox and humble ass. And in what rags, and in how base array. The glory of our heavenly riches lay, Wlien Him the silly shepherds came to see. Whom greatest princes sought on lowest knee. From thence read on the story of His life. His humble carriage. His unfaulty ways, His canker'd foes. His fights. His toils, His strif(», His pains. His poverty, His sharp assays. Through which He passed His miserable days. Offending none, and doing good to all. Yet being malic'd both of great and small. 13 HEAVENLY LOVE. And look, at last, how of most wretched wights He taken was, betray' d, and false accused; How with most scornful taunts and fell despights He was revil'd, disgrac'd, and foul abus'd ; How scourg'd, how crown' d, how buffeted, how bruis'd. And lastly, how 'twixt robbers crucified, With bitter wounds through hands, through feet, and side ! Then let thy flinty heart, that feels no pain, Empierced be with pitiful remorse. And let thy bowels bleed in every vein At sight of His most sacred heavenly corse, So torn and mangled with malicious force ; And let thy soul, whose sins His sorrows wrought Melt into tears, and groan in grievdd thought. With sense whereof, whilst so thy soften' d spirit Is inly toucht, and humbl'd with meek zeal Through meditation of His endless merit, Lift up thy mind to th' Author of thy weal, And to His sovereign mercy do appeal ; Learn Him to love that loved thee so dear. And in thy breast His blessed image bear. With all thy heart, with all thy soul and mind, Thou must Him love, and His behests embrace ; All other loves wdth which the world doth blind Weak fancies, and stir up affections base, Thou must renounce and utterly displace. And give thyself unto Him full and free. That full and freely gave Himself to thee. Then shalt thou feel thy spirit so possest. And ravisht with devouring great desire Of His dear Self, that shall thy feeble breast Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire With burning zeal, through every part entire, That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight. But in His sweet and amiable sight. 14 HEAVENLY LOVE. Thenceforth all World's desire will in thee die, And all Earth's glory, on which men do gaze, Seem dirt and dross in thy pure-sighted eye, Compared to that celestial beauty's blaze. Whose glorious beams all fleshly sense doth daze With admiration of their passing light, Blinding the eyes, and lumining the spright. Then shall thy ravisht soul inspired be With heavenly thoughts, far above human skill. And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainly see The idea of His pure glory present still Before thy face, that all thy spirit shall fill With sweet enragement of celestial love, Kindled through sight of those fair things above. Edmund Spenser. A CAUTION. Why fearest thou thy outward foe, When thou thyseK thy harm dost feed ? Of grief, or hurt, or pain, or woe. Within each thing is sown the seed. The knotty oak, and wainscot old. Within doth eat the silly worm ; E'en so, a mind in envy roll'd Always within itself doth bum. Thus everything that Nature wrought Within itself his hurt doth bear : No outward harm need to be sought 'V\niere enemies be within so near. 15 A SIGH. Where all day long in helpless caues, All hopeless of relief, I wish for night, I might not see The objects of my grief. And when night comes, woes keep my wits In such a waking vein. That I could wish, though to my grief, That it were day again. My sun is turn'd into a shade. Or else mine eyes are blind, That Sorrow's cloud makes all seem dark That comes into my mind; My youth to age ; or else because My comforts are so cold, My sorrow makes me in conceit To be decrepit, old, — My hopes to fears ; or else because My fortunes are forlorn. My fancy makes me make myself Unto myself a scorn. Nicholas Jireton. THE MEAN ESTATE THE HAPPIEST. If right be ract and overrun, And power take part with open wrong, If fear by force do yield too soon. The lack is like to last too long. If God for good shall be unplaced. If right for riches lose his shape, If world for wisdom be embraced, The guess is great much hurt mayhap. 17 THE MEAN ESTATE THE HAPPIEST. Among good things I prove and find The quiet life doth most abound, And sure to the contented mind There is no riches may be found. For riches hates to be content, Eule is enemy to quietness, Power is most unpatient, And seldom likes to live in peace. I heard a herdsman once compare That quiet nights he had more slept, And had more merry days to spare, Than he who owned the beast he kept. I would not have it thought hereby, The dolphin swim I mean to teach, 'Nov yet to learn the falcon fly, I row not so far past my reach. But as my part above the rest, Is well to wish and well to will. So till my breath do fail my breast, I will not cease to wish you still. From ToUle's Miscellany/. 18 PEAISE OF COUNTRY LIFE. HOW I grieve, dear Earth ! that, given to gays, Most of our wits contemn thee now-a-days ; And noblest hearts proudly abandon quite The study of herbs, and Country-life's delight ! — 19 PRAISE OF COUKTRY LIFE. thrice, thrice happy he, wlio shuns the cares Of city-troubles, and of state affairs ; — And serving Ceres, tills with his own team, His own free land, left by his friends to him ! Never fell Envy's poisonous heads do hiss To gnaw his heart ! nor vulture Avarice ; His field's bounds bound his thoughts ; he never sups For nectar, poison niixt in silver cups : — His hands his bowl, better than plate or glass, The silver brook his sweetest hypocrass. Milk, cheese, and frait, fruits of his own endeavour, Drest without dressing, hath he ready ever. No fained chiding, no soul-jarring noise Break his cool brain, or interrupt his joys, • But cheerful birds, chirping him sweet good-morrows, With nature's music do beguile his sorrows : Teaching the fragrant forests day by day, The diapason of their heavenly lay, And leading all his life at home in peace, Always in sight of his own smoke ; no seas, No other seas he knows, nor other torrent. Than that which waters with his silver current His native meadows ; and that very earth Shall give him burial, which first gave him birth. To summon timely sleep, he doth not need -^thiop's cold rush, nor drowsy poppy-seed, But on green carpets, thrumm'd with mossy beaver, Fringing the round skirts of his winding river, The stream's mild murmur, as it gently gushes. His healthy limbs in quiet slumber hushes. Drum, fife and trumpet, with their loud alarms Make him not start out of his sleep to arms ; 20 PRAISE OF COUNTRY LIFE. The crested cock sings his proud note to him, Limits his rest, and makes him stir betime To walk the mountains, or the flowery meads, Impearl'd with tears that sweet Aurora sheds ; And the open sky, where at full breath he lives, Still keeps him sound, and still new stomach gives ; And Death, dread servant of the eternal Judge, Comes very late to his sole-seated lodge. His wretched years in Princes' courts he spends not, His thralled mind on great men's wills depends not, But all self-private, serving God, he writes Fearless, and sings but what his heart indites. Let me, good Lord ! among the Great unkenn'd, My rest of days in the calm country end ; My company, pure thoughts to work Thy will ; My court, a cottage on a lowly hill. Joshua Sylvester. 21 u,a^A A HYMN TO MY GOD. IN A NIGHT OF MY LATE SICKNESS. Oh Thou great Power ! in whom I move, For whom I live, to whom I die. Behold me through Thy beams of Love, Whilst on this Couch of Tears I lie ; And cleanse my sordid soul within By Thy Christ's blood, the Bath of Sin. 22 A HYMN TO MY GOD. ^o hallo w'd Oils, no grains I need, Ko rags of Saints, no purging Fire, One rosy drop from David's seed, Was worlds of seas to quench Thine ire, precious Ransom ! which once paid, That Consummatum est was said ; Ajid said by Him that said no more, But seal'd it with His Sacred Breath, — Thou, then, that hast dispong'd my score. And dying wast the death of Death, Be to me now, on Thee I call. My LIFE, my strength, my joy, my all ! Sir Henry Wotton. OX THE SUDDEN FALL OF A GREAT MAK Dazzled thus with height of place, Whilst our hopes our wits beguile, No man marks the narrow space 'Twixt the Prison and a Smile. Then, since Fortune's favours fade. You that in her arms do sleep. Learn to swim, and not to wade; For the hearts of Kings are deep. But if Greatness be so blind As to trust in Towers of Air, Let it be with Goodness lin'd, That at least the Fall be Mr. Then, though dark'ned, you shall say, When Friends fail, and Princes frown, Virtue is the roughest way. But proves at night a Bed of Down. WoUon. THE CLOSING SCENE. But let it now sufficient be, that I The last scene of his act of life bewray, AVhich gives th' applause to all, doth glorify The work; for 'tis the evening crowns the day. This action of our death especially Shows all a man. Here only is he found. With what munition he did fortify His heart ; how good his furniture hath been. And this did he perform in gallant wise : In this did he confirm his worthiness. For on the morrow, after the surprise That sickness made on him with fierce access, He told his faithful friend, whom he held dear, (And whose great worth was worthy so to be,) " How that he knew these hot diseases were Of that contagious force, as he did see That men were over-tumbl'd suddenly ; And therefore did desire to set a course And order t' his affairs as speedily As might be, ere his sickness should grow worse. And as for death," said he, " I do not wey ; I am resolv'd and ready in this case. It cannot come t' affright me any way ; Let it look never with so grim a face : And I will meet it smiling ; for I know How vain a thing all this world's glory is." And herein did he keep his word : Did show Indeed, as he had promised in this. For sickness never heard him groan at all, Nor with a sigh consent to show his pain ; 24 THE CLOSING SCENE. Which, howsoever, being tyrannical, He sweetly made it look ; and did retain A lovely count'nance of his being well, And so would ever make his tongue to tell. Although the fervour of extremity, Which often doth throw those defences down, Which in our health wall in infirmity. Might open lay more than we would have known ; Yet did no idle word in him bewray Any one piece of iN'ature ill set in ; Those lightnesses that anything will say, Could say no ill of what they knew within. Such a sure lock of silent modesty Was set in life upon that noble heart, As if no anguish nor extremity Could open it, t' impair that worthy part ; For having dedicated still the same . Unto devotion, and to sacred skill. That furnish perfect held ; that blessed flame Continued to the last in fervour still. And when his spirit and tongue no longer could Do any certain services beside, Ev'n at the point of parting they unfold. With fervent zeal, how only he rely'd Upon the merits of the precious death Of his Eedeemer ; and with rapt desires Th' appeals to grace, his soul delivereth Into the hand of mercy, and expires. Thus did that Worthy, who most virtuously, Most mildly liv'd, most sweet and mildly die. Samttel Daniel. 25 THE DIRGE OF THE FAMOUS. Fear no more the heat o^ the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages ; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 26 THE DIRGE OF THE FAMOUS. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; Care no more to clothe, and eat ; To thee the reed is as the ouk : The Sceptre, Learning, Physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Xor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; Fear not slander, censure rash, Thou hast finish' d joy and moan. All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. No exorciser harm thee ! Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! Nothing ill come near thee ! Quiet consummation have. And renowned be tby grave. William ShaJcesperc. WOLSEY'S WARNINa. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our tears : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be ; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee ; Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, — And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, — Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me. Cromwell, 1 charge thee, fling away ambition ; By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then. The image of his Maker, hope to win by it? Love thyself : cherish those hearts that wait thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou fall'st, Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! Serve the king ; And, — prithee, lead me in : There take an inventory of all I have. To the last penny ; 'tis the king's ; my robe. And my integrity to Heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwell ! Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies. Shahespere. 28 THIRTEENTH PSALM. Lord, how long, how long wilt Thou Quite forget, and quite neglect mel How long, with a frowning brow, Wilt Thou from Thy sight reject me 1 How long shall I seek a way Forth this maze of thoughts perplexed, Where my griev'd mind, night and day. Is with thinking tired and vexed? How long shaU my scornful foe. On my fall his greatness placing, Build upon my overthrow. And be graced by my disgracing 1 Hear, Lord and God, my cries; Mark my foe's unjust abusing ; And illuminate mine eyes. Heavenly beams in them infusing. Lest my woes, too great to bear, And too infinite to number. Rock me soon, 'twixt hope and fear. Into Death's eternal slumber. These black clouds will over-blow ; Sunshine shall have his returning; And my grief-dull'd heart, I know. Into joy shall change his mourning. Francis Davison. VANITY OF LEAENING. And yet, alas ! when all our lamps are biirn'd, Our bodies wasted and our spijits spent, When we have all the learned volumes turn'd, Which yield men's wits both help and ornament ; What can we learn, or what can we discern, When error clouds the windows of the mind ] The divers forms of things how can we learn. That have been ever from our birthday blind ? 30 VANITY 07 LEARNING. When reason's lamp, Mhicli, like the sun in sky, Throughout man's little world her beams did spread, Is now become a sparkle, which doth lie Under the ashes, half extinct and dead ; How can we hope that through the eye and ear, This dying sparkle, in this cloudy place, Can recollect those beams of knowledge clear. Which were infused in the first minds by G^'ace ? So might the heir, whose father hath in play Wasted a thousand pounds of ancient rent. By careful earning of one groat a day Hope to restore the patrimony spent. The wits that div'd most deep, and soar'd most high, Seeking man's powers, have found his weakness such ; Skill comes so slow, and life so fast doth fly ; We learn so little, and forget so much. All things without, which round about we see. We seek to know, and how theremth to do ; But that whereby we reason, live, and be. Within ourselves, we strangers are thereto. W^e seek to know the moving of each sphere. And the strange cause o' th' ebbs and floods of Nile ; But of that clock, which in our breasts we bear, The subtle motions we forget the while. We that acquaint ourselves with every zone, And pass both tropics, and behold both poles ; When we come home, are to ourselves unknown. And unacquainted still with our own souls. For this, few know themselves ; for merchants broke View their estate with discontent and pain ; As seas are troubled, when they do revoke Their flowing waves into themselves again. 31 VANITY OF LEARNING. And while the face of outward things we find Pleasing and fair, agreeable and sweet, These things transport, and carry out the mind, That with herself the mind can never meet. Yet if affliction once her wars begin, And threat the feebler sense with sword and fire, The mind contracts herself and shrinketh in, And to herself she gladly doth retire ; As spiders touch'd seek their webs' inmost part; As bees in storms back to their hives return ; As blood in danger gathers to the heart ; As men seek towns, when foes the country burn. If aught can teach us aught, affliction's looks, Making us pry into ourselves so near, Teach us to know ourselves beyond our books. Or all the learned schools that ever were. This mistress lately pluck' d me by the ear. And many a golden lesson hath me taught ; Hath made my senses quick, and reason clear, Eeform'd my will, and rectified my thought. So do the winds and thunders cleanse the air ; So working lees settle and purge the wine ; So lopp'd and pruned trees do flourish fair ; So doth the fire the drossy gold refine. Sir John Davies. 32 PEAYER OF THE PSALMIST. Frankly pour, Lord, on me Saving grace to set me free ; That supported I may see Promise truly kept by Tliee. That to them who me defame, Eoundly I may answer frame; Who, because Thy word and name Are my trust, thus seek my shame. Thy true word, do not make Utterly my mouth forsake; Since I thus still waiting wake, When Thou wilt just vengeance taka Then, lo, I Thy doctrine pure, Sure I hold, will hold more sure; !N'ought from it shall me allure All the time my time shall dure. Then as brought to widest way From restraint of straitest stay; All their thinking night and day On Thy Law my thoughts shall lay. Yea then unto any king Witness will I anything. That from Thee can witness bring; In my face no blush shall spring. 33 PRAYER OF THE PSALMIST. Then will I set forth to sight With what pleasure, what delight, T embrace Thy precepts right, Whereunto all love I plight. Then will I, with either hand, Clasp the rules of Thy command ; There my study still shall stand. Striving: them to understand. Countess of Pemhroh If our God we had forsaken. Or forgot what He assign' d. If ourselves we had betaken Gods to serve of other kind, Should not He our doubling find. Though conceal'd and closely lurking? Since His eye of deepest mind, Deeper sinks than deepest working. Same, 84 SEARCH AFTER GOD. I SOUGHT Thee round about, Thou my God, In Thine Abode ; I said unto the earth, "Speak, art thou lie T' She answered nie, 35 SEARCH AFTER GOD. "I am not." I enquired of creatures all, In general, Contain'd therein ; they with one voice proclaim, That none amongst them challenged such a name. I asked the seas, and all the deeps below, My God to know. I asked the reptiles, and whatever is In the abyss ; Even from the shrimp to the Leviathan, Enquiry ran : But in those deserts which no line can sound, The God I sought for was not to be found. I asked the air, if that were He ; but, lo ! It told me, "mi" I, from the towering eagle to the wren. Demanded then, If any feather'd fowl 'mongst them were such; But they all, much Offended with my question, in full quire. Answered, "To find thy God thou must look higher." I asked the Heavens, sun, moon, and stars, but they Said, «We obey The God thou seek'st." I asked what eye or ear Could see or hear ; What in the world I might descry or know^. Above, below; With a unanimous voice all these things said, "We are not God; but we by Him were made." I asked the world's great universal mass If that God was? Which, with a mighty and strong voice, replied, As stupefied, 36 SEARCH AFTER GOD. ** I am not He, man ! for know that I, By Him on high, "Was fashion'd first of nothing, thus instated, And swayed by Him, by whom I was created." I sought the Court; but smooth-tongued flattery there Deceived each ear ; In the tlironged city there was selling, buying, Swearing, and lying ; r the country, craft in simpleness ari'ay'd : And then I said, "Yain is my search, although my pains be great — Where my God is, there can be no deceit." A scrutiny within myself I, then, Even thus began ; " Man, what art thou 1 " What more could I ssij, Than dust and clay. Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast. That cannot last ; Enthroned to-day, to morrow in an urn ; Formed from that earth to which I must return. I asked myself what this great God might be That fashion'd me 1 I answered — the all-potent, solely immense. Surpassing sense ; Unspeakable, inscrutable, eternal. Lord over all : The only terrible, strong, just, and true. Who hath no end, and no beginning knew. He is the well of life, for He doth give. To all that live, Both breath and being : He is the Creator Both of the water, 27 SEARCH AFTER GOD. Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that subsist, He hath the list ; Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims, He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their names. And now, my God, by Thine illumining grace. Thy glorious face, (So far forth as it may discover' d be,) Methinks I see ; And though invisible and infinite, — To human sight, Thou, in Thy mercy, justice, truth, appearest ; In which to our weak sense Thou comest nearest, make us apt to seek, and quick to find, Thou God, most kind ! Give us love, hope, and faith, in Thee to trust. Thou God, most just ! Remit all our offences, we entreat, Most Good, most Great ! Grant that our willing, though unworthy quest May, through Thy grace, admit us 'mongst the blest. Thomas Heyivood. PORTRAIT OF PHILIP SIDNEY. You knew — who knew not, Astrophel? (That I should live to say I knew, And have not in possession still !) Things known permit me to renew Of him, you know his merit such, I cannot say — you hear — too much PORTEAIT OF PHILIP SIDNEY. Within these woods of Arcady He chief delight and pleasure took ; And on the mountain Partheny, Upon the crystal liquid brook, The Muses met him every day, And taught him sing, to write, and say. When he descended down the mount, His personage seeni'd most divine ; A thousand graces one might count Upon his lovely cheerful eyne. To hear him speak, and sweetly smile, You were in Paradise the while. A sweet attractive kind of grace ; A full assurance given by looks; Continual comforts in a face; The lineaments of Gospel books : I trow that count'nance cannot lie, Whose thoughts are legible to the eye. Above all others this is he, Which erst approved in his song. That love and honour might agree, And that pure love will do no wrong. Sweet saints, it is no sin, or blame. To love a man of virtuous name. Did never love so sweetly breathe In any mortal breast before : Did never Muse inspire beneath A Poet's brain with finer store. He wrote of love with high conceit, And Beauty rear'd above her height. Uncertain, 39 TEUE USE OF KNOWLEDGE The chief use then in man of that he knows, Is his painstaking for tlie good of all, Not fleshly weeping for our own made woes, Not laughing from a melancholy gall, Not hating from a soul that overflows With bitterness, breath' d out from inward thrall ; "But sweetly rather to ease, loose, or bind. As need requires, this frail, fall'n humankind." Yet some seek knowledge, merely to be known. And idle curiosity that is; Some but to sell, not freely to bestow. These gain and spend both time, and wealth amiss ; Embasing hearts, by basely deeming so ; Some to build others, which is charity. But these to build themselves, who wise men be. And to conclude, whether we would erect Ourselves, or others, by this choice of arts, Our chief endeavour must be to effect A sound foundation, not on sandy parts Of light opinion, selfness, words of men. But that sure rock of truth, God's word, or pen. Next, that we do not overbuild our states. In searching secrets of the Deity, Obscurities of nature, casualty of fates, But measure first our own humanity. Then on our gifts impose an equal rate. And so seek wisdom with sobriety : "Not curious what our fellows ought to do, But what our own creation binds us to." 40 TRUE USE OF KNOWLEDGE. Lastly, we must not to the world erect Theatres, nor plant our paradise in dust, Nor build up Babels for the devil's elect ; Make temples of our hearts to God we must; And then, as Godless wisdoms follies be, So are His heights our true philosophy. With which fair cautions, man may well profess To study God, whom he is born to serve; Nature, t' admire the greater in the less ; Time, but to learn; ourselves we may observe, To humble us; others, to exercise Our love and patience, wherein duty lies. Lastly, the truth and good to love, and do them. The error, only to destroy, and shun it ; Our hearts in general will lead us to them, When gifts of grace, and faith, have once begun it : "For without these, the mind, the mind of man grows numb. The body darkness, to the soul a tomb." Thus are true learnings in the humble heart A spiritual work, raising God's image, razed By our transgression; a well-framed art, At which the world and error stand amazed ; A light divine, where man sees joy and smart Immortal, in this mortal body blazed; A wisdom, which the wisdom us assureth, With hers even to the sight of God endureth. Lord Brooke. 41 EEPENTANCE. At the round Earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise From Death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go. All whom the flood did, and fire shall, o'erthrow. All whom war, death, age, agues, tyrannies. Despair, law, chance, hath slain, and you, whose eyes Shall behold God, and never taste Death's woe. But let them sleep. Lord, and me mourn a space ; For, if above all these, my sins abound, 'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace, When we are there; here on this lowly ground. Teach me how to repent ; for that's as good As if Thou hadst sealed my pardon with Thy blood. DEATH. Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so j For those, whom thou think' st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me : From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Eest of their bones, and soul's delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well. And better than thy stroke ; — why swell' st thou then 1 Our short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more : Death, thou shalt die. John Donne. 