These to the beasts of every field give drink; There the wilde asses swallow the cool springs; And birds amongst the branches on their brink Their dwellings have and sing. Thou, from thy upper springs above, from those Chambers of rain where heav'n's large bottles lie, Doest water the parch'd hills, whose breaches close, Heal'd by the showers from high. Grass for the cattel, and herbs for man's use, earth Brings forth, with wine, oyl, bread: all which infuse To man's heart strength and mirth. Thou giv❜st the trees their greenness, ev❜n to those To the wilde goats the high hills serve for folds, Thou makest darkness, and then comes the night; In whose thick shades and silence each wilde beast Creeps forth, and, pinch'd for food, with scent and sight Hunts in an eager quest. The lyon's whelps, impatient of delay, This past, the sun shines on the earth, and they O Lord my God, how many and how rare Them all; and this the earth, and every blade So doth the deep and wide sea, wherein are These all upon thee wait, that thou maist feed Them in due season: what thou giv'st they take; Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need, And plenteous meals they make. When thou doest hide thy face (thy face which keeps All things in being), they consume and mourn; When thou with-draw'st their breath, their vigour sleeps, And they to dust return. Thou send'st thy spirit forth, and they revive; The frozen earth's dead face thou dost renew. Thus thou thy glory through the world dost drive, And to thy works art true. Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole stage Is mov'd and trembles, the hills melt and smoke With thy least touch; lightnings and winds that rage At thy rebuke are broke. Therefore, as long as thou wilt give me breath, I'le spice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word Gather true comforts; but the wicked liver Shall be consum'd. O my soul, bless the Lord! Yea, blesse thou him for ever! THE BIRD. HITHER thou com'st. The busie wind all night Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm, For which coarse man seems much the fitter born, Rain'd on thy bed And harmless head; And now, as fresh and chearful as the light, So hills and valleys into singing break; [tongue, And though poor stones have neither speech nor While active winds and streams both run and speak, Yet stones are deep in admiration. Thus praise and prayer here beneath the sun Make lesser mornings, when the great are done. For each inclosed spirit is a star Inlightning his own little sphære, Whose light, though fetcht and borrowed from far, Both mornings makes and evenings there. But as these birds of light make a land glad, The turtle then in palm-trees mourns, Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, all flye, Till the day-spring breaks forth again from high. THE TIMBER. SURE thou didst flourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers Past ore thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies; shoot branches Towards the old and still enduring skies; But thou beneath the sad and heavy line Of death doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark; |