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For as thou dost impart thy grace,

The greater shall our glorie be. The measure of our joyes is in this place,

The stuffe 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 delaies.

All things are busie ; only I

Neither bring hony with the bees, Nor flowres to make that, nor the husbandrie

To water these.

I am no link of thy great chain,

But all my companie is a weed. Lord, place me in thy consort ; give one strain

To my poore reed.

GEORGE HERBERT.

THE NEW JERUSALEM.

O MOTHER dear, Jerusalem,

When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end, -

Thy joys when shall I see ?
O happy harbor of God's saints !

O sweet and pleasant soil !
In thee no sorrow can be found,

Nor grief, nor care, nor toil.
No dimly cloud o'ershadows thee,

Nor gloom, nor darksome night;
But every soul shines as the sun,

For God himself gives light. Thy walls are made of precious stone,

Thy bulwarks diamond-square,
Thy gates are all of orient pearl, -

O God ! if I were there!
O my sweet home, Jerusalem !

Thy joys when shall I see ? —
The King sitting upon thy throne,

And thy felicity ?

POEMS OF RELIGION.

MY GOD, I LOVE THEE.

My God, I love thee! not because

I hope for heaven thereby ;
Nor because those who love thee not

Must burn eternally.
Thou, O my Jesus, thou didst me

Upon the cross embrace !
For me didst bear the nails and spear,

And manifold disgrace.

And griefs and torments numberless,

And sweat of agony,
Yea, death itself, and all for one

That was thine enemy.

Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ,

Should I not love thee well ?
Not for the hope of winning heaven,

Nor of escaping hell !
Not with the hope of gaining aught,

Not seeking a reward ;
But as thyself hast loved me,

O everlasting Lord !

E'en so I love thee, and will lore,

And in thy praise will sing,
Solely because thou art my God,
And my eternal King.
ST. FRANCIS XAVIER (Latin). Translation

of EDWARD CASWELL.

EMPLOYMENT.

IF as a flowre doth spread and die,

Thou wouldst extend me to some good,
Before I were by frost's extremitie

Nipt in the bud,
The sweetnesse and the praise were thine ;

But the extension and the room
Which in thy garland I should fill were mine

At thy great doom.

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Thy gardens and thy goodly walks

Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers

As nowhere else are seen.

Quite through the streets with pleasing sound

The flood of life doth flow ; And on the banks, on every side,

The trees of life do grow.

These trees each month yield ripened fruit ;

Forevermore they spring,
And all the nations of the earth

To thee their honors bring.

Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place

Full sore I long to see ; O that my sorrows had an end,

That I might dwell in thee !

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I long to see Jerusalem,

The comfort of us all ; For thou art fair and beautiful, –

None ill can thee befall.

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No candle needs, no moon to shine,

No glittering star to light; For Christ the King of Righteousness

Forever shineth bright.

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DARKNESS IS THINNING.

DARKNESS is thinning; shadows are retreating;
Morning and light are coming in their beauty.
Suppliant seek we, with an earnest outery,

God the Almighty !
So that our Master, having mercy on us,
May repel languor, may bestow salvation,
Granting us, Father, of thy loving kindness

Glory hereafter !

This of his mercy, ever-blesséd Godhead,
Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, give us, –
Whom through the wide world celebrate forever

Blessing and glory!
ST. GREGORY THE GREAT (Latin). Translation

of J. M. NEALE.

I LOVE, AND HAVE SOME CAUSE

I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the earth,

She is my Maker's creature, therefore good;
She is my mother, for she gave me birth ;

She is my tender nurse, she gives me food :
But what's a creature, Lord, compared with

thee?
Or what's my mother or my nurse to me!
I love the air, — her dainty sweets refresh

My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me;
Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their

flesh,
And with their polyphonian notes delight me:
But what's the air, or all the sweets that she
Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee?

0, passing happy were my state,

Might I be worthy found
To wait upon my God and King,

His praises there to sound !

Jerusalem! Jerusalem !

Thy joys fain would I see ;
Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief,
And take me home to thee !

DAVID DICKSON.

DROP, DROP, SLOW TEARS.

I love the sea,

she is my fellow-creature,
My careful purveyor ; she provides me store;
She walls me round ; she makes my diet greater;

She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore :
But, Lord of oceans, when compared with thee,

What is the ocean or her wealth to me!
To heaven's high city I direct my journey,

Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye, –
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,

Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky:
But what is heaven, great God, compared to

thee?
Without thy presence, heaven 's no heaven to

DROP, drop, slow tears,

And bathe those beauteous feet
Which brought from heaven

The news and prince of peace !
Cease not, wet eyes,

His mercies to entreat ;
To cry for vengeance

Sin doth never cease ;
In your deep floods

Drown all my faults and fears ;
Nor let his eye

See sin but through my tears.

me.

Without thy presence, earth gives no refection,

Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure ; Without thy presence, air 's a rank infectien; Without thy presence, heaven 's itsef no

pleasure :

PHINEAS FLETCHEL

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If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee,

What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me? The highest honors that the world can boast

Are subjects far too low for my desire ;
The brightest beams of glory are, at most,

But dying sparkles of thy living fire ;
The loudest flames that earth can kindle be

But nightly glow-worms if compared to thee. Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares ;

Wisdom but folly ; joy, disquiet, sadness ; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ; Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing

madness, Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be,

Nor have their being, when compared with thee. In having all things, and not thee, what have I ?

Not having thee, what have my labors got? Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I ?

And having thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be
Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of
thee!

FRANCIS QUARLES.

TWO WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE TO

PRAY.

Two went to pray? O, rather say,
One went to brag, the other to pray ;
One stands up close and treads on high,
Where the other dares not lend his eye ;

One nearer to God's altar trod,
The other to the altar's God.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

THE VALEDICTION.

The silly lambs to-day
Pleasantly skip and play,
Whom butchers mean to slay,

Perhaps to-morrow;
In a more brutish sort
Do careless sinners sport,
Or in dead sleep still snort,

As near to sorrow;
Till life, not well begun,

Be sadly ended,
And the web they have spun

Can ne'er be mended.

What is the time that's gone,
And what is that to come ?
Is it not now as none ?

The present stays not.

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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 best 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.

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, mor 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,

MILTON.
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 Thou sun, 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 herb destilled, and drunk, maydwell next doore,

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

To a brave soul : Exalt the poore, fall'st. Moon, that now meets the orient sun, now fliest,

They can do more. With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies, o, 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, sky 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 is 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.

GEORGE HERBERT.

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