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Joy of my life while left me here!
And still my love!

How in thy absence thou dost steere

Me from above!

A life well lead

This truth commends,

With quick or dead
It never ends.


Stars are of mighty use: the night

Is dark and long;

The rode foul; and where one goes right,

Six may go wrong.

One twinkling ray,
Shot o'er some cloud,
May clear much way,

And guide a croud.


God's saints are shining lights: who stays

Here long must passe

O're dark hills, swift streames, and steep ways As smooth as glasse;

But these all night,

Like candles, shed

Their beams, and light
Us into bed.


They are indeed our pillar-fires,
Seen as we go;

They are that citie's shining spires
We travell to.

A swordlike gleame
Kept man from sin
First out; this beame

Will guide him in.



my bloud

I SEE the use; and know

Is not a sea,

But a shallow, bounded floud,

Though red as he;

Yet have I flows as strong as his,

And boyling stremes that rave

With the same curling force and hisse, As doth the mountained wave.


But when his waters billow thus,
Dark storms and wind

Incite them to that fierce discusse,
Else not inclin'd.

Thus the enlarg'd, inraged air

Uncalmes these to a floud;

But still the weather that's most fair
Breeds tempests in my bloud.


Lord, round me then with weeping clouds;
And let my mind

In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds,
A spirit-wind:

So shall that storme purge this recluse
Which sinfull ease made foul,

And wind and water to thy use
Both wash and wing my soul.


O JOYES! infinite sweetness! with what flowres And shoots of glory my soul breakes and buds! All the long houres

Of night and rest,

Through the still shrouds

Of sleep and clouds,

This dew fell on my breast;

O how it blouds,

And spirits all my earth! heark! in what rings And hymning circulations the quick world

Awakes and sings!

The rising winds

And falling springs,

Birds, beasts, all things

Adore him in their kinds.

Thus all is hurl'd

In sacred hymnes and order, the great chime
And symphony of nature. Prayer is

The world in tune,

A spirit-voyce,

And vocall joyes,

Whose Eccho is heaven's blisse.

O let me climbe

When I lye down! The pious soul by night

Is like a clouded starre, whose beames, though said To shed their light

Under some cloud,

Yet are above,

And shine and move

Beyond that mistie shrowd.

So in my bed,

That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide My lamp and life, both shall in thee abide.



FAREWELL! I goe to sleep; but when
The day-star springs, I'le wake agen.


Goe, sleep in peace; and when thou lyest
Unnumber'd in thy dust, when all this frame
Is but one dramme, and what thou now descriest
In sev'rall parts shall want a name,

Then may his peace be with thee, and each dust Writ in his book, who ne'r betray'd man's trust!


Amen! but hark, eer we two stray,
How many hours dost think 'till day?


Ah! go; thou'rt weak and sleepie. Heav'n
Is a plain watch, and without figures winds
All ages up; who drew this circle, even

He, fils it; dayes and hours are blinds. Yet this take with thee; the last gasp of time Is thy first breath, and man's eternall prime.


SILENCE and stealth of dayes! 'tis now,
Since thou art gone,

Twelve hundred houres, and not a brow
But clouds hang on.

As he that in some cave's thick damp,

Lockt from the light,

Fixeth a solitary lamp,

To brave the night,

And walking from his sun, when past

That glim'ring ray,

Cuts through the heavy mists in haste
Back to his day;

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