Authoris (de se) Emblema.  
TEntasti, fateor, sine vulnere soepius, & me  
Consultum voluit Vox, sine voce, frequens;  
Ambivit placido divinior aur a meatu,  
Et frustrà sancto murmur praemonuit  
Sur dus eram, mutusqueSilex: Tu, (quanta tuorum  
Cura tibi est!) aliâ das renovare viâ,  
Permutas Curam: jamque irritatus Amorem  
Posse negas, & vim, Vi, superare paras,  
Accedis propior, molemque, & Saxea rumpis  
Pectora, fitqueCaro, quod fuit ante Lapis  
En lacerum! Coelosque tuos ardentia tandem  
Fragmenta, & liquidas ex Adamante genas.  
Sic olim undantes Petras, Scopulosque vomentes  
Curâsti, O populi providus usque tui!  
Quam Miranda tibi manus est! Moriendo, revixi;  
Et fractas jam sum ditior inter opes.   

Silex Scintillans: or SACRED POEMS and Private ejaculations By Henry Vaughan Silurist  
LONDON, Printed by. To: W. for H. Blunden at the Castle in Cornhill. 1650   

The Dedication.  
MY God, thou that didst die for me,  
These thy death's fruits I offer thee.  
Death that to me was life, and light  
But dark, and deep pangs to thy sight.  
Some drops of thy all-quickening blood  
Fell on my heart, these made it bud  
And put forth thus, though, Lord, before  
The ground was cursed, and void of store.  
Indeed, I had some here to hire  
Which long resisted thy desire,  
That stoned thy Servants, and did move  
To have thee murdered for thy Love,  
But, Lord, I have expelled them, and so bent  
Beg thou wouldst take thy tenant's Rent.   

Silex Scintillans, &c.  

Regeneration.  

A Ward, and still in bonds, one day  
I stole abroad,  
It was high-spring, and all the way  
primrosed, and hung with shade;  
Yet, was it frost within,  
And surly winds  
Blasted my infant buds, and sin  
Like Clouds eclipsed my mind.   

2.  
Stormed thus; I straight perceived my spring  
Mere stage, and show,  
My walk a monstrous, mountained thing  
Rough-cast with Rocks, and snow;  
And as a pilgrim's Eye  
Far from relief,  
Measures the melancholy sky  
Then drops, and rains for grief,   

3.  
So sighed I upwards still, at last  
twixt steps, and falls  
I reached the pinnacle, where placed  
I found a pair of scales,  
I took them up and laid  
In th'one late pains,  
The other smoke, and pleasures weighed  
But proved the heavier grains;   

4.  
With that, some cried, Away: straight I  
Obeyed, and led  
Full East, a fair, fresh field could spy  
Some called it, Jacob's Bed;  
A virgin-soil, which no  
Rude feet ere trod,  
Where (since he stepped there,) only go  
Prophets, and friends of God.   

5.  
Here, I reposed; but scarce well set,  
A grove descried  
Of stately height, whose branches met  
And mixed on every side;  
I entered and once in  
(Amazed to see't,)  
Found all was changed, and a new spring  
Did all my senses greet;   

6.  
The unthrift sun shot vital gold  
A thousand pieces,  
And heaven its azure did unfold  
Checqured with snowy fleeces,  
The air was all in spice  
And every bush  
A garland wore; Thus fed my Eyes  
But all the ear lay hush.   

7.  
Only a little Fountain lent  
Some use for ears,  
And on the dumb shades language spent  
The music of her tears;  
I drew her near, and found  
The cistern full  
Of divers stones, some bright, and round  
Others ill-shaped, and dull.   

8.  
The first (pray mark,) as quick as light  
Danced through the flood,  
But, th'last more heavy than the night  
Nailed to the centre stood;  
I wondered much, but tired  
At last with thought,  
My restless Eye that still desired  
As strange an object brought;   

9  
It was a bank of flowers, where I descried  
(Though 'twas midday,)  
Some fast asleep, others broad-eyed  
And taking in the Ray,  
Here musing long, I heard  
A rushing wind  
Which still increased, but whence it stirred  
Nowhere I could not find;   

10.  
I turned me round, and to each shade  
Dispatched an Eye,  
To see, if any leaf had made  
lest motion, or Reply,  
But while I listening sought  
My mind to ease  
By knowing, where 'twas, or where not,  
It whispered; where I please.   

Lord, then said I, On me one breath,  
And let me die before my death!   Cant. Cap. 5. ver. 17. 
Arise O North, and come thou South-wind, and blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.   

Death. A Dialogue.  Soul. 

'TIs a sad Land, that in one day  
Hath dulled thee thus, when death shall freeze  
Thy blood to Ice, and thou must stay  
Tenant for years, and Centuries,  
How wilt thou brook't?—   Body. 

I cannot tell,—  
But if all sense wings not with thee,  
And something still be left the dead,  
I'll wish my curtains off to free  
Me from so dark, and sad a bed;   

A nest of nights, a gloomy sphere,  
Where shadows thicken, and the Cloud  
Sits on the sun's brow all the year,  
And nothing moves without a shroud;   Soul. 

'Tis so: But as thou sawest that night  
We traveled in, our first attempts  
Were dull, and blind, but custom straight  
Our fears, and falls brought to contempt,   

Then, when the ghastly twelve was past  
We breathed still for a blushing East,  
And bade the lazy sun make haste,  
And on sure hopes, though long, did feast;   

But when we saw the Clouds to crack  
And in those crannies light appeared,  
We thought the day than was not slack,  
And pleased ourselves with what we feared;   

Just so it is in death. But thou  
Shalt in thy mother's bosom sleep  
Whilst I each minute groan to know  
How near Redemption creeps.   

Then shall we meet to mix again, and met,  
'Tis last good-night, our sun shall never set.   Job. Cap: 10. ver. 21.22. 
Before I go whence I shall not return, even to the land of darkness, and the shadow of death;  
A Land of darkness, as darkness itself, and of the shadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darkness.   

Resurrection and Immortality:  Heb. cap. 10. ve: 20. 
By that new, and living way, which he hath prepared for us, through the veil, which is his flesh.  Body. 

1.  
OFt have I seen, when that renewing breath  
That binds, and loosens death  
Inspired a quickening power through the dead  
Creatures a bed,  
Some drowsy silkworm creep  
From that long sleep  
And in weak, infant humings chime, and knell  
About her silent Cell  
Until at last full with the vital Ray  
She winged away,  
And proud with life, and sense,  
Heaven's rich expense,  
Esteemed (Vain things!) of two whole Elements  
As mean, and span-extents.  
Shall I then think such providence will be  
Less friend to me?  
Or that he can endure to be unjust  
Who keeps his Covenant even with our dust.   Soul. 

2.  
Poor, querulous handful! was't for this  
I taught thee all that is?  
Unboweled nature, showed thee her recruits,  
And Change of suits  
And how of death we make  
A mere mistake,  
For no thing can to Nothing fall, but still  
Incorporates by skill,  
And then returns, and from the womb of things  
Such treasure brings  
As Phenix-like renew'th  
Both life, and youth;  
For a preserving spirit doth still pass  
Untainted through this mass,  
Which doth resolve, produce, and ripen all  
That to it fall;  
Nor are those births which we  
Thus suffering see  
Destroyed at all; But when times restless wave  
Their substance doth deprave  
And the more noble Essence finds his house  
Sickly, and loose,  
He, ever young, doth wing  
Unto that spring,  
And source of spirits, where he takes his lot  
Till time no more shall rot  
His passive Cottage; which (though laid aside,)  
Like some spruce Bride,  
Shall one day rise, and clothed with shining light  
All pure, and bright  
Remarry to the soul, for 'tis most plain  
Thou only falest to be refined again.   

3.  
Then I that here saw darkly in a glass  
But mists, and shadows pass,  
And, by their own weak Shine, did search the springs  
And Course of things  
Shall with enlightened rays  
Pierce all their ways;  
And as thou saw'st, I in a thought could go  
To heaven, or Earth below  
To read some star, or mineral, and in State  
There often sat,  
So shalt thou then with me  
(Both winged, and free,)  
Rove in that mighty, and eternal light  
Where no rude shade, or night  
Shall dare approach us; we shall there no more  
Watch stars, or poor  
Through melancholy clouds, and say  
Would it were Day!  
One everlasting Sabbath there shall run  
Without Succession, and without a sun.   Dan: Cap: 12. ver: 13. 
But go thou thy way until the end be, for thou shalt rest, and stand up in thy lot, at the end of the days.   

Day of Judgement.  

WHen through the North a fire shall rush  
And roll into the East,  
And like a fiery torrent brush  
And sweep up South, and West,   

When all shall stream, and lighten round  
And with surprising flames  
Both stars, and Elements confound  
And quite blot out their names,   

When thou shalt spend thy sacred store  
Of thunders in that heat  
And low as ere they lay before  
Thy six-dayes-buildings beat,   

When like a scroll the heavens shall pass  
And vanish clean away,  
And nought must stand of that vast space  
Which held up night, and day,   

When one loud blast shall rend the deep,  
And from the womb of earth  
Summon up all that are asleep  
Unto a second birth,   

When thou shalt make the Clouds thy seat,  
And in the open air  
The Quick, and dead, both small and great  
Must to thy bar repair;   

O than it will be all too late  
To say, what shall I do?  
Repentance there is out of date  
And so is mercy too;   

Prepare, prepare me then, O God  
And let me now begin  
To feel my loving father's Rod  
Killing the man of sin!   

Give me, O give me Crosses here,  
Still more afflictions lend,  
That pill, though bitter, is most dear  
That brings health in the end;   

Lord, God I beg nor friends, nor wealth  
But pray against them both;  
Three things I'd have, my souls chief health!  
And one of these seem loath,   

A living FAITH, a HEART of flesh,  
The WORLD an enemy,  
This last will keep the first two fresh,  
And bring me, where I'd be.   1 Pet. 4.7. 
Now the end of all things is at hand, be you therefore sober, and watching in prayer.   

Religion.  

MY God, when I walk in those groves,  
And leaves thy spirit doth still fan,  
I see in each shade that there grows  
An angel talking with a man.   

Under a Juniper, some house,  
Or the cool myrtles canopy,  
Others beneath an oaks green boughs,  
Or at some fountains bubbling Eye;   

Here Jacob dreams, and wrestles; there  
Elias by a Raven is fed,  
Another time by th' angel, where  
He brings him water with his bread;   

In Abraham's Tent the winged guests  
(O how familiar then was heaven!)  
Eat, drink, discourse, sit down, and rest  
Until the cool, and shady Even;   

Nay thou thyself, my God, in fire,  
whirlwinds, and Clouds, and the soft voice  
Speak'st there so much, that I admire  
We have no conference in these days;   

Is the truce broke? or 'cause we have  
A mediator now with thee,  
Dost thou therefore old Treaties wave  
And by appeals from him decree?   

Or is't so, as some green heads say  
That now all miracles must cease?  
Though thou hast promised they should stay  
The tokens of the Church, and peace;   

No, no; Religion is a Spring  
That from some secret, golden Mine  
Derives her birth, and thence doth bring  
Cordials in every drop, and Wine;   

But in her long, and hidden Course  
Passing through the earth's dark veins,  
Grows still from better unto worse,  
And both her taste, and colour stains,   

Then drilling on, learns to increase  
False echoes, and Confused sounds,  
And unawares doth often seize  
On veins of Sulphur under ground;   

So poisoned, breaks forth in some Clime,  
And at first sight doth many please,  
But drunk, is puddle, or mere slime  
And 'stead of physic, a disease;   

Just such a tainted sink we have  
Like that Samaritans dead Well,  
Nor must we for the kernel crave  
Because most voices like the shell.   

Heale then these waters, Lord; or bring thy flock,  
Since these are troubled, to the springing rock,  
Look down great Master of the feast; O shine,  
And turn once more our Water into Wine!   Cant. cap. 4. ver. 12. 
My sister, my spouse is as a garden enclosed, as a Spring shut up, and a fountain sealed up.   

The Search.  

'TIs now clear day: I see a Rose  
Bud in the bright East, and disclose  
The pilgrim-sun; all night have I  
Spent in a roving ecstasy  
To find my Saviour; I have been  
As far as Bethlem, and have seen  
His inn, and Cradle; Being there  
I met the Wise-men, asked them where  
He might be found, or what star can  
Now point him out, grown up a Man?  
To Egypt hence I fled, ran o'er  
All her parched bosom to Nile's shore  
Her yearly nurse; came back, enquired  
Amongst the Doctors, and desired  
To see the Temple, but was shown  
A little dust, and for the Town  
A heap of ashes, where some said  
A small bright sparkle was a bed,  
Which would one day (beneath the pole,)  
Awake, and then refine the whole.  
Tired here, I come to Sychar; thence  
To Jacob's well, bequeathed since  
Unto his sons, (where often they  
In those calm, golden Evenings lay  
Watering their flocks, and having spent  
Those white days, drove home to the Tent  
Their well-fleeced train;) And here (O fate!)  
I sit, where once my Saviour sat;  
The angry Spring in bubbles swelled  
Which broke in sighs still, as they filled,  
And whispered, Jesus had been there  
But Jacob's children would not hear.  
Loath hence to part, at last I rise  
But with the fountain in my Eyes,  
And here a fresh search is decreed  
He must be found, where he did bleed;  
I walk the garden, and there see  
Idaea's of his agony,  
And moving anguishments that set  
His blessed face in a bloody sweat;  
I climbed the Hill, perused the cross  
Hung with my gain, and his great loss,  
Never did tree bear fruit like this,  
Balsam of souls, the body's bliss;  
But, O his grave! where I saw lent  
(For he had none,) a Monument,  
An undefiled, and new-heawed one,  
But there was not the cornerstone;  
Sure (Than said I,) my Quest is vain,  
he'll not be found, where he was slain,  
So mild a Lamb can never be  
'Midst so much blood, and cruelty;  
I'll to the Wilderness, and can  
Find beasts more merciful than man,  
He lived there safe, 'twas his retreat  
From the fierce Jew, and Herod's heat,  
And forty days withstood the fell,  
And high temptations of hell;  
With Seraphins there talked he  
His father's flaming ministry,  
He heau'nd their walks, and with his eyes  
Made those wild shades a Paradise,  
Thus was the desert sanctified  
To be the refuge of his bride;  
I'll thither then; see, It is day,  
The Sun's broke through to guide my way.  
But as I urged thus, and writ down  
What pleasures should my Journey crown,  
What silent paths, what shades, and Cells,  
Fair, virgin-flowers, and hallowed Wells  
I should rove in, and rest my head  
Where my dear Lord did often tread,  
Sugaring all dangers with success,  
Me thought I heard one singing thus;   

1.  
Leave, leave thy gadding thoughts;  
Who Pores  
and spies  
Still out of Doores  
descries  
Within them nought.   

2.  
The skin, and shell of things  
Though fair,  
are not  
Thy wish, nor prayer,  
but got  
By mere despair  
of wings.   

