JOY OF MY LIFE. I. Joy of my life while left me here! How in thy absence thou dost steere A life well lead This truth commends, With quick or dead II. Stars are of mighty use: the night The rode foul; and where one goes right, Six may go wrong. III. God's saints are shining lights: who stays O're dark hills, swift streames, and steep ways As smooth as glasse; But these all night, Like candles, shed IV. They are indeed our pillar-fires, They are that citie's shining spires A swordlike gleame THE STORM. I. I SEE the use; and know my bloud But a shallow, bounded floud, Yet have I flows as strong as his, II. But when his waters billow thus, Incite them to that fierce discusse, Thus the enlarg'd, inraged air But still the weather that's most fair III. Lord, round me then with weeping clouds; In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds, So shall that storme purge this recluse And wind and water to thy use THE MORNING WATCH. O JOYES! infinite sweetness! with what flowres And shoots of glory my soul breakes and buds! All the long houres Of night and rest, Through the still shrouds This dew fell on my breast; And spirits all my earth! heark! in what rings Awakes and sings! The rising winds Thus all is hurl'd In sacred hymnes and order, the great chime A spirit-voyce, Whose Eccho is heaven's blisse. When I lye down! The pious soul by night Is like a clouded starre, whose beames, though said To shed their light Yet are above, Beyond that mistie shrowd. So in my bed, That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide My lamp and life, both shall in thee abide. THE EVENING WATCH. A DIALOGUE. BODY. FAREWELL! I goe to sleep; but when SOUL. Goe, sleep in peace; and when thou lyest Then may his peace be with thee, and each dust Writ in his book, who ne'r betray'd man's trust! BODY. Amen! but hark, eer we two stray, SOUL. Ah! go; thou'rt weak and sleepie. Heav'n He, fils it; dayes and hours are blinds. Yet this take with thee; the last gasp of time Is thy first breath, and man's eternall prime. SILENCE AND STEALTH OF DAYES. SILENCE and stealth of dayes! 'tis now, Twelve hundred houres, and not a brow As he that in some cave's thick damp, Fixeth a solitary lamp, To brave the night, And walking from his sun, when past Cuts through the heavy mists in haste |