Mornings are mysteries; the first world's youth, Man's resurrection, and the future's bud

Shrowd in their births: the crown of life, light, truth Is stil❜d their starre, 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 ev'ry swarm abroad, Keep thou thy temper; mix not with each clay; Dispatch necessities; life hath a load

Which must be carri'd 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 countrie, and thy friend be true;
If priest and people change, keep thou thy ground.
Who sels religion is a Judas Jew;

And, oathes 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 Maker's too;
Let folly dust it on, or lag behind.

A sweet self-privacy in a right soul
Out-runs 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 tryals come, this wil make good thy part,
For honesty is safe, come what can hap;

It is the good man's feast, the prince of flowres, Which thrives in storms, and smels best after showres.

Seal not thy eyes up from the poor; but give
Proportion to their merits, and thy purse:
Thou may'st 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 with them thy friend, nor heav'n; O
smother

A viperous thought; some syllables are swords.

Unbitted tongues are in their penance double; They shame their owners, and their hearers trouble.

Injure not modest bloud, while spirits rise

In judgement against lewdness; that's base wit, That voyds but filth and stench. Hast thou no

prize

But sickness or infection? stifle it.

Who makes his jest of sins, must be at least,
If not a very devill, worse than beast.

Yet fly no friend, if he be such indeed;
But meet to quench his longings and thy thirst;
Allow your joyes religion; that done, speed,
And bring the same man back thou wert at 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'r thou hast,
Observe God in his works; here fountains flow,
Birds sing, beasts feed, fish leap, and th' earth
stands fast;

Above are restles motions, running lights,

Vast circling azure, giddy clouds, days, nights.

When seasons change, then lay before thine eys His wondrous method; mark the various scenes In heav'n; hail, thunder, rainbows, snow, and ice, Calmes, tempests, light, and darknes by his means. Thou canst not misse his praise: each tree, herb, flowre,

Are shadows of his wisedome and his pow'r.

To meales when thou doest come, give him the praise
Whose arm supply'd thee; take what may suffice,
And then be thankful; O admire his ways
Who fils the world's unempty'd granaries!

A thankless feeder is a theif, 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 hastes 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 oyl,
And then set forth who is thus drest, the fall
Furthers his glory, and gives death the foyl.

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, "Ther's one sun more strung on my bead of days." What's good score up for joy; the bad well scann'd

Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand.

Thy accounts thus made, spend in the grave one

houre

Before thy time; be not a stranger there,

Where thou may'st sleep whole ages; life's poor flow'r

Lasts not a night sometimes. Bad spirits fear
This conversation; but the good man lyes
Intombed many days before he dyes.

Being laid, and drest 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 unrak'st 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 ake
Of night shut up thy leaves; be chaste; God prys
Through thickest nights; though then the sun

be far,

Do thou the works of day, and rise a star.

Briefly, doe as thou would'st be done unto,
Love God, and love thy neighbour; watch, and

pray.