3.  
To rack old Elements,  
Or Dust;  
and say  
Sure here he must  
needs stay  
Is not the way,  
nor Just.   

Search well another world; who studies this,  
Travels in Clouds, seeks Manna, where none is.   Acts Cap. 17. ve. 27, 28. 
That they should seek the Lord, if happily they might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far off from every one of us, for in him we live, and move, and have our being.   

Isaac's Marriage.  Gen. cap. 24. ver. 63. 
And Isaac went out to pray in the field at the eventide, and he lift up his eyes, and saw, and behold, the Camels were coming.  
PRaying! and to be married? It was rare,  
But now 'tis monstrous; and that pious care  
Though of ourselves, is so much out of date,  
That to renew't, were to degenerate.  
But thou a Chosen sacrifice wert given,  
And offered up so early unto heaven  
Thy flames could not be out; Religion was  
Rayed into thee, like beams into a glass,  
Where, as thou grew'st, it multiplied, and shined  
The sacred Constellation of thy mind.  
But being for a bride, sure, prayer was  
Very strange stuff wherewith to court thy lass,  
Hadst ne'er an oath, nor compliment? thou wert  
An odd, corpse suitor; Hadst thou but the art  
Of these our days, thou couldst have coined thee twenty  
New several oaths, and compliments (too) plenty;  
O sad, and wild excess! and happy those  
White days, that durst no impious mirth expose!  
When sin, by sinning oft, had not lost sense,  
Nor boldfaced custom banished Innocence;  
Thou hadst no pompous train, nor antic crowd  
Of young, gay swearers, with their needless, loud  
Retinue; All was here smooth as thy bride  
And calm like her, or that mild Evening-tide;  
Yet, hadst thou nobler guests: Angels did wind,  
And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind,  
These fetched thee home thy bride, and all the way  
Advised thy servant what to do, and say;  
These taught him at the Well, and thither brought  
The chaste, and lovely object of thy thought;  
But here was ne'er a compliment, not one  
Spruce, supple cringe, or studied look put on,  
All was plain, modest truth: Nor did she come  
In rolls, and curls, mincing, and stately dumb,  
But in a frighted, virgin-blush approached  
Fresh as the morning, when 'tis newly coached;  
O sweet, divine simplicity! O grace  
Beyond a Curled lock, or painted face!  
A Pitcher too she had, nor thought it much  
To carry that, which some would scorn to touch;  
With which in mild, chaste language she did woo  
To draw him drink, and for his Camels too.  
And now thou knewst her coming, It was time  
To get thee wings on, and devoutly climb  
Unto thy God, for Marriage of all states  
Makes most unhappy, or most fortunates;  
This brought thee forth, where now thou didst undress  
Thy soul, and with new pinions refresh  
Her wearied wings, which so restored did fly  
Above the stars, a tract unknown, and high,  
And in her piercing flight perfumed the air  
Scattering the myrrh, and Incense of thy prayer.  
So from 
* A well in the South Country where Jacob dwelled, between Cadesh, & Bered; Heb. the well of him that liveth, and seeth me.  Lahai-roi's Well, some spicy cloud  
Wooed by the Sun swells up to be his shroud,  
And from his moist womb weeps a fragrant shower,  
Which, scattered in a thousand pearls▪ each flower  
And herb partakes, where having stood awhile  
And something cooled the parched, and thirsty Isle,  
The thankful Earth unlocks herself, and blends,  
A thousand odours, which (all mixed,) she sends  
Up in one cloud, and so returns the skies  
That dew they lent, a breathing sacrifice.  
Thus soared thy soul, who (though young,) didst inherit  
Together with his blood, thy father's spirit,  
Whose active zeal, and tried faith were to thee  
Familiar ever since thy infancy,  
Others were tymed, and trained up to't, but thou  
Didst thy swift years in piety outgrow,  
Age made them reverend, and a snowy head,  
But thou wert so, ere time his snow could shed;  
Then, who would truly limne thee out, must paint  
First, a young Patriarch, than a married Saint.   

The British Church.  

AH! he is fled!  
And while these here their mists, and shadows hatch,  
My glorious head  
Doth on those hills of myrrh, and Incense watch.  
Hast, hast my dear,  
The soldiers here  
Cast in their lots again,  
That seamless coat  
The Jews touched not,  
These dare divide, and stain.   

2.  
O get thee wings!  
Or if as yet (Until these clouds depart,  
And the day springs,)  
Thou think'st it good to tarry where thou art,  
Write in thy books  
My ravished looks  
Slain flock, and pillaged fleeces,  
And haste thee so  
As a young Roe  
Upon the mounts of spices.   
O Rosa Campi! O lilium Convallium! quomodò nunc facta es pabulum Aprorum!   

The lamp.  

'TIs dead night round about: horror doth creep  
And move on with the shades; stars nod, and sleep,  
And through the dark air spin a fiery thread  
Such as doth gild the lazy glow-worms bed.  
Yet, burnest thou here, a full day; while I spend  
My rest in Cares, and to the dark world lend  
These flames, as thou dost thine to me; I watch  
That hour, which must thy life, and mine dispatch;  
But still thou dost outgo me, I can see  
Met in thy flames, all acts of piety;  
Thy light, is Charity; Thy heat, is zeal;  
And thy aspiring, active fires reveal  
Devotion still on wing; Then, thou dost weep  
Still as thou burnest, and the warm droppings creep  
To measure out thy length, as if thou'dst know  
What stock, and how much time were left thee now;  
Nor dost thou spend one tear in vain, for still  
As thou dissolv'st to them, and they distil,  
They're stored up in the socket, where they lie,  
When all is spent, thy last, and sure supply,  
And such is true repentance, every breath  
We spend in sighs, is treasure after death;  
Only, one point escapes thee; That thy oil  
Is still out with thy flame, and so both fail;  
But when soe'er I'm out, both shall be in,  
And where thou mad'st an end, there I'll begin.   Mark Cap. 13. ver. 35. 
Watch you therefore, for you know not when the master of the house cometh, at Even, or at midnight, or at the Cock-crowing, or in the morning.   

Man's fall, and Recovery.  
FArewell you Everlasting hills! I'm Cast  
Here under Clouds, where storms, and tempests blast  
This sullied flower  
Robbed of your calm, nor can I ever make  
Transplanted thus, one leaf of his t'awake,  
But every hour  
He sleeps, and droops, and in this drowsy state  
Leaves me a slave to passions, and my fate;  
Besides I've lost  
A train of lights, which in these sunshine days  
Were my sure guides, and only with me stays  
(Unto my cost,)  
One sullen beam, whose charge is to dispense  
More punishment, than knowledge to my sense;  
Two thousand years  
I sojourned thus; at last Jeshurun's king  
Those famous tables did from Sinai bring;  
These swelled my fears,  
Guilts, trespasses, and all this Inward Awe,  
For sin took strength, and vigour from the Law.  
Yet have I found  
A plenteous way, (thanks to that holy one!)  
To cancel all that e'er was writ in stone,  
His saving wound  
Wept blood, that broke this Adamant, and gave  
To sinner's Confidence, life to the grave;  
This makes me span  
My father's journeys, and in one fair step  
O'er all their pilgrimage, and labours leap,  
For God (made man,)  
Reduced th'Extent of works of faith; so made  
Of their Red Sea, a Spring; I wash, they wade.  Rom. Cap. 18. ver. 19 
As by the offence of one, the fault came on all men to condemnation; So by the Righteousness of one, the benefit abounded towards all men to the justification of life.   

The shower.  

'TWas so, I saw thy birth: That drowsy Lake  
From her faint bosom breathed thee, the disease  
Of her sick waters, and Infectious Ease.  
But, now at Even  
Too gross for heaven,  
Thou fallest in tears, and weep'st for thy mistake.   

2.  
Ah! it is so with me; oft have I pressed  
Heaven with a lazy breath, but fruitless this  
Pierced not; Love only can with quick access  
Unlock the way,  
When all else stray  
The smoke, and Exhalations of the breast.   

3.  
Yet, if as thou dost melt, and with thy train  
Of drops make soft the Earth, my eyes could weep  
O'er my hard heart, that's bound up, and asleep,  
Perhaps at last  
(Some such showers past,)  
My God would give a sunshine after rain.    

Distraction.  
O Knit me, that am crumbled dust! the heap  
Is all dispersed, and cheap;  
Give for a handful, but a thought  
And it is bought;  
Hadst thou  
Made me a star, a pearl, or a rainbow,  
The beams I then had shot  
My light had lessened not,  
But now  
I find myself the less, the more I grow;  
The world  
Is full of voices; Man is called, and hurled  
By each, he answers all,  
Knows every note, and call,  
Hence, still  
Fresh dotage tempts, or old usurps his will.  
Yet, hadst thou clipped my wings, when coffined in  
This quickened mass of sin,  
And saved that light, which freely thou  
Didst then bestow,  
I fear  
I should have spurned, and said thou didst forbear;  
Or that thy store was less,  
But now since thou didst bless  
So much,  
I grieve, my God that thou hast made me such.  
I grieve?  
O, yes! thou know'st I do; Come, and relieve  
And tam●, and keep down with thy light  
Dust that would rise, and dim my sight,  
Lest left alone too long  
Amidst the noise, and throng,  
Oppressed I  
Striving to save the whole, by parcels die.   

The pursuit.  
LOrd! what a busy, restless thing  
Hast thou made man?  
Each day, and hour he is on wing,  
Rests not a span;  
Then having lost the sun, and light  
By clouds surprised  
He keeps a Commerce in the night  
With air disguised;  
Hadst thou given to this active dust  
A state untired,  
The lost son had not left the husk  
Nor home desired;  
That was thy secret, and it is  
Thy mercy too,  
For when all fails to bring to bliss,  
Then, this must do.  
Ah! Lord! and what a Purchase will that be  
To take us sick, that sound would not take thee?   

Mount of Olives.  

Sweet, sacred hill! on whole fair brow  
My Saviour sat, shall I allow  
Language to love  
And idolise some shade, or grove,  
Neglecting thee? such ill-placed wit,  
Conceit, or call it what you please  
Is the brains fit,  
And mere disease;   

2.  
Cotswold, and Cooper's both have met  
With learned swains, and echo yet  
Their pipes, and wit;  
But thou sleep'st in a deep neglect  
Untouched by any; And what need  
The sheep bleat thee a silly Lay  
That heardest both reed  
And sheepward play?   

3.  
Yet, if Poets mind thee well  
They shall find thou art their hill,  
And fountain too,  
Their Lord with thee had most to do;  
He wept once, walked whole nights on thee,  
And from thence (his sufferings ended,)  
Unto glory  
Was attended;   

4.  
Being there, this spacious ball  
Is but his narrow footstool all,  
And what we think  
Unsearchable, now with one wink  
He doth comprise; But in this air  
When he did stay to bear our Ill  
And sin, this Hill  
Was then his chair.    

The Incarnation, and Passion.  

LOrd! when thou didst thyself undress  
Laying by thy robes of glory,  
To make us more, thou wouldst be less,  
And becamest a woeful story.   

To put on Clouds instead of light,  
And clothe the morningstar with dust,  
Was a translation of such height  
As, but in thee, was ne'er expressed;   

Brave worms, and Earth! that thus could have  
A God enclosed within your Cell,  
Your maker penned up in a grave,  
Life locked in death, heaven in a shell;   

Ah, my dear Lord! what couldst thou spy  
In this impure, rebellious clay,  
That made thee thus resolve to die  
For those that kill thee every day?   

O what strange wonders could thee move  
To slight thy precious blood, and breath!  
Sure it was Love, my Lord; for Love  
Is only stronger far than death.    

The Call.  

COme my heart! come my head  
In sighs, and tears!  
'Tis now, since you have lain thus dead  
Some twenty years;  
Awake, awake,  
Some pity take  
Upon yourselves—  
Who never wake to groan, nor weep,  
Shall be sentenced for their sleep.   

2.  
Do but see your sad estate,  
how many sands  
Have left us, while we careless sat  
With folded hands;  
What stock of nights,  
Of days, and years  
In silent flights  
Stole by our ears,  
How ill have we ourselves bestowed  
Whose suns are all set in a Cloud?   

