can:

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."
Where they together,
All the hard weather,

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."
ing thither;
Nor doth my flower

Want a spring-shower,
My sins and I joining together.

HENRY VAUGHAN.
But while I grow in a straight line,

(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
I once more smell the dew and rain,

And harmless head;
And relish versing: () my only Light,
It cannot be

And now, as fresh and cheerful as the
That I am he

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,

mine own,

zone

warm.

sun

just,

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!
Resume thy spirit from this world of

thrall

Into true liberty!
THEY ARE ALL GONE.

Either disperse these mists, which blot
They are all gone into the world of light, and fill
And I alone sit lingering here!

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.

all ty,

For sure if others knew me such, By her help I also now
Such as myself I know,

Make this churlish place allow
I should have been dispraised as much Some things that may sweeten glad.
As I am praised now.

ness,

In the very gall of sadness.
The praise, therefore, which I have heard, The dull loneness, the black shade,
Delights not so my mind,

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
When I no virtues had.

More to terror than delight;
This my chamber of neglect,

Walled about with disrespect, –
Though slanders to an innocent
Sometimes do bitter grow,

From all these, and this dull air,
Their bitterness procures content,

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,
If praised himself he hear,

I will cherish thee for this.
It makes him grieve, and more afeard,
Than if he slandered were.

Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er heaven to mortals lent:

Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Lord ! therefore make my heart upright, Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive
Whate'er my deeds do seem;

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.

ANDREW MARVELL.

COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE.

(1620- 1678.]

THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN.

Sue doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow;
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace,
And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments.
In my former days of bliss,
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from everything I saw
I could soine invention draw,
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest object's sight,
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough's rustleing.
By a daisy, whose leaves spread,
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could inore infuse in me,
Than all nature's beauties can
In some other wiser man.

How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, the oak, or bays :
And their incessant labors see
Crowned from some single herb or

tree,
Whose short and narrow-vergéd shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all the flowers and trees do

close,
To weave the garlands of repose.
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence, thy sister dear?
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men.
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among these plants will grow.