Thou griev st, man should himself undo,
And lov'st him, though he works thy wo.

'Twas not that vast, almighty measure Which is requir'd to make up life,

Though purchased with thy heart's dear treasure, Did breed this strife

Of grief and pity in thy brest,

The throne where peace and power rest;
But 'twas thy love, that, without leave,
Made thine eyes melt, and thy heart heave.
For though death cannot so undo

What thou hast done; yea, though man too
Should help to spoil, thou canst restore
All better far than 'twas before.

Yet thou so full of pity art,

Pity which overflows thy heart,

That, though the cure of all man's harm
Is nothing to thy glorious arm,

Yet canst thou not that free cure do,
But thou must sorrow for him too.

Then farewell joys! for, while I live,
My business here shall be to grieve:
A grief that shall outshine all joys
For mirth and life, yet without noise:
A grief whose silent dew shall breed
Lilies and myrrhe, where the curs'd seed
Did sometimes rule: a grief so bright,
"Twill make the land of darkness light;

And, while too many sadly roam,

Shall send me, swan-like, singing home.

Psal. lxxiii. 25.

Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire besides thee.

PROVIDENCE.

SACRED and secret hand!
By whose assisting, swift command
The angel shew'd that holy well,

Of

Which freed poor Hagar from her fears, And turn'd to smiles the begging tears yong, distressed Ishmael.

How, in a mystick cloud

Which doth thy strange, sure mercies shroud,
Doest thou convey man food and money,

Unseen by him till they arrive

Just at his mouth, that thankless hive, Which kills thy bees, and eats thy honey!

If I thy servant be,

Whose service makes ev'n captives free,

A fish shall all my tribute pay,

The swift-wing'd raven shall bring me meat,
And I like flowers shall still go neat,

As if I knew no month but May.

I will not fear what man,

With all his plots and power, can.
Bags that wax old may plundered be;
But none can sequester or let

A state that with the sun doth set,
And comes next morning fresh as he.

Poor birds this doctrine sing,
And herbs which on dry hills do spring,
Or in the howling wilderness

Do know thy dewy morning hours,

And watch all night for mists or showers, Then drink and praise thy bounteousness.

May he for ever dye

Who trusts not thee! but wretchedly
Hunts gold and wealth, and will not lend
Thy service nor his soul one day!

May his crown, like his hopes, be clay; And, what he saves, may his foes spend!

If all my portion here,

The measure given by thee each year,
Were by my causless enemies

Usurp'd, it never should me grieve,

Who know how well thou canst relieve, Whose hands are open as thine eyes.

Great King of love and truth!

Who would'st not hate my froward youth,

And wilt not leave me when

grown

old;

Gladly will I, like Pontick sheep,
Unto my wormwood-diet keep,
Since thou hast made thy arm my fold.

THE KNOT.

BRIGHT queen of heaven! God's virgin spouse!

The glad world's blessed maid! Whose beauty tyed life to thy house,

And brought us saving ayd.

Thou art the true loves-knot; by thee

God is made our allie
And man's inferior essence, he

With his did dignifie.

For coalescent by that band

We are his body grown,
Nourished with favors from his hand

Whom for our head we own.

And such a knot what arm dares loose,

What life, what death, can sever? Which us in him, and him in us,

United keeps for ever.

THE ORNAMENT.

THE lucky world shewd me one day
Her gorgeous mart and glittering store,
Where with proud haste the rich made way
To buy, the poor came to adore.

Serious they seem'd, and bought up all
The latest modes of pride and lust;
Although the first must surely fall,
And the last is most loathsome dust.

But while each gay, alluring ware,
With idle hearts and busie looks,
They viewd, for idleness hath there
Laid up all her archives and books,

Quite through their proud and pompous file, Blushing, and in meek weeds array'd, With native looks which knew no guile, Came the sheep-keeping Syrian maid.

Whom strait the shining row all fac'd,
Forc'd by her artless looks and dress;
While once cryed out, We are disgrac'd!
For she is bravest, you confess.