Who kisseth thorns will hurt his face, Shall I from thence cast down myself, And yet the practice worldlings call Dear, harmless age! the short, swift span, Where weeping virtue parts with man; Where love without lust dwells, and bends What way we please without self-ends. An age of mysteries! which he Must live twice that would God's face see; Which angels guard, and with it play, Angels! which foul men drive away. R How do I study now, and scan THE NIGHT. John, iii. 2. THROUGH that pure virgin-shrine, That sacred vail drawn o'er thy glorious noon, That men might look and live, as gloworms shine, And face the moon, Wise Nicodemus saw such light As made him know his God by night. Most blest believer he! Who in that land of darkness and blinde eyes And, what can never more be done, O who will tell me, where He found thee at that dead and silent hour? So rare a flower; No mercy-seat of gold, No dead and dusty cherub, nor carved stone, Where trees and herbs did watch and peep Dear night! this world's defeat; The stop to busie fools; care's check and curb; The day of spirits; my soul's calm retreat Which none disturb! * Christ's progress, and his prayer time; The hours to which high heaven doth chime. God's silent, searching flight: When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all His knocking time; the soul's dumb watch, Were all my loud, evil days Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent, * Mark, i. 35. St. Luke, xxi. 37. Then I in heaven all the long year Would keep, and never wander here. But living where the Sun Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tyre Themselves and others, I consent and run To ev'ry myre; And by this world's ill-guiding light, There is in God, some say, A deep, but dazzling darkness; as men here O for that night! where I in him ABEL'S BLOOD. SAD, purple well! whose bubling eye And now at evening are as red As in the morning when first shed. If single thou, Though single voices are but low, Could'st such a shrill and long cry rear But in a deep, wide sea of blood? Where souls behinde the altar move, At whose just laws no just men grudge;' To thy bright arm, which was my light That proudly spilt and despis'd blood, |