3.  
Yet, come, and let's peruse them all;  
And as we pass,  
What sins on every minute fall  
Score on the glass;  
Then weigh, and rate  
Their heavy State  
Until  
The glass with tears you fill;  
That done, we shall be safe, and good,  
Those beasts were clean, that chewed the Cud.    

¶  
THou that know'st for whom I mourn,  
And why these tears appear,  
That keep'st account, till he return  
Of all his dust left here;  
As easily thou mightst prevent  
As now produce these tears,  
And add unto that day he went  
A fair supply of years.  
But 'twas my sin that forced thy hand  
To cull this primrose out,  
That by thy early choice forewarned  
My soul might look about.  
O what a vanity is man!  
How like the Eyes quick wink  
His Cottage fails; whose narrow span  
Begins even at the brink!  
Nine months thy hands are fashioning us,  
And many years (alas!)  
Ere we can lisp, or ought discuss  
Concerning thee, must pass;  
Yet have I known thy slightest things  
A feather, or a shell,  
A stick, or Rod which some Chance brings  
The best of us excel,  
Yea, I have known these shreds out last  
A faire-compacted frame  
And for one Twenty we have past  
Almost outlive our name.  
Thus hast thou placed in man's outside  
Death to the Common Eye,  
That heaven within him might abide,  
And close eternity;  
Hence, youth, and folly (Man's first shame,)  
Are put unto the slaughter,  
And serious thoughts begin to tame  
The wise-mans-madnes Laughter;  
Dull, wretched worms! that would not keep  
Within our first fair bed,  
But out of Paradise must creep  
For every foot to tread;  
Yet, had our Pilgrimage been free,  
And smooth without a thorn,  
Pleasures had foiled eternity,  
And ●a●e, had choked the corn.  
Thus by the cross Salvation runs,  
Affliction is a mother,  
Whose painful throws yield many sons,  
Each fairer than the other;  
A silent tear can pierce thy throne,  
When loud joys want a wing,  
And sweeter airs stream from a groan,  
Than any arted string;  
Thus, Lord, I see my gain is great,  
My less but little to it,  
Yet something more I must entreat  
And only thou canst do it.  
O let me (like him,) know my End!  
And be as glad to find it,  
And whatsoe'er thou shalt Commend,  
Still let thy Servant mind it!  
Then make my soul white as his own,  
My faith as pure, and steady,  
And deck me, Lord, with the same crown  
Thou hast crowned him already!   

Vanity of Spirit.  
QUite spent with thoughts I left my Cell, and lay  
Where a shrill spring tuned to the early day.  
I begged here long, and groaned to know  
Who gave the Clouds so brave a bow,  
Who bent the spheres, and circled in  
Corruption with this glorious Ring,  
What is his name, and how I might  
Descry some part of his great light.  
I summoned nature: peirc'd through all her store,  
Broke up some seals, which none had touched before,  
Her womb, her bosom, and her head  
Where all her secrets lay a bed  
I rifled quite, and having past  
Through all the Creatures, came at last  
To search myself, where I did find  
Traces, and sounds of a strange kind.  
Here of this mighty spring, I found some drills,  
With echoes beaten from th' eternal hills;  
Weak beams, and fires flashed to my sight,  
Like a young East, or moonshine night,  
Which showed me in a nook cast by  
A piece of much antiquity,  
With Hyerogliphicks quite dismembered,  
And broken letters scarce remembered.  
I took them up, and (much joyed,) went about  
T' unite those pieces, hoping to find out  
The mystery; but this near done,  
That little light I had was gone:  
It grieved me much. At last, said I,  
Since in these veils my eclipsed Eye  
May not approach thee, (for at night  
Who can have commerce with the light?)  
I'll disapparell, and to buy  
But one half glance, most gladly die.   

The retreat.  
HAppy those early days! when I  
Shined in my angel-infancy.  
Before I understood this place  
Appointed for my second race,  
Or taught my soul to fancy aught  
But a white, celestial thought,  
When yet I had not walked above  
A mile, or two, from my first love,  
And looking back (at that short space,)  
Could see a glimpse of his bright-face;  
When on some gilded Cloud, or flower  
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,  
And in those weaker glories spy  
Some shadows of eternity;  
Before I taught my tongue to wound  
My Conscience with a sinful sound,  
Or had the black art to dispense  
A several sin to every sense,  
But felt through all this fleshly dress  
Bright shoots of everlastingness.  
O how I long to travel back  
And tread again that ancient tract!  
That I might once more reach that plain,  
Where first I left my glorious train,  
From whence th' enlightened spirit sees  
That shady City of palm trees;  
But (ah!) my soul with too much stay  
Is drunk, and staggers in the way.  
Some men a forward motion love,  
But I by backward steps would move,  
And when this dust falls to the urn  
In that state I came return.   

¶  

COme, come, what do I here?  
Since he is gone  
Each day is grown a dozen year,  
And each hour, one;  
Come, come!  
Cut off the sum,  
By these soiled tears!  
(Which only thou  
Know'st to be true,)  
Days are my fears.   

2.  
there's not a wind can stir,  
Or beam pass by,  
But straight I think (though far,)  
Thy hand is nigh;  
Come, come!  
Strike these lips dumb▪  
This restless breath  
That soils thy name,  
Will ne'er be tame  
Until in death.   

3.  
Perhaps some think a tomb  
No house of store,  
But a dark, and sealed up womb,  
Which ne'er breeds more.  
Come, come!  
Such thoughts benumb;  
But I would be  
With him I weep  
A bed, and sleep  
To wake in thee.    

¶ Midnight.  

WHen to my Eyes  
(Whilst deep sleep others catches,)  
Thine host of spies  
The stars shine in their watches,  
I do survey  
Each busy Ray,  
And how they work, and wind,  
And wish each beam  
My soul doth stream,  
With the like ardour shined;  
What Emanations,  
Quick vibrations  
And bright stirs are there?  
What thin Ejections,  
Cold Affections,  
And slow motions here?   

2.  
Thy heavens (some say,)  
Are a firie-liquid light,  
Which mingling aye  
Streams, and flames thus to the sight.  
Come then, my god!  
Shine on this blood,  
And water in one beam,  
And thou shalt see  
Kindled by thee  
Both liquours burn, and stream.  
O what bright quickness,  
Active brightness,  
And celestial flows  
Will follow after  
On that water,  
Which thy spirit blows!   Math. Cap. 3. ver. XI. 
I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but he that cometh after me, is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear, he shall baptize you with the holy Ghost, and with fire.   

¶ Content.  

PEace, peace! I know 'twas brave,  
But this corpse fleece  
I shelter in, is slave  
To no such piece.  
When I am gone,  
I shall no wardrobes leave  
To friend, or son  
But what their own homes weave,   

2.  
Such, though not proud, nor full,  
May make them weep,  
And mourn to see the wool  
Outlast the sheep;  
Poor, Pious wear!  
Hadst thou been rich, or fine  
Perhaps that tear  
Had mourned thy loss, not mine.   

3.  
Why then these curled, puffed points,  
Or a laced story?  
Death sets all out of Joint  
And scorns their glory;  
Some Love a Rose  
In hand, some in the skin;  
But cross to those,  
I would have mine within.    

¶  

JOy of my life! while left me here,  
And still my Love!  
How in thy absence thou dost steer  
Me from above!  
A life well lead  
This truth commends,  
With quick, or dead  
It never ends.   

2.  
Stars are of mighty use: The night  
Is dark, and long;  
The Rode foul, and where one goes right,  
Six may go wrong.  
One twinkling ray  
Shot o'er some cloud,  
May clear much way  
And guide a crowd.   

3.  
God's Saints are shining lights: who stays  
Here long must pass  
O'er dark hills, swift streams, and steep ways  
As smooth as glass;  
But these all night  
Like Candles, shed  
Their beams, and light  
Us into Bed.   

4.  
They are (indeed,) our Pillar-fires  
Seen as we go,  
They are that Cities shining spires  
We travel too;  
A swordlike gleam  
Kept man for sin  
First Out; This beam  
Will guide him In.    

The Storm.  

I See the use: and know my blood  
Is not a Sea,  
But a shallow, bounded flood  
Though red as he;  
Yet have I flows, as strong as his,  
And boiling streams that rave  
With the same curling force, and hiss,  
As doth the mountained wave.   

2.  
But when his water's billow thus,  
Dark storms, and wind  
Incite them to that fierce discuss,  
Else not inclined,  
Thus the enlarged, enraged air  
Uncalmes these to a flood,  
But still the weather that's most fair  
Breeds tempests in my blood;   

3.  
Lord, then round me with weeping Clouds,  
And let my mind  
In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds  
A spirit-wind,  
So shall that storm purge this Recluse  
Which sinful ease made foul,  
And wind, and water to thy use  
Both wash, and wing my soul.    

The Morning-watch.  
O joys! Infinite sweetness! with what flowers,  
And shoots of glory, my soul breaks, and buds!  
All the long hours  
Of night, and Rest  
Through the still shrouds  
Of sleep, and Clouds,  
This Dew fell on my Breast;  
O how it bloods,  
And Spirits all my Earth! hark! In what Rings,  
And Hymning Circulations the quick world  
Awakes, and sings;  
The rising winds,  
And falling springs,  
Birds, beasts, all things  
Adore him in their kinds.  
Thus all is hurled  
In sacred hymns, and Order, The great Chime  
And Symphony of nature. Prayer is  
The world in tune,  
A spirit-voice,  
And vocal joys  
Whose echo is heaven's bliss.  
O let me climb  
When I lie down! The Pious soul by night  
Is like a clouded star, whose beams though said  
To shed their light  
Under some Cloud  
Yet are above,  
And shine, and move  
Beyond that misty shroud.  
So in my Bed  
That curtained grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide  
My lamp, and life, both shall in thee abide.   

The Evening-watch. A Dialogue.  

FArewell! I go to sleep; 
Body.  but when  
The daystar springs, I'll wake again.   

Go, sleep in peace; 
Soul.  and when thou liest  
Unnumbered in thy dust when all this frame  
Is but one dram, and what thou now descriest  
In several parts shall want a name,   

Then may his peace be with thee, and each dust  
Writ in his book, who ne'er betrayed man's trust!   

Amen! but hark, e'er we two stray, 
Body.   
How many hours dost think till day?   

Ah! go; thou'rt weak, and sleepy. 
Soul.  heaven  
Is a plain watch, and without figures winds  
All ages up; who drew this Circle even  
He fills it; days, and hours are Blinds.  
Yet, this take with thee; The last gasp of time  
Is thy first breath, and man's eternal Prime.    

¶  
SIlence, and stealth of days! 'tis now  
Since thou art gone,  
Twelve hundred hours, and not a brow  
But Clouds hang on.  
As he that in some Caves thick damp  
Locked from the light,  
Fixeth a solitary lamp,  
To brave the night,  
And walking from his Sun, when past  
That glimmering Ray  
Cuts through the heavy mists in haste  
Back to his day,  
So o'er fled minutes I retreat  
Unto that hour  
Which showed thee last, but did defeat  
Thy light, and power,  
I search, and rack my soul to see  
Those beams again,  
But nothing but the snuff to me  
Appeareth plain;  
That dark, and dead sleeps in its known,  
And common urn,  
But those fled to their maker's throne,  
There shine, and burn;  
O could I tract them! but souls must  
Track one the other,  
And now the spirit, not the dust  
Must be thy brother.  
Yet I have one pearl by whose light  
All things I see,  
And in the heart of Earth, and night  
Find Heaven, and thee.   

Church-Service.  

Blessed be the God of Harmony, and Love!  
The God above!  
And holy dove!  
Whose Interceding, spiritual groans  
Make restless moans  
For dust, and stones,  
For dust in every part,  
But a hard, stonic heart.   

2  
O how in this thy choir of Souls I stand  
(Propped by thy hand)  
A heap of sand!  
Which busy thoughts (like winds) would scatter quite  
And put to flight,  
But for thy might;  
Thy hand alone doth tame  
Those blasts, and knit my frame,   

3.  
So that both stones, and dust, and all of me  
Jointly agree  
To cry to thee,  
And in this music by thy martyr's blood  
Sealed, and made good  
Present, O God  
The echo of these stones  
— My sighs, and groans.    

Burial.  

O Thou! The first fruits of the dead,  
And their dark bed,  
When I am cast into that deep  
And senseless sleep  
The wages of my sin,  
O then,  
Thou great Preserver of all men!  
Watch o'er that loose  
And empty house,  
Which I sometimes lived in.   

2.  
It is (in truth!) a ruined piece  
Not worth thy Eyes,  
And scarce a room but wind, and rain  
Beat through, and stain  
The seats, and Cells within;  
Yet thou  
Led by thy Love wouldst stoop thus low,  
And in this Cort  
All filth, and spot,  
Didst with thy servant inn.   

3.  
And nothing can, I hourly see,  
Drive thee from me,  
Thou art the same, faithful, and just  
In life, or Dust;  
Though then (thus crumbed) I stray  
In blasts,  
Or Exhalations, and wastes  
Beyond all Eyes  
Yet thy love spies  
That Change, and knows thy Clay.   

4.  
The world's thy box: how then (there roast,)  
Can I be lost?  
But the delay is all; time now  
Is old, and slow,  
His wings are dull, and sickly;  
Yet he  
Thy servant is, and waits on thee,  
Cutt then the sum,  
Lord haste, Lord come,  
O come Lord Jesus quickly!   Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 23. 
And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first fruits of the spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.   

