We thought, their lives to madness did extend,
And, there could be no honour in their end.
How come they now amongst God's children told,
And in the list of saints to be enroll'd?
Therefore, from truth's way we have devious been,
Nor trod the path the righteous have walk'd in ;
From the true light we have ourselves confin'd,
Nor hath the sun of knowledge on us shin'd.
What profit hath our pride or riches brought?
Or what our pomp? since these are come to nought.
All these vain things like shadows are pass'd by,
Or like a post that seems with speed to fly;
Or as a bird-the earth and heaven between-
Who makes her way, and yet the path not seen;
The beating of her wings yields a soft sound,
But of her course there's no appearance found:
As when an arrow at a mark is shot,
Finds out a way, but we perceive it not;
For suddenly the parted air unites,
And the fore-passage is debarr'd our sights;
So we no sooner born, and take our breath,
But instantly we hasten on to death;
In our lives' course we in no virtue joy'd,
And therefore now are in our sins destroy'd.
The ungodly hopes to what may we compare, But like the dust that 's scatter'd in the air; Or as the thin foam gather'd on the wave, Which, when the tempest comes, no place can have; Or as the smoke dispersed by the wind, Which, blown abroad, no rest at all can find; Or else, as his remembrance steals away, Who maketh speed, and tarrieth but a day. But of the just for ever is the abode,
For their reward is with the Lord their God;
They are the charge and care of the Most High,
Who tenders them as the apple of his eye;
And therefore they shall challenge as their own,
From the Lord's hand, a kingdom and a crown:
With his right hand he'll cover them from harm,
And mightily defend them with his arm.
He shall his jealousy for armour take,
And put in arms his creatures for their sake,
His and their foes to be reveng'd upon :
He for a glorious breast-plate shall put on
His righteousness, and for an helmet bear
True judgment, to astonish them with fear;
For an invinc'd shield holiness he hath,
And for a sword he sharpens his fierce wrath :
Nay, the whole world he'll muster, to surprise
His enemies, and fight against the unwise.
The thunderbolts, by the hand of the Most
High
Darted, shall from the flashing lightnings fly;
Yea, fly ev'n to the mark; as from the bow
Bent in the clouds; and in his anger go
That hurleth stones: the thick hail shall be cast;
Against them shall the flood and ocean vast
Be wondrous wrath, and mightily o'erflow;
Besides, the fierce winds shall upon them blow,
Yea, and stand up against them with their God,
And like a storm shall scatter them abroad.-
Thus wickedness the earth to a desert brings,
And sin shall overthrow the throne of kings.
DAY, one of the poets of James the First's reign, was the author of "The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green," "The Isle of Gulls," and several other dramas. There is great breadth and vigour in the style of this writer: his lines occupy a middle place between the antique grandeur of Marlowe, and Dryden's nervous but finished couplets.
WHAT means my God? Why dost present to me
Such glorious objects? Can a blind man see?
Why dost thou call? Why dost thou beckon so ?
Wouldst have me come? Lord, can a cripple go?
Or, why dost thou expect that I should raise
Thy glory with my voice? the dumb can't praise.
Unscale my dusky eyes; then I'll express
Thy glorious object's strong attractiveness:
Dip thou my limbs in thy Bethesda's lake-
I'll scorn my earthly crutches; I'll forsake
Myself: touch thou my tongue, and then I'll sing
An hallelujah to my glorious King:
Raise me from this my grave-then I shall be
Alive, and I'll bestow my life on thee.
Till thou, Elijah-like, dost overspread
My limbs, I'm blind, I'm lame, I'm dumb-I'm dead!
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