It was but now they gathered blooming May,
And of his arms disrob'd the branching tree,
To strow with boughs and blossoms all thy way;
And now the branchless trunk a cross for thee,
And May, dismay'd, thy coronet must bè:

go;

It was but now they were so kind to throw Their own best garments, where thy feet should [they show. And now thyself they strip, and bleeding wounds See where the Author of all life is dying: O fearful day! he dead, what hope of living? See where the hopes of all our lives are buying: O cheerful day! they bought, what fear of grieving?

Love, love for hate, and death for life is giving: Lo, how his arms are stretch'd abroad to grace thee,

And, as they open stand, call to embrace thee: Why stay'st thou then, my soul! O fly, fly, thither haste thee.

His radious head with shameful thorns they tear,
His tender back with bloody whips they rent,
His side and heart they furrow with a spear,
His hands and feet with riving nails they tent,
And, as to disentrail his soul they meant,

They jolly at his grief, and make their game,
His naked body to expose to shame,

That all might come to see, and all might see that

came.

Whereat the Heav'n put out his guilty eye,"
That durst behold so execrable sight,
And sabled all in black the shady sky,
And the pale stars, struck with unwonted fright,
Quenched their everlasting lamps in night:

And at his birth, as all the stars Heav'n had
Were not enow, but a new star was made;
So now, both new, and old, and all away did fade.
The mazed angels shook their fiery wings,
Ready to lighten vengeance from God's throne;
One down his eyes upon the manhood flings,
Another gazes on the Godhead, none
But surely thought his wits were not his own.
Some flew to look if it were very he;

But when God's arm unarmed they did see, Albe they saw it was, they vow'd it could not be. The sadded air hung all in cheerless black, Through which the gentle winds soft sighing flew, And Jordan into such huge sorrow brake, (As if his holy stream no measure knew) That all his narrow banks he overthrew ;

The trembling earth with horrour inly shook, And stubborn stones, such grief unus'd to brook, Did burst, and ghosts awaking, from their graves 'gan look.

The wise philosopher cried, all aghast, "The God of nature surely languished;" The sad Centurion cried out.as.fast, "The Son of God, the Son of God was dead;" The headlong Jew hung down his pensive head,

And homewards far'd; and ever, as he went, He smate his breast, half desperately bent; The vary woods and beasts did seem his death lamert.

The graceless traitour round about did look,
(He look'd not long, the devil quickly met him)
To find a halter, which he found, and took,
Only a gibbet now he needs must get him;
So on a wither'd tree he fairly set him ;

And help'd him fit the rope, and in his thought A thousand furies, with their whips, he brought; So there he stands, ready to Hell to make his vault,

For him a waking bloodhound, yelling loud,
That in his bosom long had sleeping laid,
A guilty conscience, barking after blood,
Pursued eagerly, nay, never stay'd,
Till the betrayer's self it had betray'd.

Oft chang'd he place, in hope away to wind; But change of place could never change his mind:

Himself he flies to lose, and follows for to find.

There is but two ways for this soul to have,
When parting from the body, forth it purges;
To flie to Heav'n, or fall into the grave,
Where whips of scorpions, with the stinging
scourges,

Feed on the howling ghosts, and fiery surges.
Of brimstone roll about the cave of night,
Where flames do burn, and yet no spark of light,
And fire both fries, and freezes the blaspheming
spright.

There lies the captive soul, aye-sighing sore,
Reck'ning a thousand years since her first bands;
Yet stays not there, but adds a thousand more,
And at another thousand never stands,
But tells to them the stars, and heaps the sands:
And now the stars are told, and sands are run,
And all those thousand thousand myriads done,
And yet but now, alas! but now all is begun ?

With that a flaming brand a fury catch'd,
And shook, and toss'd it round in his wild thought,
So from his heart all joy, all comfort snatch'd,
With every star of hope; and as he sought
(With present fear, and future grief distraught)

To fly from his own heart, and aid implore

Of him, the more he gives, that hath the more, Whose storehouse is the Heav'ns, too little for his store.

He kiss'd thee, though he knew his life the price; He wash'd thy feet: should'st thou his sacrifice?

He gave thee bread, and wine, his body, blood,
And at thy heart to enter in he stood;
But then I enter'd in, and all my snaky brood."

As when wild Pentheus grown mad with fear,
Whole troops of hellish hags about him spies,
Two bloody suns stalking the dusky sphere,
And twofold Thebes runs rolling in his eyes:
Or through the scene staring Orestes flies,

With eyes flung back upon his mother's ghost, That, with infernal serpents all emboss'd, And torches quench'd in blood, doth her stern son

accost.

Such horrid gorgons, and misformed forms

Of damned fiends, flew dancing in his heart, That now, unable to endure their storms,

Once didst thou lose thy son, but foundst again; Now find'st thy Son, but find'st him lost and slain. Ah me! though he could death, how can'st thou life sustain ?