42 PICTURE OF A MIND. Painter, you're come, but may be gone ; Now I have better thought thereon, This work I can perform alone, And give you reasons more than one. Not that your art I do refuse ; But here I may no colours use ; Beside, your hand ^\ill never fit To draw a thing that cannot sit. You could make shift to paint an eye. An eagle towering in the sky, The sun, a sea, or soundless pit ; But these are like a mind — not it. No, to express this mind to sense. Would ask a Heaven's intelligence; Since nothing can report that flame, But what's of kin to whence it came. Sweet mind, then speak yourself, and say. As you go on, by what brave way Our sense you do with knowledge fill, And yet remain our wonder still. I call you, Muse, now make it true : Henceforth may every line be you ; That all may say, that see the frame. This is no picture, but the same. A mind so pure, so perfect, fine, As 'tis not radiant, but divine ; And so disdaining any trier; 'Tis got where it can try the fire. 43 PICTURE OF A MIND. There, high exalted in the sphere, As it another nature were, It nioveth all; and makes a flighty As circnlar as infinite. Whose notions when it will express In speech, it is with that excess Of grace, and music to the ear. As what it spoke, it planted there. The voice so sweet, the words so fair, As some soft chime had stroked the air; And, though the sound had parted thence, Still left an echo in the sense. But that a mind so rapt, so high, So swift, so pure, should yet apply Itself to us, and come so nigh Earth's grossness : there's the how, and why. Is it because it sees us dull, And sunk in clay here, it would puU Us forth, by some celestial sleight. Up to her own sublimed height? Or hath she here, upon the ground. Some Paradise, or palace, found; In all the bounds of beauty, fit For her t' inhabit? There is it. Thrice happy house, thou hast receipt For this so lofty form, so straight. So polished, perfect, round, and even. As it slid moulded off from heaven. ISTot swelling, like the ocean proud, But stooping gently, as a cloud. As smooth as oil pour'd forth, and calm As showers, and sweet as drops of balm. 44 PICTURE OF A MIND. Smooth, soft, and sweet, in call a flood, Where it may run to any good; And where it stays, it there becomes A nest of odorous spice and gums. In action, winged as the wind. In rest, like spirits left behind Upon a bank, or field of flowers. Begotten by the wind and showers. In thee, fair mansion, let it rest, Yet know, with what thou art possest. Thou, entertaining in thy breast But such a mind, mak'st God thy guest. Ben Jonson. GOD SEEN IN HIS WOEKS. The stately Heavens which glory doth array, Are mirrors of God's admirable might; There, whence forth spreads the night, forth springs the day, He fixed the fountains of this temporal light, Where stately stars enstall'd, some stand, some stray. All sparks of His great power (though small yet bright) ; But what none utter can, no, not conceive. All of His greatness shadows may perceive. What glorious lights through crystal lanterns glance (As always burning with their Maker's love), Spheres keep one musick, they one measure dance. Like influence below, like course above. And all by order led, not drawn by chance. With majesty (as still in triumph) move. And (liberal of their store) seem shouting thus : " Look up, all souls, and gaze on God through us ! " Same. 45 A MEMORIAL OF MEECIES PAST. Thou, who all things hast of nothing made. Whose hand the radiant firmament displayed, With such an undiscerned swiftness hurl'd About the steadfast centre of the world; Against whose rapid course the restless sun, And wandering flames in varied motions run ; Which heat, light, life infuse ; time, night and day, Distinguish ; in our human bodies sway : — That hung'st the solid earth in fleeting air, Vein'd with clear springs, which ambient seas repair; In clouds the mountains wrap their hoary heads; Luxurious valleys clothed with flow'ry meads : Her trees yield fruit and shade; with liberal breasts, All creatures she (their common mother) feasts. Then man Thy image mad'st; in dignity, In knowledge, and in beauty like to Thee ; Placed in a heaven on earth ; without his toil The ever-flourishing and fruitful soil Unpurchased fruit produced ; all creatures were His subjects, serving more from love than fear; He knew no lord but Thee. But when he fell Prom his obedience, all at once rebel, And in his ruin exercise their might; Concurring elements against him fight; Troops of unknown diseases : sorrow, age. And death assail him with successive rage. Hell let forth all her furies ; none so great. As man to man; ambition, pride, deceit. Wrong arm'd with power, lust, rapine, slaughter reign'd ; And flatter' d vice the name of virtue gain'd. A MEMORIAL OF MERCIES PAST. Tlien hills beneath the swelling waters stood, And all the globe of earth was but one flood ; Yet could not cleanse their guilt ; the following race Worse than their fathers, and their sons more base, Their God-like beauty lost ; sin's wretched thrall ; 'No spark of their divine original, Left unextinguished ; all enveloped With darkness ; in their bold transgressions dead. Then Thou didst from the East a light display. Which rendered to the world a clearer day; Whose precepts from hell's jaws our steps withdraw And whose example was a living law ; Who purged us with His blood ; the way prepar'd To heaven, and those long-chained doors unbarr'd. How infinite Thy mercy ! which exceeds The world Thou mad'st, as well as our misdeeds ! Which greater reverence than Thy justice wins, And still augments Thy honour by our sins. who hath tasted of Thy clemency In greater measure, or more oft than I ! My grateful verse Thy goodness shall display, Thou, who went'st along in all my way ! To where the morning with perfumed wings From the high mountains of Panchsea springs. To that new-found-out world, where sober night Takes from th' antipodes her silent flight ; To those dark seas, where horrid winter reigns. And binds the stubborn floods in icy chains; To Libyan wastes, whose thirst no showers assuage, And where swoln Nilus cools the lion's rage. Thy wonders in the deep have I beheld; Yet all by those on Judah's hills excell'd : There, where the Virgin's Son His doctrine taught, His miracles, and our redemption wrought : 47 A MEMORIAL OF MERCIES PAST. Where I by Thee inspired His praises sung ; And on His sepulchre my offering hung. Which way soe'er I turn my way, or feet; I see Thy glory and Thy mercy meet. Met on the Thracian shores ; when in the strife Of frantic Simoans Thou preserv'dst my life, So when Arabian thieves belaid us round. And when by all abandon'd. Thee I found. Thou savedst me from the bloody massacres Of faithless Indians ; from their treacherous wars ; Erom raging fevers ; from the sultry breath Of tainted air, which cloy'd the jaws of death. Preserv'd from swallowing seas; when towering waves Mix'd with the clouds, and open'd their deep graves. From barbarous pirates ransom'd ; by those taught Successfully with Salian Moors we fought. Thou brought'st me home in safety ; that this earth Might bury me, which fed me from my birth; Blest with a healthful age ; a quiet mind. Content with little ; to this work design' d ; Which I at length have finisht by Thy aid; And now my vows have at Thy altar paid. George Sandys. . 48 A DEEAM. Laid in my quiet bed to rest, When sleep had all my senses drown'd, Such dreams arose within my breast, As did with fear my mind confound. 49 A DREAM. Methought I wander'd in a wood, Wliicli was as dark as pit of hell ; In midst of which such waters stood, That where to pass I could not tell. The Lion, Tiger, Wolf, and Bear There thunder' d forth such hideous cries. As made huge echoes in the air, And seem'd almost to pierce the skies. Long vex'd with care I there abode, And to get forth I wanted power, At every footstep that I trode, I fear'd some beast would me devour. Abiding thus, perplex'd with pain. This case within myself I scann'd, That human help was all in vain. Unless the Lord with us do stand. Then falling flat upon my face. In humble sort to God I pray'd. That, in this dark and doleful place, He would vouchsafe to be mine aid. Arising then, a wight with wings, Of ancient years, methinks I see ; A burning torch in hand he brings. And thus began to speak to me. "That God, whose aid thou didst implore, Hath sent me hither for thy sake ; Pluck up thy sprites, lament no more. With me thou must thy journey take." Against a huge and lofty hill, With swiftest pace methinks we go. When such a sound my ears did fill. As moved my heart to bleed for woe. 50 A DREAM. Methoiight I heard a doleful wight 111 doleful sort pour forth great plaints, Whose cries did so my mind affright, That even with fear each member faints. " Fie ! " quoth my Guide, " what means this change ? Pass on apace with courage bold; Hereby doth stand a prison strange, Where wondrous things thou may'st behold." Then came we to a fort of brass, Where, peering through strong iron grates, We saw a woman sit, alas ! Which ruefully bewail'd her fates. Her face was far more white than snow. And on her head a crown she ware, Beset with stones that glisten'd so A thousand torches had been there. Her song was— "Woe! and well away! What torments here I do sustain ! " A new mishap did her dismay, Which more and more increased her pain. An ugly creature, all in black, Ean to her seat, and flung her down, Who rent her garments from her back, And spoil'd her of her precious crown. This crown he placed upon his head. And leaving her in doleful case, With swiftest pace away he fled. And darkness came in all the place. Then quoth my Guide, " ^N'ote well my talk ; And thou shalt hear this dream declared : The wood, in which thou first didst walk. Unto the world may be compared. 51 A DREAM. "The roaring beasts plainly express The sundry snares in which we fall : This Gaol is named Deep-Distress, In which Dame Virtue lies in thrall. "She is the wight, which here within So dolefully doth howl and cry ; The foe is called Deadly-Sin, That proffer' d her this villainy. "My name is Time, whom God hath sent To warn thee of thy Soul's decay ; In Time therefore thy sins repent, Lest Time from Thee be ta'en away." As soon as he these words had said. With swiftest pace away he flies; And I thereat was so afraid, That downy sleep forsook mine eyes. Humphrey Gifford. THE WOELD : A BOOK TO BE READ. Of this fair volume which we World do call, If we the sheets and leaves would turn with care Of Him who it corrects, and did it frame. We clear might read the art and wisdom rare; Find out His power which wildest arts doth tame, His providence extending every where. His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, In every page, no period of the same : But silly we, like foolish children, rest Well pleas'd with coloured vellum, leaves of gold; Fair dangling ribbons, leaving what is best. Of the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold : Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, It is some picture on the margin wrought. William Drummond. DECAY OF EAETHLY POMP. The rising morn lifts up his orient head, And spangled heav'ns in golden robes invests ; Thirsil upstarting from his fearless bed, Where useless night he safe and quiet rests, Unhous'd his bleating flock, and quickly thence Hasting to his expecting audience. Thus with sad verse began their griev'd minds to incense. "Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness. And here long seeks what here is never found ! For all our good we hold from heav'n by lease, With many forfeits and conditions bound; 53 DECAY OF EARTHLY POMP. Xor can we pay the fine, and rentage due ; Tho' now but writ, and seaPd, and giv'n anew. Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew. "Why should'st thou here look for perpetual good. At ev'ry loss against heav'n's face repining 1 Do but behold where glorious cities stood. With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining : There now the hart, fearless of greyhound, feeds ; And loving pelican in safety breeds ; There screeching satyrs fill the people's empty stedes. "Where is th' Assyrian lion's golden hide, That all the East once grasp'd in lordly paw? AVhere that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride The lion's self tore out with rav'nous jaw 1 Or he which, 'twixt a lion and a pard. Thro' all the world with nimble pinions far'd, And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shar'd. ''Hardly the place of such antiquity, Or note of these great monarchies we find ; Only a fading verbal memory, And empty name in writ is left behind : But when this second life and glory fades. And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades, A second fall succeeds, and double death invades. "That monstrous beast which, nurs'd in Tiber's fen. Did all the world with hideous shape affray ; That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den. And trod down all the rest to dust and clay ; His batt'ring horns, pull'd out by civil hands. And iron teeth lie scatter' d on the sands ; Back'd, bridled by a monk, with seven heads yoked stands 54 DECAY OF EARTHLY POMP. ''And that black Vulture,^ wliicli with dreadful wing O'ershadows half the earth, whose dismal sight Frighten'd the Muses from their native spring, Already stoops, and flags with weary flight : Who then shall look for happiness beneath 1 Where each new day proclaims chance, change, and death ; And life itself s as fleet, as is the air we breathe." Fhineas Fletcher. HOME OF THE BLESSED. So Him they led into the Courts of Day, Where never war nor wounds abide Him more ; But in that House eternal Peace doth play, Acquieting the souls that, new before, Their way to Heaven through their own blood did score, But now*, estranged from all misery. As far as heaven and earth discoasted lie, Swelter in quiet waves of immortality. Gaze but upon the house where man embowers ; With flowers and rushes paved is his way, Where all the creatures are his servitors ; The winds do sweep his chambers every day ; And clouds do wash his rooms ; the ceiling gay, Starred aloft, the gilded knobs embrave, — If such a house God to another gave. How shine those glittering Courts He for Himself will have 1 HOME OF THE BLESSED. And if a sullen cloud, as sad as night, In whicli the sun may seem embodied, Depur'd of all his dross, we see no white, Burning in melted gold his watery head, Or round with iv'ry edges silvered, What lustre super-excellent will He Lighten on those that shall His sunshine see, In that all-glorious Court, in which all glories be ! If but one Sun, with his diffusive fire. Can paint the stars and the whole world with light. And joy and life into each heart inspire. And every saint shall shine in heaven as bright, As doth the sun in his transcendent might, (As faith may well believe what truth once says) What shall so many suns' united rays But dazzle all the eyes that now in Heav'n we praise ] Here let my Lord hang up His conquering lance, And bloody armour with late slaughter warm, And, looking down on His weak militants, Behold His Saints amidst their hot alarm. Hang all their golden hopes upon His arm. And in this lower field displacing wide. Through windy thoughts that would their sails misguide, Anchor their fleshly ships fast in His wounded side. Here may the band, that now in triumph shines And that (before they were invested thus) In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds. Pitch round about, in order glorious. Their sunny tents and houses luminous ; All their eternal day in songs employing. Joying their end, without end of their joying. While their Almighty Prince dc^struction is destroying. HOME OF THE BLESSED. Full, yet without satiety, of that Which whets and quiets greedy appetite, Where never sun did rise, nor ever sat ; But one eternal day, and endless light Gives time to those whose time is infinite — Speaking with thought, obtaining without fee, Beholding Him whom never eye could see, And magnifying Him that cannot greater be. How can such joy as this want words to speak? And yet what words can speak such joy as this 1 Far from the world, that might their quiet break, Here the glad souls the face of Beauty kiss, Pour'd out in pleasure, on their beds of bliss ; And drunk with nectar-torrents, ever hold Their eyes on Him, whose graces manifold The more they do behold, the more they would behold. No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow, No bloodless malady empales their face, No age drops on their hairs his silver snow, No nakedness their bodies doth embase, No poverty themselves and theirs disgrace. No fear of death the joy of life devours, No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers, No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours. But now their naked bodies scorn the cold. And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain ; The infant wonders how he came so old. The old man how he came so young again ; Still resting, though from sleep they still refrain; Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe, And all are kings, and yet no subjects know. All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow. 57 I HOME OF THE BLESSED. About the lioly City rolls a flood Of molten crystal, like a sea of glass, On which weak stream a strong foundation stood; Of living diamonds the building was, That all things else, besides itself, did pass ; Her streets, instead of stones, the stars did pave, And little pearls for dust it seem'd to have. On which soft-streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave. Tn midst of this City celestial. Where the Eternal Temple should have rose, Lighten' d the Idea Beatifical — End and beginning of each thing that grows; Whose Self no end nor yet beginning knows, That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear, Yet sees and hears, and is all eye, all ear ; That nowhere is contain' d, and yet is everywhere : Changer of all things, yet immutable ; Before and after all, the first and last ; That, moving all, is yet immoveable ; Great without quantity ; in whose forecast Things past are present, things to come are past ; Swift without motion ; to whose open eye The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie; At once absent and present to them, far and nigh. It is no flaming lustre, made of light; No sweet consent, or well-tim'd harmony ; Ambrosia for to feast the appetite. Or flowery odour, mixt with spicery ; No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily ; And yet it is a kind of inward feast, A harmony that sounds within the breast, An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. 58 HOME OF THE BLESSED. A heavenly feast, no hunger can consume; A light unseen, yet shines in every place ; A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume No winds can scatter ; an entire emhrace That no satiety can e'er unlace : Ingrac'd into so high a favour, there The saints, with their beaupeers whole worlds outwear, And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil. Whose loss, though great, is cause of greater gains, Here may your weary spirits rest from toil. Spending your endless evening that remains. Among those white flocks, and celestrial trains. That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes, and frame Their heavenly music of so wondrous fame; Psalming aloud the holy honours of His Name. Giles Fletcher. 59 LIFE'S JOUENEY. Yet T confess, in this my pilgrimage, I, like some infant am, of tender age, 60 LIFE'S JOURNEY. For as the child who from his father hath Stray'd in some grove thro' many a crooked path, Is sometimes hopeful that he finds the way, And sometimes doubtful he runs more astray ; Sometime with fair and easy paths doth meet, Sometime with rougher tracts that stay his feet; Here goes, there runs, and yon amazed stays; Then cries, and straight forgets his care, and plays; Then, hearing where his loving father calls. Makes haste, but, through a zeal ill-guided, falls ; Or runs some other way, until that he (Whose love is more than his endeavours be). To seek the wanderer, forth himself doth come, And take him in his arms, and bear him home. So in this life, this grove of ignorance, As to my homeward I myself advance. Sometimes aright, and sometimes wrong I go, Sometimes my pace is speedy, sometimes slow ; One while my ways are pleasant unto me. Another while as full of cares they be. I doubt and hope, and doubt and hope again. And many a change of passion I sustain In this my journey, so that now and then I lost, perhaps, may seem to other men. Yea, to myself awdiile, when sins impure Do my Eedeemer's love from me obscure ; But, whatsoe'er betide, I know full well My Father, who above the clouds doth dwell, An eye upon his wandering child doth cast. And He will fetch me to my home at last. George Wither. 61 THE LIGHT OF VIKTtJE. Thus fares the man whom Virtue, beacon-like, Hath fixed upon the hills of Eminence ; At him the tempests of mad Envy strike, And rage against his piles of Innocence ; But still the more they wrong him, so the more They seek to keep his worth from being known, They daily make it greater than before, And cause his fame the further to be blown. When, therefore, no self-doting arrogance, But virtues covered with a modest veil. Break thro' obscurity, and then advance, To place where Envy shall thy worth assail. Discourage not thyself, but stand the shocks, Of Wrath and Fury. Let them snarl and bite. Pursue thee with detraction, slander, mocks. And all the venom'd engines of despite ; Thou art above their malice, and the blaze Of thy celestial fire shall shine so clear, That their besotted souls thou shalt amaze. And make thy splendours to their shame appear. Wither 62 IN PRISON First think, my soul, if I have foes, That take a pleasure in my care, 63 IN PEISON ! And to procure tliese outward woes Have thus enwrapt me unaware ; Thou should' st by much more careful be, Since greater foes lay wait for thee. By my late hopes that are now crost, Consider those that firmer be, And make the freedom I have lost A means that may remember thee, Had Christ not thy Kedeemer been, What horrid state had'st thou been in ! Or when through me thou se'st a man Condemn'd unto a mortal death, How sad he looks, how pale, how wan. Drawing, with fear, his panting breath : Think if in that such grief thou see, How sad will "Go ye cursed" be! These iron chains, these bolts of steel. Which often poor offenders grind; The wants and cares which they do feel May bring some greater things to mind ; For by their grief thou shalt do well To think upon the pains of Hell. Again, when he that fear'd to die (Past hope) doth see his pardon brought, Eead but the joy that's in his eye. And then convey it to thy thought: Then think between thy heart and thee, How glad will " Come ye blessed " be ! Wither. U THE REMEMBEANCE. Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint, Instead of dirges, this complaint; And, for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse, Eeceive a strew of weeping verse From thy griev'd friend, whom thou might'st see Quite melted into tears for thee. Dear loss ! since thy untimely fate My task hath been to meditate On thee, on thee : thou art the book, The library whereon I look. Though almost blind, for thee, lov'd clay, I languish out, not live the day, — Thou hast benighted me ; thy set This eve of blackness did beget, Who wast my day (though overcast Before thou hast thy noon-tide past), And I remember must, in tears. Thou scarce hadst seen so 'many years As day tells hours. By thy clear sun My love and fortune first did run ; But thou wilt never more appear Folded within my hemisphere. Since both thy light and motion Like a fled star is fallen and gone, — I could allow thee for a time To darken me and my sad clime, 6.5 K THE REMEMBRANCE. Were it a month, a year, or ten, I would thy exile live till then ; And all that space my mirth adjourn, So thou Avouldst promise to return — But woe is me ! the longest date Too narrow is to calculate These empty hopes : never shall I Be so much, blest as to descry A glimpse of thee, till that day come Which shall the earth to cinders doom, And a fierce fever must calcine The body of this world like thine. — Then we shall rise. And view ourselves with clearer eyes In that calm region, where no night Can hide ns from each other's sight. Meantime, thou hast her. Earth. With a most free and bounteous grief, I give thee what I could not keep — Be kind to her, and, prithee, look Thou write into thy doomsday-book Each parcel of this rarity Which, in thy casket shrin'd doth lie ; Eor thou must audit on thy trust Each grain and atom of this dust. As thou wilt answer Him that lent, Not gave thee, my dear monument; So close the ground, and 'bout her shade Black curtains draw, my bride is laid. Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed iS'ever to be disquieted ! My last good-night ! thou wilt not wake Till I thy fate shall over-take; 66 THE REMEMBRANCE. Till age, or grief, or sickness, must Marry my body to that dust It so much loves ; and fill the room My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. Stay for me there ; I will not fail To meet thee in that hollow vale. Each minute is a short degree, And every hour a step towards thee. At night when I betake to rest^ Next morning I rise nearer my west Of life, almost by eight hours' sail. Than when sleep breath'd his drowsy gale. 'Tis true, with shame and grief I yield, Thou, like the van, first took'st the field, And gotten hast the victory In thus adventuring to die Before me, whose more years might crave A just precedence in the grave. But hark ! my pulse like a soft drum, Beats my approach, tells thee I come ; And slow, howe'er, my marches be, I shall at last sit down by thee. The thought of this bids me go on. And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort : Dear, (forgive The crime) I am content to live, Divided with but half a heart, Till wfc shall meet and never part. Henry King. 67 LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. In the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart, and sick in head. And with doubts discomforted. Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the house doth sigh and weep. And the world is drown'd in sleep, Yet mine eyes the watch do keep ; Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the artless Doctor sees No one hope, but of his fees, And his skill runs on the lees ; Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the passing-bell doth toll, And the furies, in a shoal, Come to fright a parting soul ; Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the tapers now burn blue, And the comforters are few. And that number more than true ; Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 68 LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. When the priest his last has pray'd, And I nod to what is said, 'Clause my speech is now decay'd, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When, God knows, I'm tost about, Either with despair or doubt ; Yet before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the Tempter me pursu'th With the sins of all my youth. And half damns me with untruth ; Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the flames and hellish cries Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise ; Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! When the judgment is reveal'd, And that open'd which was seal'd. When to thee I have appeal'd; Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! Robert Hei'rich THE ONLY ONE. Psalm lxxiii. 25. I LOVE (and have some cause to love) the Earth, She is my Maker's creature, therefore good ; She is my mother, for she gave me birth; She is my tender nurse ; she gives me food ; But what's a creature, Lord, compar'd with Thee? Or what's my mother, or my nurse, to me 1 I love the Air; her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me ; Her shrill-mouth'd choir sustain me with their flesh, And with their merry-sounding notes delight me ; But what's the Air, or all the sweets that she Can bless my soul withal, compar'd to Thee? 70 I love the Sea, she is my fellow- creature, My careful purveyor ; she provides me store ; She walls me round ; she makes my diet greater ; She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore ; 71 THE ONLY ONE. But, Lord of Ocean, when compar'd with Thee, What is the Ocean, or her w^ealth, to me? To Heav'n's high city I direct my journey. Whose spangl'd suburbs entertain mine eye ; Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney. Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky. But what is Heav'n, great God, compar'd to Thee 1 Without Thy presence Heav'n's no Heav'n to me. Without Thy presence Earth gives no refection ; Without Thy presence Sea affords no treasure ; Without Thy presence Air's a rank infection; Without Thy presence Heav'n itself's no pleasure ; If not possess' d, if not enjoy'd in Thee, What's Earth, or Sea, or Air, or Heav'n to me? The highest honours that the world can boast Are subjects far too low for my desire ; The brightest beams of glory are (at most) But dying sparkles .of Thy living fire : The proudest flames that earth can kindle be But nightly glow-worms, if compar'd to Thee. Without Thy presence wealth is bags of cares ; Wisdom but folly; joy disquiet sadness; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares; Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness ; Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be, Nor have they being, when compar'd with Thee. In having all things, and not Thee, what have I? Kot having Thee, what have my labours got? Let me enjoy but Thee, what farther crave I And having Thee alone, what have I not? I wish nor sea, nor land ; nor would I be Possess'd of Heav'n, Heav'n unpossess'd of Thee. Francis Quarles. THE MAGNETIC NEEDLE. Like to the arctic needle, that doth guide The wand'ring shade by his magnetic pow'r, And leaves his silken gnomon to decide The question of the controverted hour, First frantics up and down from side to side, And restless beats his crystal' d iv'ry case, "With vain impatience jets from place to place, And seeks the bosom of his frozen bride ; At length he slacks his motion, and doth rest His trembling point at his bright pole's beloved breast. E'en so my soul, being hurried here and there, By ev'ry object that presents delight. Fain would be settled, but she knows not where ; She likes at morning what she loathes at night : She bows to honour ; then she lends an ear To that sweet swan-like voice of dying pleasure, Then tumbles in the scatter'd heaps of treasure; Now flatter'd with false hope; now foil'd with fear. Thus, finding all the world's delight to be But empty toys, great God, she points alone to Thee. But hath the virtued steel a power to move? Or can the untouch'd needle point aright 1 Or can my wand'ring thoughts forbear to rove, Unguided by the virtue of Thy spright? Or hath my leaden soul the art t' improve Her wasted talent, and, unrais'd, aspire Li this sad moulting time of her desire? Not first belov'd, have I the power to love? I cannot stir, but as thou please to move me. Nor can my heart return Thee love, until Thou love me. THE MAGNETIC NEEDLE. Eternal God! Thou that only art The sacred fountain of eternal light, And blessed loadstone of my better part ! Thou, my heart's desire, my soul's delight ! Eeflect upon my soul, and touch my heart. And then my heart shall prize no good above Thee ; And then my soul shall know Thee ; knowing, love Thee And then my trembling thoughts shall never start From Thy commands, or swerve the least degree, Or once presume to move, but as they move in Thee. Quarles. GOD HIDING HIS FACE. Wherefore hidest Thou Thy ftice, and holdest me for Thine enemy ? Job xiii. 24. Why dost Thou shade Thy lovely face? why Does that eclipsing hand so long deny The sunshine of Thy soul-enliv'ning eye? Without that light, what light remains to me? Thou art my Life, my Way, my Light ; in Thee I live, and move, and by Thy beams I see. Thou art my Life; if Thou dost turn away. My Life's a thousand deaths ; Thou art my Way ; Without Thee, Lord, I travel not, but stray. My Light Thou art ; without Thy glorious light, Mine eyes are darken' d with perpetual night ; My God, Thou art my Way, my Life, my Light. Thou art my Way, I wander, if Thou Hy ; Thou art my Light, if hid, how blind am I ! Thou art my Life, if Thou withdraw, I die. 74 GOD HIDING HIS FACE. Mine eyes are blind and dark, I cannot see ; To whom, or whitlier, should my darkness flee But to the Light? and who's that Light but Thee? My path is lost, my wand' ring steps do stray ; I cannot safely go, or safely stay; Whom should I seek but Thee, my Path, my Way? 0, I am dead; to whom shall I, poor I, Eepair? To whom shall my sad ashes fly But Life ? and where is Life but in Thine eye ^ And yet Thou turn'st away Thy face, and fly'st me ; And yet I sue for grace, and Thou deny'st me : Speak, art Thou angiy. Lord, or only try'st me ? Death- conquered Lazarus w^as redeem' d by Thee, If I am dead. Lord, set Death's pris'ner free. Am I more spent, or moulder' d worse than he? If my puffd Life be out, give leave to tine^ My flameless snuff at that bright lamp of Thine, what's Thy lamp the less for lighting mine? If I have lost my path, great Shepherd, say, Shall I still wander in a doubtful way? Lord, shall a Lamb of Israel's sheepfold stray? Thou art the pilgrim's Path ; the blind man's Eye ; The dead man's Life ; on Thee my hopes rely ; If Thou remove, I err, I grope, I die. Disclose Thy sunbeams, close Thy wings, and stay ; See, see how I am blind, and dead, and stray ; Thou that art my Light, my Life, my Way. Qitarles. 