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(1593 - 1633.)
Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
For thou must die.
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
And go at last.
An hour or halt's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
And lose you quite.
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave; And after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.
Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
And thou must die.
Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Then chiefly lives.
TO KEEP A TRUE LENT.
How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and
clean Are thy returns! e'en as the flowers in
spring; To which, besides their own demesne, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure
Like snow in May,
Who would have thought my shriv
REST. elled heart
When God at first made man, Could have recovered greenness? It was
Having a glass of blessings standing by, gone
“Let us,” said he, “pour on him all we Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, blown;
Contract into a span."
So strength first made a way; Dead to the world, keep house un. Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor, known.
When alniost all was out, God made a stay, These are thy wonders, Lord of power, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, Killing and quickening, bringing down
Rest in the bottom lay. to hell And up to heaven in an hour;
“For if I should," said he, Making a chiming of a passing bell. “Bestow this jewel also on my creature, We say amiss,
He would adore my gifts instead of me, This or that is:
And rest in nature, not the God of nature; Thy word is all, if we could spell.
So both should losers be. O that I once past changing were,
“Yet let him keep the rest, Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower But keep them with repining restlessness : can wither!
Let him be rich and weary, that at least, Many a spring I shoot up fair
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness Offering at heaven, growing and groan
May toss him to my breast.”
HENRY VAUGHAN. But while I grow in a straight line,
(1614 - 1695.) Still upwards bent, as if heaven were mine own,
THE BIRD. Thy anger comes, and I decline: What frost to that? what pole is not the Hither thou com’st. The busy wind
all night Where all things burn,
Blew through thy lodging, where thy When thou dost turn,
own warm wing And the least frown of thine is shown ? Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm,
For which coarse man seems much the And now in age I bud again,
fitter born, After so many deaths I live and write;
Rained on thy bed
And harmless head;
And now, as fresh and cheerful as the
light, On whom thy tempests fell all night. Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing
Unto that Providence whose unseen arm These are thy wonders, Lord of love, Curbed them, and clothed thee well and To make us see we are but flowers that glide;
All things that be praise Him; and had Which when we once can find and Their lesson taught them when first prove,
made. Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. Who would be more,
So hills and valleys into singing break; Swelling through store,
And though poor stones have neither Forfeit their Paradise by their pride..
speech nor tongue,
While active winds and streams both run These are your walks, and you have and speak,
showed them me Yet stones are deep in admiration.
To kindle my cold love. Thus praise and prayer here beneath the
Dear, beauteous death, - the jewel of the Make lesser mornings, when the great just, are done.
Shining nowhere but in the dark !
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, For each inclosed spirit is a star
Could man outlook that mark ! Inlightning his own little sphere, Whose light, though fetcht and borrowed He that hath found some fledged bird's from far,
nest may know, Both mornings makes and evenings At first sight, if the bird be flown; there.
But what fair dell or grove he sings in
now, But as these birds of light make a land That is to him unknown.
glad, Chirping their solemn matins on each And yet, as angels in some brighter tree;
dreams So in the shades of night some dark Call to the soul when man doth sleep, fowls be,
So some strange thoughts transcend our Whose heavy notes make all that hear wonted themes, them sad.
And into glory peep. The turtle then in palm-trees mourns,
If a star were confined into a tomb, While owls and satyrs howl;
Her captive flames must needs burn The pleasant land to brimstone turns,
there; And all her streams grow foul.
But when the hand that lockt her up
gives room, Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, She'll shine through all the sphere.
Created glories under thee!
Into true liberty!
Either disperse these mists, which blot
My perspective still as they pass; Their very memory is fair and bright, Or else remove me hence unto that hill
And my sad thoughts doth clear. Where I shall need no glass. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest
[1588 - 1667.) I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days ; FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF My days, which are at best but dull and
From others hidden are,
As now and then I hear;
For sure if others knew me such, By her help. I also now
Make this churlish place allow
In the very gall of sadness.
That these hanging vaults have made; As those things make my heart afеard,
The strange music of the waves, Which in myself I find:
Beating on these hollow caves; And I had rather to be blamed,
This black den which rocks emboss, So I were blameless made,
Overgrown with eldest moss; Than for much virtue to be famed,
The rude portals that give light
More to terror than delight;
Walled about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair,
She hath taught me by her might If clear hiniseit he know.
To draw comfort and delight. And when a virtuous man hath erred,
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
thee; And righteous rather in thy sight, Though thou be to them a scorn, Than in the world's esteem.
That to naught but earth are born, And if aught good appear to be
Let my life no longer he In any act of mine,
Than I am in love with thee! Let thankfulness be found in me,
And all the praise be thine.
COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE.
THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN.
She doth tell me where to borrow
How vainly men themselves amaze,
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
WHERE the remote Bermudas ride
In the ocean's bosom unespied, So amorous as this lovely green.
From a small boat that rowed along, Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, The listening winds received this song: ('ut in these trees their mistress' name.
“ What should we do but sing His praise Little, alas, they know or head,
That led us through the watery maze How far these beauties her exceed!
Where he the huge sea monsters racks, Fair trees! where'er your barks I wound, That lift the deep upon their backs, No name shall but your own be found.
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own ? What wondrous life is this I lead !
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storins and prelates' rage. Ripe apples drop about my head. The luscious clusters of the vine
He gave us this eternal spring U pon my mouth do crush their wine.
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care,
He hangs in shades the orange bright, Insnand with flowers, I fall on grass.
Like golden lamps in a green night, Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less
And does in the pomegranates close Withdraws into its happiness,
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. The mind, that ocean where each kind
He makes the figs our mouths to meet, Does straight its own resemblance find;
And throws the melons at our feet, Yet it creates transcending these,
With apples, plants of such a price, Far other worlds and other seas;
No tree could ever bear them twice. Annihilating all that's made
With ceilars, chosen by his band, To a green thought in a green shade.
From Lebanon he stores the land; Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
And makes the hollow seas that roar, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
Proclaim the ambergris on shore. Casting the bouly's vest asiile,
He cast (of which we rather boast) My soul into the boughs does gliile;
The gospel's pearl upon our coast ; There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
And in these rocks for us did frame Then whets and claps its silver wings,
A temple where to sound his name. And, till prepared for longer flight,
0, let our voice his praise exalt, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may Such was the happy garden state,
Echo beyond the Mexic bay." While man there walked without a mate:
Thus sang they in the English boat
A holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime, But 't was beyond a mortal's share
With falling oars they kept the time.
[1608 - 1674.]
HYMN ON THE NATIVITY.
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger Be reckoned, but with herbs and flow. ers?
Nature, in awe of him,