Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 81

14 Yet fly no friend, if he be such indeed; But meet to quench his longings, and thy thirst; Allow your joys, religion: that done, speed, And bring the same man back thou wert at first.

Who so returns not, cannot pray aright, But shuts his door, and leaves G.o.d out all night.

15 To heighten thy devotions, and keep low All mutinous thoughts, what business e'er thou hast, Observe G.o.d in his works; here fountains flow, Birds sing, beasts feed, fish leap, and the earth stands fast; Above are restless motions, running lights, Vast circling azure, giddy clouds, days, nights.

16 When seasons change, then lay before thine eyes His wondrous method; mark the various scenes In heaven; hail, thunder, rainbows, snow, and ice, Calms, tempests, light, and darkness, by his means; Thou canst not miss his praise; each tree, herb, flower Are shadows of his wisdom and his power.

17 To meals when thou dost come, give him the praise Whose arm supplied thee; take what may suffice, And then be thankful; oh, admire his ways Who fills the world's unemptied granaries!

A thankless feeder is a thief, his feast A very robbery, and himself no guest.

18 High-noon thus past, thy time decays; provide Thee other thoughts; away with friends and mirth; The sun now stoops, and hastes his beams to hide Under the dark and melancholy earth.

All but preludes thy end. Thou art the man Whose rise, height, and descent is but a span.

19 Yet, set as he doth, and 'tis well. Have all Thy beams home with thee: trim thy lamp, buy oil, And then set forth; who is thus dressed, the fall Furthers his glory, and gives death the foil.

Man is a summer's day; whose youth and fire Cool to a glorious evening, and expire.

20 When night comes, list[1] thy deeds; make plain the way 'Twixt heaven and thee; block it not with delays; But perfect all before thou sleep'st; then say 'There's one sun more strung on my bead of days.'

What's good score up for joy; the bad, well scanned, Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand.

21 Thy accounts thus made, spend in the grave one hour Before thy time; be not a stranger there, Where thou may'st sleep whole ages; life's poor flower Lasts not a night sometimes. Bad spirits fear This conversation; but the good man lies Entombed many days before he dies.

22 Being laid, and dressed for sleep, close not thy eyes Up with thy curtains; give thy soul the wing In some good thoughts; so, when the day shall rise, And thou unrak'st thy fire, those sparks will bring New flames; besides where these lodge, vain heats mourn And die; that bush where G.o.d is shall not burn.

23 When thy nap's over, stir thy fire, and rake In that dead age; one beam i' the dark outvies Two in the day; then from the damps and ache Of night shut up thy leaves; be chaste; G.o.d pries Through thickest nights; though then the sun be far, Do thou the works of day, and rise a star.

24 Briefly, do as thou wouldst be done unto, Love G.o.d, and love thy neighbour; watch and pray.

These are the words and works of life; this do, And live; who doth not thus, hath lost heaven's way.

Oh, lose it not! look up, wilt change those lights For chains of darkness and eternal nights?

[1] 'List:' weigh.

REPENTANCE.

Lord, since thou didst in this vile clay That sacred ray, Thy Spirit, plant, quickening the whole With that one grain's infused wealth, My forward flesh crept on, and subtly stole Both growth and power; checking the health And heat of thine. That little gate And narrow way, by which to thee The pa.s.sage is, he termed a grate And entrance to captivity; Thy laws but nets, where some small birds, And those but seldom too, were caught; Thy promises but empty words, Which none but children heard or taught.

This I believed: and though a friend Came oft from far, and whispered, No; Yet, that not sorting to my end, I wholly listened to my foe.

Wherefore, pierced through with grief, my sad, Seduced soul sighs up to thee; To thee, who with true light art clad, And seest all things just as they be.

Look from thy throne upon this roll Of heavy sins, my high transgressions, Which I confess with all my soul; My G.o.d, accept of my confession!

It was last day, Touched with the guilt of my own way, I sat alone, and taking up, The bitter cup, Through all thy fair and various store, Sought out what might outvie my score.

The blades of gra.s.s thy creatures feeding; The trees, their leaves; the flowers, their seeding; The dust, of which I am a part; The stones, much softer than my heart; The drops of rain, the sighs of wind, The stars, to which I am stark blind; The dew thy herbs drink up by night, The beams they warm them at i' the light; All that have signature or life I summoned to decide this strife; And lest I should lack for arrears, A spring ran by, I told her tears; But when these came unto the scale, My sins alone outweighed them all.

O my dear G.o.d! my life, my love!

Most blessed Lamb! and mildest Dove!

Forgive your penitent offender, And no more his sins remember; Scatter these shades of death, and give Light to my soul, that it may live; Cut me not off for my transgressions, Wilful rebellions, and suppressions; But give them in those streams a part Whose spring is in my Saviour's heart.