Cheerfulness.  

LOrd, with what courage, and delight  
I do each thing  
When thy least breath sustains my wing!  
I shine, and move  
Like those above,  
And (with much gladness  
Quitting sadness,)  
Make me fair days of every night.   

2.  
Affliction thus, mere pleasure is,  
And hap what will,  
If thou be in't, 'tis welcome still;  
But since thy rays  
In sunny days  
Thou dost thus lend  
And freely spend,  
Ah! what shall I return for this?   

3.  
O that I were all Soul! that thou  
Wouldst make each part  
Of this poor, sinful frame pure heart!  
Then would I drown  
My single one,  
And to thy praise  
A Consort raise  
Of Hallelujahs here below.    

¶  

SUre, there's a tye of bodies! and as they  
Dissolve (with it,) to Clay,  
Love languisheth, and memory doth rust  
O'r-cast with that cold dust;  
For things thus centred, without beams, or Action  
Nor give, nor take Contaction,  
And man is such a Marygold, these fled,  
That shuts, and hangs the head.   

2.  
Absents within the Line Conspire, and Sense  
Things distant doth unite,  
Herbs sleep unto the East, and some fowls thence  
Watch the Returns of light;  
But hearts are not so kind: false, short delights  
Tell us the world is brave,  
And wrap us in Imaginary flights  
Wide of a faithful grave;  
Thus Lazarus was carried out of town;  
For 'tis our foes chief art  
By distance all good objects first to drown,  
And then besiege the heart.  
But I will be my own Deaths-head; and though  
The flatterer say, I live,  
Because Incertainties we cannot know  
Be sure, not to believe.    

Peace.  

MY Soul, there is a country  
Far beyond the stars,  
Where stands a winged sentry  
All skilful in the wars,  
There above noise, and danger  
Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles,  
And one born in a Manger  
Commands the Beauteous files,  
He is thy gracious friend,  
And (O my Soul awake!)  
Did in pure love descend  
To die here for thy sake,  
If thou canst get but thither,  
There grows the flower of peace,  
The Rose that cannot wither,  
Thy fortress, and thy ease;  
Leave then thy foolish ranges;  
For none can thee secure,  
But one, who never changes,  
Thy God, thy life, thy Cure.    

The Passion.  

O My chief good!  
My dear, dear God  
When thy blessed blood  
Did Issue forth forced by the Rod,  
What pain didst thou  
Feel in each blow!  
How didst thou weep,  
And thyself steep  
In thy own precious, saving tears!  
What cruel smart  
Did tear thy heart!  
How didst thou groan it  
In the spirit,  
O thou, whom my soul Loves, and fears!   

2.  
Most blessed Vine!  
Whose juice so good  
I feel as Wine,  
But thy fair branches felt as blood,  
How wert thou pressed  
To be my feast!  
In what deep anguish  
Didst thou languish,  
What springs of Sweat, and blood did drown thee!  
How in one path  
Did the full wrath  
Of thy great Father  
Crowd, and gather,  
Doubling thy griefs, when none would own thee!   

3.  
How did the weight  
Of all our sins,  
And death unite  
To wrench, and Rack thy blessed limbs▪  
How pale, and bloody  
Looked thy Body!  
How bruised, and broke  
With every stroke!  
How meek, and patient was thy spirit!  
How didst thou cry,  
And groan on high  
Father forgive,  
And let them live,  
I die to make my foes inherit!   

4.  
O blessed Lamb!  
That took'st my sin,  
That took'st my shame  
How shall thy dust thy praises sing!  
I would I were  
One hearty tear!  
One constant spring!  
Then would I bring  
Thee two small mites, and be at strife  
Which should most vie,  
My heart, or eye,  
Teaching my years  
In smiles, and tears  
To weep, to sing, thy Death, my Life.    
Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 19 
Etenim res Creatae exerto Capite observantes expectant revelationem Filiorum Dei.  

ANd do they so? have they a Sense  
Of aught but Influence?  
Can they their heads lift, and expect,  
And groan too? why th'Elect  
Can do no more: my volumes said  
They were all dull, and dead,  
They judged them senseless, and their state  
Wholly Inanimate.  
Go, go; Seal up thy looks,  
And burn thy books.   

2.  
I would I were a stone, or tree,  
Or flower by pedigree,  
Or some poor highway herb, or Spring  
To flow, or bird to sing!  
Then should I (Tied to one sure state,)  
All day expect my date;  
But I am sadly loose, and stray  
A giddy blast each way;  
O let me not thus range!  
Thou canst not change.   

3.  
Sometimes I fit with thee, and tarry  
An hour, or so, then vary.  
Thy other Creatures in this Scene  
Thee only aim, and mean;  
Some rise to seek thee, and with heads  
Erect peep from their beds;  
Others, whose birth is in the tomb,  
And cannot quit the womb,  
Sigh there, and groan for thee,  
Their liberty.   

4.  
O let not me do less! shall they  
Watch, while I sleep, or play?  
Shall I thy mercies still abuse  
With fancies, friends, or news?  
O brook it not! thy blood is mine,  
And my soul should be thine;  
O brook it not! why wilt thou stop  
After whole showers one drop?  
Sure, thou wilt joy to see  
Thy sheep with thee.    

The Relapse.  
MY God, how gracious art thou! I had slipped  
Almost to hell,  
And on the verge of that dark, dreadful pit  
Did hear them yell,  
But O thy love! thy rich, almighty love  
That saved my soul,  
And checked their fury, when I saw them move,  
And heard them howl;  
O my sole Comfort, take no more these ways,  
This hideous path,  
And I will mend my own without delays,  
Cease thou thy wrath!  
I have deserved a thick, Egyptian damp,  
Dark as my deeds,  
Should missed within me, and put out that lamp  
Thy spirit feeds;  
A darting Conscience full of stabs, and fears;  
No shade but Yewgh,  
Sullen, and sad eclipses, cloudy spheres,  
These are my due.  
But he that with his blood, (a price too dear,)  
My scores did pay,  
Bid me, by virtue from him, challenge here  
The brightest day;  
Sweet, downy thoughts; soft Lilly-shades; Calm streams▪  
Joys full, and true;  
Fresh, spicy mornings; and eternal beams  
These are his due.   

The Resolve.  
I Have considered it; and find  
A longer stay  
Is but excused neglect. To mind  
One path, and stray  
Into another, or to none,  
Cannot be love;  
When shall that traveller come home,  
That will not move?  
If thou wouldst thither, linger not,  
Catch at the place,  
Tell youth, and beauty they must rot,  
They're but a Case;  
lose, parceled hearts will freeze; The Sun  
With scattered locks  
Scarce warms, but by contraction  
Can heat rocks;  
Call in thy Powers; run, and reach  
Home with the light,  
Be there, before the shadows stretch,  
And Span up night;  
Follow the Cry no more: there is  
An ancient way  
All strewed with flowers, and happiness  
And fresh as May;  
There turn, and turn no more; Let wits,  
Smile at fair eyes,  
Or lips; But who there weeping sits,  
Hath got the Prize.   

The Match.  

DEar friend! whose holy, everliving lines  
Have done much good  
To many, and have checked my blood,  
My fierce, wild blood that still heaves, and inclines,  
But is still tamed  
By those bright fires which thee inflamed;  
Here I join hands, and thrust my stubborn heart  
Into thy Deed,  
There from no Duties to be freed,  
And if hereafter youth, or folly thwart  
And claim their share,  
Here I renounce the poisonous ware.   

ii.  
ACcept, dread Lord, the poor Oblation,  
It is but poor,  
Yet through thy Mercies may be more.  
O thou! that canst not wish my soul's damnation,  
Afford me life,  
And save me from all inward strife!  
Two lives I hold from thee, my gracious Lord▪  
Both cost thee deer,  
For one, I am thy Tenant here;  
The other, the true life, in the next world  
And endless is,  
O let me still mind that in this!  
To thee therefore my Thoughts, Words, Actions  
I do resign,  
Thy will in all be done, not mine.  
Settle my house, and shut out all distractions  
That may unknit  
My heart, and thee planted in it;  
Lord Jesus! thou didst bow thy blessed head  
Upon a tree,  
O do as much, now unto me!  
O hear, and heal thy servant! Lord, strike dead  
All lusts in me,  
Who only wish life to serve thee?  
Suffer no more this dust to overflow  
And drown my eyes,  
But seal, or pin them to thy skies.  
And let this grain which here in tears I sow  
Though dead, and sick,  
Through thy Increase grow new, and quick.    

Rules and Lessons.  

WHen first thy eyes unveil, give thy Soul leave  
To do the like; our Bodies but forerun  
The spirits duty; True hearts spread, and heave  
Unto their God, as flowers do to the Sun.  
Give him thy first thoughts then; so shalt thou keep  
Him company all day, and in him sleep.   

Yet, never sleep the Sun up; Prayer should  
Dawn with the day; There are set, awful hours  
twixt heaven, and us; The Manna was not good  
After sunrising, far-day sullies flowers.  
Rise to prevent the Sun; sleep doth sins glut,  
And heaven's gate opens, when this world's is shut.   

Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush  
And whispers amongst them. There's not a Spring,  
Or leaf but hath his Morning-hymn; Each Bush  
And Oak doth know I AM; canst thou not sing?  
O leave thy Cares, and follies! go this way  
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.   

Serve God before the world; let him not go  
Until thou hast a blessing, then resign  
The whole unto him; and remember who  
Prevailed by wrestling ere the Sun did shine.  
Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin,  
Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.   

morning's are Mysteries; the first world's Youth,  
Man's Resurrection, and the future's Bud  
shroud in their births: The Crown of life, light, truth  
Is styled their star, the stone, and hidden food.  
Three blessings wait upon them, two of which  
Should move; They make us holy, happy, rich▪   

When the world's up, and every swarm abroad,  
Keep thou thy temper, mix not with each Clay;  
Dispatch necessities, life hath a load  
Which must be carried on, and safely may.  
Yet keep those cares without thee, let the heart  
Be God's alone, and choose the better part.   

Through all thy Actions, Counsels, and Discourse,  
Let Mildness, and Religion guide thee out,  
If truth be thine, what needs a brutish force?  
But what's not good, and just ne'er go about.  
Wrong not thy Conscience for a rotten stick,  
That gain is dreadful, which makes spirits sick.   

To God, thy country, and thy friend be true,  
If Priest, and People change, keep thou thy ground.  
Who sells Religion, is a Judas Jew,  
And, oaths once broke, the soul cannot be sound.  
The perjurer's a devil let loose: what can  
Tie up his hands, that dares mock God, and man?   

Seek not the same steps with the Crowd; stick thou  
To thy sure trot; a Constant, humble mind  
Is both his own Joy, and his Makers too;  
Let folly dust it on, or lag behind.  
A sweet self-privacy in a right soul  
Outruns the Earth, and lines the utmost pole.   

To all that seek thee, bear an open heart;  
Make not thy breast a Labyrinth, or Trap;  
If trials come, this will make good thy part,  
For honesty is safe, come what can hap;  
It is the good man's feast; The prince of flowers  
Which thrives in storms, and smells best after showers.   

Seal not thy Eyes up from the poor, but give  
Proportion to their Merits, and thy Purse;  
Thou mayst in Rags a mighty Prince relieve  
Who, when thy sins call for't, can fence a Curse.  
Thou shalt not lose one mite. Though waters stray,  
The Bread we cast returns in fraughts one day.   

Spend not an hour so, as to weep another,  
For tears are not thine own; If thou giv'st words  
Dash not thy friend, nor heaven; O smother  
A viprous thought; some Syllables are Swords.  
Unbitted tongue are in their penance double,  
They shame their owners, and the hearers trouble.   

Injure not modest blood, whose spirits rise  
In judgement against Lewdness; that's base wit  
That voids but filth, and stench. Hast thou no prize  
But sickness, or Infection? stifle it.  
Who makes his jests of sins, must be at least  
If not a very devil, worse than a Beast.   

Yet, fly no friend, if he be such indeed,  
But meet to quench his Longings, and thy Thirst;  
Allow your joys Religion; That done, speed  
And bring the same man back, thou wert all first.  
Who so returns not, cannot pray aright,  
But shuts his door, and leaves God out all night.   

To heighten thy Devotions, and keep low  
All mutinous thoughts, what business e'er thou hast  
Observe God in his works; here fountains flow,  
Birds sing, Beasts feed, Fish leap, and th'Earth stands fast;  
Above are restless motions, running Lights,  
Vast Circling Azure, giddy Clouds, days, nights,   

When Seasons change, then lay before thine eyes  
His wondrous Method; mark the various Scenes  
In heaven; Hail, Thunder, Rain-bows, Snow, and Ice,  
Calmes, Tempests, Light, and darkness by his means;  
Thou canst not miss his Praise; Each tree, herb, flower  
Are shadows of his wisdom, and his power.   

To meals when thou dost come, give him the praise  
Whose Arm supplied thee; Take what may suffice,  
And then be thankful; O admire his ways  
Who fills the worlds unemptied granaries!  
A thankless feeder is a thief, his feast  
A very Robbery, and himself no guest.   

High-noon thus past, thy time decays; provide  
Thee other thoughts; Away with friends, and mirth;  
The Sun now stoops, and hasts his beams to hide  
Under the dark, and melancholy Earth.  
All but preludes thy End. Thou art the man  
Whose Rise, height, and Descent is but a span.   

