Faith looks into the fecret cabinet
Of God's eternal counfels, and doth fee
Such mysteries of glory there, as fet
Believing hearts on longing, till they be
Transform'd to the fame image, and appear
So alter'd, as if themfelves were there,

Faith can raise earth to heaven, or draw down
Heaven to earth, make both extremes to meet,
Felicity and mifery, can crown

Reproach with honour, feafon four with fweet.
Nothing's impoffible to faith: a man

May do all things that he believes he can.

Hope founded upon faith can raise the heart
Above itself in expectation

Of what the foul defireth for its part!
Then, when its time of tranfmigration
Is delay'd longeft, yet as patiently
To wait, as if't were anfwer'd by and by.

When grief unweildy grows, hope can abate
The bulk to what proportion it will:
So that a large circumference of late
A little centre fhall not reach to fill.

Nor that, which giant-like before did ftrout,
Be able with a pigmy's pace t' hold out.

Hope can difperfe the thickeft clouds of night,
That fear hath overfpread the foul withal,
And make the darkest shadows shine as bright
As the fun-beams spread on a filver wall.

Sin-fhaken fouls, hope, anchor-like, holds steady,
When storm and tempefts make them more than giddy.

Love led by Faith, and fed with Hope,
To travel through the world's wide wildernefs;
And burdens feeming moft intolerable
Both to take up, and bear with cheerfulness.
To do, or fuffer, what appears in fight
Extremely heavy, love will make moft light.

Yea, what by men is done or fuffered,
Either for God, or elfe for one another,
Though in it felf it be much blemished
With many imperfections, which smother

And drown the worth and weight of it; yet, fall
What will, or can, love makes amends for all.

Love doth unite, and knit, both make, and keep
Things one together, which were otherwise,
Or would be both divers, and diftant. Deep,
High, long and broad, or whatsoever fize
Eternity is of, or happiness,

Love comprehends it all, be't more or less.

Give me this threefold cord of graces then,
Faith, Hope and Love, let them possess mine heart,
And gladly I'll resign to other men

All I can claim by nature or by art.

To mount a foul, and make it still stand stable, These are alone engines incomparable.

To my Reverend Friend,

THET

AUTHOR

OF THE

SYNAGOGUE.

SIR,

Lov'd you for your Synagogue before

I knew your perfon; but now love you more;
Because I find

It it so true a picture of your mind:
Which tunes your facred lyre
To that eternal quire,

Where holy Herbert fits

(O fhame to profane wits!)

And fings his and your anthems, to the praife
Of him that is the first and last of days.

These holy hymns had an etherial birth:
For they can raise fad fouls above the earth,
And fix them there

Free from the world's anxieties and fear.
Herbert and you have pow'r

To do this: ev'ry hour
I read you kills a fin,

Or let's a virtue in

To fight against it; and the Holy Ghoft

Supports my frailties, left the day be loft.

This holy war, taught by your happy pen,

The Prince of Peace approves.

Neglect our arms,

When we poor men

W' are circumvefted with a world of harms.

But I will watch and ward,

And ftand upon my guard,

And ftill confult with you,
And Herbert, and renew

My vows, and fay, well fare his, and your heart,
The fountains of fuch facred Wit and Art.

S Gold;

O the cheap Touchstone's bold

As I, at your command,

Put forth my blushing hand

To try these raptures, fent to my poor teft;
But fince your queftion's, Are they like the rest?
I fay they are the best:

That once conceiv'd, the other confeft.

But, Sir, now they are here, For to prevent a female jeer, Thus much affirm I do,

They're like the father too;

And you like him whofe fublime paths you tread, Herbert! to be like whom, who'd not be dead? Herbert! whom when I read,

I ftoop at ftars that fhine below my head.

Herbert! whofe every strain

Twifts holy breafts with happy brain
So that who ftrives to be

As elegant as he,

Muft climb mount Calv'ry for Parnassus hill,
And in his Saviour's fides baptize his quill;
A Jordan fit t' inftil

A faint-like ftyle, back'd with an angel's skill.

He was our Solomon, And you are our centurion;

Our TEMPLE him we owe,

Our SYNAGOGUE to you :

Where if your piety fo much allow

That structure with these ornaments t' endow,

All good men will avow,

Your Syn'gogue, built before, is furnish'd now.

J. L.