Imágenes de páginas

These are the words and works of life; this do, And live; who doth not thus, hath lost heav'n's

way. O lose it not ! look up, wilt change those lights For chains of darknes and eternal nights?


SURE it was so.

Man in those early days
Was not all stone and earth;
He shin'd a little, and, by those weak rays,

Had some glimpse of his birth. [whence He saw heaven o'er his head, and knew from

He came condemned hither; And, as first love draws strongest, so from hence

His mind sure progress'd thither.
Things here were strange unto him; swet and till,

All was a thorn or weed;
Nor did those last, but, like himself, dyed still

As soon as they did seed;
They seem'd to quarrel with him ; for that act,

That fell’d him, foyld them all ;
He drew the curse upon the world, and crackt

The whole frame with his fall.
This made him long for home, as loath to stay

With murmurers and foes ;
He sigh'd for Eden, and would often say,

"Ah! what bright days were those !”

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

Nor was heav'n cold unto him; for each day

The vally or the mountain Afforded visits, and still paradise lay

In some green shade or fountain. Angels lay leiger here; each bush and cell,

Each oke and highway, knew them ;
Walk but the fields, or sit down at some well,

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 center, and his shrowd.
All's. in deep sleep and night; thick darkness lyes

And hatcheth o'er thy people –
But hark ! what trumpet's that? what angel cries,

“ Arise ! thrust in thy sickle!”


WELCOME, dear book, soul's joy and food! the

feast Of spirits; heav'n extracted lyes in thee. Thou art life's charter, the dove's spotless nest

Where souls are hatch'd unto eternitie.

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


himself the law and stones. Read here, my faults are thine. This book and I Will tell thee so; sweet Saviour, thou didst dye!


How rich, O Lord, how fresh thy visits are ! 'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung

Sullyed with dust and mud; Each snarling blast shot through me, and did shear Their youth and beauty; cold showres nipt, and

Their spiciness and bloud. [wrung But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey Their sad decays, I flourish, and once more

Breathe all perfumes and spice;
I smell a dew like myrrh, and all the day
Wear in my bosome a full sun; such store

Hath one beame from thy eyes.
But, ah, my God! what fruit hast thou of this ?
What one poor leaf did ever I let 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 bequeath.



AWAKE, glad heart! get up, and sing !
It is the birth-day of thy King.

Awake! awake!

The sun doth shake
Light from his locks, and, all the way
Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.


Awake, awake! heark how th' wood rings,
Winds whisper, and the busie springs

A concert make;

Awake! awake!
Man is their high-priest, and should rise
To offer up the sacrifice.

I would I were some bird, or star,
Flutt'ring in woods, or lifted far

Above this inne

And rode of sin !
Then either star or bird should be
Shining or singing still to thee.


I would I had in my best part
Fit roomes 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 can’st make clean.

Sweet Jesu! will then; let no more
This leper haunt and soyl thy door!

Cure him, ease him,

O release him!
And let once more, by mystick birth,
The Lord of life be born in earth.


How kind is Heav'n to man! If here

One sinner doth amend, Straight there is joy, and ev'ry sphere

In musick 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 suff'rings bind?

Are we all stone and earth?

« AnteriorContinuar »