75 THE DAYS AEE FEW. Are not my days few ? Cease, then, and let me alone, that I may take comfort a little. Job X. 20. My glass is half unspent ; forbear t' arrest My thoughtless day too soon : my poor request Is that my glass tcislj run but out the rest. My time-devoured minutes will be done Without Thy help j see, see how swift they run Cut not my thread before my thread be spun. The gain's not great I purchase by this stay ; What loss sustain'st Thou by so small delay, To whom ten thousand years are but a day? My following eye can hardly make a shift To count my winged hours ; they fly so swift, They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift. The secret wheels of hurrying time do give So short a warning, and so fast they drive, That I am dead before I seem to live. No, no ; 'tis not to please my wanton ears With frantic mirth : I beg but hours, not years, And what Thou giv'st me, I will give to tears. Draw not that soul which would be rather led; That seed has not yet broke my serpent's head; Or shall I die before my sins are dead? 76 THE DAYS ARE FEW. Behold the83 rags ; am I a fitting giiest To taste the dainties of Thy royal feast, With hands and face unwash'd, ungii-t, unblest? First let the Jordan streams (that find supplies From the deep fountain of my heart) arise, And cleanse my spots, and clear my leprous eyes. I have a world of sins to be lamented ; I have a sea of tears that must he vented ; spare till then : and then I die contented. And what's a life? a weary pilgrimage, Whose glory, in one day, doth fill the stage With childhood, manhood, and decrepid age. And what's a life? The flourishing array Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay. Read on this dial, how the shades devour My short-liv'd winter's day ; hour eats up hour ; Alas ! the total's hut from eight to four. Behold those liHes (which ITiy hands have made Fair copies of my life, and open laid To view), how soon they droop, how soon they fade ! Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon; My non-ag'd day already points to noon : How simple is my suit ! how small my boon ! Nor do beg I this slender inch, to while The time away, or falsely to beguile My thoughts with joy; here's nothing worth a smile. Quarles. FLIGHT OF A SINNER O WHITHER shall I flyl what path iintrod Shall I seek out to 'scape the flaming rod Of my offended, of my angry God? Where shall I sojourn? what kind sea will hide My head from thunder? where shall I abide, Until his flames be quench'd, or laid aside? What, if my feet should take their hasty flight, And seek protection in the shades of night? Alas ! no shades can blind the God of light. What, if my soul should take the wings of day, And find some desert ? if she spring away, The wings of Vengeance clip as fast as they. What, if some solid rock should entertain My frighted soul? can solid rocks restrain The stroke of Justice, and not cleave in twain? Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave, Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave, What flame-eyed Fury means to smite, can save. The sea will part, graves open, rocks will split; The shield will cleave, the frighted shadow flit; When Justice aims, her fiery darts must hit. No, no ; if stern-brow'd Vengeance means to thunder, There is no place above, beneath, or under, So close, but will unlock, or rive in sunder. 78 FLIGHT OF A SINNEE. 'Tis vain to flee ! 'tis neither here nor there Can 'scape that Hand, until that Hand forbear ; Ah me ! where is He not, that's everywhere ? 'Tis vain to flee, till gentle mercy show Her better eye; the further ofl" we go, The swing of Justice deals the mightier blow. Th' ingenuous child, corrected, doth not fly His angry mother's hand, but clings more nigh. And quenches with his tears her flaming eye. Shadows are faithless, and the rocks are false ; No trust in brass, no trust in marble walls : Poor cots are even as safe as princes' halls. Great God, there is no safety here below ; Thou art my fortress, though Thou seem'st my foe, 'Tis Thou that strik'st the stroke must guard the blow. Thou art my God ; by Thee I fall or stand ; Thy grace hath given me courage to withstand All tortures, but my Conscience, and Thy Hand. I know Thy Justice is Thyself; I know. Just God, Thy very self is mercy too ; If not to Thee, where, — whither, — should I go ? Then work Thy will — if passion bid me flee, My reason shall obey; my wings shall be Stretch'd out no further than from Thee to Thee. Qua7'les. 79 LIFE. I MADE a posy while the day ran by : Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band. But time did beckon to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away And wither'd in my hand. My hand was next to them, and then my heart ; I took, without more thinking, in good part Time's gentle admonition. Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey, Making my mind to smell my fatal day, Yet sug'ring the suspicion. Farewell, dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent, Fit, while ye liv'd, for smell or ornament. And after death for cures ; I follow straight without complaints or grief, Since, if my scent be good, I care not if It be as short as yours. Herbert. 80 EMPLOYMENT. If as a flower dotli spread and die, Thou woiildst extend me to some good, Before I were by frosts' extremity Kipt in the bud ; 81 M EMPLOYMENT. The sweetness and the praise were Thine ; But the extension and the room, Which in Thy garland I should fill, were mine At Thy great doom. For as Thou dost impart Thy grace, The greater shall our glory be. The measure of our joys is in this place. The stuff with Thee. Let me not languish then, and spend A life as barren to Thy praise As is the dust, to which that life doth tend But with delays. All things are busy : only I Neither bring honey with the bees, Kor flowers to make that, nor the husbandry To water these. I am no link of Thy great chain. But all my company is as a weed ; Lord, place me in Thy comfort ; give one strain To my poor reed. Herbert. 82 THE PEAKL. Matt. xin. . I KNOW the ways of learning ; both the head And pipes that feed the press, and make it run ; "What reason hath from nature borrowed, Or of itself, and Hke a good huswife, spun In laws and policy ; what the stars conspire, "VMiat willing nature speaks, what forc'd by fire ; Both th' old discoveries, and the new- found seas. The stock and surplus, cause and history : All these stand open, or I have the keys : Yet I love thee. I know the ways of honour, what maintains The quick returns of courtesy and wit : In vies of favours whether party gains, When glory swells the heart and moldeth it To all expressions both of hand and eye, Which on the world a true-love-knot may tie, And bear the bundle, Avheresoe'er it goes : How many drams of spirit there must be To sell my life unto my friends or foes : Yet I love thee. I know the ways of pleasure, the sweet strains. The lullings and the relishes of it; The propositions of hot blood and brains ; What mirth and musick mean ; what love and wit Have done these twenty hundred years, and more : I know the projects of unbridled store : My stuff is flesh, not brass ; my senses live, And grumble oft, that they have more in me Than he that curbs them, being but one to five : Yet I love thee. 83 THE PEARL. I know all these, and have them in my hand : Therefore not sealed, but with open eyes I fly to thee, and fully understand Both the main sale, and the commodities ; And at what rate and price I have Thy love ; With all the circumstances that may move ; Yet through the labyrinths, not my groveling wit, But thy silk twist let down from heav'n to me. Did both conduct and teach me, how by it To climb to thee. Herbert. PEACE. Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell] I humbly crave. Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And ask'd, if Peace were there. A hollow wind did seem to answer, No ; Go seek elsewhere. I did ; and going did a rainbow note : Surely, thought I, This is the lace of Peace's coat : I will search out the matter, But while I look'd, the clouds immediately Did break and scatter. Then went I into a garden, and did spy A gallant flower, The Crown Imperial : Sure, said I, Peace at the root must dwell ; But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour AVhat show'd so well. 84 PEACE. At length I met a rev' rend good old man : Whom when for Peace I did demand, he thus began : There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who liv'd with good increase Of flock and fold. He sweetly liv'd ; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes ; But after death out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat Which many wondering at, got some of those To plant and set. It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth; For they that taste it do rehearse. That virtue lies therein : A secret virtue, bringing Peace and Mirth, By flight of sin. Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you ; Make bread of it : and that repose. And Peace which everywhere With so much earnestness you do pursue, Is only there. Herbert. 85 THE PILGRIMAGE. I travell'd on, seeing the hill, where lay My expectation. A long it was and weary way. The gloomy cave of Desperation I left on th' one, and on the other side The rock of Piide. 86 THE PILGRIMAGE. And so I came to pliansie's meadow strow'd With many a flower : Fain Avould I here have made abode, But I was quicken' d by my hour. So to cares' copse I came, and there got through AVith much ado. That led me to the wild of passion ; which Some call the wold ; A wasted place, but sometimes rich. Here I was robb'd of all my gold, Save one good Angel, which a friend had ti'd Close to my side. At length I got unto the gladsome hill, Where lay my hope, Where lay my heart ; and climbing still, When I had gained the brow and top, A lake of brackish waters on the ground Was all I found. With that abash'd and struck with many a sting Of swarming fears, I fell, and cry'd, Alas my King ; Can both the way and end be tears 1 Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceiv'd I was deceiv'd. My hill was further ; so T flung away, Yet heard a cry Just as I went, None goes that way And lives : If that be all, said I, After so foul a journey death is fair. And but a chair. Herbert 87 THE FLOWER. How fresh, Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns ! ev'n as the flowers in sprin< To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there w^ere no such cold thing. •©■ Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart Could have recover' d greenness? It was gone Quite under-ground : as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown ; Where they together All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown. These are thy wondere, Lord of power, Killing and quick'ning, bringing down to hell And up to heaven in an hour ; Making a chiming of a passing bell. We say amiss. This or that is : Thy word is all, if we could spell. O that I once past changing were. Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither. Many a spring T shoot up fair, Ofif'ring at heav'n, growing and groaning thither : Nor doth my flower Want a spring-shower, My sins and I joining together. THE FLOWER. But while I grow in a straight line, Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own, Thy anger comes, and I decline : What frost to that? what pole is not the zone "Where all things burn, When Thou dost turn. And the least frown of Thine is shown ? And now in age I bud again, After so many deaths I live and write; I once more smell the dew and rain, And relish versing : O my only light. It cannot be That I am he. On whom Thy tempests fell all night. These are Thy wonders. Lord of love, To make us see we are but flowers that glide, Which when we once can find and prove. Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. Who would be more, Swelling through store, Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. Herbert 89 a E A C E. My flock lies dead, and no increase Doth my dull husbandry improve ; let Thy graces without cease Drop from above. If still the sun should hide his face, Thy house would but a dungeon prove. Thy works night's captives : let grace Drop from above. The dew doth ev*ry morning fall ; And shall the dew outstrip Thy dovel The dew, for which grass cannot call, Drop from above. Death is still working like a mole, And digs my grave at each remove : Let grace work too, and on my soul Drop from above. Sin is still hammering my heart Unto a hardness, void of love : Let suppling grace, to cross his art, Drop from above. come! for Thou dost know the way, Or if to me Thou wilt not move, Remove me, where I need not say — Drop from above. Herbert, THE QUIP. The merry world did on a day With his train-bands and mates To meet together, where I lay, And all in sport to geere at me. 91 THE QUIP. First, Beautie crept into a rose ; Which when I pluckt not, Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray. Whose hands are those? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still. What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in musick you had skill ; But thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. Then came brave Glory puffing by In silks that whistled, who but he ! He scarce allow'd me half an eye ; But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then came quick Wit and Conversation, And he would needs a comfort be. And, to be short, make an oration ; But thou shalt answer. Lord, for me. Yet when the hour of Thy designe To answer these fine things shall come; Speak not at large, say, I am Thine, And then they have their answer home. Herbert. 92 THE EQUALITY OF THE GRAVE. The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble do^vn, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still : Early or late, They stoop to fate. And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar now See, where the victor-victim bleeds : Your heads must come To the cold tomb ; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. James Shirley, A HEEMIT m AN AEBOUR Farewell, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles ! Farewell, ye honour' d rags, ye glorious bubbles ! Fame's but a hollow echo ; Gold, pure clay ; Honour, the darling but of one short day; Beauty (th' eyes' idol) but a damask' d skin ; State, but a golden prison, to live in And torture free-born minds ; imbroydered Trains, . _. Merely but pageants for proud-swelling veins ; And Blood, allied to greatness, is alone Inherited, not purchas'd, nor our own; Fame, Honour, Beauty, State, Train, Blood, and Birth, Are but the fading Blossoms of the earth. I would be great, — but that the sun doth still Level his rays against the rising hill ; I would be high, — but see the proudest oak Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke ; I would be rich, — but see men, too unkind, Dig in the bowels of the richest mind ; I would be wise, — but that I often see The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free; I would be fair, — but see the fair and proud (Like the bright sun) oft setting in a cloud ; I would be poor, — but know the humble grass Still trampled on by each unworthy ass; Rich, hated ; wise, suspected ; scorn' d, if poor ; Great, fear'd ; fair, tempted ; high, still envy'd more : I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither; Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair; poor Til be rather. 94 A HERMIT m AN ARBOUR. Would the world now adopt me for her heir; "Would Beauty's queen entitle me the Fair; Fame speak me Fortune's Minion; could I vie Angels^ with India; with a speaking eye Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike justice dumb, As well as blind and lame ; or give a tongue To stones by epitaphs ; be call'd great Master In the loose rhymes of every poetaster; Could I be more than any man that lives. Great, fair, rich, wise, all in Superlatives ; Yet I more freely would these gifts resign. Than ever Fortune would have made them mine ; And hold one minute of this holy leisure Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. Welcome, pure thoughts ! welcome, ye silent Groves ! These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves : Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing My cheerful anthems to the gladsome Spring; A Pray'r-Book now shall be my looking-glass, In which I wiU adore sweet Virtue's face. Here dwell no hateful looks, no Palace cares, No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-fac'd fears : Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly. And learn t' affect an holy melancholy; And if Contentment be a stranger then, I'll ne'er look for it, but in heaven, again. Sir Kenelm Dighy. 95 DIVINE LOVE. Could we forbear dispute, and practise love, We should agree as angels do above ; Love only enters as a native there, Eor, born in heaven, it does but sojourn here. He that alone would wise and mighty be, Commands that others love as well as He. Love as He loved ! How can we soar so high 1 He can add wings, when He commands to fly. I^OT should we be with His command dismay'd; He that example gives, will give His aid; Eor He took flesh, that where His precepts fail, His practice as a pattern may prevail. His love, at once, and dread, instruct our thought ; As man He suffered, and as God He taught. Will for the deed He takes ; we may with ease Obedient be, for if we love we please. Weak though we are, to love is no hard task, And love for love is all that Heaven does ask. Love, what Isaiah prophesied can do. Exalt the valleys, lay the mountains low, Humble the lofty, the dejected raise, Smooth and make straight our rough and crooked ways. Love as He loved ! a love so unconfin'd. With arms extended, would embrace mankind. Though the creation (so divinely taught !) Prints such a lively image on our thought, That the first spark of new-created light, Erom Chaos struck, afl'ects our present sight; DIVINE LOVE. Yet the first Christians did esteem more blest The day of rising, than the day of rest, That every week might new occasion give. To make His triumph in their memory live. Then let our Muse compose a sacred charm, To keep His blood among us ever warm — And singing as the blessM do above, With our last breath dilate this flame of love. But on so vast a subject who can find Words that may reach the idea of his mind? Our language fails; or, if it could supply, What mortal thought can raise itself so high? Despairing here, we might abandon art, And only hope to have it in our heart. But though we find this sacred task too hard, Yet the design, the endeavour, brings reward; The contemplation does suspend our woe. And makes a truce with all the ills we know. On divine love to meditate is peace. And makes all care of meaner things to cease. Amazed at once, and comforted, to find A boundless Power so infinitely kind. The soul contending to that light to fly From her dark cell, we practise how to die ; Employing thus the poet's winged art To reach this love, and grave it in om* heart. Joy so complete, so solid, and severe. Would leave no place for meaner pleasures there; Pale they would look, as stars that must be gone. When from the East the rising sun comes on. Edmund Waller. 97 THE EXALTING OF THE HUMBLE. How cheerfully th' unpartial Sun Gilds with his beams The narrow streams O' the brook, which silently doth run Without a name ! And yet disdains to lend his flames To the wide channel of the Thames ! The largest mountains barren lie, And lightning fear, Though they appear To bid defiance to the sky ; THE EXALTING OF THE HUMBLE. Which in one hour We've seen the opening earth devour, When in their height they proudest were. But th' humble man heaves up his head, Like some rich vale Whose fruits ne'er fail With flowers, with corn, with vines o'erspread; ISTor doth complain, O'erflowed by an ill-season'd rain, Or batter'd by a storm of hail. Like a tall ba.rk treasure-fraught. He the seas clear Doth quiet steer ; But when they are to a tempest wrought, More gallantly He spreads his sail, and doth more high, By swelling of the waves, appear. For the Almighty joys to force The glorious tide Of human pride To the lowest ebb ; that o'er his course (Which rudely bore Down what opposed it heretofore) His feeblest enemy may stride. But from his ill-thatch'd roof He brings The cottager, And doth prefer Him to th' ador'd state of kings ; He bids that hand, Which labour hath made rough and tann'd. The all-commanding sceptre bear. THE EXALTING OF THE HUMBLE. Let then the mighty cease to boast Their boundless sway ; Since in their sea Few sail, but by some storm are lost : Let men themsetves Beware, for they are their own shelves ; Man still himself hath cast away. William Hahington. MOENING PRAYER IN PARADISE. To the field they haste. But first, from under shady arborous roof, Soon as they forth were come to open sight Of day-spring, and the sun, who scarce uprisen, With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean brim, Shot parallel to the earth his dewy ray, Discovering in wide landscape all the east Of Paradise and Eden's happy plains, Lowly they bowed adoring, and began Their orisons, each morning duly paid In various style ; for neither various style Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise Their Maker, in fit strains pronounced or sung Unmeditated; such prompt eloquence Flowed from their lips, in prose or numerous verse, More tuneable than needed lute or harp To add more sweetness ; and they thus began : 100 MORNING PRAYER IN PARADISE. These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty ! Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair ; Thyself how wondrous then ! Unspeakable ; who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light. Angels; for ye behold Him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night Circle His throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven, On earth join all ye creatures to extol Him first. Him last, Him midst, and without end. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night. If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling mom With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere. While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul. Acknowledge Him thy greater, sound His praise In thy eternal course, both when thou clim'st. And when high noon hast gained, and when thou falVst. Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st. With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies, And ye five other wandering fires that move In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness called up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform ; and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusty or gray. Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold. In honour to the world's great Author rise. Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky, 101 MORNING PRAYEE IN PARADISE. Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, Eising or falling still advance His praise. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines, "With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise. Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep; Witness if I be silent, morn or even. To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade. Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise. Hail, universal Lord ! be bounteous still To giA-e us only good ; and if the night Have gathered aught of evil or concealed, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. John Milton. CHEIST COMING AGAIN IN TEIUMPH. Lord, come away ; Why dost Thou stay? Thy road is ready; and Thy paths, made straight. With longing expectation wait The consecration of Thy beauteous feet : Eide on triumphantly ; behold we lay Our lusts and proud wills in Thy way. 102 CHRIST COMING AGAIN IN TRIUMPH. Hosannah ! welcome to our hearts : Lord, here Thou hast a temple, too, and full as dear As that of Sion ; and as full of sin ; — Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell therein ; Enter, and chase them forth, and cleanse the floor; Crucify them that they may never more Profane that holy place. Where Thou hast chose to set Thy face, And then if our stiff tongues shall be Mute in the praises of Thy Deity, The stones out of the temple wall Shall cry aloud and call Hosannah ! and Thy glorious footsteps greet. Amen. Jeremy Taylor. OF HEAVEN. BEAUTEOUS God, uncircumscribed treasure Of an eternal pleasure, — Thy throne is seated far Above the highest star. Where Thou prepar'st a glorious place Within the brightness of Thy face For every spirit To inherit, That builds his hopes on Thy merit. And loves Thee with a holy charity. What ravish'd heart, seraphic tongue or eyes. Clear as the morning's rise. Can speak, or think, or see. That bright eternity? 103 OF HEAVEN. Where the great King's transparent throne, Is of an entire jasper stone : There the eye 0' th' chrysolite, And a sky Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase And, above all. Thy holy face Makes an eternal clarity. When Thou Thy jewels up dost bind — that day Remember us, we pray, — That where the beryl lies. And the crystal, 'bove the skies, There Thou may'st appoint us place. Within the brightness of Thy face : And our soul In the scroll Of life and blissfulness enrol, That we may praise Thee to Eternity. Allelujah. Taylor. A PRAYEE FOR CHARITY. EuLL of mercy, full of love, Look upon us from above ; Thou, who taught'st the blind man's night To entertain a double light, let Thy love our pattern be ; Let thy mercy teach one brother To forgive and love another; That, copying Thy mercy here, Thy goodness may hereafter rear Our souls unto Thy glory, when Our dust shall cease to be with men. Same. 104 THE RING. I SAW Eternity the other night Like a great Ring of pure and endless h'ght, All calm, as it was bright; And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years, Driv'n by the spheres 105 !