Изображения страниц

The grosser world stands to thy word and art;

But thy diviner world of grace

Thou suddenly doft raise and raze,
And ev'ry day a new Creator ait.
O fix thy chair of grace, that all my powers.

May also fix their reverence :

For when thou dost depart from hence They grow unruly, and sit in thy bowers. Scatter, or bind them all to bend to thee :

Though elements change, and heaven move,

Let not thy higher court remove, But keep a standing majesty in me.

Jordan. WHO says that

fictions only and false hair Become a verse? Is there in truth no beauty ? Is all good structure in a winding stair? May no lines pass, except they do their duty

Not to a true, but painted chair.

Is it not verse, except enchanted groves
And fudden arbors shadow course-fpun lines ?
Must purling streams refresh a lover's love ?
Muft all be vail'd, while he that read divines,

Catching the sense at two removes.
Shepherds are honest People; let them sing:
Riddle who list, for me, and pull for prime i
Envy no man's nightingale or spring ;
Nor let them punilh me with loss of rhyme,

Who plainly say, My God, my King.


as a flower doth spread and die,

Thou would extend to me some good, Before I were by frost's extremity

Nipt in the bud.

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, Nor 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 concert, give one strain

To my poor reed.


The Holy Scriptures.


(heart Suck ev'ry letter, and a honey gain,

Precious for any grief in any part, To clear the breast, to mollify all pain.

Thou art all health, health thriving till it make

A full eternity : Thou art a mass

Of strange delights, where we may wish and take : Ladies, look here : this is the thankful glass,

That mends the looker's eyes: This is the well

That washes what it shews : Who can endear

Thy praise too much ? thou art heav'n's lieger here, Working against the states of death and hell.

Thou art joy's handsel : heav'n lies flat in thee,
Subject to every mounter's bended knee.


O ,


And the configurations of their glory! Seeing not only how each verse doth shine, But all the constellations of the story.

This verse marks that, and both do make a motion

Unto a third, that ten leaves off doch lie.

Then, as dispersed herbs do watch a potion, These three make up some chriftian's destiny.

Such are thy secrets, which my life makes good,

And comments on thee : For in ev'ry thing

Thy words do find me out, and parallels bring, And in another make me understood,

Stars are poor books, and often-times do mifs :
This book of Itars lights to eternal. bliss.



And spread thy golden wings on me ;
Hatching my tender heart long,
Till it get wing; and.fly away with thee.

Where is that fire which once descended
On thy apostles ? thou didft then

Keep open house, richly attended,
Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men:

Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow,
That th' earth did like a heav'n appear :

The stars were coming down to know,
If they might mend their wages, and serve here.

The sun, which once did shine alone,
Hung down his head, and with'd for night,

When he beheld twelve funs for one
Going about the world, and giving light.

But since those pipes of gold, which brought
That cordial water to our ground,

Were cut and martyr'd by the fault.
Of those who did themselves thro' their fide wound;

Thou shutt'st the door, and keep'st within ;
Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink :

And if the braves of conquering fin
Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink.

Lord, though we change, thou art the same ;
The same sweet God of love and light;

Restore this day, for thy great name,
Unto his ancient and miraculous right.


Y stock lies dead, and no increase

doth my dull husbandry improve : O let thy graces without cease

Drop from above.
If ftill the sun should hide his face,
Thy house would but a dungeon prove,
Thy works night's captives : O let grace

Drop from above.
The dew doth ev'ry morning fall;
And shall the dew outstrip thy Dove ?
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 supp'ling grace to cross his art

Drop from above.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »