All must descend Not to an end, But quickned by this deep and rocky grave, Rise to a longer course more bright and brave. Dear stream! dear bank! where often I O useful element and clear! My sacred wash and cleanser here; My first consigner unto those Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes! What sublime truths and wholesome themes Such as dull man can never finde, my invisible estate, My glorious liberty, still late! Thou art the channel my soul seeks, QUICKNESS. FALSE life! a foil, and no more, when Wilt thou begone? Thou foul deception of all men, That would not have the true come on? Thou art a moon-like toil; a blinde Self-posing state; A dark contest of waves and winde; Life is a fix'd, discerning light, No chance, or fit: but ever bright 'Tis such a blissful thing, that still Doth vivifie, And shine and smile, and hath the skill To please without eternity. Thou art a toylsom mole, or less But life is, what none can express, THE WREATH. SINCE I in storms us'd most to be, But a twin'd wreath of grief and praise, THE QUEER. O TELL me whence that joy doth spring, Whose diet is divine and fair, Which wears heaven like a bridal ring, And tramples on doubts and despair? Whose eastern traffique deals in bright And boundless empyrean themes, Mountains of spice, day-stars and light, Green trees of life, and living streams? Tell me, O tell, who did thee bring, Sure, holyness the magnet is, And love the lure that woos thee down; Which makes the high transcendent bliss Of knowing thee, so rarely known! THE BOOK. ETERNAL God! Maker of all That have liv'd here since the man's fall! The Rock of ages! in whose shade They live unseen, when here they fade! Thou knew'st this papyr, when it was Made linen, who did wear it then: What were their lifes, their thoughts and deeds, Whether good corn or fruitless weeds. Thou knew'st this tree, when a green shade And where it flourish'd, grew, and spread, As if it never should be dead. Thou knew'st this harmless beast, when he On each green thing; then slept well fed Which makes me wisely weep, and look But not so dry and clean as this. Thou knew'st and saw'st them all, and though Now scatter'd thus, dost know them so. O knowing, glorious Spirit! when Thou shalt restore trees, beasts, and men; |