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O spred thy sacred wings, and shake
One living drop! one drop life keeps ! If pious griefs heaven's joys awake,
O fill his bottle ! thy childe weeps!
Slowly and sadly doth he grow,
And soon as left shrinks back to ill ; O feed that life which makes him blow
And spred and open to thy will !
For thy eternal, living wells
None stain'd or wither'd shall come near : A fresh, immortal green there dwells,
And spotless white is all the wear.
Dear, secret greenness! nurst below!
Tempests and windes and winter-nights Vex not, that but One sees thee grow,
That One made all these lesser lights.
If those bright joys He singly sheds
On thee, were all met in one crown,
And moons, though full, would get them down.
Let glory be their bait whose mindes
Are all too high for a low cell:
The poor bee in her hive must dwell.
Glory, the croud's cheap tinsel, still
To what most takes them is a drudge; And they too oft take good for ill,
And thriving vice for vertue judge.
What needs a conscience calm and bright
Within itself an outward test?
for storms into his rest.
Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch
At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch,
Till the white-winged reapers come!
AS TIME ONE DAY.
As time one day by me did pass,
Through a large dusky glasse
And spyed his curious book
Many disordered lives I saw,
And foul records which thaw
And ev'n, smooth lines, like the sun's rays,
O bright and happy kalendar!
Where youth shines like a star
Teach age the holy way ;
As some meek night-piece, which day quails,
To candle-light unveils;
From thy bright lamp did shine
Here slept my thought's dear mark! which dust
Seem'd to devour like rust;
By hiding doth preserve;
O calm and sacred bed, where lies
In death's dark mysteries
Than the noon's cloudless light;
Sleep, happy ashes ! blessed sleep!
While haplesse I still weep;
My life, and unreliev'd
FAIR AND YONG LIGHT.
FAIR and yong light ! my guide to holy
act she doth commence Had writ down its sad consequence, Yet would not men grant, their ill fate Lodged in those false looks, till too late. O holy, happy, healthy heaven, Where all is pure, where all is even, Plain, harmless, faithful, fair, and bright, But what earth breaths against thy light ! How blest had men been, had their sire Liv'd still in league with thy chaste fire; Nor made life through her long descents A slave to lustful elements ! I did once read in an old book Soil'd with many a weeping look, That the seeds of foul sorrows be The finest things that are to see. So that fam’d fruit, which made all dye, Seem'd fair unto the woman's eye. If these supplanters in the shade Of paradise could make man fade, How in this world should they deter, This world, their fellow-murtherer! And why then grieve we to be sent Home by our first fair punishment, Without addition to our woes And lingring wounds from weaker foes ; Since that doth quickly freedom win, For he that's dead is freed from sin ? O that I were winged and free And quite undrest just now with thee,