"Where'er, dear Lord, thy shadow hovereth, Blessing the place, wherein it deigns abide ; Look how the Earth dark horrour covereth,

Hell, Hell already burns in every part."

So down into his torturers, arms he fell,
That ready stood his funerals to yell,

And in a cloud of night to waft him quick to Hell.

Yet oft he snatch'd, and started as he hung:

So when the senses half enslumber'd lie,
The headlong body, ready to be flung
By the deluding fancy from some high
And craggy rock, recovers greedily,

And clasps the yielding pillow, half asleep,
And, as from Heav'n it tumbled to the deep,
Feels a cold sweat through every trembling mem-
ber creep.

There let him hang embowelled in blood,
Where never any gentle shepherd feed
His blessed flocks, nor ever heav'nly flood
Fall on the cursed ground, nor wholesome seed,
That may the least delight or pleasure breed:
Let never spring visit his habitation,
But nettles, kix, and all the weedy nation,
With empty elders grow, sad signs of desolation.
There let the dragon keep his habitance,
And stinking carcases be thrown avaunt,
Fauns, sylvans, and deformed satyrs dance,
Wild cats, wolves, toads, and screech-owls direly
There ever let some restless spirit haunt, [chant;
With hollow sound, and clashing chains to scar
The passenger, and eyes like to the star,
Tint sparkles in the crest of angry Mars afar.
But let the blessed dews for ever show'r
Upon that ground, in whose fair fields I spy
The bloody ensign of our Saviour.
Strange conquest where the conqueror must die,
And he is slain, that wins the victory:

But he, that living, had no house to owe it, Now had no grave, but Joseph must bestow it: O run ye saints apace, and with sweet flowers bestrow it

And ye glad spirits, that now sainted sit
On your celestial thrones, in beauty drest,
Though I your tears recount, O let it not.
With after sorrow wound your tender breast,
Or with new grief unquiet your soft rest:

Enough is me your plaints to sound again,
That never could enough myself complain.
Sing then, O sing aloud thou Arimathean swain.
But long he stood, in his faint arms upholding
The fairest spoil Hear'n ever forfeited,
With such a silent passion grief unfolding,
That, had the sheet but on himself been spread
He for the carse might have been buried:

And with him stood the happy thief that stole By night his own salvation, and a shoal Of Maries drowned, round about him, sat in dole. At length (kissing his lips before he spake, As if from theace he fetch'd again his ghust) Ta Mary thus with tears his silence brake: "Ah, woful soul! what joy in all our coast, When him we hold, we have already lost?

Willing her shadow up to Heav'n to glide,

To see, and if it meet thee wand'ring there,
That so, and if herself must miss thee here,
At least her shadow may her duty to thee bear.
"See how the Sun in daytime clouds his face,
And lagging Vesper, loosing his late team,
Forgets in Heaven to run his nightly race:
But, sleeping on bright Eta's top, doth dream
The world a chaos is, no joyful beam [moan,
Looks from his starry bower, the Heav'ns do
And trees drop tears, lest we should grieve alone,
The winds have learn'd to sigh, and waters hoarsely
groan.

"And you sweet flow'rs, that in this garden grow,
Whose happy states a thousand souls envy,
Did you your own felicities but know,
Yourselves uppluck'd would to his funeral hie,
You never could in better season die :

O that I might into your places slide!
The gates of Heav'n stands gaping in his side.
There in my soul should steal, and all her faults
should hide.

"Are these the eyes that made all others blind?
Ah! why are they themselves now blemished!
Is this the face, in which all beauty shin'd?
What blast hath thus his flowers debellished?
Are these the feet, that on the wat❜ry head

Of the unfaithful ocean passage found?
Why go they now so lowly under ground,
Wash'd with our worthless tears, and their own
precious wound?

"One hem but of the garments that he wore,
Could medicine whole countries of their pain:
One touch of this pale hand could life restore,
One word of these cold lips revive the slain :
Well the blind man thy Godhead might maintain,
What though the sullen Pharisees repin'd?

He that should both compare, at length would
find

The blind man only saw, the seers all were blind.

"Why should they think thee worthy to be slain ?
Was it because thou gav'st their blind men eyes?
Or that thou mad'st their lame to walk again ?
Or for thou heald'st their sick men's maladies?
Or mad'st their damb to speak, and dead to rise!
O could all these but any grace have won.
What would they not to save thy life have done?
The dumb nian would have spoke, and lame man
would have run.

"Let me, O let me near some fountain lie,
That through the rock heaves uphis sandy head,
Or let me dwell upon some mountain high,
Whose hollow roo and baser parts are spread
On fleeting waters, in his bowels bred,

That I their streams, and they my tears may feed: Or clothed in some hermit's ragged weed, Spend all my days in weeping for this cursed deed.

