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But what like his, whose blood peace brings,
Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades
The old, white prophets planted first and drest; Leaving for us, whose goodness quickly fades,
A shelter all the way, and bowers to rest ;
Who is the man that walks in thee? who loves
Heav'n's secret solitude, those fair abodes Where turtles build, and carelese sparrows move,
Without to-morrow's evils and future loads ?
Who hath the upright heart, the single eye,
The clean, pure hand, which never medled pitch ? Who sees invisibles, and doth comply
With hidden treasures that make truly rich ?
He that doth seek and love
The things above,
Who simple still and wise,
Still homewards flies,
Whose acts, words, and pretence
Have all one sense, One aim and end; who walks not by his sight:
Whose eyes are both put out,
And goes about
Who spills no blood, nor spreds
Thorns in the beds
Making the time they had
Bitter and sad, Like chronic pains, which surely kill, though slow.
Who knows earth nothing hath
Worth love or wrath,
Who seeks and follows peace,
When with the ease
Who bears his cross with joy,
And doth imploy
Who lends not to be paid,
And gives full aid
Who never looks on man
Fearful and wan, But firnıly trusts in God; the great man's measure,
Though high and haughty, must
Be ta'en in dust;
Who doth thus, and doth not
These good deeds blot With bad, or with neglect; and heaps not wrath
By secret filth, nor feeds
Some snake, or weeds, Cheating himself, — that man walks in this path.
My God and King ! to thee
I bow my knee ;
my foul heart thy holy feet.
My God, could I weep blood,
Gladly I would;
I will exhaust it all, and make
O ! 'tis an easie thing
To write and sing ; But to write true, unfeigned verse Is very hard ! O God! disperse These weights, and give my spirit leave To act as well as to conceive!
O my God, hear my cry,
Or let me dye!
O WHEN my God, my glory, brings
His white and holy train
Where comes no stain !
Where all is light, and flowers, and fruit,
And joy, and rest,
suit! The last one and the least.
And when they all are fed, and have
Drunk of thy living stream,
Drink after them.
Thy love claims highest thanks, my sin
The lowest pitch :
Thou hast made beggers rich.
JACOB'S PILLOW AND PILLAR.
I SEE the temple in thy pillar reared,
The first true worship of the world's great King