A sweet, revengeless, quiet minde, And to my greatest haters kinde. Give me, my God! a heart as milde And plain, as when I was a childe. That when thy throne is set, and all These conquerors before it fall,
I may be found preserv'd by thee Amongst that chosen company, Who by no blood here overcame But the blood of the blessed Lamb.
THOU who didst place me in this busie street Of flesh and blood, where two ways meet, – The one of goodness, peace, and life; The other of death, sin, and strife; Where frail visibles rule the minde,
And present things finde men most kinde; Where obscure cares the mean defeat, And splendid vice destroys the great; As thou didst set no law for me, But that of perfect liberty,
Which neither tyres nor doth corrode, But is a pillow, not a load:
So give me grace ever to rest,
And build on it because the best;
Teach both mine eyes and feet to move Within those bounds set by thy love; Grant I may soft and lowly be,
And minde those things I cannot see ; Tye me to faith, though above reason, Who question power they speak treason: Let me, thy ass, be onely wise To carry, not search, mysteries. Who carries thee is by thee led; Who argues follows his own head. To check bad motions, keep me still Amongst the dead, where thriving ill, Without his brags and conquests, lies, And truth, opprest here, gets the prize. At all times, whatsoe'r I do
Let me not fail to question, who Shares in the act, and puts me to't? And if not thou, let not me do't. Above all, make me love the poor, Those burthens to the rich man's door; Let me admire those, and be kinde To low estates and a low minde. If the world offers to me nought, That by thy book must not be sought, Or, though it should be lawful, may Prove not expedient for thy way, To shun that peril let thy grace Prevail with me to shun the place;
Let me be wise to please thee still, And let men call me what they will. When thus thy milde, instructing hand Findes thy poor foal at thy command, When he from wilde is become wise, And slights that most, which men most prize; When all things here to thistles turn Pricking his lips, till he doth mourn And hang the head, sighing for those Pastures of life, where the Lamb goes; O then, just then! break or untye These bonds, this sad captivity,
This leaden state which men miscal Being and life, but is dead thrall. And when, O God! the ass is free, In a state known to none but thee, O let him by his Lord be led
To living springs, and there be fed, Where light, joy, health, and perfect peace, Shut out all pain and each disease; Where death and frailty are forgotten,
And bones rejoyce, which once were broken!
"WHAT can the man do that succeeds the king? Even what was done before, and no new thing." Who shews me but one grain of sincere light? False stars and fire-drakes, and deceits of night, Set forth to fool and foil thee, do not boast; Such coal-flames shew but kitchin-rooms at most. And those I saw search'd through; yea, those and all,
That these three thousand years time did let fall To blinde the eyes of lookers-back, and I, Now all is done, finde all is vanity.
Those secret searches which afflict the wise, Paths that are hidden from the vultur's eyes, I saw at distance, and where grows that fruit Which others onely grope for and dispute.
The world's lov'd wisdom, for the world's friends think
There is none else, did not the dreadful brink
And precipice it leads to bid me flie, None could with more advantage use than I.
Man's favourite sins, those tainting appetites, Which nature breeds, and some fine clay invites, With all their soft, kinde arts and easie strains, Which strongly operate, though without pains,
Did not a greater beauty rule mine eyes, None would more dote on, nor so soon entice. But since these sweets are sowre and poyson'd here, Where the impure seeds flourish all the year, And private tapers will but help to stray
Ev'n those who by them would finde out the day, I'le seal my eyes up, and to thy commands Submit my wilde heart, and restrain my hands; I will do nothing, nothing know, nor see
But what thou bidst, and shew'st, and teachest me. Look what thou gav'st; all that I do restore, But for one thing, thou purchas'd once before.
I CANNOT reach it; and my striving eye Dazles at it, as at eternity.
Were now that chronicle alive,
Those white designs which children drive, And the thoughts of each harmless hour, With their content too in my pow'r, Quickly would I make my path even, And by meer playing go to heaven.
Why should men love
A wolf more than a lamb or dove? Or choose hell-fire and brimstone streams Before bright stars and God's own beams?
« AnteriorContinuar » |