Sundays the pillars are, On which heaven's palace arched lies: Which parts their ranks and orders. The Sundays of man's life, On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope; This day my Saviour rose, The rest of our creation Our great Redeemer did remove With the same shake, which at his passion Christ's hands, tho' nail'd, wrought our salvation, The brightness of that day We sullied by our foul offence: Having a new at his expense, Whose drops of blood paid the full price, Thou art a day of mirth: And where the week-days trail on ground, O let me take thee at the bound, TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS. OH glorious spirits, who after all your bands, See the smooth face of God, without a frown, Or strict commands; Where ev'ry one is king, and hath his crown,- Not out of envy or maliciousness My vows to thee most gladly, blessed maid, Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold, The great restorative for all decay In young and old; Thou art the cabinet where the jewel lay :- But now, alas! I dare not; for our King, And where his pleasure no injunction lays, All worship is prerogative, and a flower, Therefore we dare not from his garland steal, Although then others court you, if ye know Since we are ever ready to disburse, EMPLOYMENT. He that is weary, let him sit: And trade in courtesies and wit, To cold complexions needing it. Man is no star, but a quick coal Who blows it not, nor doth control Lets his own ashes choke his soul. When the elements did for place contest Ordain'd the highest to be best, And by the others is opprest. Life is a business, not good cheer; The sun still shineth there or here, Watch an advantage to appear. Oh that I were an orange-tree, Then should I ever laden be, Some fruit for him that dresseth me. But we are still too young or old; Before we do our wares unfold: So we freeze on, Until the grave increase our cold. CHRISTMAS. THE shepherds sing, and shall I silent be? My soul's a shepherd too; a flock it feeds Shepherd and flock shall sing, and all my powers Out-sing the day-light hours. Then we will chide the sun, for letting night We sing one common Lord; wherefore he should I will go searching, till I find a sun A willing shiner, that shall shine as gladly, Then we will sing, and shine all our own day, His beams shall cheer my breast, and both so twine, THE WORLD. LOVE built a stately house; where Fortune came : Then Pleasure came, who, liking not the fashion, Till she had weakened all by alteration: Then enter'd Sin, and with that sycamore, and dew, Working and winding slily evermore, The inward walls and summers' cleft and tore: But Grace shor'd these, and cut that as it grew. 'Principal beams. |