They afk enough; why should't thou further go?
Raise not the mud

Of future depths, but drink the clear and good.
Dig not for wo,

In times to come; for it will grow.

Man and the prefent fit: if he provide,
He breaks the fquare.

This hour is mine; if for the next I care,
I grow too wide,

And do incroach upon Death's fide:

For Death each hour environs and furrounds.
He that would know

And care for future chances, cannot go

Unto thofe grounds,

But thro' a church-yard which them bounds.

Things present shrink and die: but they that spend Their thoughts and fenfe

On future grief, do not remove it thence,

But it extend,

And draw the bottom out an end.

God chains the dog till night wilt loofe the chain, And wake thy forrow?

Wilt thou forestal it, and now grieve to-morrow, And then again

Grieve over freshly all thy pain ?

I

Either grief will not come; or if it must,
Do not forecast:

And while it cometh, it is almost past.
Away diftruft:

My God hath promis'd; he is juft.

Praise.

KING of Glory, King of Peace,

I will love thee:

And that love may never cease,
I will move thee.

Thou haft granted my requeft,
Thou haft heard me

Thou didst note my working breast,
Thou haft fpar'd me.

Wherefore with my utmost art
I will fing thee.

And the cream of all my heart
I will bring thee.

Though my fins against me cried,
Thou didst clear me;

And alone, when they replied,

Thou didst hear me.

Sev'n whole days, not one in feven,
I will praise thee.

In my heart, tho' not in heaven,
I can raise thee.

Thou grew'ft foft and moift with tears,
Thou relented'ft:

And when Juftice call'd for Fears,
Thou diffented'ft.

Small it is, in this poor fort

To enrol thee:

Ev'n eternity is too fhort
To extol thee.

An Offering.

COME, bring thy gift. If bleffings were as flow

As men's returns, what would become of fools?
What haft thou there? a heart? but is it pure ?
Search well and fee; for hearts have many holes.
Yet one pure heart is nothing to bestow;
In Chrift two natures met to be thy cure.

O that within us hearts had propagation,
Since many gifts do challenge many hearts!
Yet one, if good, may title to a number,
And fingle things grow fruitful by deferts.
In public judgments one may be a nation,
And fence a plague, while others fleep and slumber.

But all I fear is, left thy heart displease,
As neither good, nor one: fo oft divifions
Thy lufts have made, and not thy lufts alone;
Thy paffions also have their fet partitions.
Thefe parcel out thy heart, Recover these,
And thou may'st offer many gifts in one.

There is a balfam, or indeed a blood,

Dropping from heav'n,which doth both cleanse and clofe
All forts of wounds; of such strange force it is.
Seek out this all-heal, and feek no repose,

Until thou find and use it to thy good;

Then bring thy gift, and let thy hymn be this;

Had I many,
Had I any,

(For this heart is none)
All were thine

And none of mine,

Surely thine alone.

Yet thy favour,
May give favour

To this poor oblation;
And it raise

To be thy praife,
And be my falvation

Longing. WITH fick and famish'd eyes

With doubling knees, and weary bones, To thee my cries,

To thee my groans,

To thee my fighs, my tears afcend:

No end?

My throat my foul is hoarfe My heart is wither'd like a ground Which thou doft curse.My thoughts run round,

And make me giddy: Lord, I fall,

Yet call.

From thee all pity flows.

Mothers are kind, because thou art,

And doft difpofe

To them a part:

Their infants them, and they seek thee

More free.

Bowels of pity, hear!

Lord of my foul, love of my mind,
Bow down thine ear!

Let not the wind.

Scatter my words, and in the fameu

Thy name!

Look on my forrows round! Mark well my furnace! O what flames, What heats abound!

What griefs, what shames

Confider, Lord; Lord, bow thine ear,

And hear?

Lord Jefu, thou didst bow

Thy dying head upon the tree:

O be not now

More dead to me!

1

Lord, hear! Shall he that made the ear

Not hear?

Behold, thy duft doth stir;

It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee:

Wilt thou defer

To fuccour me,

Thy pile of duft, wherein each crumb

Says, Come?

To thee help appertains, Haft thou left all things to their course, And laid the reins

Upon the horse?

Is all lock'd ? Hath a finner's plea

No key?