O COME, and welcome! come, refine!
For Moors, if washed by thee, will shine.
Man blossoms at thy touch, and he,
When thou drawst blood, is thy rose-tree.
Crosses make straight his crooked ways,
And clouds but cool his dog-star days;
Diseases, too, when by thee blessed,
Are both restoratives and rest.
Flowers, that in sunshine riot still,
Dye scorch'd and sapless; though storms kill. The fall is fair even to desire
Where in their sweetness all expire.
O come, pour on! what calms can be
So fair as storms that appease thee?
FRESH fields and woods! the earth's fair face! God's footstool! and man's dwelling-place!
I ask not why the first believer
Did love to be a country liver,
Who to secure pious content
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent,
Where he might view the boundless skie,
And all these glorious lights on high,
With flying meteors, mists, and showers,
Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flowers,
And every minute bless the King
And wise Creator of each thing.
I ask not why he did remove
To happy Mamre's holy grove,
Leaving the cities of the plain
To Lot and his successless train.
All various lusts in cities still
Are found; they are the thrones of ill;
The dismal sinks where blood is spilled,
Cages with much uncleanness filled.
But rural shades are the sweet sense
Of piety and innocense;
They are the meek's calm region, where
Angels descend and rule the sphere;
Where heaven lies leaguer, and the Dove Duely as dew comes from above.
If Eden be on earth at all,
'Tis that which we the country call.
UNFOLD! unfold! take in His light,
Who makes thy cares more short than night.
The joyes which with his day-star rise
He deals to all but drowsic eyes;
And (what the men of this world miss)
Some drops and dews of future bliss.
Hark! how the winds have changed their note,
And with warm whispers call thee out!
The frosts are past, the storms are gone,
And backward life at last comes on.
The lofty groves, in express joyes,
Reply unto the turtle's voice;
And here, in dust and dirt, O here,
The lilies of his love appear!
EARLY, while yet the dark was gay
And gilt with stars, more trim than day,
Heaven's Lily, and the earth's chaste Rose,
The green, immortal BRANCHI, arose,
And in a solitary place
Bowed to his Father his blest face.
If this calm season pleased my Prince,
Whose fulness no need could evince,
Why should not I, poor silly sheep,
His hours, as well as practice, keep?
Not that His hand is tyed to these,
From whom time holds his transient lease;
But mornings new creations are,
When men, all night saved by his care,
Are still revived; and well he may
Expect them grateful with the day.
So for that first draught of his hand,
Which finished heaven, and sea, and land,
The sons of God their thanks did bring,
And all the morning stars did sing.
Besides, as his part heretofore
The firstlings were of all that bore,
So now each day, from all he saves,
Their souls' first thoughts and fruits he craves.
This makes him daily shed and shower
His graces at this early hour;
Which both his care and kindness shew,
Cheering the good, quickening the slow.
As holy friends mourn at delay,
And think each minute an hour's stay,
So his divine and loving Dove
With longing throes doth heave and move,
And soare about us, while we sleep,
Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep
And shine, but always without fail
Before the slow scene can unveile,
In new compassions breaks, like light,
And morning looks which scatter night.
And wilt thou let thy creature be,
Where thou hast watched, asleep to thee?
Why to unwelcome, loathed surprizes
Dost leave him, having left his vices?
Since these, if suffered, may again
Lead back the living to the slain.
O change this scourge; or if as yet
None less will my transgressions fit,
Dissolve, dissolve! Death cannot do
What I would not submit unto.
FAIR vessel of our daily light, whose proud
And previous glories gild that blushing cloud;
Whose lively fires in swift projections glance
From hill to hill, and by refracted chance
Burnish some neighbour rock or tree, and then
Fly off in coy and winged flames again, —
If thou this day
Know I have got a greater light than thine;
A light whose shade and back parts thee outshine.
Then get thee down! then get thee down!
I have a Sun now of my own.
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