ROBERT HERRICK

Over the silver mountains

Is it to quit the dish Where spring the nectar fountains.

Of flesh, yet still There will I kiss the bowl of bliss,

To fill
And drink mine everlasting fill

The platter high with fish ?
Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before,

Is it to fast an hour,
But after, it will thirst no more.

Or ragged to go, Then by that happy, blissful day,

Or show
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,

A downcast look, and sour?
That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh like me.

No! 't is a fast to dole
I'll take them first to quench their thirst,

Thy sheaf of wheat, And taste of nectar's suckets

And meat,
At those clear wells where sweetness dwells

Unto the hungry soul.
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.
And when our bottles and all we

It is to fast from strife,
Are filled with immortality,

From old debate Then the blest paths we'll travel,

And hate,
Strewed with rubies thick as gravel,

To circumcise thy life.
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearly bowers.

To show a heart grief-rent;
From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall,

To starve thy sin, Where no corrupted voices brawl ;

Not bin,
No conscience molten into gold,

And that's to keep thy lent.
No forged accuser, bought or sold,
No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the King's Attorney ;
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees;

I WOULD I WERE AN EXCELLENT And when the grand twelve-million jury

DIVINE Of our sins, with direful fury, 'Gainst our souls black verdicts give,

I would I were an excellent divine Christ pleads his death, and then we live.

That had the Bible at my fingers' ends ; Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,

That men might hear out of this mouth of mine Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder !

How God doth make his enemies his friends ; Thou giv'st salvation even for alms,

Rather than with a thundering and long prayer Not with a bribéd lawyer's palms.

Be led into presumption, or despair.
And this is mine eternal plea
To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea,

This would I be, and would none other be, That since my flesh must die so soon,

But a religious servant of my God; And want a head to dine next noon,

And know there is none other God but he, Just at the stroke when my veins start and And willingly to suffer mercy's rod, – spread,

Joy in his grace, and live but in his love, Set on my soul an everlasting head :

And seek my bliss but in the world above. Then am I, like a palmer, fit To tread those blest paths which before I writ. And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer, Of death and judgment, heaven and hell, For all estates within the state of grace, Who oft doth think, must needs die well. That careful love might never know despair,

Nor servile fear might faithful love deface ; And this would I both day and night devise To make my humble spirit's exercise.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

A TRUE LENT.

Is this a fast, to keep

The larder lean,

And clean
From fat of veals and sheep ?

And I would read the rules of sacred life ;

Persuade the troubled soul to patience ;
The husband care, and comfort to the wife,

To child and servant due obedience ;
Faith to the friend, and to the neighbor peace,
That love might live, and quarrels all might cease.

NICHOLAS BRETON.

MILTON

morn

Prayer for the health of all that are diseased, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.

Confession unto all that are convicted, Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds, And patience unto all that are displeased, That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend,

And comfort unto all that are afflicted, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
And mercy unto all that have offended, Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
And grace to all, that all may be amended. 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
ADAM'S MORNING HYMN IN PARADISE. To give us only good; and if the night

Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed,
THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
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

PRAISE.
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. To write a verse or two is all the praise
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,

That I can raise ;
Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs

Mend my estate in any wayes,
And choral symphonies, day without night,

Thou shalt have more.
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in Heaven,
On earth join, all ye creatures, to extol

I go to church ; help me to wings, and I
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.

Will thither flie; Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,

Or, if I mount unto the skie, If better thou belong not to the dawn,

I will do more. Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling

Man is all weaknesse : there is no such thing With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,

As Prince or King : While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.

His arm is short; yet with a sling of this great world both eye and soul,

He may do more. Acknowledge him thy greater ; sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, A herbdestilled, and drunk, may dwell next doore,

On the same floore, And when high noon hast gained, and when thou

To a brave soul : Exalt the poore, fall'st.

They can do more. Moon, that now meets the orient sun, now fliest, With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies, 0, raise me then ! poore bees, that work all day, And ye five other wandering fires that move

Sting my delay, In mystic dance not without song, resound

Who have a work, as well as they, His praise, who out of darkness called up light.

And much, much more.
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

UP HILL.
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise

Does the road wind up hill all the way?
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,

Yes, to the very end. Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,

Will the day's journey take the whole long day! In honor to the world's great Author rise,

From morn to night, my friend.
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, But there for the night a resting-place ?
Rising or falling, still advance his praise.

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin ? His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, May not the darkness hide it from my face ? Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye You cannot miss that inn.

pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ? Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,

Those who have gone before.

Thou sun,

GEORGE HERBERT.