THE FEAST. O COME away, Make no delay, Come while my heart is clean and steddy! While faith and grace Adorn the place, Making dust and ashes ready! No bliss here lent Is permanent, Such triumphs poor flesh cannot merit; Endear delights: Who seeks for more he would inherit Come then, true bread, Quickning the dead, Whose eater shall not, cannot dye! On me that state, Which brings poor dust the victory. Aye victory, Which from thine eye Breaks as the day doth from the east, Like tears doth shew The sad world wept to be releast. Spring up, O wine, And springing shine With some glad message from His heart, Who did, when slain, These means ordain For me to have in him a part! Such a sure part 'In his blest heart, The well where living waters spring, Poor dust, though dead, Shall rise again, and live, and sing. O drink and bread, Which strikes death dead, Thou art my chear, How dost thou flye And search and pry Through all my parts, and like a quick And knowing lamp Hunt out each damp, Whose shadow makes me sad or sick! O what high joys! The turtle's voice And songs I hear! O quickning showers Of my Lord's blood, You make rocks bud, And crown dry hils with wells and flowers! For this true ease This healing peace, For this brief taste of living glory, Kneel down and fall, And sing his sad victorious story! O thorny crown More soft than down! Opening the way! O thy worst state my onely best! O all thy griefs Are my reliefs, As all my sins, thy sorrows were ! To this reply? What, O God! but a silent tear? Some toil and sow That wealth may flow, And dress this earth for next year's meat: But let me heed Why thou didsted, And what in the next world to eat. Rev. xix. 9. Blessed are they which are called unto the marriage supper of the Lamb! THE OBSEQUIES. SINCE dying for me, thou didst crave no more Some few true tears, and those shed for With a cheap, plain remembrance still Because forgetfulness would kill Even life's own breath: I were most foolish and unkinde Should I not ever bear in minde, If not thy mighty love, my own defense. I will, close girt and tyed, For mourning sackcloth wear all mortified. Not but that mourners too can have Rich weeds and shrouds ; For some wore white ev'n in thy grave, That to be merry I want skill, Besides, those kerchiefs sometimes shed I cannot finde, but where thy head Thy grave! to which my thoughts shall move THE WATER-FALL. WITH What deep murmurs, through time's silent stealth, Doth thy transparent, cool, and watry wealth Here flowing fall, And chide and call, As if his liquid, loose retinue staid Lingring, and were of this steep place afraid; Where, clear as glass, |