Yet, set as he doth, and 'tis well. Have all  
Thy Beams home with thee: trim thy Lamp, buy oil,  
And then set forth; who is thus dressed, The Fall  
Furthers his glory, and gives death the foil.  
Man is a summer's day; whose youth, and fire  
Cool to a glorious Evening, and Expire.   

When night comes, list thy deeds; make plain the way  
twixt Heaven, and thee; block it not with delays,  
But perfect all before thou sleep'st; Then say  
there's one Sun more strung on my Bead of days.  
What's good score up for Joy; The bad well scanned  
Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand.   

Thy Accounts thus made, spend in the grave one hour  
Before thy time; Be not a stranger there  
Where thou mayst sleep whole ages; life's poor flower  
Lasts not a night sometimes. Bad spirits fear  
This conversation; But the good man lies  
Entombed many days before he dies.   

Being laid, and dressed for sleep, Close not thy eyes  
Up with thy Curtains; Give thy soul the wing  
In some good thoughts; So when the day shall rise  
And thou unrakest thy fire, those sparks will bring  
New flames; Besides where these lodge vain heats mourn  
And die; That Bush where God is, shall not burn.   

When thy Nap's over, stir thy fire, unrake  
In that dead age; one beam i'th' dark outvies  
Two in the day; Then from the Damps, and ache  
Of night shut up thy leaves, be chaste; God pries  
Through thickest nights; Though then the Sun be far  
Do thou the works of Day, and rise a Star.   

Briefly, do as thou wouldst be done unto,  
Love God, and Love thy Neighbour; Watch, and Pray.  
These are the Words, and Works of life; This do,  
And live; who doth not thus, hath lost heaven's way.  
O lose it not! look up, wilt Change those Lights  
For Chains of darkness, and Eternal Nights?    

Corruption.  
SUre, It was so. Man in those early days  
Was not all stone, and Earth,  
He shined a little, and by those weak Rays  
Had some glimpse of his birth.  
He saw Heaven o'er his head, and knew from whence  
He came (condemned,) hither,  
And, as first Love draws strongest, so from hence  
His mind sure progressed thither.  
Things here were strange unto him: sweat, and till  
All was a thorn, or weed,  
Nor did those last, but (like himself,) died still  
As soon as they did Seed,  
They seemed to quarrel with him; for that Act  
That fell him, foiled them all,  
He drew the Curse upon the world, and cracked  
The whole frame with his fall.  
This made him long for home, as loath to stay  
With murmurers, and foes;  
He sighed for Eden, and would often say  
Ah! what bright days were those?  
Nor was heaven cold unto him; for each day  
The valley, or the Mountain  
Afforded visits, and still Paradise lay  
In some green shade, or fountain.  
Angels lay leaguer here; Each Bush, and Cel,  
Each oak, and highway knew them,  
Walk but the fields, or sit down at some will,  
And he was sure to view them.  
Almighty Love! where art thou now? mad man  
Sits down, and freezeth on,  
He raves, and swears to stir nor fire, nor fan,  
But bids the thread be spun.  
I see, thy Curtains are Close-drawn; Thy bow  
Looks dim too in the Cloud,  
Sin triumphs still, and man is sunk below  
The centre, and his shroud;  
All's in deep sleep, and night; Thick darkness lies  
And hatcheth o'er thy people;  
But hark! what trumpets that? what Angel cries  
Arise! Thrust in thy sickle.   

H. Scriptures.  

WElcome dear book, soul's Joy, and food! The feast  
Of Spirits, heaven extracted lies in thee;  
Thou art life's Charter, The Doves spotless nest  
Where souls are hatched unto eternity.   

In thee the hidden stone, the Manna lies,  
Thou art the great Elixir, rare, and Choice;  
The Key that opens to all Mysteries,  
The Word in Characters, God in the Voice.   

O that I had deep Cut in my hard heart  
Each line in thee! Then would I plead in groans  
Of my Lord's penning, and by sweetest Art  
Return upon himself the Law, and Stones.  
Read here, my faults are thine. This Book, and I  
Will tell thee so; Sweet Saviour thou didst die!    

Unprofitableness.  
HOw rich, O Lord! how fresh thy visits are!  
'Twas but Just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung  
Sullied with dust and mud;  
Each snarling blast shot through me, and did share  
Their Youth, and beauty, Cold showers nipped, and wrung  
Their spiciness, and blood;  
But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey  
Their sad decays, I flourish, and once more  
Breath all perfumes, and spice;  
I smell a dew like Myrrh, and all the day  
Wear in my bosom a full Sun; such store  
Hath one beam from thy eyes.  
But, ah, my God what fruit hast thou of this?  
What one poor leaf did ever I yet fall  
To wait upon thy wreath?  
Thus thou all day a thankless weed dost dress,  
And when th' hast done, a stench, or fog is all  
The odour I bequeathe.   

Christ's Nativity.  

AWake, glad heart! get up, and Sing,  
It is the birthday of thy King,  
Awake! awake!  
The Sun doth shake  
Light from his locks, and all the way  
Breathing Perfumes, doth spice the day.   

2.  
Awake, awake! hark, how th' wood rings,  
Winds whisper, and the busy springs  
A Consort make;  
A wake, awake!  
Man is their high-priest, and should rise  
To offer up the sacrifice.   

3.  
I would I were some Bird, or Star,  
Fluttering in woods, or lifted far  
Above this inn  
And road of sin!  
Then either Star, or Bird, should be  
Shining, or singing still to thee.   

4.  
I would I had in my best part  
Fit rooms for thee! or that my heart  
Were so clean as  
Thy manger was!  
But I am all filth, and obscene,  
Yet, if thou wilt, thou canst make clean.   

5.  
Sweet Jesus! will then; Let no more  
This Leper haunt, and soil thy door,  
Cure him, Ease him  
O release him!  
And let once more by mystic birth  
The Lord of life be borne in Earth.    

II.  
HOw kind is heaven to man! If here  
One sinner doth amend  
straight there is Joy, and every sphere  
In music doth Contend;  
And shall we then no voices lift?  
Are mercy, and salvation  
Not worth our thanks? Is life a gift  
Of no more acceptation?  
Shall he that did come down from thence,  
And here for us was slain,  
Shall he be now cast off? no sense  
Of all his woes remain?  
Can neither Love, nor sufferings bind?  
Are we all stone, and Earth?  
Neither his bloody passions mind,  
Nor one day bless his birth?  
Alas, my God Thy birth now here  
Must not be numbered in the year.   

The Check.  

PEace, peace! I blush to hear thee; when thou art  
A dusty story  
A speechless heap, and in the midst my heart  
In the same livery dressed  
Lies tame as all the rest;  
When six years thence digged up, some youthful eye  
Seeks there for Symmetry  
But finding none, shall leave thee to the wind,  
Or the next foot to Crush,  
Scattering thy kind  
And humble dust, tell then dear flesh  
Where is thy glory?   

2.  
As he that in the midst of day Expects  
The hideous night,  
Sleeps not, but shaking off sloth, and neglects,  
Works with the Sun, and sets  
Paying the day its debts;  
That (for Repose, and darkness bound,) he might  
Rest from the fears i'th' night;  
So should we too. All things teach us to die  
And point us out the way  
While we pass by  
And mind it not; play not away  
Thy glimpse of light.   

3.  
View thy forerunners: Creatures given to be  
Thy youth's Companions,  
Take their leave, and die; Birds, beasts, each tree  
All that have growth, or breath  
Have one large language, Death.  
O then play not! but strive to him, who Can  
Make these sad shades pure Sun,  
Turning their mists to beams, their damps to day,  
Whose power doth so excel  
As to make Clay  
A spirit, and true glory dwell  
In dust, and stones.   

4.  
Hark, how he doth Invite thee! with what voice  
Of Love, and sorrow  
He begs, and Calls; O that in these thy days  
Thou knew'st but thy own good!  
Shall not the cries of blood,  
Of God's own blood awake thet? He bids beware  
Of drunkness, surfeits, Care,  
But thou sleep'st on; where's now thy protestation,  
Thy Lines, thy Love? Away,  
Redeem the day,  
The day that gives no observation,  
Perhaps to morrow.    

Disorder and frailty.  

WHen first thou didst even from the grave  
And womb of darkness beckon out  
My brutish soul, and to thy slave  
Becamest thyself, both guide, and Scout;  
Even from that hour  
Thou got'st my heart; And though here tossed  
By winds, and bit with frost  
I pine, and shrink  
Breaking the link  
twixt thee, and me; And oft-times creep  
Into th' old silence, and dead sleep,  
Quitting thy way  
All the long day,  
Yet, sure, my God I love thee most.  
Alas, thy love!   

2.  
I threaten heaven, and from my Cell  
Of Clay, and frailty break, and bud  
Touched by thy fire, and breath; Thy blood  
Too, is my Dew, and springing well.  
But while I grow  
And stretch to thee, aiming at all  
Thy stars, and spangled hall,  
Each fly doth taste  
Poison, and blast  
My yielding leaves; sometimes a shower  
Beats them quite off, and in an hour  
Not one poor shoot  
But the bare root  
Hid under ground survives the fall.  
Alas, frail weed!   

3.  
Thus like some sleeping Exhalation  
(Which waked by heat, and beams, makes up  
Unto that Comforter, the Sun,  
And soars, and shines; But e'er we sup  
And walk two steps  
Cooled by the damps of night, descends,  
And, whence it sprung, there ends,)  
Doth my weak fire  
Pine, and retire,  
And (after all my height of flames,)  
In sickly Expirations tames  
Leaving me dead  
On my first bed  
Until thy Sun again ascends.  
Poor, falling Star!   

4.  
O, is! but give wings to my fire,  
And hatch my soul, until it fly  
Up where thou art, amongst thy tire  
Of Stars, above Infirmity;  
Let not perverse,  
And foolish thoughts add to my bill  
Of forward sins, and kill  
That seed, which thou  
In me didst sow,  
But dress, and water with thy grace  
Together with the seed, the place;  
And for his sake  
Who died to stake  
His life for mine, tune to thy will  
My heart, my verse.   Hosea Cap. 6. ver. 4. 
O Ephraim what shall I do unto thee? O Judah how shall I entreat thee? for thy goodness is as a morning Cloud, and as the early Dew it goeth away.   

Idle Verse.  

GO, go, quaint follies, sugared sin,  
Shadow no more my door;  
I will no longer Cobwebs spin,  
I'm too much on the score.   

For since amidst my youth, and night,  
My great preserver smiles,  
we'll make a Match, my only light,  
And join against their wiles;   

Blind, desperate fits, that study how  
To dress, and trim our shame,  
That gild rank poison, and allow  
Vice in a fairer name;   

The purls of youthful blood, and bowls,  
Lust in the Robes of Love,  
The idle talk of feau'rish souls  
Sick with a scarf, or glove;   

Let it suffice my warmer days  
Simpered, and shined on you,  
Twist not my cypress with your Bays,  
Or Roses with my Yewgh;   

Go, go, seek out some greener thing,  
It snows, and freezeth here;  
Let Nightingales attend the spring,  
Winter is all my year.    

Sundays.  

BRight shadows of true Rest! some shoots of bliss,  
Heaven once a week;  
The next world's gladness prepossessed in this;  
A day to seek;   

Eternity in time; the steps by which  
We Climb above all ages; Lamps that light  
Man through his heap of dark days; and the rich,  
And full redemption of the whole weeks' flight.   

2.  
The Pulleys unto headlong man; times bower;  
The narrow way;  
Transplanted Paradise; God's walking hour;  
The Cool o'th' day;   

The Creatures jubilee; God's parley with dust;  
Heaven here; Man on those hills of Myrrh, and flowers  
Angels descending; the Returns of Trust;  
A Gleam of glory, after six-days-showres.   

3.  
The church's love-feasts; Times Prerogative,  
And Interest  
Deducted from the whole; The Combs, and hive,  
And home of rest.   

The milky way chalked out with Suns; a Clue  
That guides through erring hours; and in full story  
A taste of heaven on earth; the pledge, and Cue  
Of a full feast; And the Out Courts of glory.    

Repentance.  
LOrd, since thou didst in this vile Clay  
That sacred Ray  
Thy spirit plant, quickening the whole  
With that one grains Infused wealth,  
My forward flest crept on, and subtly stole  
Both growth, and power; Checking the health  
And heat of thine: That little gate  
And narrow way, by which to thee  
The Passage is, He termed a grate  
And Entrance to captivity;  
Thy laws but nets, where some small birds  
(And those but seldom too) were caught,  
Thy Promises but empty words  
Which none but Children heard, or taught.  
This I believed: And though a friend  
Came oft from far, and whispered, No;  
Yet that not sorting to my end  
I wholly listened to my foe.  
Wherefore, pierced through with grief, my sad  
Seduced soul sighs up to thee,  
To thee who with true light art Clad  
And seest all things just as they be.  
Look from thy throne upon this roll  
Of heavy sins, my high transgressions,  
Which I confess withal my soul,  
My God, Accept of my Confession.  
It was last day  
(Touched with the guilt of my own way)  
I sat alone, and taking up  
The bitter Cup,  
Through all thy fair, and various store  
Sought out what might outvie my score.  
The blades of grass, thy Creatures feeding,  
The trees, their leaves; the flowers, their seeding;  
The Dust, of which I am a part,  
The Stones much softer than my heart,  
The drops of rain, the sighs of wind,  
The Stars to which I am stark blind,  
The Dew thy herbs drink up by night,  
The beams they warm them at i'th' light,  
All that have signature or life,  
I summoned to decide this strife,  
And lest I should lack for Arrears,  
A spring ran by, I told her tears,  
But when these came unto the scale,  
My sins alone outweighed them all.  
O my dear God my life, my love!  
Most blessed lamb! and mildest dove!  
Forgive your penitent Offender,  
And no more his sins remember,  
Scatter these shades of death, and give  
Light to my soul, that it may live;  
Cut me not off for my transgressions,  
Wilful rebellions, and suppressions,  
But give them in those streams a part  
Whose spring is in my saviour's heart.  
Lord, I confess the heinous score,  
And pray, I may do so no more,  
Though then all sinners I exceed  
O think on this; Thy Son did bleed;  
O call to mind his wounds, his woes,  
His Agony, and bloody throws;  
Then look on all that thou hast made,  
And mark how they do fail, and fade,  
The heavens themselves, though fair and bright  
Are dark, and unclean in thy sight,  
How then, with thee, Can man be holy  
Who dost thine angel's charge with folly?  
O what am I, that I should breed  
Figs on a thorn, flowers on a weed!  
I am the gourd of sin, and sorrow  
Growing o'er night, and gone to morrow,  
In all this Round of life and death  
Nothing's more vile than is my breath,  
Profaneness on my tongue doth rest,  
Defects, and darkness in my breast,  
Pollutions all my body wed,  
And even my soul to thee is dead,  
Only in him, on whom I feast,  
Both soul, and body are well dressed,  
His pure perfection quits all score,  
And fills the Boxes of his poor;  
He is the centre of long life, and light,  
I am but finite, He is Infinite.  
O let thy Justice then in him Confine,  
And through his merits, make thy mercy mine!   