• THE RING. Like a vast shadow mov'd, in which the World And all her train were hurl'd. The doting Lover in his quaintest strain Did there complain ; Near him his lute, his fancy, and his flights, Wit's four delights ; With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure. Yet his dear treasure, All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour Upon a flow'r. The darksome Statesman hung with weights and woe. Like a thick midnight fog, mov'd there so slow, He did not stay, nor go ; Condemning thoughts like sad Eclipses scowl Upon his soul. And clouds of crying witnesses without Pursued him with one shout. Yet digg'd the mole, and, lest his ways be found, Worked underground, Where he did clutch his prey ; but one did see That Policy; Churches and altars fed him ; Perjuries Were gnats and flies ; It rain'd about him blood and tears ; but he Drank them as free. The fearful Miser on a heap of rust Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust His own hands with the dust ; Yet would not place one piece above, but lives In fear of thieves. Thousands there were as frantic as himself. And hugg'd each one his pelf; The downright Epicure placed Heaven in sense. And scorn' d pretence; 106 THE RING. While others, slipt into a wide excess, Said little less. The weaker sort slight, trivial wars inslave, Who think them hrave. And poor, despised Truth sate counting by Their victory. Yet some, who all this time did weep and sing, And sing and weep, soar'd up into the Ring; But most would use no wing. fools, said I, thus to prefer dark night Before true light ! To live in grots and caves, and hate the day, Because it shows the way, The way, which from this dead and dark abode Leads up to God; A way where you might tread the Sun, and be More bright than he ! But as I did their madness so discuss, One whispered thus : This King the Bridegroom did for none provide, But for his Bride. Henry Vaughan, 107 BLESSED BE THY WILL. Since in a land not barren still, Because Thou dost Thy grace distil, My lot is falFn, blest be Thy will ! And since these biting frosts but kill Some tares in me which choke or spill That seed Thou sow'st, blest be Thy skill ! Blest be Thy Dew, and blest Thy Erost, And happy I to be so crost, And cur'd by crosses at Thy cost. The Dew doth cheer what is distrest, The Erost ill weeds nip and molest, On both Thou workest with the best. Thus while Thy sev'ral mercies plot, And work on me now cold now hot, The work goes on and slacketh not; For as Thy hand the weather steers. So thrive I best 'twixt joys and tears, And all the year hath some green ears. Vaughan, 108 THE DEPARTED. They are all gone into the world of Light ! And I alone sit ling' ring here ! Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the Sun's remove. I see them walking in an Air of Glory, Whose light doth trample on my days : My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays. holy Hope ! and high Humility ! High as the Heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have showed them me. To kindle my cold love. Dear beauteous death ; the jewel of the Just ! Shining no where but in the dark ; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark ! He that hath found some fledg'd bird's nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown ; But w^hat fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. 109 THE DEPARTED. And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep. Ii a star were confin'd into a tomb, Her captive flames must needs burn there ; But when the Hand that lock'd her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere. Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under Thee ! Eemove my spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty ! Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective still as they pass ; Or else remove me hence unto that hill. Where I shall need no glass. t>' Vaughan. When night comes, list thy deeds; make plain the way 'Twixt heaven and thee ; block it not with delays ; But perfect all before thou sleep' st : Then say latere' s one sun more strung on my Bead of days. What's good score up for joy ; the bad well-scann'd Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand. Same. 110 THE BIED. Hither thou com'st. The busy wind all night Blcv through thy lodging, where thy own warm win; 111 THE BIRD. Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm, For which coarse man seems much the fitter born, Rain'd on thy bed And harmless head ; And now, as fresh and cheerful as the light, Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing Unto that Providence, whose unseen arm Curb'd them, and cloth'd thee well and warm. All things that be praise Him ; and had Their lesson taught them when first made. So hills and valleys into singing break; And though poor stones have neither speech nor tongue, While active winds and streams both run and speak, Yet stones are deep in admiration ; Thus Praise and Prayer beneath the Sun Make lesser mornings, when the great are done. For each inclosed Spirit is a star Inlight'ning his own little sphere, Whose light, though fetch'd and borrowed from far, Both mornings make and evenings there. But, as these birds of light make a land glad, Chirping their solemn Matins on each tree ; So in the shades of night some dark fowls be, Whose heavy notes make all that hear them sad, Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, all fly, Till the Day-spring breaks forth again from high. Vaughan. 112 A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY, SUNG BY THE SHEPHERDS. CHORUS. Come, we shepherds, whose blest sight Hath met Love's noon in Nature's night ; Come, lift we up our loftier song, And wake the sun that lies too long. To all our world of weU-stol'n joy- He slept, and dreamt of no such thing, While we found out Heaven's fairer eye. And kiss'd the cradle of our King : Tell him he rises now too late To show us aught worth looking at. Tell him we now can show him more Than he e'er show'd to mortal sight, Than he himself e'er saw before, Which to be seen needs not his light : Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been; Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen. TITYRUS, Gloomy night embraced the place Where the noble Infant lay : The Babe look'd up, and show'd His face ; In spite of darkness it was day. 113 g A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY. It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise, Not from the east, but from Thy eyes. Chorus : It was Thy day, sweet, &( THYRSIS. Winter cried aloud, and sent The angry ISTorth to wage his wars ; The North forgot his fierce intent. And left perfumes instead of scars ; By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers, Where he meant frosts he scatter'd flowers. Chorus : By those sweet eyes', &c. BOTH. We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest. Young dawn of our eternal day ; We saw Thine eyes break from the East, And chase the trembling shades away ; We saw Thee, and we blest the sight, We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. TITYRUS. Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do To entertain this starry stranger? Is this the best thou canst bestow — A cold and not too cleanly manger? Contend, the powers of heaven and earth. To fit a bed for this huge birth. Proud world, said I, cease your contest. And let the mighty Babe alone; The Phoenix builds the Phojnix' nest, Love's architecture is his own. A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY. Tlie Dalie, whose birth embraces this morn, Made His own bed ere He was born. I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow, Come hovering o'er the place's head, OfF'ring their whitest sheets of snow. To furnish the fair infimt's bed. Forbear, said I, be not too bold. Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cohl. THYRSI S. I saw th' obsequious seraphim Their rosy fleece of fire bestow, For well they now can spare their wings, Since Heaven itself lies here below. Well done, said I ; but are you sure Your dowu, so warm, will pass for pure ? BOTH. N^o, no, your King's not yet to seek Where to repose His royal head; See, see how soon His new-bloom'd cheek 'Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed. Sweet choice, said we, no way but so, Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow ! FULL CHORUS. Welcome all wonders in one sight ! Eternity shut in a span ! Summer in winter ! day in night ! Heaven in earth ! and God in man ! Great Little One, whose all-embracing birth Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth ! ]15 A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY. She sings Thy tears asleep, and dips Her kisses in Thy weeping eye ; She spreads the red Jeaves of Thy lips, That in their buds yet Hushing lie ; She 'gainst those mother diamonds tries The points of her young eagle's eyes. Welcome, tho' not to those gay flies Gilded i' th' beams of earthly kings. Slippery souls in smiling eyes — But to poor shepherds, homespun things Whose wealth's their flocks, whose wit's to be Well-read in their simplicity. Yet, when ^''oung April's husband showers Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed, We'll bring the first-born of her flowers. To kiss Thy feet, and crown Thy head. To Thee, dread Lamb ! whose love must keep The shepherds while they feed their sheep. To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King Of simple graces and sweet loves ! Each of us his lamb will bring, Each his pair of silver doves ! At last, in fire of Thy fair eyes, Ourselves become our own best sacrifice ! RicJiard Crashaw. 116 THE GAPtDEN. TO J. EVELYN, ESQ. Happy art thou, "whom God does bless With the full choice of thine own happiness ; And happier yet, because thou'rt blest With prudence how to choose the best ; In books and gardens thou hast plac'd aright (Things which thou well dost understand, And both dost make with thy laborious hand) Thy noble, innocent delight ; And in thy virtuous wife, when thou again dost meet Both pleasures more refin'd and sweet ; The fairest garden in her looks, And in her mind the wisest books. Oh, Avho would change these soft, yet solid joys, Eor empty shows and senseless noise ; And all Avbich rank ambition breeds, Which seem such beauteous flowers, and are such poisonous weeds 1 When God did man in His own likeness make, As much as clay, though of the purest kind. By the great Potter's art refin'd. Could the divine impression take, He thought it fit to place him where A kind of Heaven too did appear, As far as Earth could such a likeness bear : That man no happiness might want, Wliich Earth to her first master could afford. He did a garden for him plant By the quick hand of His omnipotent word. As the chief help and joy of human life. He gave him the first gift — first, ev'n before a ^ife. 117 THE GARDEN. For God, the universal Architect, 'T had been as easy to erect A Louvre or Escurial, or a tower That might with Heaven communication hold, As Babel vainly thought to do of old : He wanted not the skill or power ; In the world's fabrick those were shown. And the materials were all His own. But well He knew what place would best agree With innocence, and with felicity : And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain ; If any part of either yet remain, If any part of either we expect, This may our judgment in the search direct; God the first Garden made, and the first City Cain. blessed shades ! gentle, cool retreat From all th' immoderate heat. In which the frantic world does burn and sweat ! This does the lion-star, ambition's rage, This avarice, the dog- star's thirst, assuage ; Everywhere else their fatal power we see. They make and rule men's wretched destiny ; They neither set nor disappear, But tyrannize o'er all the year; Whilst we ne'er feel their flame or influence here. The birds that dance from bough to bough, And sing above in every tree, Are not from fears and cares more free Than we, who lie, or sit, or walk, below, And should by right be singers too. What prince's choice of music can excel That which within this shade does dwell? To which we nothing pay or give ; They, like all other poets, live 118 Without reward, or thanks, for their obliging pains : 'Tis well if they become not prey : The whistling winds add their less artful strains, And a grave bass the murmuring fountains play; l^ature does all this harmony bestow, But to our plants, Art's music too. The pipe, theorbo, and guitar we owe. The lute itself, which once was green and mute. When Orpheus struck the inspired lute, The trees danc'd round, and understood By sympathy the voice of wood. 119 THE GARDEN. These are the spells, that to kind sleep invito, And nothing does within resistance make. Which yet we moderately take ; Who would not choose to be awake. While ibe's encompass' d round with such delight To th' ear, the nose, the touch, the taste, and siglitl When Venus would her dear Ascanius keep A prisoner in the downy bands of sleep. She odorous herbs and flowers beneath him spread, As the most soft and sweetest bed ; Not her own lap would more have charm'd his head. Who, that has reason, and his smell. Would not among roses and jasmine dwell, Eather than all his spirits choke With exhalations of dirt and smoke, And all th' uncleanness which does drown. In pestilential clouds, a populous town? When Epicurus to the world had taught. That pleasure was the chiefest good (And was, perhaps, i' the right, if rightly understood). His life he to his doctrine brought. And in a Garden's shade that sovereign pleasure sought Whoever a true Epicure would be. May there find cheap and virtuous luxury. Vitellius' tables, which did hold As many creatures as the Ark of old ; That fiscal table, to which every day Ail countries did a constant tribute pay, Could nothing more delicious afford Than Nature's liberality, Help'd with a little art and industry, Allows the meanest gardener's board. The wanton taste no fish or fowl can choose. For which the grape or melon she would lose ; Though all the inhabitants of sea and air Be listed in the glutton's bill of fare, 120 THE GARDEN. Yet still the fruits of earth we see Plac'd the third story high in all her luxury. But with no sense the Garden does comply, None courts, or flatters, as it does the eye. When the great Hebrew king did almost strain The wondrous treasures of his wealth and brain. His royal southern guest to entertain; Though she on silver floors did tread, With bright Assyrian carpets on them spread To hide the metal's poverty; Though she look'd up to roofs of gold, And nought around her could behold But silk and rich embroidery, And Babylonish tapestry, And wealthy Hiram's princely dye ; Though Ophir's starry stones met everywhere her eye ; Though she herself and her gay host were drest With all the shining glories of the East ; When lavish art her costly work had done. The honour and the prize of bravery Was by the Garden from the palace won; And every rose and lily there did stand Better attir'd by Nature's hand. The case thus judg'd against the king we see, By one that would not be so rich, though wiser far than he. Nor does this happy place only dispense Such various pleasures to the sense; Here health itself doth live. That salt of life, which does to all a relish give. Its standing pleasure, and intrinsic wealth, The body's virtue, and the soul's good fortune, health. The tree of life, when it in Eden stood, Did its immortal head to heaven rear; It lasted, a tall cedar, till the flood; Now a small thorny shrub it does appear; 121 R THE GAEDEN. Kor will it thrive too every- where : It always here is freshest seen : 'Tis only here an evergreen, If, through the strong and beauteous fence Of temperance and innocence, And wholesome labours, and a quiet mind. Any diseases passage find, They must not think here to assail A land unarmed, or without a guard; They must fight for it, and dispute it hard, Before they can prevail : Scarce any plant is growing here, "Which against death some weapon does not bear. Let cities boast that they provide For life the ornaments of pride ; But 'tis the country and the field. That furnish it with staff and shield. Where does the wisdom and the power divine In a more bright and sweet reflection shine? Where do we finer strokes and colours see Of the Creator's real poetry, Than when we with attention look Upon the third day's volume of the Book ? If we could open and intend our eye, We all, like Moses, should espy, Ev'n in a bush, the radiant Deity : But we despise these His inferior ways (Though no less full of miracle and praise) : Upon the flowers of heaVn we gaze ; The stars of earth no wonder in us raise. Though these perhaps do, more than they. The life of mankind sway. Although no part of mighty nature be More stored with beauty, power, and mystery; Yet, to encourage human industry, 122 THE GARDEN. God has so order' d, that no other part Such space and such dominion leaves for Art. We no-where Art do so triumphant see, As when it grafts or buds the tree : In other things we count it to excel, If it a docile scholar can appear To Nature, and but imitate her weU; It overrules and is her master, here. It imitates her Maker's power divine, And change her sometimes, and sometimes does refine It does, like Grace, the fallen tree restore To its bless' d state of Paradise before : Who would not joy to see his conquering hand O'er all the vegetable world command? And the wild giants of the wood receive What law he's pleased to give ? He bids th' ill-natured crab produce The gentle apple's winy juice; The golden fruit, that worthy is Of Galatea's purple kiss : He does the savage hawthorn teach To bear the medlar and the pear : He bids the rustic plum to rear A noble trunk, and be a peach. EVn Daphne's coyness he does mock, And weds the cherry to her stock. Though she refused Apollo's suit; Ev'n she, that chaste and virgin tree, 'Now wonders at herself, to see That she's a mother made, and blushes in her fruit. Methinks I see great Dioclesian walk In the Salonian Garden's noble shade, Wliich by his own imperial hands was made: I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk 123 THE GARDEN. With the ambassadors, who come in vain To entice him to a throne again. If I my friends (said he) should to you show All the delights which in these gardens grow, 'Tis likelier much,- that you should with me stay. Than 'tis that you should carry me away; And trust me not, my friends, if every day, I walk not here with more delight, Than ever after the most happy light, In triumph to the Capitol I rode, : To thank the gods, and to be thought, myself, almost a god. Abraham Cowley. PKAISE FOE THE EVENING. Now from the altar of my heart New incense-flame arise; Assist me, Lord, to offer up Mine evening sacrifice. Awake, my love ; awake, my joy ; Awake, my heart and tongue ! Sleep not : when mercies loudly call. Break forth into a song. Man's life's a book of history The leaves thereof are days ; The letters, mercies closely join'd ; The title is thy praise. This day God was my sun and shield. My keeper and ]ny guide ; His care was on my frailty shown. His mercies multiplied. John Mason. 124 THE TE DEUM. Thee, Sovereign God, our grateful accents praise ; "We own Thee Lord, and bless Thy wondrous ways ; To Thee, Eternal Father, earth's whole frame, With loudest trumpets, sounds immortal fame. Lord God op Hosts ! to Thee the heavenly Powers. With sounding anthems, fill the vaulted towers. The Cherubims thrice Holy, Holy, Holy, cry; Thrice Holy all the Seraphims reply. And thrice returning echoes endless songs supply. Both Heaven and earth Thy Majesty display; They owe their beauty to Thy glorious ray. Thy praises fill the loud Apostles' choir, The Train of Prophets in the song conspire. Legions of Martyrs in the chorus shine, And vocal blood with vocal music join. By these Thy church, inspired by heavenly art, Around the world maintains a second part; And tunes her sweetest notes, God, to Thee, The Father of unbounded majesty; The Son, adored, co-partner of Thy seat. And equal everlasting Paraclete. Thou King of Glory, Christ of the Most High, Thou co-eternal filial Deity; Thou who to save the world's impending doom, Vouchsafest to dwell within a Virgin's womb ; 125 THE TE DEUM. Old tyrant Death disarmed, before Thee flew The bolts of Heaven, and back the foldings drew, To give access, and make Thy faithful way; From God's right hand Thy filial beams display; Thou art to judge the living and the dead ; Then spare those souls for which Thy veins have bled. take us up among Thy bless' d above. To share with them Thy everlasting love. Preserve, Lord! Thy people, and enhance Thy blessing on Thy own inheritance. For ever raise their hearts, and rule their ways. Each day we bless Thee, and proclaim Thy praise; No age shall fail to celebrate Thy name, 'No hour neglect Thy everlasting fame. Preserve our souls, Lord, this day from ill; Have mercy on us, Lord, have mercy still ; As we have hoped, do Thou reward our pain; We've hoped in Thee, — let not our hope be vain. John Dryden. Creator Spirit ! by whose aid The world's foundations first were laid. Come visit every pious mind ; Come pour thy joys on human kind ; From sin and sorrow set us free, • And make Thy temples worthy Thee. Chase from our minds the infernal foe, And peace, the fruit of love, bestow ; And lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us in the way. Same. 126 MIDNIGHT. My God, I now from sleep awake, The sole possession of me take j From midnight terrors me secure, And guard my heart from thoughts impure. Bless'd angels, while we silent lie, You hallelujahs sing on high; Your joyful hymn, the ever-blest. Before your throne, and never rest. I with your choir celestial join, In offering up a hymn divine; With you in Heaven I hope to dwell, And bid the night and world farewell. My soul, when I shake off this dust. Lord ! in Thy arms I will intrust ; make me Thy pecuHar care. Some mansion for my soul prepare. may I always ready stand, With my lamp burning in my hand ; May I in right of Heaven rejoice Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice. 127 MIDNIGHT. All praise to Thee, in light arra/d, Who light Thy dwelling-place hast made,^ A boundless ocean of bright beams From Thy all-glorious Godhead streams. Blest Jesus, Thou in Heaven intent. Whole nights hast in devotion spent; But I, frail creature, now am tired. And all my zeal is soon expired. Shine on me, Lord, new life impart, Fresh ardour kindle in my heart ; One ray of Thy all-quickening light Dispels the sloth and clouds of night. Lord, lest the tempter me surprise. Watch over Thine own sacrifice ; All loose, all idle thoughts cast out, Make my very dreams devout. Praise God, from whom all blessings flow ; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ! Thomas Ken. Death ! when you shall approach my head. You'll nothing see but what is dead ; Yet do not me forsake. Care of my body take; Lay me with gentle hands asleep — God in the grave my dust will keep. Same. 128 INSCEIPTION FOE LOT'S WIFE. "In this pillar I do lie, Buried where no mortal eye Ever could my bones descry. " When I saw great Sodom burn, To this pillar I did turn. Where my body is my urn. "You to whom my corpse I show, Take true warning from my woe — Look not back when God cries 'Go.' "They that toward virtue hie, If but back they cast an eye. Twice as far from it do fly. " Counsel then I give to those. Who the path to bliss have chose. Turn not back, ye cannot lose. " That way let your whole hearts lie ; If ye let them backward fly, They^ll quickly grow as hard as I." Thomas Jordan. 129 THE MEDITATION. It must be done, my soul, but 'tis a strange, A dismal and mysterious change, When thou shalt leave this tenement of clay. And to an unknown somewhere wing away ; When time shall be eternity, and thou Shalt be thou know'st not what, and live thou know'st not how. Amazing tale ! no wonder that we dread To think of death, or view the dead. Thou'rt all wrapp'd up in clouds, as if to thee Our very knowledge had antipathy. Death could not a more sad retinue find — Sickness and pain before, and darkness all behind. Some courteous ghost, tell this great secrecy. What 'tis you are, and we must be. You warn us of approaching death, and why May we not know from you what 'tis to die] But you, having shot the gulf, delight to see Succeeding souls plunge in with like uncertainty. When life's close knot, by writ from destiny, Disease shall cut, or age untie ; When after some delays, some dying strife. The soul stands shivering on the ridge of life ; With what a dreadful curiosity Does she launch out into the sja of vast eternity ! So when the spacious globe was delug'd o'er, And lower holds could save no more, On the utmost bough the astonish'd sinners stood. And view'd the advances of th' encroaching flood ; O'er-topped at length by th' element's increase. With horror they resign'd to the untried abyss. John Hon'is. 130 HOPE. True Hope is Jacob's staff indeed, True Hope is no Egyptian reed That springs from mire, or else can feed On dirt or mud : By Hope just men are sanctified. In the same ocean safe at anchor ride, Fearless of wreck by wind or tide. By ebb or flood. Hope's the top window of that Ark, Where all God's !N"oahs do embark; Hope lets in sky-light, else how dark "Were such a season ! Wouldst thou not be engulph'd, or drown'd, When storms and tempests gather round, Ere thou cast anchor, try the ground; Hope must have reason. Hope hath a harvest in the spring, In winter doth of summer sing. Feeds on the fruits while blossoming. Yet nips no bloom ; Hope brings me home when I'm abroad, — Soon as the first step homeward's trod — In hope to Thee, my God ! my God ! I come, I come. Faithful Teate, 131 THE HEAET ENLAEGED. What a blessed change I find, Since I entertain'd this guest ! Kow, methinks, another mind Moves and rules within my breast ; Surely I am not the same That I was before He came ; But I then was much to blame. All the ways of righteousness I did think were full of trouble ; I complained of tediousness, And each duty seemed double; While I served Him but from fear, Every minute did appear Longer far than a whole year. But the case is alter'd now ; He no sooner turns His eye, But I quickly bend and bow, Eeady at His feet to lie ; Love hath taught me to obey All His precepts, and to say ISTot '■Ho-morroic^'' but ^Ho-day." Thomas Harvey. 132 CONTENTMENT. Lovely, lasting peace of mind ! Sweet delight of human-kind ! Heavenly-born, and bred on high, To crown the favourites of the skj'- 133 CONTENTMENT. With more of happiness below, Than victors in a triumph know ! Whither, whither art thou fled. To lay thy meek, contented head 1 What happy region dost thou please To make the seat of calms and ease? Ambition searches all its sphere Of pomp and state, to meet thee there ; Increasing Avarice would find Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd. The bold adventurer ploughs his way. Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, To gain thy love ; and then perceives Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. The silent heart, which grief assails, Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, Sees daisies open, rivers run, And seeks (as I have vainly done) Amusing thought ; but learns to know That solitude's the nurse of woe. No real happiness is found In trailing purple o'er the ground; Or in a soul exalted high To range the circuit of the sky, Converse with stars above, and know All nature in its forms below; The rest it seeks, in seeking dies. And doubts at last for knowledge rise. Lovely, lasting peace, appear ! This world itself, if thou art here, Is once again with Eden blest, And man contains it in his breast. 'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, I sung my wishes to the wood, 134 CONTENTMENT. And lost in thought, no more perceived The branches whisper as they waved. It seem'd, as all the quiet place Confess'd the presence of the Grace. When thus she spoke: — "Go, rule thy will, Bid thy wild passions all be still; Know God, and bring thy heart to know The joys which from Eeligion flow; Then every Grace shall prove its guest, And I'll be there to crown the rest." Oh ! by yonder mossy seat. In my hours of sweet retreat. Might I thus my soul employ With sense of gratitude and joy ! Eaised, as ancient prophets were, In heav'nly vision, praise, and prayer; Pleased with all men, hurting none, Pleased and bless' d with God alone. Then, while the gardens take my sight With all the colours of delight ; While silver waters glide along, To please my ear, and court my song; I'll lift my voice, and tune my string, And Thee, great source of nature, sing. The sun that walks his airy way To light the world, and give the day; The moon that shines with borrowed light; The stars that gild the gloomy night ; The seas that roll unnumber'd waves ; The wood that spreads its shady leaves ; The field whose ears conceal the grain, The yellow treasures of the plain; AU of these, and all I see. Should be sung, and sung by me; 135 CONTENTMENT. They speak their Maker as they can, But want and ask the tongue of man. Go search among your idle dreams, Your busy or your vain extremes ; And find a life of equal bliss, Or own the next begun in this. Thomas Parnell. LIFE EXAMINED. Whate'er thou art, where'er ordained to go (Points which we rather may dispute than know, Come on, thou little inmate of this breast, Which for thy sake from passions I divest ; For these, thou say'st, raise all the stormy strife. Which hinder my repose, and trouble life. Be the fair level of thy actions laid. As temperance wills and prudence may persuade ; Be thy affections undisturb'd and clear, Guided to what may great or good appear, And try if life be worth the liver's care. Amass'd in man, there justly is beheld What through the whole creation has excell'd : The life and growth of plants, of beasts the sense, The angel's forecast and intelligence : Say from these glorious seeds what harvest flows ; Eecount our blessings, and compare our woes. In its true light let clearest reason see The man dragg'd out to act, and forc'd to be : Helpless and naked on a woman's knees. To be expos' d, or rear'd, as she may please; 136 LIFE EXAMINED. Feel her neglect, and pine from her disease, His tender eye by too direct a ray Wounded, and flying from unpractised day; His head assaulted by invading air, And beating fervent to the vital war ; Condemn'd to sacrifice his childish years To babbling ignorance, and to empty fears ; To pass the riper period of his age. Acting his part upon a crowded stage ; To lasting toils expos'd, and endless cares, To open dangers, and to secret snares ; To malice which the vengeful foe intends. And the more dangerous love of seeming friends. His deeds examin'd by the people's will, Frone to forget the good, and blame the ill : Or would he rather leave this frantic scene ; And trees and beasts prefer to courts and men. In the remotest wood and lonely grot. Certain to meet that worst of evils, thought ; Different ideas to his memory brought ; Some intricate, as are the pathless woods. Impetuous some, as the descending floods : With anxious doubts, with raging passions torn, No sweet companion near, with whom to mourn ; He hears the echoing rock return his sighs; And from himself the frighted hermit flies. Thus, through what path soe'er of life we rove, Rage companies our hate, and grief our love ; Vex'd with the present moment's heavy gloom, Why seek we brightness from the years to come 1 Disturb'd and broken like a sick man's sleep, Our troubled thoughts to distant prospects leap ; Desirous still what flies us to o'ertake ; For hope is but the dream of those that wake ; But, looking back, we see the dreadful train Of woes anew, which, were we to sustain. We should refuse to tread the path again. 117 T LIFE EXAMINED. Still adding grief, still counting from the first, Judging the latest evils still the worst ; And sadly finding each progressive hour Heighten their number, and augment their power : Till, by one countless sum of woes opprest, Ploary with cares, and ignorant of rest, We find the vital springs relax'd and worn, Compell'd our common impotence to mourn : Thus, through the round of age to childhood we return Reflecting find, that, naked from the womb, We yesterday came forth ; that in the tomb, Naked again we must to-morrow lie, Born to lament, to labour, and to die. Matthew Prior. THE PRAYER OE SOLOMON, AND THE ANSWER. " Father of Heaven ! " I said, " and Judge of Earth ! " Whose word calFd out this universe to birth ; Omniscient Master, Omnipresent King, To Thee, to Thee, my last distress I bring. Thou, that canst still the ] aging of the seas, Chain up the winds,- and bid the tempest cease ; Redeem my shipwreck'd soul from raging gusts Of cruel passion, and deceitful lusts ; From storms of rage, and dangerous rocks of pride, Let Thy strong hand this little vessel guide (It was Thy hand that made it) through the tide Impetuous of this life : let Thy command Direct my course, and bring me safe to land. If, while this wearied flesh draws fleeting breath, Not satisfied with life, afraid of death, 138 THE PR.VYER OF SOLOMON, AND THE ANSWER. It liaply be Thy will, that I should know Glimpse of delight, or pause from anxious woe ; From now, from instant now, Great Sire ! dispel The clouds that press my soulj from now reveal A gracious beam of light ; from now inspire My tongue to sing, my hand to touch the lyre ; My open'd thought to joyous prospects raise, And, for Thy mercy, let me sing Thy praise. Or, if Thy will ordains, I still shall wait Some new hereafter, and a future state, Permit me strength, my weight of woe to bear, And raise my mind superior to my care. Let me, howe'er unable to explain The secret lab'rinths of Thy ways to man. With humble zeal confess Thy awful power. Still weeping, hope ; and wondering, still adore. So in my conquest be Thy might declared, And, for Thy justice, be Thy name rever'd." My prayer scarce ended, a stupendous gloom Darkens the air; loud thunder shakes the dome To the beginning miracle succeed An awful silence, and religious dread. Sudden breaks forth a more than common day ; The sacred wood, which on the altar lay. Untouch' d, unlighted, glows — Ambrosial odour, such as never flows From Arab's gum, or the Sabsean rose. Does round the air revolving scents diffuse ; The holy ground is wet with heavenly dews ; And lo ! what sees my ravish' d eye 1 what feels My wondering soul 1 an opening cloud reveals A heavenly form embodied, and array'd With robes of light. I heard ; the angel said : "Cease, man of woman born, to hope relief From daily trouble and continud grief, 139 THE PRAYER OF SOLOMON, AND THE ANSWER. Thy hope of joy deliver to the wind ; Suppress thy passions ; and prepare thy mind. Free and familiar with misfortune grow : Be used to sorrow, and inur'd to woe. And from thy race distinguish' d, One shall spring, Greater in act than victor, more than king In dignity and power, sent down from Heaven, To succour earth. To Him, to Him 'tis given. Passion, and care, and anguish to destroy ; Through Him soft peace, and plenitude of joy Perpetual o'er the world redeem'd shall flow, No more may man inquire, nor angel know." The angel said : — "With upward speed his agile wings he spread ; Whilst on the holy ground I prostrate lay. By various doubts impell'd, or to obey. Or to object : at length (my mournful look Heavenward erect) determin'd, thus I spoke : " Supreme, All- wise, Eternal Potentate ! Sole Author, sole disposer of our fate ! Enthron'd in light, and immortality ! Whom no man fully sees, and none can see ! Original of beings ! Power Divine ! Since that I live, and that I think, is Thine ; Benign Creator, let Thy plastic hand Dispose its own effect. Let Thy command Eestore, Great Father, Thy instructed son, And in my act may Thy great will be done." Prior. 140 OJ\ WAmc^ THE ATHEIST AND THE ACOEK Methinks the world is oddly made, And every thing's amiss, A dull presuming Atheist said, As stretch'd he lay beneath a shade, And instanced it in this : 141 THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORK Behold, quoth he, that mighty thing, A pumpkin large and round, Is held but by a little string, Which upwards cannot make it spring, Or bear it from the ground. AVhile on this oak an acorn small, So disproportion' d grows ; That who with sense surveys this all, This universal casual ball. Its ill contrivance knows. My better judgment could have hung The pumpkin on the tree. And left the acorn, lightly strung, 'Mongst things which on the surface sprung, And small and feeble be. No more the caviller could say, Nor further faults descry ; For as he upwards gazing lay. An acorn, loosen'd from its stay, Tell down upon his eye. The wounded part with tears ran o'er, As punish'd for the sin; Fool ! had that bough a pumpkin bore, Thy whimsies would have worked no more, Nor skull have kept them in. Anne, Countess of Winchelsea. 142 THE WATCHING OF PROVIDENCE. How are Thy servants blest, Lord ! How sure is their defence ! Eternal Wisdom is their guide ; Their help, Omnipotence. 143 THE WATCHING OF PROVIDENCE. In foreign realms, and lands remote, Supported by Thy care. Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt, And breath'd in tainted air. Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil, Made every region please : The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd. And smooth'd the Tyrrhene seas. Think, my soul, devoutly think, How, with affrighted eyes, Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep, In all its horrors rise ! Yet then from all my griefs, Lord, Thy mercy set me free ; Whilst, in the confidence of prayer, My soul took hold on Thee. For though in dreadful whirls we hung, High on the broken wave, I knew Thou wert not slow to hear, Nor impotent to save. The storm was laid, the winds retir'd, Obedient to Thy will ! The sea that roar'd at Thy command. At Thy command was still. In mid5t of dangers, fears, and death, Thy goodness I'll adore ; And praise Thee for Thy mercies past, And humbly hope for more. My life, if thou preserv'st my life, Thy sacrifice shall be ; And death, if death must be my doom. Shall join my soul to Thee ! Jose'ph Addison. 144 CONS-OLATION. When rising from the bed of death, O'erwhelm'd with grief and fear, I see my Maker face to face, — Oh, how shall I appear! If yet, while pardon may be found, And mercy may be sought, My heart with inward horror shrinks, And trembles at the thought ; When Thou, Lord, shalt stand disclosed In majesty severe. And sit in judgment on my soul ; Oh, how shall I appear ! But Thou hast told the troubled soul, Who does her sins lament, The timely tribute of her tears Shall endless woe prevent. Then see the sorrows of my heart Ere yet it be too late ; And hear my Saviour's dying groans, To give those sorrows weight. For never shall my soul despair Her pardon to procure. Who knows Thine only Son has died, To make that pardon sure. Addison. 145 THE PEOMISED LAND. There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign ; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain. There everlasting spring abides. And never- withering flowers ; Death, like a narrow sea, divides This heavenly land from ours. Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood. Stand dress'd in living green; So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan roll'd between. But timorous mortals start and shrink To cross this narrow sea. And linger shivering on the brink, And fear to launch away. Oh! could we make our doubts remove, Those gloomy doubts which rise. And see the Canaan that we love. With unbeclouded eyes. 146 THE PROMISED LAND. Could we but climb where Moaes stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood Should fright us from the shore. Give me the wings of faith to rise "Within the veil, and see The saints above, how great their joys, How bright their glories be. Once they were mourning here below, And wet their couch with tears ; They wrestled hard, as we do now, With sins and doubts and fears. I ask them whence their victory came ; They, with united breath, Ascribe their conquest to the Lamb, Their triumph to His death. They mark'd the footsteps that He trod (His zeal inspired their breast); And following their incarnate God Possess' d the promised rest. Our glorious Leader claims our praise, For His own pattern given. While the long cloud of witnesses Shows the same path to Heaven. Isaac Watts. L47 TIME COMING AND GONE. Ah ! how unjust to Nature, and Himself Is thoughtless, thankless, inconsistent Man ! Like children babbling nonsense in their sports, We censure Nature for a span too short; That span too short, we tax as tedious too ; Torture invention, all expedients tire. To lash the ling'ring moments into speed, And whirl us (happy riddance !) from ourselves. Art, brainless Art ! our furious charioteer Drives headlong tow'rds the precipice of Death ; Death, most our dread; death thus more dreadful made; ! what a riddle of absurdity ! Leisure is pain ; takes off our chariot- wheels ; How heavily we drag the load of life ! Blest leisure is our curse ; like that of Cain, It makes us wander ; wander earth around To fly that tyrant. Thought. As Atlas groan'd The w^orld beneath, we groan beneath an hour ; We cry for mercy to the next amusement ; The next amusement mortgages our fields ; Slight inconvenience ! Yet when Death kindly tenders us relief, We call him cruel ; years to moments shrink. Ages to years. The telescope is turn'd. To man's false optics (from his folly false) Time, in advance, behind him hides his wings, And seems to creep, decrepit with his age ; Behold him, when past by; what then is seen, But his broad pinions swifter than the winds ? And all mankind, in contradiction strong. Rueful, aghast ! cry out on his career. Edward Young. 148 GOD'S ARGUMENT WITH JOB. ToND man ! the vision of a moment made ! Dream of a dream, and shadow of a shade ! What worlds hast thou produced, what creatures fram'd, What insects cherished, that thy God is blam'd? 149 GOD'S ARGUMENT WITH JOB. When pain'd with hunger, the wild raven's brood Loud calls on God, importunate for food; Who hears their cry, who grants their hoarse request, And stills the clamour of the craving nesti Who in the stupid Ostrich has subdu'd A parent's care, and fond inquietude. While far she flies, her scatter'd eggs are found, Without an owner, on the sandy ground ; Unmindful she, that some unhappy tread May crush her young in their neglected bed. What time she skims along the field with speed, She scorns the rider and pursuing steed. How rich the Peacock ! what bright glories run From plume to plume, and vary in the sun; He proudly spreads them to the golden ray, Gives all his colours, and adorns the day : With conscious state the spacious round displays. And slowly moves amid the waving blaze. Who taught the hawk to find, in seasons wise, Perpetual summer, and a change of skies? When clouds deform the year, she mounts the wind. Shoots to the south, nor fears the storm behind ; The sun returning, she returns again. Lives in his beams, and leaves ill days to men. Know'st thou how many moons, by Me assign'd, Eoll o'er the mountain Goat, and forest Hind, While pregnant, they a mother's load sustain? They bend in anguish, and cast forth their pain. Hale are their young, from human frailties freed ; Walk unsustain'd, and unassisted feed; They live at once ; forsake the dam's warm side ; Take the wide world, with Nature for their guide ; Bound o'er the lawn, or seek the distant glade, And find a home in each delightful shade. 150 GOD'S ARGUMENT WITH JOB. Will the tall Eeem, which knows no Lord but Me, Low at the crib, and ask an alms of thee ; Submit his unworn shoulder to the yoke, Break the stiff clod, and o'er thy furrow smoke ? Since great his strength, go trust him, void of care ; Lay on his neck the toil of all the year : Bid him bring home the seasons to thy doors. And cast his load among thy gathered stores. Young. FOE GOD'S HELP. Author of good ! to Thee I timi : Thy ever wakeful eye Alone can all my wants discern, Thy hand alone supply. Oh let Thy fear within me dwell, Thy love my footsteps guide; That love shall meaner loves expel, That fear all fears beside. And oh ! by Error's force subdu'd, Since oft my stubborn will Preposterous shuns the latent good, And grasps the specious ill; Not to my wish, but to my want, Do Thou Thy gifts apply; Unasked, what good Thou knowest, grant; What ill, though asked, deny. James Merrick. 151 THE MESSIAH. Ye Nymphs of Solyma ! begin the song : To heav'nly themes sublimer strains belong. The mossy fountains, and the sylvan shades, The dreams of Pindus and th' Aonian maids, Delight no more — Thou my voice inspire "Who touch'd Isaiah's hallow'd lips with fire ! Rapt into future times, the Bard begun : A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a son ! From Jesse's root behold a branch arise. Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies : The ^therial Spirit o'er its leaves shall move, And on its top descends the mystic Dove. Ye Heav'ns ! from high the dewy nectar pour, And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r ! The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid, Erom storms a shelter, and from heat a shade. All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail ; Eeturning Justice lift aloft her scale. Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend. And white-rob'd Innocence from heaVn descend. Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn ! Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born ! See Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring. With all the incense of the breathing spring : See lofty Lebanon his head advance. See nodding forests on the mountains dance : 152 THE MESSIAH. See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise, And Carmel's flow'ry top perfumes the skies ! Hark ! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers ; Prepare the way ! A God, a God appears : A God, a God ! the vocal hills reply, The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity. Lo, Earth receives Him from the bending skies ! Sink down, ye mountains, and ye valleys, rise ; With heads declin'd, ye cedars, homage pay ; Be smooth, ye rocks ; ye rapid floods, give way ; The Saviour comes ! by ancient bards foretold : Hear Him, ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold ! He from thick films shall purge the visual ray. And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day : 'Tis He the obstructed paths of sound shall clear, And bid new music charm th' unfolding ear : The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, And leap exulting like the bounding roe, No sigh, no murmur the wide world shall hear. From ev'ry face He "vvipes off ev'ry tear. In adamantine chains shall death be bound. And Hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound. As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, Seeks freshest pasture and the purest air. Explores the lost, the wand'ring sheep directs. By day o'ersees them, and by night protects. The tender lambs he raises in his arms. Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms ; Thus shall mankind His guardian care engage, The promised Father of a future age. 'No more shall nation against nation rise, Kor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes, Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er, The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more; But useless lances into scythes shall bend. And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end. Then palaces shall rise ; the joyful Son 153 X THE MESSIAH. Shall finisli what his short-liv'd Sire begun; Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield, And the same hand that sow'd, shall reap the field. The swain in barren deserts with surprise See lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise ; And start, amidst the thirsty wilds to hear New falls of water murni'ring in his ear. On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes, The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods. Waste sandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn. The spiry fir and shapely box adorn. To leafless shrubs the flow' ring palms succeed. And od'rous myrtle to the noisome weed. The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead. And boys in flow'ry bands the tiger lead ; The steer and lion at one crib shall meet. And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet, The smiling infant in his hands shall take The crested basilisk and speckled snake, Pleas' d the green lustre of the scales survey. And with their forky tongue shall innocently play. Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise ; Exalt thy tow'ry head, and lift thy eyes ! See, a long race thy spacious courts adorn ; See future sons, and daughters yet unborn, In crowding ranks on ev'ry side arise, Demanding life, impatient of the skies ! See barb'rous nations at thy gates attend. Walk in thy light and in thy temple bend ; See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings. And heap'd with products of Sabsean springs ! For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow. See heav'n its sparkling portals wide display, And break upon thee in a flood of day. 'No more the rising sun shall gild the morn, Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her silver horn; 154 THE MESSIAH. But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior rays, One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze O'erflow thy courts; the Light Himself shall shine Reveal' d, and God's eternal day be thine ! The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, Eocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; But fix'd His word, His saving power remains. Thy realm for ever lasts. Thy own Messiah reigns. Alexander Pope. ENTHUSIASM DEFINED. Think not that you are no Enthusiast then : All men are such, as sure as they are men. The thing itself is not all to blame : 'Tis in each state of human life the same. The fiery bent, the driving of the will. That gives the prevalence to good or ill ; — You need not go to cloisters, or to cells. Monks, or field preachers, to see where it dwells. It dwells alike in balls and masquerades ; Courts, camps, and 'Changes, it alike pervades. That which concerns us, therefore, is to see, What species of Enthusiasts we be ; On what materials the fiery source Of thinking life shall execute its force : Whether a man shall stir up love or hate, Erom the mix'd medium of the present state ; Shall choose with upright heart and mind to rise. And reconnoitre Heaven's primeval skies; Or down to lust and rapine to descend. Brute for a time, and demon at its end. 155 EITTHUSIASM DEFINED. " Fly from Enthiisiasm ! " Yes, fly from air, And breathe it more intensely for your care. Learn, that, whatever phantoms you embrace, Your own essential property takes place : Bend all your wits against it, 'tis in vain. It must exist, or sacred, or profane. For flesh, or spirit, wisdom from above, Or from this world, an anger, or a love, Must have its fire within the human soul : 'Tis ours to spread the circle, or control ; In clouds of sensual appetites to smoke. While smoth'ring lusts the rising conscience choke ; Or — with a true celestial ardour fir'd, Such as at first created man inspir'd, To will, and to persist to will, the light. The love, the joy, that makes an angel bright. That makes a man, in sight of God, to shine With all the lustre of a life divine. When true Eeligion kindles up the fire, Who can condemn the vigorous desire. That burns to reach the end for which 'twas given. To shine and sparkle in its native Heaven? What else was our creating Father's view ] His image lost why sought he to renew ? Why all the scene of love that Christians know, But to attract us from this poor below ; To save us from the fatal choice of ill. And bless the free co-operating will ? Blame not Enthusiasm, if rightly bent ; Or blame of Saints the holiest intent, The strong persuasion, the confirm'd belief. Of all the comforts of a soul the chief; That God's continual will, and work to save. Teach, and inspire, attend us to the grave : 156 ENTHUSIASM DEFINED. That they, who in His faith and love abide, Find in His Spirit an immediate Guide : This is no more a fancy, or a whim. Than that we hve, and move, and are in Him. Let Nature, or let Scripture, be the ground. Here is the seat of true Eeligion found. An earthly life, as life itself explains, The air and spirit of this world maintains : As plainly does an heav'nly life declare An heav'nly spirit, and an holy air. What truth more plainly does the Gospel teach. What doctrine all its missionaries preach, Than this, that every good desire and thought, Is in us by the Holy Spirit wrought] For this the working faith prepares the mind ; Hope is expectant, charity resign'd. This faith, and this dependance, once destroy'd, Man is made helpless, and the Gospel void. He that is taught to seek elsewhere for aid, Be who he will the teacher, is betray' d : Be what it will the system, he's enslaved ; Man by man's Maker only can be sav'd. In this one fountain of all help to trust, What is more easy, natural, and just? Talk what we will of morals, and of bliss, Our safety has no other source but this : Led by this faith, when man forsakes his sin, The gate stands open to his God within : There, in the temple of his soul, is found Of inward, central life, the holy ground ; The sacred scene of piety and peace. Where new-born Christians feel the life's increase. Blessing, and blest, revive to pristine youth. And worship God in spirit, and in truth. John Byrom. 157 THE OLD CHUECH IN A STOEM. See yonder hallow'd fane; the pious work Of names once fam'd, now dubious or forgot, 168 THE OLD CHURCH IN A STORM. And buried 'midst the wreck of things which were ; There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead. The wind is up : hark ! how it howls ! Methinks, Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary : Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul bird, Rock'd in the spire, screams loud — Quite round the pile, a row of reverend elms (Coeval near with that) all ragged show, Long lash'd by the rude winds. Some rift half down Their branchless trunks ; others so thin at top, That scarce two crows can lodge in the same tree. Strange things, the neighbours say, have happen'd here ; Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs ; Dead men have come again, and walk'd about ; And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd. Oft in the lone churchyard at night I've seen, By glimpse of moonshine chequering thro' the trees, The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand. Whistling aloud to bear his courage up, And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones (With nettles skirted, and with moss o'ergrown) That tell in homely phrase who lie below. Sudden he starts, and hears, or thinks he hears, Tlie sound of something purring at his heels ; Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind him, Till, out of breath, he overtakes his fellows. Who gather round, and wonder at the tale Of horrid apparition. Robert Blair. U9 COMMEECE— A HELP TO EELIGION. The powerful sun Hot India's zone with gaudy pencil paints, And drops delicious tints o'er hill and dale, Which Trade to us conveys. Not tints alone ; Trade to the good physician gives his balms ; Gives cheering cordials to th' afflicted heart ; Gives, to the wealthy, delicacies high ; Gives, to the curious, works of nature rare ; And when the priest display?, in just discourse. Him, the all-wise Creator, and declares His presence, power, and goodness, unconfin'd, 'Tis Trade, attentive voyager, who fills His lips with argument. To censure Trade, Or hold her busy people in contempt, Let none presume. — Eor they The clearest sense of Deity receive, Who view the widest prospect of His works, Ranging the globe with Trade thro' various climes ; Who see the signatures of boundless Love, Nor less the judgments of Almighty Power, That warn the wicked, and the wretch who 'scapes From human justice ; who, astonish'd, view Etna's loud thunders and tempestuous fires ; The dust of Carthage ; desert shores of Nile ; 160 COMMERCE— A HELP TO RELIGION. Or Tyre's abandoned summit, crown'd of old With stately tow'rs; whose merchants, from their isles, And radiant thrones, assembled in her marts ; Whither Arabia, wither Kedar, brought Their shaggy goats, their flocks, and bleating lambs ; Where rich Damascus pil'd his fleeces white, Prepar'd and thirsty for the double tint, And flow'ring shuttle. While the admiring world Crowded her streets ; ah, then the hand of pride Sow'd imperceptible his poisonous weed. Which crept destructive up her lofty domes. As ivy creeps around the graceful trunk Of some tall oak. Her lofty domes no more, Xot ev'n the ruins of her pomp, remain, ^ot ev'n the dust they sunk in ; by the breath Of the Omnipotent ofl'ended, hurl'd Down to the bottom of the stormy deep. John Dyer. The old apart, upon a bank reclin'd, Attend the tuneful carol, softly mixt With ev'ry murmur of the sliding wave. And ev'ry warble of the feather'd choir ; Music of Paradise ! which still is heard, AA hen the heart listens. Same. 161 A HYMN. These, as they change, Almighty Father, these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beauty walks. Thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; And every sense, and every heart, is joy. Then comes Thy glory in the Summer-months, With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ; And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve. By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales. Thy bounty shines in Autumn, unconfin'd. And spreads a common feast for all that lives. In Winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and storms Around Thee thrown, tempests o'er tempests roll'd, Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing. A HYMN. Kiding sublime, Thou bid'st the M^orld adore, And humblest .Mature with thy northern blast. Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, Deep felt, in these appear ! a simple train, Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combin'd ; Shade, unperceiv'd, so softening into shade ; And all so forming an harmonious whole ; That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand That, ever-busy, wheels the silent spheres; Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; And, as on earth this grateful change revolves. With transport touches all the springs of life. ligature, attend ! Join every living soul. Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales. Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes ; Oh talk of him in solitary glooms ! Where o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar. Who shake the astonish'd world, lift high to heaven Th' impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, 164 A HYMN. Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ; Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart. As home he goes beneath the joyous Moon. Ye that keep watch in Heaven, as Earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams. Ye constellations, while your angels strike Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great source of day ! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, 165 A HYMN. From world to world, the vital ocean round, On Nature write with every beam His praise. The thunder rolls ; be hush'd the prostrate world ; While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks. Retain the sound ; the broad responsive low, Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; And His unsuffering kingdom yet will come. Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song Burst from the groves. And when the restless day, Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep. Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, At once the head, the heart, the tongue of all, Crown the great hymn ! in swarming cities vast, Assembled men, to the deep organ join The long resounding voice, oft-breaking clear, At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass ; And, as each mingling flame increases each. In one united ardour rise to heaven. Or if you rather choose the rural shade. And find a fane in every sacred grove ; There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay. The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the Summer-ray Bussets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, Or winter rises in the blackening east. Be my tongue mute — my fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes. Rivers unknown to song — where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles — 'tis nought to me ; 166 A HYMN. Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste, as in the citv full ; And where He vital breathes, there must be joy. When ev'n at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go Where Universal Love not smiles around. Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression. But I lose Myself in Him, in light ineffable ; Come then, expressive silence, muse His praise. James Thomson. 167 ON HIS WIFE, IN THE C4THEDEAL OF BRISTOL Take, holy earth ! all that my soul holds dear : Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave : To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care Her faded form : she bowed to taste the wave, And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line ? Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm 1 Speak, dead Maria ! breathe a strain divine : E'en from the grave thou shalt have power to charm. Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee ; — Bid them in Duty's sphere as meekly move ; And if so fair, from vanity as free ; As firm in. friendship, and as fond in love. Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die, (Twas e'eii to thee) yet the dread path once trod, Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, And bids "the pure in heart behold their God." William Mason. 1G8 THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTH. The groans of nature in this nether world, Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, AYhose fire was kiudled at the prophets' lamp The time of rest, the promised sabbath comes. Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh FulfiU'd their tardy and disastrous course Over a sinful world. And what remains Of this tempestuous state of human things, Is merely as the working of a sea Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest. For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds The dust that waits upon His sultry march, When sin hath moved Him, and His wrath is hot. Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend Propitious, in His chariot paved with love. And what His storms have blasted and defaced For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet Not to be wronged by a mere mortal touch ; Nor can the wonders it records be sung To meaner music, and not suffer loss. But when a poet, or when one like me, Happy to rove among poetic flowers. Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair. Such is the impulse and the spur he feels To give it praise proportioned to its worth, 169 z THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTH. That not t' attempt it, arduous as he deems The labour, were a task more arduous still. Oh scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, Scenes of accomplish' d bliss ! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refresh' d with foretaste of the joy 1 Rivers of gladness water all the earth. And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field Laughs with abundance ; and the land once lean, Or fertile only in its own disgrace, Exults to see its thistly curse repeal' d. The various seasons woven into one. And that one season an eternal spring. The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, For there is none to covet, all are full. The lion and the libbard and the bear Graze with the fearless flocks. All bask at noon Together, or all gambol in the shade Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. Antipathies are none. No foe to man Lurks in the serpent now. The mother sees, And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm, To stroke his azure neck, or to receive The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. All creatures worship man, and all mankind One Lord, one Father. Error has no place ; That creeping pestilence is driven away. The breath of heav'n has chased it. In the heart No passion touches a discordant string. But all is harmony and love. Disease Is not. The pure and uncontaminate blood Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. One song employs all nations ; and all cry, ''Worthy the Lamb, for He was slain for us!" 170 THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTH. The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other; and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy, Till, nation after nation taught the strain. Each rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. Behold the measure of the promise fill'd, See Salem built, the labour of a God ! Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; All kingdoms and all princes of the earth Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands Flows into her, unbounded is her joy. And endless her increase. Thy rams are there N"ebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there; The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there. Praise is in all her gates. Upon her walls, And in her streets, and in her spacious courts Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there Kneels with the native of the farthest West, And ^Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, And w^orships. Her report has travell'd forth Into all lands. From every clime they come To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, Sion ! an assembly such as earth Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see. Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were once Perfect, and all must be at length restoried. So God has greatly purposed ; who would else In His dishonour'd works Himself endure Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. Haste then, and wheel away a shattered world, Ye slow-revolving seasons ! We would see (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) A world that does not dread and hate His laws, And suff'er for its crime : would learn how fair The creature is that God pronounces good, 171 THE PEACE COMING ON THE EARTH. How pleasant in itself what pleases Him. Here eVry drop of honey hides a sting ; Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers, And even the joy that haply some poor heart Derives from heaven, pure as the fountain is, Is sullied in the stream ; taking a taint From touch of human lips, at best impure. Oh for a world in principle as chaste As this is gross and selfish ! over which Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway That govern all things here, should' ring aside The meek and modest truth, and forcing her To seek a refuge from the tongue of strife In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men. Where violence shall never lift the sword, ISTor cunning justify the proud man's wrong. Leaving the poor no remedy but tears. Where he that fills an office shall esteem Th' occasion it presents of doing good More than the perquisite : w^here law shall speak Seldom, and never but as wisdom prompts. And equity ; not jealous more to guard A worthless form, than to decide aright : Where fashion shall not sanctify abuse, Nor smooth good-breeding (supplemental grace) With lean performance ape the work of love. Come then, and added to Thy many crowns Eeceive yet one, the crown of all the earth. Thou who alone art worthy ! it was Thine By ancient covenant ere nature's birth. And Thou hast made it Thine by purchase since, And overpaid its value with Thy blood. Thy saints proclaim Thee King; and in their hearts Thy title is engraven with a pen, Dipt in the fountain of eternal love. William Cowpcr. 172 ELEGY WEITTEN IN^ A COUNTEY CHURCHYAED. The Curfew tolls the Knell of parting Day, The lowing Herd wind slowly o'er the Lea, The Ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the World to Darkness and to mo. Now fades the glimm'ring Landscape on the Sight, And all the Air a solemn Stillness holds, Save where the Beetle wheels his droning Flight, Or drowsy Tinklings lull the distant Folds : 173 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled Tower, The moping Owl does to the Moon complain Of wsuch, as wandering near her secret Bower, Molest her ancient solitary Reign. Beneath those ?d Ehn3, that Yew-tree's shade. Wliere heaves the Turf in many a mould'ring Heap, Each in his narrow Cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the Hamlet sleep. The breezy Call of incense-breathing Morn, The Swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built Shed, The Cock's shrill Clarion, and the echoing Horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly Bed. 174 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. For them no more the blazing Hearth shall burn, Or busy Housewife ply her evening Care ; ISTo children run to lisp their Sire's return, Or climb his Knees the envied Kiss to share. Oft did the Harvest to their Sickle yield, Their Furrow oft the stubborn Glebe has broke : How jocund did they drive their Team afield ! How bowed the Woods beneath their sturdy Stroke ! 175 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Let not Ambition mock their useful Toil, Their homely Joys and Destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful Smile The short and simple Annals of the Poor. The Boast of Heraldry, the Pomp of Power, And all that Beauty, all that Wealth e'er gave, Awaits alike th' inevitable Hour : The Paths of Glory lead but to the Grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the Fault, If Memory o'er their Tomb no Trophies raise, Where thro' the long-drawn Aisle, and fretted Vault, The pealing Anthem swells the Note of Praise. 176 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Can storied Urn, or animated Bust, Back to its Mansion call the fleeting Breath? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent Dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold Ear of Death? Perhaps in this neglected Spot is laid Some Heart once pregnant with celestial Fire; Hands, that the Rod of Empire might have sway'd. Or waked to Ecstasy the living Lyre : But Knowledge to their eyes her ample Page Eich with the spoUs of Time did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury repress'd their noble Rage, And froze the genial Current of the Soul. 177 A A ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Full of many a Gem of purest Eay serene The dark unfathom'd Caves of Ocean bear : Full many a Flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert Air. Some Village-Hampden, that with dauntless Breast The little Tyrant of his Fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his Country's Blood. 173 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Th' Applause of list'ning Senates to command, The Threats of Pain and Ruin to despise, To scatter Plenty o'er a smiling Land, And read their Hist'ry in a Nation's Eyes, Their Lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone TTieir growing Virtues, but their Crimes confin'd ; Forbade to wade thro* Slaughter to a Throne, Or shut the Gates of Mercy on Mankind, The struggling Pangs of conscious Truth to hide. To quench, the Blushes of ingenuous Shame, Or heap the Shrine of Luxury and Pride With Incense, kindled at the Muse's Flame. 179 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Far from the madding Crowd's ignoble Strife, Their sober Wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester' d Vale of Life They kept the noiseless Tenor of their Way. Yet ev'n these Bones from Insult to protect Some frail Memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth Ehymes and shapeless Sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing Tribute of a Sigh. 180 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. Their Name, their Years spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The Place of Fame and Epitaph supply ; And many a holy Text around she strews, That teach the rustic Moralist to die. For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a Prey, This pleasing anxious Being e'er resign'd, Left the warm Precincts of the cheerful Day, Nor cast one longing lingering Look behind] On some fond Breast the parting Soul relies. Some pious Drops the closing Eye requires ; Ev'n from the Tomb the Voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our Ashes live their wonted Fires. For Thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead, Dost in these Lines their artless Tale relate : If chance, by lonely Contemplation led. Some kindred Spirit shall enquire thy Fate ; Haply some hoary-headed Swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the Peep of Dawn Brushing with hasty Steps the Dews away, To meet the Sun upon the upland Lawn : There, at the Foot of yonder nodding Beech, That wreathes its old fantastic Eocrts so high, His listless Length at Noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the Brook, that babbles by. Hard by yon Wood, now smiling as in Scorn, Muttering his wayward Fancies, would he rove ; Now drooping woful-wan, like one forlorn. Or craz'd with Care, or cross'd in hopeless Love. 181 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. One Morn I missed him from the custom'd Hill, Along the Heath, and near his fav'rite Tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the Rill, Nor up the Lawn, nor at the Wood was he : The next with Dirges due in sad Array- Slow through the Churchway Path we saw him borne Approach and read, for thou canst read, the Lay Graved on the Stone beneath yon aged Thorn." 182 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. EPITAPH. Here rests his Head upon the Lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown : Fair Science frown'd not on his humble Birth, And Melancholy markM him for her own. Large was his Bounty, and his Soul sincere ; Heaven did a Recompense as largely send ; He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a Tear, He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a Friend. No farther seek his Merits to disclose, Or draw his Frailties from their dread Abode, (There they alike in trembling Hope repose) The Bosom of his Father, and his God. Tlhomas Gray. 183 GOOD DESIEES. Quiet, Lord, my fro ward heart, Make me teachable and mild, Upright, simple, free from art, Make me as a weaned child; From distrust and envy free, Pleased with all that pleases Thee. What Thou shalt to-day provide. Let me as a child receive ; What to-morrow may betide, Calmly to Thy wisdom leave ; 'Tis enough that Thou wilt care, Why should I the burden bear? As a little child relies On a care beyond his own ; Knows he's neither strong nor wise ; Fears to stir a step alone ; Let me thus with Thee abide. As my Father, Guard, and Guide. Thus preserved from Satan's wiles, Safe from dangers, free from fears. May I live upon Thy smiles, Till the promis'd hour appears, When the sons of God shall prove All their Father's boundless love. John Newton. 184 PEAISE FOR EEDEEMING LOVE. Let us love, and sing, and wonder, Let us praise the Saviour's Name, He has hush'd the Law's loud thunder. He has quench'd Mount Sinai's flame : He has wash'd us with His blood; He has brought us nigh to God. Let us love the Lord who bought us. Pitied us when enemies, Called us by His grace, and taught us. Gave us ears, and gave us eyes ; He has wash'd us with His blood, He presents our souls to God. Let us sing, though fierce temptations Threaten hard to bear us down ! For the Lord, our strong salvation. Holds in view the Conqu'ror's crown ; He, who wash'd us with His blood. Soon will bring us home to God, Let us wonder, Grace and Justice Join and point to Mercy's shore; When through grace in God our trust is. Justice smiles, and asks no more. He who wash'd us with His Blood, Has secured our way to God. 185 B B PRAISE FOR REDEEMING LOVE. Let us praise and join the chorus Of the saints enthroned on high, Here they trusted Him before us, Now their praises fill the sky ; "Thou hast wash'd us with Thy blood! Thou art worthy, Lamb of God!" Hark I the name of Jesus sounded Loud from golden harps above ! Lord, we blush, and are confounded. Faint our praises, cold our love ! Wash our souls and songs with blood, For by Thee we come to God. Newton. A COVERT FROM THE STORM. Jesus, refuge of my soul. Let me to Thy bosom fly. While the raging billows roll, While the tempest still is nigh : Hide me, my Saviour, hide Till the storm of life is past ; Safe into the haven guide ; Then receive my soul at last. Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee. Leave, oh, leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me ; — 186 A COVERT FROM THE STORM. All my trust on Thee is laid, All my help from Thee I bring ; Cover my defenceless head With the shadow of Thy wing. Thou, Christ, art all I want ; AU in all in Thee I find ; Raise the fallen, cheer the faint. Heal the sick, and lead the blind. Just and holy is Thy name, I am all unrighteousness; Vile and full of sin I am ; Thou art full of truth and grace. Plenteous grace with Thee is found, Grace to pardon all my sin ; Let the healing streams abound. Make and keep me pure within ;- Thou of life the fountain art, Freely let me take of Thee ; Spring Thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity. Saviour, where'er Thy steps I see. Dauntless, untir'd I follow Thee : let Thy hand support me still. And lead me to Thy holy Hill. If rough and thorny be the way ; My strength proportion to my day ; Till toil, and grief, and pain shall cease Where all is calm, and joy, and peace. Same. 187 THE HERMIT. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the l!^ightingale's song in the grove : 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ; No more with himself or with Nature at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man. Ah ! why, all abandon' d to darkness and woe. Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away : Full quickly they pass — but they never return. Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, The Moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays : But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Eoll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendour again; But man's faded glory what change shall renew? Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more ; 1 mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you, For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. 188 THE HERMIT. Not yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save. But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn. O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave? Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd, That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind; My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. "0 pity, great Father of light," then I cried, " Thy creature who fain would not wander from Thee ; So, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride : From doubt and from darkness Thou only canst free — And darkness and doubt are now flying away, No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn." So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending. And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb. James Beattie. THE KESIGNATION. God, whose thunder shakes the sky, Whose eye this atom globe surveys, To Thee, my only rock, I fly, Thy mercy in Thy justice praise. The mystic mazes of Thy will. The shadows of celestial light, Are past the pow'r of human skill, — But what th' Eternal acts is right. 189 THE RESIGNATIOK teach me in this trying hour, When anguish swells the dewy tear, To still my sorrows, own Thy pow'r, Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear. If in this bosom aught but Thee, Encroaching sought a boundless sway, Omniscience could the danger see. And Mercy look the cause away. Then why, my soul, dost thou complain? Why drooping seek the dark recess? Shake off the melancholy chain, For God created all to bless. But ah ! my breast is human still ; The rising sigh, the failing tear, My languid vitals' feeble rill. The sickness of my soul declare. But yet, with fortitude resign'd, I'll thank th' inflicter of the blow ; Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, Nor let the gush of mis'ry flow. The gloomy mantle of the night, Which on my sinking spirit steals, Will vanish at the morning light, Which God, my East, my Sun reveals. Thomas Chatterton. 190 INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE. Beneath this stony roof reclin'd, I soothe to peace my pensive mind ; And while, to shade my lowly cave, Embowering elms their umbrage wave ; 191 INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE. And while the maple dish is mine, The beechen cup, unstain'd with wine ; I scorn the gay licentious crowd, !N'or heed the toys that deck the proud. Within my limits lone and still The blackbird pipes in artless trill ; Fast by my couch, congenial guest. The wren has wove her mossy nest ; From busy scenes, and brighter skies. To lurk with innocence, she flies ; Here hopes in safe repose to dwell, Nor aught suspects the silvan cell. At morn I take my custom'd round. To mark how buds yon shrubby mound; And every opening primrose count, That trimly paints my blooming mount; Or o'er the sculptures, quaint and rude, That grace my gloomy solitude, I teach in winding wreaths to stray Fantastic ivy's gadding spray. At eve within yon studious nook, I ope my brass-embossed book, Portray'd with many a holy deed Of martyrs, crown' d with heavenly meed : Then as my taper waxes dim. Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn ; And at the close, the gleams behold Of parting wings bedropt with gold. While such pure joys my bliss create. Who but would smile at guilty state? Who but would wish his holy lot In calm Oblivion's humble grot? 192 INSCRIPTION IN A HERMITAGE. Who but would cast his pomp away, To take my staff and amice grey; And to the world's tumultuous stage Prefer the blameless Hermitage? Thomas Warton. WEITTEN IN DUGDALE'S MONASTICON. Deem not, devoid of elegance, the sage, By Fancy's genuine feelings unbeguil'd, Of painful pedantry the poring child ; Who turns, of these proud domes, th' historic page, Now sunk by Time, and Henry's fiercer rage. Think'st thou the warbling muses never smil'd On his lone hours? Ingenuous views engage His thoughts, on themes, unclassic falsely styled, Intent. While cloister' d Piety displays Her mouldering roll, the piercing eye explores New manners, and the pomp of elder days. Whence culls the pensive bard his pictured stores. Nor rough, nor barren, are the winding ways Of hoar Antiquity, but strown with flowers. Same. 193 cc ELEGY WEITTEN IN SPEING. 'Tis past : the iron North has spent his rage, Stern Winter now resigns the length' ning day ; The stormy howlings of the winds assuage, And warm o'er ether western breezes play. Loos' d from the bands of frost, the verdant ground Again puts on her robe of cheerful green, Again puts forth her flowers ; and all around. Smiling, the cheerful face of Spring is seen. The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen. Puts on the robe she neither sew'd nor spun ; The birds on ground, or on the branches green, Hop to and fro, and glitter in the sun. Soon as o'er eastern hills the morning peers, From her low nest the tufted lark upsprings ; And, cheerful singing, up the air she steers ; Still high she mounts, still loud and sweet she sings. 194 ELEGY WRITTEN IN SPRING. On the green furze, clotli'd o'er with golden blooms, That fills the air with fragrance all around, The linnet sits, and tricks his glossy plumes. While o'er the wild his broken notes resound. "While the sun journey i down the Western sky. Along the green sward, mark'd with Roman mound, Beneath the blithesome shepherd's watchful eye, The cheerful lambkins dance and frisk around. iS'ow is the time for those who wisdom love. Who love to walk in Virtue's flow'ry road. Along the lovely paths of Spring to rove, And follow K'ature up to K'ature's God. Thus have I walk'd along the dewy lawn ; My frequent foot the blooming wild hath worn ; Before the lark I've sung the beauteous dawn, And gather'd health from all the gales of morn. Then sleep my nights, and quiet bless'd my days; I fear'd no loss, my mind w^as all my store : No anxious wishes e'er disturb'd my ease ; Heav'n gave content and health, I ask'd no more. Now Spring returns ; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown. Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the churchyard's lonely mound. Where melancholy with still silence reigns. And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground. There let me sleep forgotten in the clay. When death shall shut these weary aching eyes; Rest in the hopes of an eternal Day, Till the last night is gone, and the last morn arise I Michael Bruce. 