Here musing long I heard

A rushing wind,

Which still increas'd; but whence it stirr'd,
No where I could not find.

X.

I turn'd me round, and to each shade

Dispatch'd an eye,

To see if any leafe had made
Least motion or reply;

But, while I listning sought
My mind to ease

By knowing where 'twas, or where not,
It whisper'd, "Where I please."

"Lord," then said I," on me one breath,
And let me dye before my death!"

Cant. v. 17.

Arise, O north, and come, thou south wind, and blow upon my garden that the spices thereof may flow out.

"TIs a sad land, that in one day

Hath dull'd thee thus, when death shall freeze

Thy bloud to ice, and thou must stay

Tenant for yeares and centuries:

How wilt thou brook't?

BODY.

I cannot tell;

But if all sence wings not with thee,
And something still be left the dead,
I'le wish my curtaines off, to free
Me from so darke and sad a bed;

A nest of nights, a gloomie sphere,
Where shadowes thicken, and the cloud
Sits on the sun's brow all the yeare,
And nothing moves without a shrowd.

SOULE.

'Tis so; but, as thou sawest that night
Wee travell'd in, our first attempts
Were dull and blind; but custome straight
Our fears and falls brought to contempt.

Then, when the ghastly twelve was past,
We breath'd still for a blushing east ;
And bad the lazie sunne make haste,
And on sure hopes, though long, did feast.

But when we saw the clouds to crack,
And in those cranies light appear'd,

We thought the day then was not slack,
And pleas'd ourselves with what wee fear'd.

Just so it is in death. But thou

Shalt in thy mother's bosome sleepe,

Whilst I each minute grone to know

How neere redemption creepes.

Then shall wee meet to mixe again, and met,
'Tis last good-night; our sunne shall never set.

Job x. 21, 22.

Before I goe whence I shall not returne, even to the land of darknesse, and the shadow of death;

A land of darknesse, as darknesse itselfe, and of the shadow of death, without any order, and where the light is as darknesse.

RESURRECTION AND IMMORTALITY.

Heb. x. 20.

By that new and living way which he hath prepared for us, through the veile, which is his flesh.

BODY.

I.

OFT have I seen, when that renewing breath,
That binds and loosens death,

Inspir'd a quickning power through the dead
Creatures abed,

Some drowsie silk-worme creepe

From that long sleepe,

And in weake, infant hummings chime, and knell

About her silent cell,

Until at last full with the vitall ray
She wing'd away,

And proud with life and sence,
Heaven's rich expence,

Esteem'd (vaine things!) of two whole elements
As meane, and span-extents.

Shall I then thinke such providence will be
Lesse friend to me;

Or that he can endure to be unjust

Who keeps his covenant even with our dust?

SOULE.

II.

Poore, querulous handfull! was't for this
I taught thee all that is?
Unbowel'd nature shew'd thee her recruits,
And change of suits,

And how of death we make

A meere mistake;

For no thing can to nothing fall, but still
Incorporates by skill,

And then returns, and from the wombe of things
Such treasure brings,

As Phenix-like renew'th

Both life and youth;

For a preserving spirit doth still passe
Untainted through this masse,

Which doth resolve, produce, and ripen all
That to it fall;

Nor are those births, which we

Thus suffering see,

Destroy'd at all; but when time's restless wave
Their substance doth deprave,

And the more noble essence finds his house
Sickly and loose,

He, ever young, doth wing
Unto that spring,

And source of spirits, where he takes his lot,
Till time no more shall rot

His passive cottage; which (though laid aside),
Like some spruce bride,

Shall one day rise, and cloath'd with shining light
All pure and bright,

Re-marry to the soule, for 'tis most plaine
Thou only fal'st to be refin'd againe.

III.

Then I that here saw darkly in a glasse

But mists and shadows passe,

[springs

And, by their owne weake shine, did search the And course of things,

Shall with inlightned rayes

Pierce all their wayes;

And as thou saw'st, I in a thought could goe
To heav'n or earth below

To reade some starre or minʼrall, and in state
There often sate;

So shalt thou then with me,

Both wing'd and free,

Rove in that mighty and eternall light,
Where no rude shade or night