Lord, I confess the heinous score, And pray I may do so no more; Though then all sinners I exceed, Oh, think on this, thy Son did bleed!

Oh, call to mind his wounds, his woes, His agony, and b.l.o.o.d.y throes; Then look on all that thou hast made, And mark how they do fail and fade; The heavens themselves, though fair and bright, Are dark and unclean in thy sight; How then, with thee, can man be holy, Who dost thine angels charge with folly?

Oh, what am I, that I should breed Figs on a thorn, flowers on a weed?

I am the gourd of sin and sorrow, Growing o'er night, and gone to-morrow.

In all this round of life and death Nothing's more vile than is my breath; Profaneness on my tongue doth rest, Defects and darkness in my breast; Pollutions all my body wed, And even my soul to thee is dead; Only in him, on whom I feast, Both soul and body are well dressed; His pure perfection quits all score, And fills the boxes of his poor; He is the centre of long life and light; I am but finite, he is infinite.

Oh, let thy justice then in him confine, And through his merits make thy mercy mine!

THE DAWNING.

Ah! what time wilt thou come? when shall that cry, 'The Bridegroom's coming!' fill the skyl?

Shall it in the evening run When our words and works are done?

Or will thy all-surprising light Break at midnight, When either sleep or some dark pleasure Possesseth mad man without measure?

Or shall these early, fragrant hours Unlock thy bowers, And with their blush of light descry Thy locks crowned with eternity?

Indeed, it is the only time That with thy glory doth best chime; All now are stirring, every field Full hymns doth yield; The whole creation shakes off night, And for thy shadow looks the light; Stars now vanish without number, Sleepy planets set and slumber, The pursy clouds disband and scatter, All expect some sudden matter; Not one beam triumphs, but from far That morning-star.

Oh, at what time soever thou, Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow, And, with thy angels in the van, Descend to judge poor careless man, Grant I may not like puddle lie In a corrupt security, Where, if a traveller water crave, He finds it dead, and in a grave.

But as this restless, vocal spring All day and night doth run and sing, And though here born, yet is acquainted Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted; So let me all my busy age In thy free services engage; And though, while here, of force I must Have commerce sometimes with poor dust, And in my flesh, though vile and low, As this doth in her channel flow, Yet let my course, my aim, my love, And chief acquaintance be above; So when that day and hour shall come In which thyself will be the Sun, Thou'lt find me dressed and on my way, Watching the break of thy great day.

THE TEMPEST.

1 How is man parcelled out! how every hour Shows him himself, or something he should see!

This late, long heat may his instruction be; And tempests have more in them than a shower.

When nature on her bosom saw Her infants die, And all her flowers withered to straw, Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s grown dry; She made the earth, their nurse and tomb, Sigh to the sky, Till to those sighs, fetched from her womb, Rain did reply; So in the midst of all her fears And faint requests, Her earnest sighs procured her tears And filled her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

2 Oh that man could do so! that he would hear The world read to him! all the vast expense In the creation shed and slaved to sense, Makes up but lectures for his eye and ear.

3 Sure mighty Love, foreseeing the descent Of this poor creature, by a gracious art Hid in these low things snares to gain his heart, And laid surprises in each element.

4 All things here show him heaven; waters that fall Chide and fly up; mists of corruptest foam Quit their first beds and mount; trees, herbs, flowers, all Strive upwards still, and point him the way home.

5 How do they cast off grossness? only earth And man, like Issachar, in loads delight, Water's refined to motion, air to light, Fire to all three,[1] but man hath no such mirth.

6 Plants in the root with earth do most comply, Their leaves with water and humidity, The flowers to air draw near and subtilty, And seeds a kindred fire have with the sky.

7 All have their keys and set ascents; but man Though he knows these, and hath more of his own, Sleeps at the ladder's foot; alas! what can These new discoveries do, except they drown?

8 Thus, grovelling in the shade and darkness, he Sinks to a dead oblivion; and though all He sees, like pyramids, shoot from this ball, And lessening still, grow up invisibly,

9 Yet hugs he still his dirt; the stuff he wears, And painted tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, takes down both his eyes; Heaven hath less beauty than the dust he spies, And money better music than the spheres.

10 Life's but a blast; he knows it; what? shall straw And bulrush-fetters temper his short hour?

Must he nor sip nor sing? grows ne'er a flower To crown his temples? shall dreams be his law?

11 O foolish man! how hast thou lost thy sight?

How is it that the sun to thee alone Is grown thick darkness, and thy bread a stone?

Hath flesh no softness now? mid-day no light?

12 Lord! thou didst put a soul here. If I must Be broke again, for flints will give no fire Without a steel, oh, let thy power clear Thy gift once more, and grind this flint to dust!

[1] 'All three:' light, motion, heat

THE WORLD.