195 ODE WEITTEN IN A VISIT TO THE COUNTKY IN AUTUMN. Tis past ! No more the summer blooms ; Ascending in the rear, Behold congenial Autumn comes, The sabbath of the year ! What time thy holy whispers breathe, The pensive evening shade beneath, And twilight consecrates the floods ; While Nature strips her garment gay, And wears the vesture of decay, let me wander thro' the sounding woods. Ah ! well-known streams ; ah ! wonted groves, Still pictured in my mind ! Oh ! sacred scene of youthful loves, Whose image lives behind; 196 ODE WRITTEN IN A VISIT TO THE COUNTRY IN AUTUMN. While sad I ponder on the past, The joys that must no longer last; The wild floAvers strown on summer's bier ; The dying music of the grove, And the last elegies of love. Dissolve the soul, and draw the tender tear. Alas ! the hospitable hall. Where youth and friendship play'd, Wide to the winds a ruin'd wall Projects a death-like shade ! The charm is vanish'd from the vales ; 'No voice with virgin whisper hails A stranger to his native bowers ; No more Arcadian mountains bloom, Nor Enna valleys breathe perfume, The fancied Eden fades with all its flowers. Yet not unwelcome waves the wood. That hides me in its gloom, While lost in melancholy mood, I muse upon the tomb : Their chequer' d leaves the branches shed ; Whirling in eddies o'er my head, They sadly sigh, that Winter's near : The warning voice I hear behind. That shakes the wood without a wind, And solemn sounds the death-bell of the year. John Logan. THE CHAEM OF SYMPATHY. A Hermit on the banks of Trent, Ear from the world's bewildering maze, To humbler scenes of calm content Had fled from lighter, busier days. 197 THE CHARM OF SYMPATHY. If haply from his guarded breast Should steal the unsuspected sigh, And memory, an unbidden guest, With former passions fill'd his eye ; Then pious Hope and Duty praised The wisdom of th' Unerring Sway ; And while his eye to heaven he raised, Its silent waters stole away. Complete Ambition's wildest scheme ; In Power's all-brilliant robes aj^pear; Indulge in Fortune's golden dream ; Then ask thy breast, if Peace be there. No ! it shall tell thee, Peace retires. If once of her loved friends deprived ; Contentment calm, subdu'd desires, And happiness from Heaven derived. For what though Fortune's frown deny With wealth to bid the sufferer live ? Yet Pity's hand can oft supply A balm she never knew to give. Be thine those feelings of the mind That wake at honour's, friendship's call ; Benevolence, that unconfin'd Extends her liberal hand to aU. By Sympathy's untutor'd voice Be taught her social laws to keep ; "Rejoice with them that do rejoice, And weep with them that weep." The heart that bleeds for others' woes, Shall feel each selfish sorrow less ; His breast who happiness bestows, Reflected happiness shall bless. Edmund Cartwright. 198 THE TWO WEAVERS. As at their work two weavers sat, Beguiling time with friendly chat, They touch'd upon the price of meat, So high a weaver scarce could eat. 199 THE TWO WEAVERS. What with my babes and sickly wife, Quoth James, I'm almost tir'd of life ; So hard we work, so poor we fare, 'Tis more than mortal man can bear. How glorious is the rich man's state, His house so fine, his wealth so great; Heaven is unjust, you must agree : Why all to him, and none to me 1 In spite of all the Scripture teaches, In spite of all the pulpit preaches, The world, indeed I've thought so long. Is ruled, mcthinks, extremely wrong. Where'er I look, howe'er I range, 'Tis all confus'd, and hard, and strange ; The good are troubled and opprest. And all the wicked are the blest. Quoth John, Our ignorance is the cause Why thus we blame our Maker s laws ; Parts of His ways alone we know, 'Tis all that man can see below. See'st thou that carpet, not half done, Which thou, dear James, hast well begun? Behold the wild confusion there ! So rude the mass, it makes one stare. A stranger, ignorant of the trade. Would say no meaning's there convey'd ; For where's the middle, where's the border? The carpet now is all disorder. Quoth James, My work is yet in bits. But still in ev'ry part it fits ; Besides, you reason like a lout. Why, man, that carpet's inside ojit ! 200 THE TWO WEAVERS. Says John, tlioa say'st the thing I mean, And now I hope to cure thy spleen : The world, which clouds thy soul with douht, Is but a carpet inside out. As when we view these shreds and ends, We know not what the whole intends ; So when on earth things look but odd, They're working still some scheme of God. No plan, no pattern can we trace, All wants proportion, truth, and grace ; The motley mixture we deride, "Not see the beauteous upper side. But when we reach the world of light, And view these works of God aright. Then shall we see the whole design. And own the Workman is divine. What now seem random strokes will there All order and design appear ; Then shall we praise what here we spurn' d. For then the carpet will be turn'd. Thou'rt right, quoth James, no more I'll grumble That this world is so strange a jumble ; My impious doubts are put to flight, For my own carpet sets me right. Hannah More. 201 DD ALL NATIONS CALLED TO WOESHIP GOD. Jehovah reigns : let every nation hear, And at His footstool bow with holy fear; Let Heaven's high arches echo with his name, And the wide peopled earth His praise proclaim ; Then send it down to helFs deep glooms resounding, Through all her caves in dreadful murmurs sounding. He rules with wide and absolute command O'er the broad ocean and the steadfast land : Jehovah reigns, unbounded and alone. And all creation hangs beneath His throne. He reigns alone ; let no inferior nature Usurp or share the throne of the Creator. He saw the struggling beams of infant light Shoot through the massy gloom of ancient night ; His Spirit hush'd the elemental strife. And brooded o'er the kindling seeds of life : Seasons and months began the long procession. And measured o'er the year in bright succession. The joyful sun sprung up th' ethereal way, Strong as a giant, as a bridegroom gay ; And the pale moon diffused her shadowy light, Superior o'er the dusky brow of night ; Ten thousand glittering lamps the skies adorning, Numerous as dew-drops from the womb of morning. Earth's blooming face with rising flowers He dress'd. And spread a verdant mantle o'er her breast ; Then from the hollow of His hand He pours The circling waters round her winding shores ; The new-born world in their cool arms embracing, And with soft murmurs still her banks caressing. 202 ALL NATIONS CALLED TO WORSHIP GOD. At length she rose complete in finish'd pride, All fair and spotless, like a virgin bride ; Fresh with untarnish'd lustre as she stood, Her Maker bless'd His work, and call'd it good; The morning stars, with joyful acclamation, Exulting sung, and hail'd the new creation. Yet this fair world, the creature of a day, Though built by God's right hand, must pass away ; And long oblivion creep o'er mortal things, The fate of Empires, and the pride of Kings ; Eternal night shall veil their proudest story. And drop the curtain o'er all human glory. The sun himself, with weary clouds opprest, Shall in his silent dark pavilion rest; His golden urn shall broke and useless lie Amidst the common ruins of the sky ! The stars rush headlong in the wild commotion, And bathe their glittering foreheads in the ocean. But fix'd, God ! for ever stands Thy throne ; Jehovah reigns, a universe alone : Th' eternal fire that feeds each vital flame. Collected or diff'used is still the same. He dwells within His own unfathom'd essence. And fills all space with His unbounded presence. But oh ! our highest notes the theme debase, And silence is our least injurious praise : Cease, cease your songs ; the daring flight control ; Revere Him in the stillness of the soul. With silent duty meekly bend before Him, And deep within your inmost hearts adore Him. Anna L. Barhaidd. 203 EEMOESE UNSAJSrCTIFIED. Such was his fall; and Edward, from that time, Eelt in full force the censure and the crime — Despised, ashamed; his noble views before. And his proud thoughts, degraded him the more Should he repent — would that conceal his shame ? Could peace be hisi It perish'd with his fame : Himself he scorn' d, nor could his crime forgive ; He fear'd to die, yet felt asham'd to live : Grieved, but not contrite was his heart; oppress' d, Not broken ; not concerted, but distress'd ; He wanted will to bend the stubborn knee. He wanted light the cause of ill to see. To learn how frail is man, how humble then should be; For faith he had not, or a faith too weak To gain the help that humbled sinners seek, Else had he pray'd — to an offended God His tears had flowJ^k. a penitential flood ; Though far astray, he would have heard the call Of mercy — " Come ! return, thou prodigal." Then, though confused, distress'd, ashamed, afraid. Still had the trembling penitent obey'd; Though faith had fainted, when assail'd by fear, Hope to the soul had whisper' d, — " Persevere ! " Till in his Father's house an humbled guest. He would have found forgiveness, comfort, rest. 204 REMORSE UNSANCTIFIED. But all this joy was to our Youth denied, By his fierce passions and his daring pride; And shame and doubt impell'd him in a course, Once so abhorr'd, with unresisted force. Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress, Fly to new crimes for comfort and redress ; Such were the notions of a mind to ill Now prone, but ardent, and determined still : Of joy now eager, as before of fame, And screen'd by folly when assail'd by shame. Deeply he sank; obeyed each passion's call. And used his reason to defend them all. Shall I proceed, and step by step relate The odious progress of a sinner's fate 1 No — let me rather hasten to the time (Sure to arrive !) when misery waits on crime. Struck by new terrors, from his friends he fled, And wept his woes upon a restless bed ; Eetuming late, at early hour to rise, With shrunken features, and with bloodshot eyes : K Sleep one moment closed the dismal view, Fancy her terrors built upon the true; And night and day had their alternate woes. That baffled pleasure, and that mocVd repose ; Till to despair and anguish was consign'd The wreck and ruin of a noble mind. Harmless at length the unhappy man was found. The spirit settled, but the reason drown'd ; And all the dreadful tempest died away. To the dull stillness of the misty day. George Crabhe. 205 THE NUESINO FEIEND. An orphan girl succeeds : ere she was born Her father died, her mother on that morn ; The pious mistress of the school sustains Her parents' part, nor their affection feigns, But pitying feels : with due respect and joy, I trace the matron at her loved employ : What time the striplings, wearied e'en with play, Part at the closing of the summer's day, 206 THE NURSING FRIEND. And each by diflferent paths returns the well-known way- Then I behold her at her cottage door, Frugal of light ; her Bible laid before, When on her double duty she proceeds, Of time as frugal, — knitting as she reads ; Her idle neighbours, who approach to tell Some trifling tale, her serious looks compel To hear reluctant — while the lads who pass. In pure respect, walk silent on the grass. Then sinks the day, but not to rest she goes. Till solemn prayers the daily duties close. Grabhe. A LESSON. Some acts will stamp their moral on the soul, And while the bad they threaten and control. Will to the pious and the humble say. Yours is the right, the safe, the certain way, 'Tis wisdom to be good, 'tis virtue to obey. So Eachel thinks, the pure, the good, the meek, Whose outward acts the inward purpose speak ; As men will children at their sports behold, And smile to see them, though unmoved and cold. Smile at the recollected games, and then Depart and mix in the affairs of men : So Rachel looks upon the world, and sees It cannot longer pain her, longer please, But just detain the passing thought, or cause A gentle smile of pity, or applause ; And then the recollected soul repairs Her slumbering hope, and heeds her own affairs. Same. 207 THE LOST WIFE. Slowly they bore, with solemn step, the dead ; When grief grew loud, and bitter tears were shed My part began; a crowd drew near the place, Awe in each eye, alarm in every face ; Eriends with the husband came their griefs to blend; For good-man Frankford was to all a friend. The last-born boy they held above the bier. He knew not grief, but cries express' d his fear; Each different sex and age reveal'd its pain, In now a louder, now a lower strain ; While the meek father, listening to their tones, Swell'd the full cadence of the grief by groans. The elder sister strove her pangs to hide, And soothing words to younger minds applied ; " Be still, be patient ;" oft she strove to say : But fail'd as oft, and weeping turn'd away. Curious and sad, upon the fresh-dug hill. The village lads stood melancholy still; And idle children, wandering to and fro, As nature guided, took the tone of woe. Arrived at home, how then they gazed around. In every place, — where she, no more, was found — The seat at table she was wont to fill ; The fire-side chair, still set, but vacant still; The garden-walks, a labour all her own; The latticed bower, with trailing shrubs o'ergrown; 208 THE LOST WIFE. The Sanday-pew she fill'd with all her race, — Each place of hers was now a sacred place, That, while it call'd up sorrows in the eyes, Pierced the full heart, and forced them still to rise. Oh sacred sorrow ! by whom souls are tried, Sent not to punish mortals, but to guide ; If thou art mine (and who shall proudly dare To tell his Maker, he has had his share?) Still let me feel for what my pangs are sent. And be my guide, and not my punishment ! Crahhe. THE VILLAGE MOTHEE EOKSAKEN. Lo ! now with red rent cloak and bonnet black, And torn green gown loose hanging at her back. One who an infant in her arms sustains. And seems in patience striving with her pains; Pinch'd are her looks, as one who pines for bread, Whose cares are growing, and whose hopes are fled. Pale her parch' d lips, her heavy eyes sunk low, And tears unnoticed from their channels flow; Serene her manner, till some sudden pain Frets the meek soul, and then she's calm again ; — Her broken pitcher to the pool she takes, And every step with cautious terror makes, With water burthen' d, then she picks her way. Slowly and cautious in the clinging clay; Till, in mid-green, she trusts a place unsound, And deeply plunges in th' adhesive ground; 209 E E THE VILLAGE MOTHER FORSAKEN. Thence, but with pain, her slender foot she takes, While hope the mind, as strength the frame forsakes For when so full the cup of sorrow grows, Add but a drop, it instantly o'erflow^s. And now her path, but not her peace she gains. Safe from her task, but shivering from her pains; Her home she reaches, open leaves the door, Aud placing first her infant on the floor, She bares her bosom to the wind, and sits. And sobbing struggles with the rising fits ; In vain, they come, she feels the inflating grief That shuts the swelling bosom from relief: That speaks in feeble cries a soul distrest, Or the sad laugh that cannot be represt. The neighbour-matron leaves her wheel, and flies With all the aid her poverty supplies ; Unfeed, the call of Nature she obeys, Not led by profit, not allured by praise ; And waiting long, till these contentions cease. She speaks of comfort, and departs in peace. Friend of distress ! the mourner feels thy aid, She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid. Crahbe. 210 THE BLESSINGS OF TEIBULATIOR Death has his infant train ; his bony arm Strikes from the baby-cheek the rosy charm ; The brightest eye his glazing film makes dim, And his cold touch sets fast the lithest limb ; He seized the sickening boy to Gerard lent, When three days' life, in feeble cries, were spent ; In pain brought forth, those painful hours to stay. To breathe in pain, and sigh its soul away ! *'But why thus lent, if thus recalled again. To cause and feel, to live and die in pain?" Or rather say. Why grievous these appear. If all it pays for Heaven's eternal year ; If these sad sobs and piteous sighs secure Delights that live, when worlds no more endure? The sister-spirit long may lodge below, And pains from nature, pains from reason, know Through all the common ills of life may run, By hope perverted, and by love undone ; A wife's distress, a mother's pangs, may dread. And widow-tears, in bitter anguish, shed; May at old age arrive through numerous harms With children's children in those feeble arms ; Nor till by years of want and grief opprest Shall the sad spirit flee and be at rest ! 211 THE BLESSINGS OF TRIBULATION. Yet happier therefore shall we deem the boy Secured from anxious care and dangerous joy 1 iN'ot so ! for then would Love Divine in vain Send all the burthens weary men sustain ; All that now curb the passions when they rage, The checks of youth, and the regrets of age ; All that now bid us hope, believe, endure, Our sorrow's comfort, and our vice's cure ; All that for Heaven's high joys the spirits train, And charity, the crown of all, were vain ! Say, will you call the breathless infant blest, Because no cares the silent grave molest 1 So would you deem the nursling from the wing Untimely thrust and never train'd to sing : But far more blest the bird whose grateful voice Sings its own joy and makes the woods rejoice, Though, while untaught, ere yet he charm' d the ear. Hard were his trials and his pains severe ! Crabbe. 212 SCENE IN A SCOTTISH COTTAGE. The cheerfii' supper done, \vi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; The Sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, The big lia Bible, ance his father's pride ; His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 213 SCENE IN A SCOTTISH COTTAGE. His lyart haffets weariog tliin an' bare ; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care ; And "Let us worship God!" he says, with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise : They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim : Perhaps Dundee s wild warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; Or noble Elgin beets the heav'nward flame ; The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays : Compared wi' these, Italian trills are tame ; The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they wi' our Creator's praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, How Abram was the friend of God on high ; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek's ungracious progeny : Or how the royal bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; Or, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah's wild, seraphic fire ; Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre. Perhaps the Christian Volume is the theme, How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in Heaven the second name. Had not on earth whereon to lay His head : How His first followers and servants sped. The precepts sage they wrote to many a land : How he, who lone in Patmos banished. Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heaven's command. 214 SCENE IN A SCOTTISH COTTAGE. Then kneeling down, to Heaven's Eternal King ! The saint, the father, and the husband prays : Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing," That thus they all shall meet in future days : There ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear. Together hymning their Creator's praise. In such society, yet still more dear ; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride. In all the pomp of method, and of art. Which men display to congregations wide, Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart ! The Pow'r, incens'd, the pageant will desert. The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But, haply, in some cottage far apart. May hear, well pleas' d, the language of the soul; And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enrol. Then homeward all take off their sev'ral way ; The youngling Cottagers retire to rest : The parent-pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request That He, who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide ; But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. Robert Burns. 215 WINTEE— A DIRGE. The wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw ; Or, the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw : While tumbling brown, the burn comes down, And roars from bank to brae ; And bird and beast in covert rest. And pass the heartless day. "The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast," The joyless winter-day. Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May : The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join ; The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine. Thou PoVr Supreme, whose mighty scheme. These woes of mine fulfil, Here, firm, I rest, they must be best. Because they are Thy Will. Then all I want, (0, do Thou grant This one request of mine !) Since to enjoy Thou dost deny, Assist me to resign ! Burm. 216 AN AUTUMN SABBATH WALK. When homeward bands their several ways disperse, I love to linger in the narrow field Of rest, to wander round from tomb to tomb, And think of some who silent sleep below. Sad sighs the wind, that from these ancient elms Shakes showers of leaves upon the withered grass : The sere and yellow wreaths, with eddying sweep, Fill up the furrows Hween the hillock'd graves ; 217 F F AN AUTUMN SABBATH WALK. But list that moan ! 'tis the poor blind man's dog, His guide for many a day, now come to mourn The master and the friend — conjunction rare : A man, indeed, he was of gentle soul, Though bred to brave the deep ; the lightnings' flash Had dimmed, not closed, his mild, but sightless eyes. He was a welcome guest through all his range (It was not wide); no dog would bay at him; Children would run to meet him on his way, And lead him to a sunny seat, and climb His knee, and wonder at his oft-told tales : Then would he teach the elfins how to plait The rushy cap and crown, or sedgy ship ; And I have seen him lay his tremulous hand Upon their heads, while silent moved his lips. Peace to thy spirit ! that now looks on me, Perhaps with greater pity than I felt To see thee wandering darkling on thy way. But let me quit this melancholy spot. And roam where nature gives a parting smile ; As yet the blue-bells linger on the sod - That copes the sheepfold ring; and in the woods A second blow of many flowers appears, Flowers faintly tinged, and breathing no perfume. But fruits, not blossoms, form the woodland wreath That circles Autumn's brow : The ruddy haws Now clothe the half-leaved thorn ; the bramble bends Beneath its jetty load; the hazel hangs With auburn bunches, dipping in the stream That sweeps along, and threatens to o'erflow The leaf-strewn banks: Oft, statue-like, I gaze. In vacancy of thought upon that stream. And chase, with dreaming eye, the eddying foam. Or rowan's clustered branch, or harvest-sheaf, Borne rapidly adown the dizzying flood. James Grafvame. 218 THE EESUKRECTIOK The setting orb of night her level ray- Shed o'er the land, and on the dewy sward, The lengthened shadows of the triple cross Were laid far-stretched, — when in the East arose, Last of the stars, day's harbinger : No sound Was heard, save of the watching soldier's foot : Within the rock-barred sepulchre, the gloom Of deepest midnight brooded o'er the dead. The Holy One ; but lo ! a radiance faint Began to dawn around His sacred brow : The linen vesture seemed a snowy wreath, Drifted by storms into a mountain cave : Bright, and more bright, the circling halo beamed Upon that face, clothed in a smile benign. Though yet inanimate. Not long the reign Of death ; the eyes, that wept for human griefs. Unclose and look around with conscious joy : Yes ; with returning life, the first emotion That glowed in Jesus' breast of love, was joy At man's redemption, now complete ; at death Disarmed; the grave transformed into the couch Of faith ; the resurrection and the life. Majestical He rose ; trembled the earth ; The ponderous gate of stone was rolled away ; The keepers fell ; the angel, awe- struck, shrunk Into invisibility, while forth The Saviour of the World walked, and stood Before the sepulchre, and viewed the clouds Empurpled glorious by the rising sun. Grahame. 219 DISAPPOINTMENT. Come, Disappointment, come ! Not in thy terrors clad ; Come in thy meekest, saddest guise ; Thy chastening rod but terrifies The restless and the bad. But I recline, Beneath thy shrine, And round my brow resign' d, thy peaceful cypress twine. Though Fancy flies away Beneath thy hollow tread, Yet Meditation in her cell, Hears, with faint eye, the ling'ring knell That tells her hopes are dead; And though the tear By chance appear, Yet she can smile, and say. My all was not laid here. Come, Disappointment, come ! Though from Hope's summit hurl'd; Still, rigid Nurse, thou art forgiven, Por thou severe wert sent from heaven To wean me from the world; To turn my eye Prom vanity. And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die. What is this passing scene ? A peevish April day ! A little sun, a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away. Man (soon discust) Yields up his trust. And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust. 220 DISAPPOINTMENT. Oh, what is beauty's power? It flourishes and dies ; Will the cold earth its silence break, To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek Beneath her surface lies 1 Mute, mute is all O'er beauty's fall ; Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall. The most beloved on earth, N^ot long survives to-day ; So music past is obsolete, And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, But now 'tis gone away. % Thus does the shade In memory fade. When in forsaken tomb the form belov'd is laid. Then since this world is vain And volatile and fleet, Why should I lay up earthly joys. Where rust corrupts and moth destroys, And cares and sorrows eat? Why fly from ill. With anxious skill. When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be still? Come, Disappointment, come ! Thou art not stern to me ; Sad Monitress ! I o^vn thy sway, A votary sad in early day, I bend my knee to thee. From sun to sun My race is run, I only bow, and say, My God, Thy will be done. Kirke White. 221 TO THE HEEB EOSEMARY. Sweet-scented flower ! who art wont to bloom On January's front severe, And o'er the wintry desert drear To waft thy waste perfume ! Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now, And I will bind thee round my brow ; And as I twine the mournful wreath, rU weave a melancholy song, And sweet the strain shall be and long, The melody of death. Come, funeral flower ! who lov'st to dwell With the pale corse in lonely tomb, And throw across the desert gloom A sweet decaying smell. Come press my lips, and lie with me Beneath the lowdy Alder tree, And we will sleep a pleasant sleep. And not a care shall dare intrude To break the marble solitude. So peaceful, and so deep. A.nd hark ! the wind-god, as he flies. Moans hollow in the forest- trees, And, sailing on the gusty breeze. Mysterious music dies. Sweet flower ! that requiem wild is mine. It warns me to the lonely shrine. The cold turf altar of the dead; My grave shall be in yon lone spot, "Where, as I lie, by all forgot, A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my ashes shed. Kirle White. 222 SUNDAY IN THE FIELDS. Hail, Sabbath ! day of mercy, peace, and rest ! Thou o'er loud cities throw'st a noiseless spell; The hammer there, the wheel, the saw, molest Pale thought no more. O'er Trade's contentious hell Meek Quiet spreads her wings invisible. But when thou com'st, less silent are the fields. Through whose sweet paths the toil-freed townsman steals; To him the very air a banquet yields. Envious he watches the poised hawk that wheels His flight on chainless winds. Each cloud reveals 22S SUNDAY IN THE FIELDS. A paradise of beauty to his eye. His little boys are with him, seeking flowers, Or chasing the too venturous gilded fly, So by the daisy's side he spends the hours, Eenewing friendship with the budding bowers; And — while might, beauty, good without alloy. Are mirror'd in his children's happy eyes, In His great temple offering thankful joy To Him the infinitely Great and Wise, With soul attuned to Nature's harmonies, Serene and cheerful as a sporting child. Ehenezer Elliot. THE ILLUMINATION OF THE BLIND. I AM weak, yet strong — I murmur not that I no longer see — Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, Father supreme ! to Thee. Thy glorious face Is leaning towards me, — and its holy light Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place. And there is no more night. On my bended knee I recognise Thy purpose clearly shown — My vision Thou hast dimmed that I may see Thyself, Thyself alone. I have nought to fear; Mv darkness is the shadow of Thy wing — Beneath it I am almost sacred — ^here Can come no evil thing. Lloyd. 