The BURIAL Of an Infant.  

Blessed Infant Bud, whose blossom-life  
Did only look about, and fall,  
Wearied out in a harmless strife  
Of tears, and milk, the food of all;   

Sweetly didst thou expire: Thy soul  
Flew home unstained by his new kin,  
For ere thou knew'st how to be foul,  
Death weaned thee from the world, and sin.   

Softly rest all thy Virgin-Crums!  
leapt in the sweets of thy young breath,  
Expecting till thy Saviour Comes  
To dress them, and unswadle death.    

Faith.  
BRight, and blessed beam! whose strong projection  
Equal to all,  
Reacheth as well things of dejection  
As th' high, and tall;  
How hath my God by raying thee  
Enlarged his spouse,  
And of a private family  
Made open house?  
All may be now coheirs; no noise  
Of Bond, or Free  
Can Interdict us from those Joys  
That wait on thee,  
The Law, and Ceremonies made  
A glorious night,  
Where Stars, and Clouds, both light, and shade  
Had equal right;  
But, as in nature, when the day  
Breaks, night adjourns,  
Stars shut up shop, mists pack away,  
And the Moon mourns;  
So when the Sun of righteousness  
Did once appear,  
That Scene was changed, and a new dress  
Left for us here;  
Veils became useless, Altars fell,  
Fires smoking die;  
And all that sacred pomp, and shell  
Of things did fly;  
Then did he shine forth, whose sad fall,  
And bitter fights  
Were figured in those mystical,  
And cloudy Rites;  
And as i'th' natural Sun, these three,  
Light, motion, heat,  
So are now Faith, Hope, Charity  
Through him complete;  
Faith spans up bliss; what sin, and death  
Put us quite from,  
Lest we should run for't out of breath,  
Faith bring us home;  
So that I need no more, but say  
I do believe,  
And my most loving Lord straightway doth answer, Live.   

The Dawning.  

AH! what time wilt thou come? when shall that cry  
The bridegroom's coming! fill the sky?  
Shall it in the Evening run  
When our words and works are done?  
Or will thy all-surprizing light  
Break at midnight?  
When either sleep, or some dark pleasure  
Possesseth mad man without measure;  
Or shall these early, fragrant hours  
Unlock thy bowers?  
And with their blush of light descry  
Thy locks crowned with eternity;  
Indeed, it is the only time  
That with thy glory doth best chime,  
All now are stirring, every field  
Full hymns doth yield,  
The whole Creation shakes off night,  
And for thy shadow looks the light,  
Stars now vanish without number,  
Sleepy Planets set, and slumber,  
The pursy Clouds disband, and scatter,  
All expect some sudden matter,  
Not one beam triumphs, but from far  
That morningstar;   

O at what time soever thou  
(Unknown to us,) the heaven's wilt bow,  
And, with thy Angels in the Van,  
Descend to Judge poor careless man,  
Grant, I may not like puddle lie  
In a Corrupt security,  
Where, if a traveller water crave,  
He finds it dead, and in a grave;  
But as this restless, vocal Spring  
All day, and night doth run, and sing,  
And though here born, yet is acquainted  
Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted;  
So let me all my busy age  
In thy free services engage,  
And though (while here) of force I must  
Have Commerce sometimes with poor dust,  
And in my flesh, though vile, and low,  
As this doth in her Channel, flow,  
Yet let my Course, my aim, my Love,  
And chief acquaintance be above;  
So when that day, and hour shall come  
In which thyself will be the Sun,  
Thou'lt find me dressed and on my way,  
Watching the Break of thy great day.    

Admission.  

HOw shrill are silent tears? when sin got head  
And all my Bowels turned  
To brass, and iron; when my stock lay dead,  
And all my powers mourned;  
Then did these drops (for Marble sweats,  
And Rocks have tears,)  
As rain here at our windows beats,  
Chide in thine Ears;   

2.  
No quiet couldst thou have: nor didst thou wink,  
And let thy beggar lie,  
But e'er my eyes could overflow their brink  
Didst to each drop reply;  
Bowels of Love! at what low rate,  
And slight a price  
Dost thou relieve us at thy gate,  
And still our Cries?   

3.  
We are thy Infants, and suck thee; If thou  
But hide, or turn thy face,  
Because where thou art, yet, we cannot go,  
We send tears to the place,  
These find thee out, and though our sins  
Drove thee away,  
Yet with thy love that absence wins  
Us double pay.   

4.  
O give me then a thankful heart! a heart  
After thy own, not mine;  
So after thine, that all, and every part  
Of mine, may wait on thine;  
O hear! yet not my tears alone,  
Hear now a flood,  
A flood that drowns both tears, and groans,  
My saviour's blood.    

Praise.  

KIng of Comforts! King of life!  
Thou hast cheered me,  
And when fears, and doubts were rife,  
Thou hast cleared me!   

Not a nook in all my Breast  
But thou fill'st it,  
Not a thought, that breaks my rest,  
But thou killest it;   

Wherefore with my utmost strength  
I will praise thee,  
And as thou giv'st line, and length,  
I will raise thee;   

Day, and night, not once a day  
I will bless thee,  
And my soul in new array  
I will dress thee;   

Not one minute in the year  
But I'll mind thee,  
As my seal, and bracelet here  
I will bind thee;   

In thy word, as if in heaven  
I will rest me,  
And thy promise 'til made even  
There shall feast me.   

Then, thy sayings all my life  
They shall please me,  
And thy bloody wounds, and strife  
They will ease me;   

With thy groans my daily breath  
I will measure,  
And my life hid in thy death  
I will treasure.   

Though then thou art  
Past thought of heart  
All perfect fullness,  
And canst no whit  
Access admit  
From dust and dulness;   

Yet to thy name  
(as not the same  
With thy bright Essence,)  
Our foul, Clay hands  
At thy Commands  
Bring praise, and Incense;   

If then, dread Lord,  
When to thy board  
Thy wretch comes begging,  
He hath a flower  
Or (to his power,)  
Some such poor offering;   

When thou hast made  
Thy beggar glad,  
And filled his bosom,  
Let him (though poor,)  
Strew at thy door  
That one poor blossom.    

Dressing.  

O Thou that lovest a pure, and whitend soul!  
That feedest among the lilies, till the day  
Break, and the shadows flee▪ touch with one Coal  
My frozen heart; and with thy secret key   

Open my desolate rooms; my gloomy breast  
With thy clear fire refine, burning to dust  
These dark Confusions, that within me nest,  
And soil thy Temple with a sinful rust.   

Thou holy, harmless, undefiled high-priest!  
The perfect, full oblation for all sin,  
Whose glorious conquest nothing can resist,  
But even in babes dost triumph still and win;   

Give to thy wretched one  
Thy mystical Communion,  
That, absent, he may see,  
Live, die, and rise with thee;  
Let him so follow here, that in the end  
He may take thee, as thou dost him intend.   

Give him thy private seal,  
Earnest, and sign; Thy gifts so deal  
That these forerunners here  
May make the future clear;  
Whatever thou dost bid, let faith make good,  
Bread for thy body, and Wine for thy blood.  
Give him (with pity) love,  
Two flowers that grew with thee above;  
Love that shall not admit  
Anger for one short fit,  
And pity of such a divine extent  
That may thy members, more than mine, resent.   

Give me, my God thy grace,  
The beams, and brightness of thy face,  
That never like a beast  
I take thy sacred feast,  
Or the dread mysteries of thy blessed blood  
Use, with like custom, as my kitchen food▪  
Some sit to thee, and eat  
Thy body as their Common meat,  
O let not me do so!  
Poor dust should lie still low,  
Then kneel my soul, and body; kneel, and bow;  
If Saints, and Angels fall down, much more thou.    

Easter-day.  

THou, whose sad heart, and weeping head lies low,  
Whose Cloudy breast cold damps invade,  
Who never feel'st the Sun, nor smooth'st thy brow,  
But sittest oppressed in the shade,  
Awake, awake,  
And in his Resurrection partake,  
Who on this day (that thou might'st rise as he,)  
Rose up, and canceled two deaths due to thee.   

Awake, awake; and, like the Sun, disperse  
All mists that would usurp this day;  
Where are thy palms, thy branches, and thy verse?  
Hosanna! hark; why dost thou stay?  
Arise, arise,  
And with his healing blood anoint thine eyes,  
Thy inward eyes; his blood will cure thy mind,  
Whose spital only could restore the blind.    

Easter Hymn.  
DEath, and darkness get you packing,  
Nothing now to man is lacking,  
All your triumphs now are ended,  
And what Adam marred, is mended;  
Graves are beds now for the weary,  
Death a nap, to wake more merry;  
Youth now, full of pious duty,  
Seeks in thee for perfect beauty,  
The weak, and aged tired, with length  
Of days, from thee look for new strength,  
And Infants with thy pangs Contest  
As pleasant, as if with the breast;  
Then, unto him, who thus hath thrown  
Even to Contempt thy kingdom down,  
And by his blood did us advance  
Unto his own Inheritance,  
To him be glory, power, praise,  
From this, unto the last of days.   

The Holy Communion.  

WElcome sweet, and sacred feast; welcome life!  
Dead I was, and deep in trouble;  
But grace, and blessings came with thee so rife,  
That they have quickened even dry stubble;  
Thus souls their bodies animate,  
And thus, at first, when things were rude,  
Dark, void, and Crude  
They, by thy Word, their beauty had, and date;  
All were by thee,  
And still must be,  
Nothing that is, or lives,  
But hath his quickenings, and reprieves  
As thy hand opes, or shuts;  
Healings, and Cuts,  
Darkness, and daylight, life, and death  
Are but mere leaves turned by thy breath.  
Spirits without thee die,  
And blackness sits  
On the divinest wits,  
As on the Sun eclipses lie.  
But that great darkness at thy death  
When the veil broke with thy last breath,  
Did make us see  
The way to thee;  
And now by these sure, sacred ties,  
After thy blood  
(Our sou'rain good,)  
Had cleared our eyes,  
And given us sight;  
Thou dost unto thyself betrothe  
Our souls, and bodies both  
In everlasting light.   

Was't not enough that thou hadst paid the price  
And given us eyes  
When we had none, but thou must also take  
Us by the hand  
And keep us still awake,  
When we would sleep,  
Or from thee creep,  
Who without thee cannot stand?   

Was't not enough to lose thy breath  
And blood by an accursed death,  
But thou must also leave  
To us that did bereave  
Thee of them both, these seals the means  
That should both cleanse  
And keep us so,  
Who wrought thy woe?  
O rose of Sharon! O the lily  
Of the valley!  
How art thou now, thy flock to keep,  
Become both food, and shepherd to thy sheep!    

Psalm 121.  

UP to those bright, and gladsome hills  
Whence flows my weal, and mirth,  
I look, and sigh for him, who fills  
(Unseen,) both heaven, and earth.   

He is alone my help, and hope,  
that I shall not be moved,  
His watchful Eye is ever open,  
And guardeth his beloved;   

The glorious God is my sole stay,  
He is my Sun, and shade,  
The cold by night, the heat by day,  
Neither shall me invade.   

He keeps me from the spite of foes,  
Doth all their plots control,  
And is a shield (not reckoning those,)  
Unto my very soul.   

Whether abroad, amidst the Crowd,  
Or else within my door,  
He is my Pillar, and my Cloud,  
Now, and for evermore.    

