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JOY OF MY LIFE.
Joy of my life while left me here!
How in thy absence thou dost steere
A life well lead
This truth commends,
With quick or dead
Stars are of mighty use: the night
The rode foul; and where one goes right,
Six may go wrong.
God's saints are shining lights: who stays
O're dark hills, swift streames, and steep ways
As smooth as glasse;
But these all night,
Like candles, shed
They are indeed our pillar-fires,
They are that citie's shining spires
A swordlike gleame
I SEE the use; and know
Is not a sea,
But a shallow, bounded floud,
Yet have I flows as strong as his,
But when his waters billow thus,
Incite them to that fierce discusse,
Thus the enlarg'd, inraged air
But still the weather that's most fair
Breeds tempests in my bloud.
Lord, round me then with weeping clouds;
In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds,
So shall that storme purge this recluse
And wind and water to thy use
THE MORNING WATCH.
O JOYES! infinite sweetness! with what flowres And shoots of glory my soul breakes and buds!
All the long houres
Of night and rest,
This dew fell on my breast;
And spirits all my earth! heark! in what rings
Awakes and sings!
The rising winds
Thus all is hurl'd
In sacred hymnes and order, the great chime
Whose Eccho is heaven's blisse.
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,
Beyond that mistie shrowd.
That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide My lamp and life, both shall in thee abide.
THE EVENING WATCH.-A DIALOGUE.
FAREWELL! I goe to sleep; but when
Goe, sleep in peace; and when thou lyest
Is but one dramme, and what thou now descriest
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,
Ah! go; thou'rt weak and sleepie. Heav'n
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.
SILENCE and stealth of dayes! 'tis now,
Twelve hundred houres, and not a brow
As he that in some cave's thick damp,
Fixeth a solitary lamp,
To brave the night,
And walking from his sun, when past
Cuts through the heavy mists in haste