224 ^^^J- DAWN OF HOPE AND PEACE ON THE DAKK SOUL. Hear what they were : The progeny of Sin Alike, and oft combined ; but differing much In mode of giving pain. As felt the gross Material part, when in the furnace cast, So felt the soul, the victim of Remorse. It was a fire which on the verge of God's Commandments burned, and on the vitals fed Of all who passed. Who passed, there met Remorse ; A violent fever seized his soul ; the heavens Above, the earth beneath, seemed glowing brass Heated seven times; he heard dread voices speak. And mutter horrid prophecies of pain, 225 G o DAWN OF HOPE AND PEACE Severer and severer yet to come ; And as he writhed and quivered, scorched within, The Fury round his torrid temples flapped Her fiery wings, and breathed upon his lips And parched tongue the withering blasts of hell. It was the suffering begun thou saw'st, In symbol of the Worm that never dies. The other, Disappointment, rather seemed Negation of delight. It was a thing Sluggish and torpid, tending towards death. Its breath was cold, and made the sportive blood Stagnant, and dull, and heavy, round the wheels Of life. The roots of that whereon it blew. Decayed, and with the genial soil no more Held sympathy ; the leaves,, the branches drooped. And mouldered slowly down to formless dust ; 'Not tossed and driven by violence of winds. But withering where they sprang, and rotting there. Long disappointed, disappointed still, The hopeless man, hopeless in his main wish. As if returning back to nothing, felt ; In strange vacuity of being hung ; And rolled, and rolled his eye on emptiness, That seemed to grow more empty every hour. One of this mood I do remember well : "We name him not — what now are earthly names? In humble dwelling bom, retired, remote ; In rural quietude, 'mong hills, and streams, And melancholy deserts, where the Sun Saw, as he passed, a shepherd only, here And there, watching his little flock, or heard The ploughman talking to his steers. His hopes. His morning hopes, awoke before him, smiling, Among the dews and holy mountain airs ; And fancy coloured them with every hue 226 ON THE DARK SOUL. Of heavenly loveliness. But soon his dreams Of childhood fled away — those rain])ow dreams So innocent and fair, that withered Age, Even at the grave, cleared up his dusty eye. And passing all between, looked fondly back To see them once again ere he departed : These fled away, and anxious thought, that wished To go, yet whither knew not well to go. Possessed his soul, and held it still awhile. He listened, and heard from far the voice of FamC; Heard, and was charmed ; and deep and sudden vow Of resolution made to be renowned ; And deeper vowed again to keep his vow. His parents saw — his parents Avhom God made Of kindest heart, saw, and indulged his hope. The ancient page he turned, read much, thought much, And with old bards of honourable name Measured his soul severely; and looked up To fame, ambitious of no second place. Hope grew from inward faith, and promised fair. And out before him opened many a path Ascending, where the laurel highest waved Her branch of endless green. He stood admiring ; But stood, admired, not long. The harp he seized, The harp he loved, loved better than his life, The harp which uttered deepest notes, and held The ear of thought a captive to its song. He searched, and meditated much, and whUes, With rapturous hand, in secret touched the lyre. Aiming at glorious strains ; and searched again For theme deserving of immortal verse; Chose now, and now refused, unsatisfied; Pleased, then displeased, and hesitating still. Thus stood his mind, when round him came a cloud. Slowly and heavily it came, a cloud Of ills we mention not : enough to say, 227 DAWN OF HOPE AND PEACE 'Twas cold, and dead, inpenetrable gloom. He saw its dark approach, and saw his hopes, One after one, put out, as nearer still It drew his soul ; but fainted not at first, Fainted not soon. He knew the lot of man Was trouble, and prepared to bear the worst ; Endure whate'er should come, without a sigh Endure, and drink, even to the very dregs, The bitterest cup that Time could measure out; And, having done, look up, and ask for more. He called Philosophy, and with his heart Reasoned. He called Eeligion, too, but called Reluctantly, and therefore was not heard. Ashamed to be o'ermatched by earthly woes, He sought, and sought with eye that dimmed apace. To find some avenue to light, some place On which to rest a hope; but sought in vain. Darker and darker still the darkness grew. At length he sank ; and Disappointment stood His only comforter, and mournfully Told all was past. His interest in life, In being, ceased ; and now he seemed to feel. And shuddered as he felt, his powers of mind Decaying in the spring-time of his day. The vigorous weak became ; the clear, obscure ; Memory gave up her charge ; Decision reeled ; And from her flight Fancy returned, returned Because she found no nourishment abroad. The blue heavens withered; and the moon and sun, And all the stars, and the green earth, and mom And evening withered ; and the eyes, and smiles, And faces of all men and women, withered. Withered to him ; and all the universe, Like something which had been, appeared, but now Was dead, and mouldering fast away. He tried No more to hope, wished to forget his vow. 228 ON THE DARK SOUL. Wished to forget his harp ; then ceased to wish. That was his last ; enjoyment now was done. He had no hope, no wish, and scarce a fear. Of being sensible, and sensible Of loss, he as some atom seemed, which God Had made superfluously, and needed not To build creation vnth. ; but back again To nothing threw, and left it in the void, With everlasting sense that once it was. Oh ! who can tell what days, what nights he spent, Of tideless, waveless, sailless, shoreless woe ! And who can tell how many, glorious once, To others and themselves of promise full. Conducted to this pass of human thought. This wilderness of intellectual death, Wasted and pined, and vanished from the earth. Leaving no vestige of memorial there ! It was not so with him. When thus he lay. Forlorn of heart, withered and desolate, As leaf of autumn, which the wolfish winds, Selecting from its fallen sisters, chase. Far from its native grove, to lifeless wastes, And leave it there alone, to be forgotten Eternally; God passed in mercy by — His praise be ever new ! — and on him breathed. And bade him live, and put into his hands A holy harp, into his lips a song. That rolled its numbers down the tide of Time. Ambitious now but little to be praised Of men alone; ambitious most to be Approved of God, the Judge of all ; and have His name recorded in the Book of Life. Robet-t Polloh 229 THE STEANGER AND HIS FEIEND. A POOR wayfaring Man of grid Hath often cross'd nie on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief, That I could never answer — " Nay : " I had not power to ask his name, Whither he went, or whence he came, Yet there was something in his eye, That won my love, I knew not why. Once, when my scanty meal was spread, He enter'd ; not a word he spake ; — Just perishing for want of bread, I gave him all ; he bless'd it, brake, And ate, — but gave me part again ; Mine was an angel's portion then. For while I fed with eager haste. That crust was manna to my taste. I spied him where a fountain burst Clear from the rock ; his strength was gone ; The heedless water mock'd his thirst, He heard it, saw it hurrying on ; I ran to raise the sufferer up ; Thrice from the stream he drain'd my cup, Dipp'd, and return'd it running o'er; I drank, and never thirsted more. 230 THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND. Twas night, the floods were out; it blew A winter hurricane aloof; I heard his voice abroad, and flew To bid him welcome to my roof; I warm'd, I cloth'd, I cheer'd my guest, Laid him on my own couch to rest; Then made the hearth my bed, and seem'd In Eden's garden while I dream' d. Stript, wounded, beaten nigh to death, I found him by the highway-side ; I roused his pulse, brought back his breath, Eevived his spirit, and supplied Wine, oil, refreshment ; he was lieal'd ; — I had myself a wound conceal'd; But from that hour forgot the smart. And Peace bound up my broken heart. In prison I saw him next, condemn'd To meet a traitor's doom at morn ; The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd. And honour'd him midst shame and scorn ; My friendship's utmost zeal to try. He ask'd if I for him would die ; The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill. But the free spirit cried- — " I will." Then in a moment to my view The stranger darted from disguise ; The tokens in his hands I knew. My Saviour stood before mine eyes : He spake : and my poor name He named ; " Of Me thou hast not been ashamed : These deeds shall thy memorial be; Fear not, thou did'st them unto Me." James Montgomery. 231 HYMN BEFORE SUN-EISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course? So long he seems to pause On thy bold awful head, Sovran Blanc ! The Avre and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form ! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black ; An ebon mass ; methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again. It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from Eternity ! dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee. Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. Didst vanish from my thought; entranced in prayer 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it — Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoughts, Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy ; Till th^e dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing — there As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven ! Awake, my Soul, not only passive praise HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE. Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy ! awake, Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my Heart, awake ! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale ! struggling with darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink ; Companion of the morning-star at da"wn, Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald ; wake, O wake, and utter praise ! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in Earth 1 Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! Who called ye forth from night and utter death, Erom dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged Eocks, Eor ever shattered and the same for ever? Who gave you your invulnerable life. Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy. Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came,) Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun ("lothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers, Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 233 HH HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE. Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! God ! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God ! Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain storm ! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! Ye signs and wonders of the element ! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise ! Thou, too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks. Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast — Thou too again, stupendous Mountain ! thou That as I raise my head, awhUe bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears. Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me — Else, ever rise. Rise like a cloud of incense, from the Earth ! Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills. Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun. Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 234 PLACES OF WOESHIP. As star that slimes dependent upon star Is to the sky while we look np in love ; As to the deep fair ships, which though they move Seem fixed, to eyes that watch them from, afar ; 235 PLACES OF WORSHIP. As to the sandy desert fountains are, "With palm-groves shaded at wide intervals, Whose fruit around the sun-burnt native falls. Of roving tired, or desultory war — Such to this British Isle her Christian Fanes, Each linked to each for kindred services ; Her Spires, her Steeple-towers with glittering vanes Far kenned, her chapels lurking among trees. Where a few villagers on bended knees Find solace w^hich a busy world disdains. William Wordsworth. CATECHISING. From Little down to Least, in due degree Around the Pastor, each in new-wrought vest, Each with a vernal posy in his breast. We stood, a trembling, earnest Company ! With low soft murmur, like a distant bee, Some spake, by thought-perplexing fears betrayed, And some a bold, unerring answer made ; How fluttered then, thy anxious heart for me, Beloved mother ! thou whose happy hand Had bound the flowers I wore, with faithful tie : Sweet flowers ! at whose inaudible command Her countenance, phantom-like, doth reappear: lost too early for the frequent tear, And ill-requited by this heart-felt sigh ! Wordsworth. 236 NEW CHURCHYARD. The encircling ground, in native turf arrayed, Is now by solemn consecration given To social interests, and to favouring Heaven. And where the rugged colts their gambols played, And wild deer bounded through the forest glade, Uncheck'd as when by merry outlaw driven, Shall hymns of praise resound at morn and even ; And soon, full soon, the lonely sexton's spade Shall wound the tender sod. Encincture small. But infinite its grasp of weal and woe ! Hopes, fears, in never ending ebb and flow; — The spousal trembling, and the "dust to dust," The prayers, the contrite struggle, and the trust That to th' Almighty Father looks through all. Wordsworth. OLD ABBEYS. Monastic domes ! following my downward way, Untouched by deep regret I marked your fall ! Now ruin, beauty, antient stillness, all Dispose to judgments temperate as we lay On our past selves in life's declining day ; For as by discipline of Time made wise, We learn to tolerate the infirmities And faults of others, gently as we may. So with our own the mild Instructor deals, Teaching us to forget them, or forgive. Perversely curious, then, for hidden ill Why should we break Time's charitable seals? — Once ye were holy, ye are holy still ; Your spirit freely let me drink, and live. Wordsworth. 237 HYMN TO THE PENATES. Yet one song more ! one high and solemn strain, Ere, Phoebus ! on thy temple's ruined wall I hang the silent harp ; there may its strings, When the rude tempest shakes the aged pile, Make melancholy music. One song more ! Pefiates ! hear me ! for to you I hymn The votive lay — Venerable powers ! Hearken your hymn of praise ! Though from your rites Estranged, and exiled from your altars long, I have not ceased to love you, household gods ! In many a long and melancholy hour Of solitude and sorrow, hath my heart With earnest longings prayed, to rest at length Beside your hallowed hearth — for peace is there ! Yes, I have loved you long. 1 call on you Yourselves to witness with what holy joy. Shunning the polish'd mob of human kind, I have retired to watch your lonely fires, And commune with mj^self. Delightful hours, That gave mysterious pleasure, made me know All the recesses of my wayward heart. Taught me to cherish with devoutest care Its strange unworldly feelings, taught me too The best of lessons — to respect myself. Nor have I ever ceased to reverence you, Domestic deities ! from the first dawn Of reason, through the adventurous paths of youth, 238 HYMN TO THE PENATES. Even to this better day, when on mine ear The uproar of contending nations sounds But like the passing wind, and wakes no pulse To tumult. When a child — (and still I love To dweU with fondness on my childish years) When first a little one, I left my home, I can remember the first grief I felt. And the first painful smile that clothed my front With feelings not its own : sadly at night I sat me down beside a stranger's hearth ; And when the lingering hour of rest was come, First wet with tears my piUow. As I grew In years and knowledge, and the course of time Developed the young feelings of my heart. When most I loved in solitude to rove Amid the woodland gloom ; or where the rocks Darken'd old Avon's stream, in the ivied cave Recluse, to sit and brood the future song, — Yet not the less, Penates, loved I then Your altars, not the less at evening hour Delighted by the well- trimmed fire to sit, Absorbed in many a dear deceitful dream Of visionary joys ; — deceitful dreams — And yet not vain — for painting purest joys. They formed to Fancy's mould her votary's heart. By Cherwell's sedgy side, and in the meads Where Isis in her calm clear stream reflects The willow's bending boughs, at early dawn, In the noontide hour, and when the night-mist rose, I have remembered you; and when the noise Of lewd intemperance on my lonely ear Burst with loud tumult, as recluse I sat, Pondering on loftiest themes of man redeemed From servitude, and vice, and wretchedness, I blest you, household gods ! because I loved Your peaceful altars and serener rites. 239 HYMN TO THE PENATES. Nor did I cease to reverence you, when driven Amid the jarring crowd, an unfit man To mingle with the world ; still, still my heart Sighed for your sanctuary, and inly pined; And loathing human converse, I have strayed Where o'er the sea-beach chilly howled the blast, And gazed upon the world of waves, and wished That I were far beyond the Atlantic deep. In woodland haunts, a sojourner with peace. As on the height of some huge eminence, Eeached with long labour, the wayfaring man Pauses awhile, and gazing o'er the plain, With many a sore step travelled, turns him then Serious to contemplate the onward road, And calls to mind the comforts of his home. And sighs that he has left them, and resolves To stray no more : I on my way of life Muse thus, Penates, and with firmest faith Devote myself to you. I will not quit. To mingle with the crowd, your calm abodes, Where by the evening hearth contentment sits And hears the cricket chirp; where love delights To dwell, and on your altars lays his torch That burns with no extinguishable flame. Penates ! some there are Who say, that not in the inmost heaven ye dwell. Gazing with eye remote on all the ways Of man, his guardian gods ; wiselier they deem A dearer interest to the human race Links you, yourselves the spirits of the dead. No mortal eye may pierce the invisible world, No light of human reason penetrate The depth where truth lies hid. Yet to this faith My heart with instant sympathy assents ; And I would judge all systems and all faiths 240 HYMN TO THE PENATES. By that best touchstone, from whose test deceit Shrinks like the arch-fiend at Ithuriel's spear, — Nor can the halls of heaven Give to the human heart such kindred joy, As hovering o'er its earthly haunts it feels. When with the breeze it wantons round the brow Of one beloved on earth ; or when at night In dreams it comes, and brings with it the days And joys that are no more. Or when, perchance. With power permitted to alleviate ill. And fit the sufferer for the coming woe. Some strange presage the Spirit breathes, and fills The breast with ominous fear, and disciplines For sorrow, pours into the afflicted heart The balm of resignation, and inspires With heavenly hope. Even as a child delights To visit day by day the favourite plant His hand has sown, to mark its gradual growth, And watch, all-anxious, for the promised flower;-. Thus to the blessed spirit in innocence And pure affections, like a little child. Sweet will it be to hover o'er the friends Beloved ; then sweetest, if, as Duty prompts, With earthly care we in their breasts have sown The seeds of truth and virtue, holy flowers. Whose odour reacheth heaven. When my sick heart (Sick with hope long delay'd, than which no care Presses the crushed heart heavier) from itself Seeks the best comfort, often have f deemed That thou didst witness every inmost thought, Seward ! my dear dead friend ! for not in vain, O early summoned on thy heavenly course ! Was thy brief sojourn here : me didst thou leave With strengthened step to follow the right path Till we shall meet again. Meantime I soothe 241 I I HYMN TO THE PENATES. The deep regret of nature, with belief, Edmund ! that thine eye's celestial ken Pervades me now, marking with no mean joy The movements of the heart that loved thee well ! Hearken your hymn of praise, Penates ! to your shrines I come for rest, There only to be found. Often at eve. Amid my wanderings, I have seen far off The lonely light that spake of comfort there ; It told my heart of many a joy of home, And my poor heart was sad. When I have gazed From some high eminence on goodly vales And cots and villages embowered below, The thought would rise that all to me was strange Amid the scene so fair, nor one small spot Where my tired mind might rest and call it home. There is a magic in that little word ; It is a mystic circle that surrounds Comforts and virtues never known beyond The hallowed limit. Often has my heart Ached for that quiet haven ! havened now, 1 think of those in this world's wilderness Who wander on and find no home of rest Till to the grave they go ! Household deities ! Then only shall be happiness on earth When men shall feel your sacred power, and love Your tranquil joys — This the state Shall bless the race redeemed of man ! Heart-calming hope, and sure ! for hitherward Tend all the tumults of the troubled world. Its woes, its wisdom, and its wickedness Alike : So He hath wiU'd Whose Will is just ! Robert Southey. 242 THOU AET, O GOD. Thou art^ God, the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night. Are but reflections caught from Thee. Where'er we turn Thy glories shine. And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 243 THOU ART, GOD. When Day, with farewell beam, delays Among the op'ning clouds of Even, And we can almost think we gaze Through golden vistas into Heaven — Those hues that make the Sun's decline So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine ! When Night, with wings of starry gloom, O'er-shadows all the earth and skies, Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes — That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless. Lord ! are Thine ! When youthful Spring around us breathes, Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; And every flower the Summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye. Where'er we turn Thy glories shine. And all things fair and bright are Thine ! Thomas Moore. 244 THE WIPER AWAY OF TEARS. Oh, Thou ! who dry'st the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If when deceiVd and wounded here. We could not fly to Thee ! The friends, who in our sunshine live, When winter comes are flown ; And he, who has but tears to give. Must weep those tears alone. But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part. Breathes sweetness out of woe. When joy no longer soothes nor cheers, And even the hope, that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our tears. Is dimm'd, and banish'd too; Oh, who would bear Life's stormy doom. Did not Thy Wing of Love Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our Peace-branch from above ? Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright. With more than rapture's ray ; As darkness shows us worlds of light, We never saw by day ! Moore. 245 THE EAINBOW. Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To tell me what thou art — Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven. Can all that Optics teach, unfold Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow 1 When Science from Creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws. What lovely visions yield their place To cold, material laws ! And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams. But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign ! 246 THE RAINBOW. And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God. Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, The first-made anthem rang On earth deliver' d from the deep, And the first poet sang. Nor ever shall the Muse's eye XJnraptured greet thy beam ; Theme of primeval prophecy. Be still the prophet's theme ! The earth to thee her incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When, glittering in the freshen' d fields. The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle, cast O'er mountain, tower, and town. Or rairror'd in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down ! As fresh in yon horizon dark, , As young thy beauties seem, As when the Eagle from the Ark First sported in thy beam; For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age, That first spoke peace to man. Thomas Campbell 247 THE LAST MAN. All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, The Sun himself must die, Before this mortal shall assume Its Immortality ! I saw a vision in my sleep, That gave my spirit strength to sweep Adown the gulf of Time ! I saw the last of human mould That shall Creation's death behold, As Adam saw her prime ! The Sun's eye had a sickly glare. The Earth with Age was wan, The skeletons of nations were Around that lonely man ! Some had expired in fight, — the brands Still rusted in their bony hands; In plague and famine some ! Earth's cities had no sound nor tread, And ships were drifting with the dead To shores where all was dumb. Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood. With dauntless words and high ; That shook the sere leaves from the wood As if a storm pass'd by. Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun ! Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 'Tis Mercy bids thee go ; For thou, ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears. That shall no longer flow. 248 THE LAST MAN. What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, and skill ; And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, The vassals of his will? — Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim discrowned king of day : For all those trophied arts And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Heal'd not a passion or a pang EntaiFd on human hearts. Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recall Life's tragedy again : Its piteous pageants bring not back, Nor waken flesh, upon the rack Of pain anew to writhe. Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd, Or mown in battle by the sword, like grass beneath the scythe. E'en I am weary in yon skies To watch thy fading fire : Test of all sumless agonies, Behold not me expire. My lips that speak thy dirge of death — Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath • To see thou shalt not boast; The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, — The majesty of Darkness shall Receive my parting ghost ! This spirit shall return to Him Who gave its heavenly spark; Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim When thou thyself art dark ! 249 THE LAST MAE". 1^0 ! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine ; By Him recall' d to breath, Who captive led captivity, Who robb'd the grave of Victory, — And took the sting from Death ! Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up On Nature's awful waste, To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste — Go, tell the night that hides thy face, Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race. On Earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy To quench his Immortalitj^, Or shake his trust in God ! CaiiipbeU. Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime Peal'd their first notes to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade — When all the sister planets have decay'd; When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow. And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below; Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile, And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile. Same. 250 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; 251 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, AVhen the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen : Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown ! For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still ! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide. But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride ; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf . And there lay the rider distorted and pale. With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword. Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! Lord Byr