Affliction.  
PEace, peace; It is not so. Thou dost miscall  
Thy physic; pills that change  
Thy sick Accessions into settled health,  
This is the great Elixir that turns gall  
To wine, and sweetness; Poverty to wealth,  
And brings man home, when he doth range.  
Did not he, who ordained the day,  
Ordain night too?  
And in the greater world display  
What in the lesser he would do?  
All flesh is Clay, thou know'st; and but that God  
Doth use his rod,  
And by a fruitful Change of frosts, and showers  
Cherish, and bind thy powers,  
Thou wouldst to weeds, and thistles quite disperse,  
And be more wild than is thy verse;  
Sickness is wholesome, and Crosses are but curbs  
To check the mule, unruly man,  
They are heavens husbandry, the famous fan  
Purging the floor which Chaff disturbs.  
Were all the year one constant sunshine, we  
should have no flowers,  
All would be drought, and leanness; not a tree  
would make us bowers;  
Beauty consists in colours; and that's best  
Which is not fixed, but flies, and flows  
The settled Red is dull, and whites that rest  
Something of sickness would disclose.  
Vicissitude plays all the game,  
nothing that stirs,  
Or hath a name,  
But waits upon this wheel,  
Kingdoms too have their physic, and for steel,  
Exchange their peace, and furs.  
Thus doth God Key disordered man  
(which none else can,)  
Tuning his breast to rise, or fall;  
And by a sacred, needful art  
Like strings, stretch every part  
Making the whole most musical.   

The Tempest.  

HOw is man parceled out? how every hour  
Shows him himself, or something he should see?  
This late, long hea● may his Instruction be,  
And tempests have more in them than a shower.   

When nature on her bosom saw  
Her Infants die,  
And all her flowers withered to straw,  
Her breasts grown dry;  
She made the Earth their nurse, & tomb,  
Sigh to the sky,  
'Til to those sighs fetched from her womb  
Rain did reply,  
So in the midst of all her scars  
And faint requests  
Her Earnest sighs procured her tears  
And filled her breasts.   

O that man could do so! that he would hear  
The world read to him! all the vast expense  
In the Creation shed, and slaved to sense  
Makes up but lectures for his eye, and ear.   

Sure, mighty love foreseeing the descent  
Of this poor Creature, by a gracious art  
Hid in these low things snares to gain his heart,  
And laid surprises in each Element.   

All things here show him heaven; waters that fall  
Chide, and fly up; Mists of corruptest some  
Quit their first beds & mount; trees, herbs, flowers, all  
Strive upwards still, and point him the way home.   

How do they cast off grossness? only Earth,  
And Man (like Issachar) in loads delight,  
Water's refined to Motion, air to Light,  
Fire to all 
* Light, Motion, heat.  three, but man hath no such mirth.   

Plants in the root with Earth do most Comply,  
Their leaves with water, and humidity,  
The flowers to air draw near, and subtlety,  
And seeds a kindred fire have with the sky.   

All have their keys, and set ascents; but man  
Though he knows these, and hath more of his own,  
Sleeps at the ladder's foot; alas! what can  
These new discoveries do, except they drown?   

Thus grovelling in the shade, and darkness, he  
Sinks to a dead oblivion; and though all  
He sees, (like Pyramids,) shoot from this ball  
And lessening still grow up invisibly,   

Yet hugs he still his dirt; The stuff he wears  
And painted trimming take down both his eyes,  
Heaven hath less beauty than the dust he spies,  
And money better music than the Spheres.   

Life's but a blast, he knows it; what? shall straw,  
And bul-rush-fetters temper his short hour?  
Must he nor sip, nor sing? grows ne'er a flower  
To crown his temples? shall dreams be his law?   

O foolish man! how hast thou lost thy sight?  
How is it that the Sun to thee alone  
Is grown thick darkness, and thy bread, a stone?  
Hath flesh no softness now? midday no light?   

Lord! thou didst put a soul here; If I must  
Be broke again, for flints will give no fire  
Without a steel, O let thy power clear  
Thy gift once more, and grind this flint to dust!    

Retirement.  

WHo on yond throne of Azure sits,  
Keeping close house  
Above the morningstar,  
Whose meaner shows,  
And outward utensils these glories are  
That shine and share  
Part of his mansion; He one day  
When I went quite astray  
Out of mere love  
By his mild Dove  
Did show me home, and put me in the way.   

2.  
Let it suffice at length thy fits  
And lusts (said he,)  
Have had their wish, and way;  
Press not to be  
Still thy own foe, and mine; for to this day  
I did delay,  
And would not see, but chose to wink,  
Nay, at the very brink  
And edge of all  
When thou wouldst fall  
My love-twist held thee up, my unseen link.   

3.  
I know thee well; for I have framed  
And hate thee not,  
Thy spirit too is mine;  
I know thy lot,  
Extent, and end, for my hands drew the line  
Assigned thine;  
If then thou wouldst unto my seat,  
'Tis not th'applause, and feat  
Of dust, and clay  
Leads to that way,  
But from those follies a resolved Retreat.   

4.  
Now here below where yet untamed  
Thou dost thus rove  
I have a house as well  
As there above,  
In it my Name, and honour both do dwell  
And shall until  
I make all new; there nothing gay  
In perfumes, or Array,  
Dust lies with dust  
And hath but just  
The same Respect, and room, with every clay.   

5.  
A faithful school where thou Mayst see  
In heraldry  
Of stones, and speechless Earth  
Thy true descent;  
Where dead men preach, who can turn feasts, and mirth  
To funerals, and Lent.  
There dust that out of doors might fill  
Thy eyes, and blind thee still,  
Is fast asleep;  
Up then, and keep  
Within those doors, (my doors) dost hear? I will.    

Love, and Discipline.  

SInce in a land not barren still  
(Because thou dost thy grace distil,)  
My lot is fallen, blessed be thy will!   

And since these biting frosts but kill  
Some tares in me which choke, or spill  
That seed thou sowest, blessed be thy skill!   

Blessed be thy Dew, and blessed thy frost,  
And happy I to be so crossed,  
And cured by Crosses at thy cost.   

The Dew doth Cheer what is distressed,  
The frosts ill weeds nip, and molest,  
In both thou workest unto the best.   

Thus while thy several mercy's plot,  
And work on me now cold, now hot,  
The work goes on, and slacketh not,   

For as thy hand the weather steers,  
So thrive I best, twixt joys, and tears,  
And all the year have some grean Ears.    

The Pilgrimage.  

AS travellers when the twilight's come,  
And in the sky the stars appear,  
The past day's accidents do sum  
With, Thus we saw there, and thus here.   

Then Jacob-like lodge in a place  
(A place, and no more, is set down,)  
Where till the day restore the race  
They rest and dream homes of their own.   

So for this night I linger here,  
And full of tossings too and fro,  
Expect still when thou wilt appear  
That I may get me up, and go.   

I long, and groan, and grieve for thee,  
For thee my words, my tears do gush,  
O that I were but where I see!  
Is all the note within my Bush.   

As Birds robbed of their native wood,  
Although their Diet may be fine,  
Yet neither sing, nor like their food,  
But with the thought of home do pine;   

So do I mourn, and hang my head,  
And though thou dost me fullness give,  
Yet look I for far better bread  
Because by this man cannot live.   

O feed me then! and since I may  
Have yet more days, more nights to Count,  
So strengthen me, Lord, all the way,  
That I may travel to thy Mount.   Heb. Cap. xi. ver. 13. 
And they Confessed, thus they were strangers, and Pilgrims on the earth.   

The Law, and the Gospel.  

LOrd, when thou didst on Sinai pitch  
And shine from Paran, when a fiery Law  
Pronounced with thunder, and thy threats did thaw  
Thy people's hearts, when all thy weeds were rich  
And Inaccessible for light,  
Terror, and might,  
How did poor flesh (which after thou didst wear,)  
Then faint, and fear!  
Thy Chosen flock, like leaves in a high wind,  
Whispered obedience, and their heads inclined.   

2.  
But now since we to Zion came,  
And through thy blood thy glory see,  
With filial Confidence we touch even thee;  
And where the other mount all clad in flame,  
And threatning Clouds would not so much  
As 'bide the touch,  
We Climb up this, and have too all the way  
Thy hand our stay,  
Nay, thou tak'st ours, and (which full Comfort brings)  
Thy Dove too bears us on her sacred wings.   

3.  
Yet since man is a very brute  
And after all thy Acts of grace doth kick,  
Slighting that health thou gav'st, when he was sick,  
Be not displeased, If I, who have a suit  
To thee each hour, beg at thy door  
For this one more;  
O plant in me thy Gospel, and thy Law,  
Both Faith, and Awe;  
So twist them in my heart, that ever there  
I may as well as Love, find too thy fear!   

4.  
Let me not spill, but drink thy blood,  
Not break thy fence, and by a black Excess  
Force down a Just Curse, when thy hands would bless;  
Let me not scatter, and despise my food,  
Or nail those blessed limbs again  
Which bore my pain;  
So Shall thy mercies flow: for while I fear,  
I know, thou'lt bear,  
But should thy mild Injunction nothing move me,  
I would both think, and Judge I did not love thee.   John Cap. 14. ver. 15. 
If ye love me, keep my commandments.   

The World.  

I Saw Eternity the other night  
Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,  
All calm, as it was bright,  
And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years  
Driven by the spheres  
Like a vast shadow moved, In which the world  
And all her train were hurled;  
The doting Lover in his queintest strain  
Did their Complain,  
Near him, his Lute, his fancy, and his flights,  
Wits so our delights,  
With gloves, and knots the silly snares of pleasure  
Yet his dear Treasure  
All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour  
Upon a flower.   

2.  
The darksome statesman hung with weights and woe  
Like a thick midnight-fog moved there so slow  
He did nor stay, nor go;  
Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl  
Upon his soul,  
And Clouds of crying witnesses without  
Pursued him with one shout.  
Yet digged the Mole, and lest his ways be found  
Worked under ground,  
Where he did Clutch his prey, but one did see  
That policy,  
Churches and altars fed him, Perjuries  
Were gnats and flies,  
It rained about him blood and tears, but he  
Drank them as free.   

3.  
The fearful miser on a heap of rust  
Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust  
His own hands with the dust,  
Yet would not place one piece above, but lives  
In fear of thieves.  
Thousands there were as frantic as himself  
And hug'd each one his pelf,  
The downright Epicure placed heaven in sense  
And scorned pretence  
While others slipped into a wide excess  
Said little less;  
The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave  
Who think them brave,  
And poor, despised truth sat Counting by  
Their victory.   

4.  
Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,  
And sing, and weep, soared up into the Ring,  
But most would use no wing.  
O fools (said I,) thus to prefer dark night  
Before true light,  
To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day  
Because it shows the way,  
The way which from this dead and dark abode  
Leads up to God,  
A way where you might tread the Sun, and be  
More bright than he.  
But as I did their madness so discuss  
One whispered thus,  
This Ring the bridegroom did for none provide  
But for his bride.   John Cap. 2. ver. 16, 17. 
All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the father, but is of the world.  
And the world passeth away, and the lusts thereof, but he that doth the will of God abideth for ever.   

The mutiny.  

WEary of this same Clay, and straw, I laid  
Me down to breath, and casting in my heart  
The after-burthens, and griefs yet to come,  
The heavy sum  
So shook my breast, that (sick and sore dismayed)  
My thoughts, like water which some stone doth start  
Did quit their troubled Channel, and retire  
Unto the banks, where▪ storming at those bounds,  
They murmured sore; But I, who felt them boil  
And knew their Coyl,  
Turning to him, who made poor sand to tire  
And tame proud waves, If yet these barren grounds  
And thirsty brick must be (said I)  
My task, and destiny,   

2.  
Let me so strive and struggle with thy foes  
(Not thine alone, but mine too,) that when all  
Their Arts and force are built unto the height  
That Babel-weight  
May prove thy glory, and their shame; so Close  
And knit me to thee, That though in this vale  
Of sin, and death I sojourn, yet one eye  
May look to thee, To thee the finisher  
And Author of my faith; so show me home  
That all this foam  
And frothy noise which up and down doth fly  
May find no lodging in mine eye, or ear,  
O seal them up! that these may fly  
Like other tempests by.   

3.  
Not but I know thou hast a shorter Cut  
To bring me home, than through a wilderness,  
A Sea, or Sands and Serpents; Yet since thou  
(As thy words show)  
Though in this desert I were wholly shut,  
Canst light and lead me there with such redress  
That no decay shall touch me; O be pleased  
To fix my steps, and whatsoever path  
Thy sacred and eternal will decreed  
For thy bruised reed  
O give it full obedience, that so seized  
Of all I have, I may nor move thy wrath  
Nor grieve thy Dove, but soft and mild  
Both live and die thy Child.   Revel. Cap. 2. ver. 17. 
To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden Manna, and I will give him a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth, saving he that receiveth it.   

The Constellation.  

FAir, ordered lights (whose motion without noise  
Resembles those true Joys  
Whose spring is on that hill where you do grow  
And we here taste sometimes below,)   

With what exact obedience do you move  
Now beneath, and now above,  
And in your vast progressions overlook  
The darkest night, and closest nook!   

Some nights I see you in the gladsome East,  
Some others near the West,  
And when I cannot see, yet do you shine  
And beat about your endless line.   

Silence, and light, and watchfulness with you  
Attend and wind the Clue,  
No sleep, nor sloth assails you, but poor man  
Still either sleeps, or slips his span.   

He grops beneath here, and with restless Care  
First makes, than hugs a snare,  
Adores dead dust, sets heart on corn and grass  
But seldom doth make heaven his glass.   

Music and mirth (if there be music here)  
Take up, and tune his year,  
These things are Kin to him, and must be had,  
Who kneels, or sighs a life is mad.   

Perhaps some nights he'll watch with you, and peep  
When it were best to sleep,  
Dares know Effects, and Judge them long before,  
When th' herb he treads knows much, much more.   

But seeks he your Obedience, Order, Light,  
Your calm and well-trained flight,  
Where, though the glory differ in each star,  
Yet is there peace still, and no war?   

Since placed by him who calls you by your names  
And fixed there all your flames,  
Without Command you never acted ought  
And then you in your Courses fought.   

