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(1593 - 1633.)
Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
For thou must die.
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
And go at last.
An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
And lose you quite.
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave; And after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.
Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
And thou must die.
Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Then chiefly lives.
TO KEEP A TRUE LENT.
Who would have thought my shriv.
REST. elled heart
When God at first made man, Could have recovered greenness? It was
Having a glass of blessings standing by, gone
• Let us,” said he, “pour on him all we Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
Let the world's riches, which disperséd lie,
Contract into a span."
So strength first made a way; Dead to the world, keep house un. Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor, known.
pleasure: These are thy wonders, Lord of power; Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure,
When almost all was out, God made a stay. Killing and quickening, bringing down
Rest in the bottom lay. to hell And up to heaven in an hour;
“ For if I should," said he, Making a chiming a passing bell.
• Bestow this jewel also on my creature, We say amiss,
He would adore my gifts instead of me, This or that is:
And rest in nature, not the God of nature; Thy word is all, if we could spell.
So both should losers be. O that I once past changing were,
“Yet let him keep the rest, Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower But keep them with repining restlessness : can wither!
Let him be rich and weary, that at least, Many a spring 1 shoot up fair
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness Offering at heaven, growing and groan
May toss him to my breast."
Want a spring-shower,
(1614 - 1695.] Still upwards bent, as if heaven were
THE BIRD. Thy anger comes, and I decline : What frost to that? what pole is not the Hither thou com'st. The busy wind
all night Where all things burn,
Blew through thy lodging, where thy When thou dost turn,
own warm wing And the least frown of thine is shown? Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm,
For which coarse man seems much the And now in age I bud again,
fitter born, After so many deaths I live and write;
Rained on thy bed
And harmless head;
And now, as fresh and cheerful as the
light, On whom thy tempests fell all night.
Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing
Unto that Providence whose unseen arı These are thy wonders, Lord of love,
Curbed them, and clothed thee well and To make us see we are but flowers that glide;
All things that he praise Him; and had Which when we once can find and Their lesson taught them when first prove,
made. Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. Who would be more,
So hills and valleys into singing break; Swelling through store,
And though poor stones have neither Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.
speech nor tongue,
While active winds and streains both run These are your walks, and you have and speak,
showed them me Yet stones are deep in admiration.
To kindle ny cold love. Thus praise and prayer here beneath the
Dear, beauteous death, – the jewel of the Make lesser mornings, when the great are done.
Shining nowhere but in the dark !
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, For each inclosed spirit is a star
Could man outlook that mark! Inlightning his own little sphere, Whose light, though fetcht and borrowed He that hath found some fledged bird's from far,
nest may know, Both mornings makes and evenings At first sight, if the bird be flown; there.
But what fair dell or grove he sings in
now, But as these birds of light make a land That is to him unknown.
glad, Chirping their solemn matins on each And yet, as angels in some brighter tree;
dreams So in the shades of night some dark Call to the soul when man doth sleep, fowls be,
So soine strange thoughts transcend our Whose heavy notes make all that hear wonted themes, them sad.
And into glory peep. The turtle then in palm-trees mourns,
If a star were confined into a tomb, While owls and satyrs howl;
Her captive flames must needs burn The pleasant land to brimstone turns,
there; And all her streams grow foul.
But when the hand that lockt her up
gives room, Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, She'll shine through all the sphere. Till the day-spring breaks forth again O Father of eternal life, and all from high.
Created glories under thee!
Into true liberty!
Either disperse these mists, which blot
My perspective still as they pass; Their very memory is fair and bright, Or else remove me hence unto that hill And my sad thoughts doth clear.
Where I shall need no glass.
For sure if others knew me such, By her help I also now
Make this churlish place allow
In the very gall of sadness.
That these hanging vaults have made; As those things make my heart afеard,
The strange music of the waves, Which in myself I find:
Beating on these hollow caves; And I had rather to be blamed,
This black den which rocks emboss, So I were blameless made,
Overgrown with eldest moss ; Than for much virtue to be famed,
The rude portals that give light
More to terror than delight;
Walled about with disrespect, –
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair, If clear hiniselt he know.
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight. And when a virtuous man hath erred,
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
thee; And righteous rather in thy sight, Though thou be to them a scorn, Than in the world's esteem.
That to naught but earth are born, And if aught good appear to be
Let my life no longer be In any act of mine,
Than I am in love with thee! Let thankfulness be found in me,
And all the praise be thine.
COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE.
THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN.
Sue doth tell me where to borrow
How vainly men themselves amaze,