But what like his, whose blood peace brings, Still single heard, while these agree With his milde blood in voice and will, RIGHTEOUSNESS. FAIR, solitary path! whose blessed shades Who is the man that walks in thee? who loves Heav'n's secret solitude, those fair abodes Where turtles build, and carelese sparrows move, Without to-morrow's evils and future loads? Who hath the upright heart, the single eye, The clean, pure hand, which never medled pitch? Who sees invisibles, and doth comply With hidden treasures that make truly rich? He that doth seek and love The things above, Whose spirit ever poor is meek and low; Who simple still and wise, Still homewards flies, Quick to advance, and to retreat most slow. Whose acts, words, and pretence One aim and end; who walks not by his sight: Guided by faith, not by exterior light. Who spills no blood, nor spreds Of the distrest, hasting their overthrow; Like chronic pains, which surely kill, though slow. Who knows earth nothing hath But in his hope and rock is ever glad. When with the ease And health of conscience it is to be had. Who bears his cross with joy, His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes; And gives full aid Without that bribe which usurers impose. Who never looks on man But firmly trusts in God; the great man's measure, Though high and haughty, must Be ta'en in dust; But the good man is God's peculiar treasure. Who doth thus, and doth not With bad, or with neglect; and heaps not wrath Some snake, or weeds, Cheating himself, that man walks in this path. ANGUISH. My God and King! to thee I bow my troubled soul, and greet Cast it, or tread it, it shall do Even what thou wilt, and praise thee too!" My God, could I weep blood, Gladly I would; Or if thou wilt give me that art, Which through the eyes pours out the heart, I will exhaust it all, and make O! 'tis an easie thing To write and sing; But to write true, unfeigned verse O my God, hear my cry, TEARS. O WHEN my God, my glory, brings Unto those clear and living springs Where all is light, and flowers, and fruit, And joy, and rest, Make me amongst them, 'tis my suit! The last one and the least. And when they all are fed, and have Bid thy poor ass, with tears I crave, Thy love claims highest thanks, my sin But if he pays, who loves much, then JACOB'S PILLOW AND PILLAR. I SEE the temple in thy pillar reared, 'Tis number makes a schism: throngs are rude, And God himself dyed by the multitude. This made him put on clouds, and fire, and smoke; The first true worship of the world's great King From private and selected hearts did spring; But he most willing to save all mankinde, Inlarg'd that light, and to the bad was kinde. Hence catholick or universal came A most fair notion, but a very name. For this rich pearl, like some more common stone, When once made publique, is esteem'd by none. |