But here commissioned by a black self-will  
The sons the father kill,  
The Children Chase the mother, and would heal  
The wounds they give, by crying, zeal.   

Then Cast her blood, and tears upon thy book  
Where they for fashion look,  
And like that Lamb which had the dragon's voice  
Seem mild, but are known by their noise.   

Thus by our lusts disordered into wars  
Our guides prove wandering stars,  
Which for these mists, and black days were reserved,  
What time we from our first love swerved.   

Yet O for his sake who sits now by thee  
All crowned with victory,  
So guide us through this darkness, that we may  
Be more and more in love with day;   

Settle, and fix our hearts, that we may move  
In order, peace, and love,  
And taught obedience by thy whole Creation,  
Become an humble, holy nation.   

Give to thy spouse her perfect, and pure dress,  
Beauty and holiness,  
And so repair these Rents, that men may see  
And say, Where God is, all agree.    

The shepherds.  
SWeet, harmless lives! (on whose holy leisure  
Waits Innocence and pleasure;)  
Whose leaders to those pastures, and clear springs,  
Were Patriarchs, Saints, and Kings,  
How happened it that in the dead of night  
You only saw true light,  
While Palestine was fast a sleep, and lay  
Without one thought of Day?  
Was it because those first and blessed swains  
Were pilgrims on those plains  
When they received the promise, for which now  
‛ I was there first shown to you?  
'Tis true, he loves that Dust whereon they go  
That serve him here below,  
And therefore might for memory of those  
His love there first disclose;  
But wretched Salem once his love, must now  
No voice, nor vision know,  
Her stately Piles with all their height and pride  
Now languished and died,  
And Bethlems humble cots above them stepped  
While all her Seers slept;  
Her Cedar, fir, hewed stones and gold were all  
Polluted through their fall,  
And those once sacred mansions were now  
Mere emptiness and show,  
This made the Angel call at reeds and thatch,  
Yet where the shepherd's watch,  
And God's own lodging (though he could not lack,)  
To be a common Rack;  
No costly pride, no soft-cloathed luxury  
In those thin cells could lie,  
Each stirring wind and storm blew through their Cots  
Which never harboured plots,  
Only Content, and love, and humble joys  
Lived there without all noise,  
Perhaps some harmless Cares for the next day  
Did in their bosoms play,  
As where to lead their sheep, what silent nook,  
What springs or shades to look,  
But that was all; And now with gladsome care  
They for the town prepare,  
They leave their flock, and in a busy talk  
All towards Bethlem walk  
To see their souls great shepherd, who was come  
To bring all stragglers home,  
Where now they find him out, and taught before  
That Lamb of God adore,  
That Lamb whose days great Kings and Prophets wished  
And longed to see, but miss.  
The first light they beheld was bright and gay  
And turned their night to day,  
But to this later light they saw in him,  
Their day was dark, and dim.   

Misery.  
LOrd, bind me up, and let me lie  
A prisoner to my liberty,  
If such a state at all can be  
As an imp serving thee;  
The wind, though gathered in thy fist,  
Yet doth it blow still where it list,  
And yet shouldst thou let go thy hold  
Those gusts might quarrel and grow bold.  
As waters here, headlong and loose  
The lower grounds still chase, and choose,  
Where spreading all the way they seek  
And search out every hole, and Creek;  
So my spilt thoughts winding from thee  
Take the down-rode to vanity,  
Where they all stray and strive, which shall  
Find out the first and steepest fall;  
I cheer their flow, giving supply  
To what's already grown too high,  
And having thus performed that part  
Feed on those vomits of my heart.  
I break the fence my own hands made  
Then lay that trespass in the shade,  
Some fig-leaves still I do devise  
As if thou hadst nor ears, nor Eyes.  
Excess of friends, of words, and wine  
Take up my day, while thou dost shine  
All unregarded, and thy book  
Hath not so much as one poor look.  
If thou steal in amidst the mirth  
And kindly tell me, I am Earth,  
I shut thee out, and let that slip,  
Such music spoils good fellowship.  
Thus wretched I, and most unkind,  
Exclude my dear God from my mind,  
Exclude him thence, who of that Cel  
Would make a Court, should he there dwell.  
He goes, he yields; And troubled sore  
His holy spirit grieves therefore,  
The mighty God, th' eternal King  
Doth grieve for Dust, and Dust doth sing.  
But I go on, haste to divest  
Myself of reason, till oppressed  
And buried in my surfeits I  
Prove my own shame and misery.  
Next day I call and cry for thee  
Who shouldst not then come near to me,  
But now it is thy servant's pleasure  
Thou must (and dost) give him his measure.  
Thou dost, thou com'st, and in a shower  
Of healing sweets thyself dost power  
Into my wounds, and now thy grace  
(I know it well,) fills all the place;  
I sit with thee by this new light,  
And for that hour thou'rt my delight,  
No man can more the world despise  
Or thy great mercies better prize.  
I School my eyes, and strictly dwell  
Within the Circle of my Cel  
That Calm and silence are my Joys  
Which to thy peace are but mere noise.  
At length I feel my head to ache,  
My finger's Itch, and burn to take  
Some new employment, I begin  
To swell and foam and fret within.  
" The Age, the present times are not  
" To snudge in, and embrace a Cot,  
" Action and blood now get the game,  
" disdain treads on the peaceful name,  
" who sits at home too bears a load  
" Greater than those that gad abroad.  
Thus do I make thy gifts given me  
The only quarrellers with thee,  
I'd lose those knots thy hands did tie,  
Then would go travel, fight or die.  
Thousands of wild and waste Infusions  
Like waves beat on my resolutions,  
As flames about their fuel run  
And work, and wind till all be done,  
So my fierce soul bustles about  
And never rests till all be out.  
Thus wilded by a peevish heart  
Which in thy music bears no part  
I storm at thee, calling my peace  
A Lethargy, and mere disease,  
Nay, those bright beams shot from the eyes  
To calm me in these mutinies  
I style mere tempers, which take place  
At some set times, but are thy grace.  
Such is man's life, and such is mine  
The worst of men, and yet still thine,  
Still thine thou know'st, and if not so  
Then give me over to my foe.  
Yet since as easy 'tis for thee  
To make man good, as bid him be,  
And with one glance (could he that gain,)  
To look him out of all his pain,  
O send me from thy holy hill  
So much of strength, as may fulfil  
All thy delight (what e'er they be)  
And sacred Institutes in me;  
Open my rocky heart, and fill  
It with obedience to thy will,  
Then seal it up, that as none see,  
So none may enter there but thee.  
O hear my God hear him, whose blood  
Speaks more and better for my good!  
O let my cry come to thy throne!  
My cry not poured with tears alone,  
(For tears alone are often foul)  
But with the blood of all my soul,  
With spirit-sighs, and earnest groans,  
Faithful and most repenting moans,  
With these I cry, and crying pine  
Till thou both mend and make me thine.   

The Sap.  
COme sapless Blossom, creep not still on Earth  
Forgetting thy first birth;  
'Tis not from dust, or if so, why dost thou  
Thus call and thirst for dew?  
It tends not thither, if it doth, why then  
This growth and stretch for heaven?  
Thy root sucks but diseases, worms there seat  
And claim it for their meat.  
Who placed thee here, did something than Infuse  
Which now can tell thee news.  
There is beyond the Stars an hill of myrrh  
From which some drops fall here,  
On it the Prince of Salem sits, who deals  
To thee thy secret meals,  
There is thy Country, and he is the way  
And hath withal the key.  
Yet lived he here sometimes, and bore for thee  
A world of misery,  
For thee, who in the first man's loins didst fall  
From that hill to this vale,  
And had not he so done, it is most true  
Two deaths had been thy due;  
But going hence, and knowing well what woes  
Might his friends discompose,  
To show what strange love he had to our good  
He gave his sacred blood  
By will our sap, and Cordial; now in this  
Lies such a heaven of bliss,  
That, who but truly tastes it, no decay  
Can touch him any way,  
Such secret life, and virtue in it lies  
It will exalt and rise  
And actuate such spirits as are shed  
Or ready to be dead,  
And bring new too. Get then this sap, and get  
Good store of it, but let  
The vessel where you put it be for sure  
To all your power most pure;  
There is at all times (though shut up) in you  
A powerful, rare dew,  
Which only grief and love extract; with this  
Be sure, and never miss,  
To wash your vessel well: Then humbly take  
This balm for souls that ache,  
And one who drank it thus, assures that you  
Shall find a Joy so true,  
Such perfect Ease, and such a lively sense  
Of grace against all sins,  
That you'll Confess the Comfort such, as even  
Brings to, and comes from Heaven.   

Mount of Olives.  
WHen first I saw true beauty, and thy Joys  
Active as light, and calm without all noise  
Shined on my soul, I felt through all my powers  
Such a rich air of sweets, as Evening showers  
Fand by a gentle gale Convey and breath  
On some parched bank, crowned with a flowery wreath;  
Odours, and mirth, and balm in one rich flood  
O'r-ran my heart, and spirited my blood,  
My thoughts did swim in Comforts, and mine eye  
confessed, The world did only paint and lie.  
And where before I did no safe Course steer  
But wandered under tempests all the year,  
Went bleak and bare in body as in mind,  
And was blown through by every storm and wind,  
I am so warmed now by this glance on me,  
That, midst all storms I feel a Ray of thee;  
So have I known some beauteous Paisage rise  
In sudden flowers and arbours to my eyes,  
And in the depth and dead of winter bring  
To my Cold thoughts a lively sense of spring.  
Thus fed by thee, who dost all beings nourish,  
My withered leaves again look green and flourish,  
I shine and shelter underneath thy wing  
Where sick with love▪ strive thy name to sing,  
Thy glorious name! which grant I may so do  
That these may be thy Praise, and my Joy too.   

Man.  

WEighing the steadfastness and state  
Of some mean things which here below reside,  
Where birds like watchful Clocks the noiseless date  
And Intercourse of times divide,  
Where Bees at night get home and hive, and flowers  
Early, as welll as late,  
Rise with the Sun, and set in the same bowr●;   

2.  
I would (said I) my God would give  
The staidness of these things to man! for these  
To his divine appointments ever cleave,  
And no new business breaks their peace;  
The birds nor sow, nor reap, yet sup and dine,  
The flowers without clothes live,  
Yet Solomon was never dressed so fine.   

3.  
Man hath still either toys, or Care,  
He hath no root, nor to one place is tied,  
But ever restless and Irregular  
About this Earth doth run and ride,  
He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where,  
He says it is so far  
That he hath quite forgot how to go there.   

4.  
He knocks at all doors, strays and roams,  
Nay hath not so much wit as some stones have  
Which in the darkest nights point to their homes,  
By some hid sense their Maker gave;  
Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest  
And passage through these looms  
God ordered motion, but ordained no rest.    

¶  

I walked the other day (to spend my hour,)  
Into a field  
Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield  
A gallant flower,  
But Winter now had ruffled all the bower  
And curious store  
I knew there heretofore.   

2.  
Yet I whose search loved not to peep and peer  
I'th' face of things  
Thought with myself, there might be other springs  
Besides this here  
Which, like cold friends, sees us but once a year,  
And so the flower  
Might have some other bower.   

3.  
Then taking up what I could nearest spy  
I digged about  
That place where I had seen him to grow out,  
And by and by  
I saw the warm Recluse alone to lie  
Where fresh and green  
He lived of us unseen.   

4.  
Many a question Intricate and rare  
Did I there strew,  
But all I could extort was, that he now  
Did there repair  
Such losses as befell him in this air  
And would e'er long  
Come forth most fair and young▪   

5.  
This past, I threw the Clothes quite o'er his head,  
And stung with fear  
Of my own frailty dropped down many a tear upon his bed,  
Then sighing whispered, Happy are the dead!  
What peace doth now  
Rock him asleep below?   

6.  
And yet, how few believe such doctrine springs  
From a poor root  
Which all the Winter sleeps here under foot  
And hath no wings  
To raise it to the truth and light of things,  
But is still trod  
By every wandering clod.   

7.  
O thou! whose spirit did at first inflame  
And warm the dead,  
And by a sacred Incubation fed  
With life this frame  
Which once had neither being, form, nor name,  
Grant I may so  
Thy steps tract here below,   

8.  
That in these Masques and shadows I may see  
Thy sacred way,  
And by those hid ascents climb to that day  
Which breaks from thee  
Who art in all things, though invisibly;  
Show me thy peace,  
Thy mercy, love, and ease,   

9  
And from this Care, where dreams and sorrows reign  
Lead me above  
Where Light, Joy, Leisure, and true Comforts move  
Without all pain,  
There, hid in thee, show me his life again  
At whose dumb urn  
Thus all the year I mourn.    

Begging.  
KIng of Mercy, King of Love,  
In whom I live, in whom I move,  
Perfect what thou hast begun,  
Let no night put out this Sun;  
Grant I may, my chief desire!  
Long for thee, to thee aspire,  
Let my youth, my bloom of days  
Be my Comfort, and thy praise,  
That hereafter, when I look  
O'er the sullied, sinful book,  
I may find thy hand therein  
Wiping out my shame, and sin.  
O it is thy only Art  
To reduce a stubborn heart,  
And since thine is victory,  
Strong holds should belong to thee;  
Lord than take it, leave it not  
Unto my dispose or lot,  
But since I would not have it mine,  
O my God, let it be thine!  Jude ver. 24, 25. Now unto him that is able to keep us from falling, and to present us faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God, our Saviour, be glory, and majesty, Dominion and power, now and ever, Amen.  
FINIS.