"The life, the which I once did love, I leave;
The love, in which I once did live, I lothe;
I hate the light, that did my light bereave;
But love, and life, I do despise you both.
O that one grave might both our ashes clothe!
A love, a life, a light I now obtain,
Able to make my age grow young again,
Able to save the sick, and to revive the slain.

"Thus spend we tears that never can be spent,
On him, that sorrow now no more shall see;
Thus send we sighs, that never can be sent,
To him that died to live, and would not be,
To be there where he would: here bury we

This heav'nly earth; here let it softly sleep,
The fairest Shepherd of the fairest sheep."
So all the body kiss'd, and homewards went to
weep.

So home their bodies went to seek repose;
But at the grave they left their souls behind :
O who the force of love celestial knows!
That can the chains of Nature's self unbind,
Sending the body home without the mind.

Ah, blessed virgin! what high angel's art
Can ever count thy tears, or sing thy smart,
When every nail, that pierc'd his hand, did pierce
thy heart?

So Philomel, perch'd on an aspin sprig,
Weeps all the night her lost virginity,
And sings her sad tale to the merry twig,
That dances at such joyful misery,
Ne ever lets sweet rest invade her eye:

But leaning on a thorn her dainty chest,
For fear soft sleep should steal into her breast,
Expresses in her song grief not to be express'd.

So when the lark (poor bird!) afar espy'th
Her yet unfeather'd children (whom to save
She strives in vain) slain by the fatal scythe,.
Which from the meadow her green locks doth
shave,

That their warm nest is now become their grave;
The woeful mother up to Heav'n springs,
And all about her plaintive notes she flings,
And their untimely fate most pitifully sings.

CHRIST'S TRIUMPH AFTER DEATH.

THE ARGUMENT.

Christ's triumph after death, 1st, In his resurrection, manifested by its effects in the creatures, ver. 1-7.; in himself, ver. 8-12. 2d. In his ascension into Heaven, whose joys are described, ver. 13-16.; 1st, By the access of all good, the blessed society of the saints, angels, &c. ver. 17-19. The sweet quiet and peace enjoyed under God, ver. 20.; shadowed by the peace we enjoy under our sovereign, ver.. 2126. The beauty of the place, ver. 27.; the carity (as the school calls it) of the saints bodies, ver. 28-31.; the impletion of the appetite, ver. 32, 33.; the joy of the senses, &c. ver, 34. 2d, By the amotion of all evil, ver. 35, 36.; by the access of all good again,

ver. 37. in the glory of the holy city, ver. 38.; in the beatifical vision of God, ver. 39.

BUT now the second morning from her bow'r ̧
Began to glister in her beams, and now
The roses of the day began to flow'r

In th' eastern garden; for Heav'n's smiling brow
Half insolent for joy begun to show;

The early Sun came lively dancing out,
And the brag lambs ran wantoning about,
That Heav'n and Earth might seem in triumph
both to shout.

Th' engladden'd spring, forgetful now to weep,
Began t' enblazon from her leavy bed:
The waking swallow broke her half year's sleep,
And every bush lay deeply purpured
With violets, the wood's late wintry head

Wide flaining primroses set all on fire,

And his bald trees put on their green attire, Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.

And now the taller sons (whom Titan warms)
Of unshorn mountains, blown with easy winds,
Dandled the morning's childhood in their arms,
And, if they chanc'd to slip the prouder pines,
The under corylets did catch the shines,.

To gild their leaves; saw never happy year
Such joyful triumph and triumphant cheer,
As though the aged world anew created were.
Say, Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire,
And stick'st thy habit full of daisies red?
Seems that thou dost to some high thought aspire,
And some new-found-out bridegroom mean'st to
Tell me, ye trees, so fresh apparelled, [wed:

So never let the spiteful canker waste you,
So never let the Heav'ns with lightning blast you,
Why go you now so trimly drest, or whither haste
you?

Answer me, Jordan, why thy crooked tide
So often wanders from his nearest way,

As though some other way thy stream would slide,
And fain salute the place where something lay.
And you sweet birds, that, shaded from the ray,
Sit caroling, and piping grief away,

The while the lambs to hear you dance and play, Tell me, sweet birds, what is it you so fain would say?

And thou fair spouse of Earth, that every year Gett'st such a numerous issue of thy bride, How chance thoù hotter shin'st, and draw'st more near?

་

Sure thou somewhere some worthy sight hast spy'd, That in one place for joy thou can'st not hide ;

And you, dead swallows, that so lively now Through the fleet air your winged passage row, How could new life into your frozen ashes flowi Ye primroses, and purple violets, Tell me, why blaze ye from your leavy bed, And woo men's hands to rent you from your sets, As though you would somewhere be carried, With fresh perfumes, and velvets garnished?

But ah! I need not ask, 'tis surely so, You all would to your Saviour's triumphs go. There would ye all await, and humble homage do...