So fhall that storme purge this Reclufe
Which finfull ease made foul,

And wind and water to thy use

Both wash, and wing my foul.

The Morning-watch.

Joyes! Infinite sweetness! with what flowres

And shoots of glory my foul breakes and

buds!

All the long houres

Of night and Reft,

Through the still shrouds

Of fleep and Clouds,

This Dew fell on my Breast;

O how it Blouds,

And Spirits all my Earth! heark! In what Rings, And Hymning Circulations the quick world Awakes and fings!

The rifing winds,

And falling fprings,

Birds, beafts, all things

Adore him in their kinds.

Thus all is hurl'd

In facred Hymnes and Order, the great Chime
And Symphony of nature. Prayer is

The world in tune,

A fpirit-voyce,

And vocall joyes,

Whofe Eccho is heav'ns bliffe.

O let me climbe

When I lye down! The Pious foul by night

Is like a clouded starre, whose beames, though faid To shed their light

Under fome Cloud,

Yet are above,

And fhine and move

Beyond that mistie shrowd.

So in my Bed,

That Curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide My lamp and life, both fhall in thee abide.

The Evening-watch.

A Dialogue.

Body.

Arewell! I goe to fleep; but when
The day-star springs, I'le wake agen.

Soul.

Goe, fleep in peace; and when thou lyest
Unnumber'd in thy duft, when all this frame
Is but one dramme, and what thou now descrieft
In fev'rall parts shall want a name,

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 ftray,

How many hours doft think 'till day?
Soul.

Ah! go; thou'rt weak, and sleepie. Heav'n

Is a plain watch, and without figures winds
All ages up; who drew this Circle, even

He, fils it; Dayes and hours are Blinds.
Yet this take with thee; The last gafp of time
Is thy first breath, and man's eternall Prime.

ག

Ilence and stealth of dayes! 'tis now,
Since thou art gone,

Twelve hundred houres, and not a brow
But Clouds hang on.

As he that in fome Cave's thick damp,
Lockt from the light,

Fixeth a folitary lamp,

To brave the night,

And walking from his Sun, when past
That glim'ring Ray,

Cuts through the heavy mists in haste
Back to his day;

So o'er fled minutes I retreat

Unto that hour,

Which fhew'd thee laft, but did defeat
Thy light and pow'r.

I fearch, and rack my foul to fee

Thofe beams again;

But nothing but the fnuff to me
Appeareth plain.

That, dark and dead, fleeps in its known,
And common urn;

But thofe, fled to their Maker's throne,
There fhine and burn.

O could I track them! but fouls must

Track one the other;

And now the spirit, not the dust,
Must be thy brother.

Yet I have one Pearle, by whofe light
All things I fee;

And in the heart of Earth and night
Find Heaven, and thee.

B

Church-Service.

Left be the God of Harmony and Love!
The God above!

And holy Dove!

Whose Interceding, spirituall grones
Make restless mones

For duft and stones;

For duft in every part,
But a hard, ftonie heart.

2.

O how in this thy Quire of Souls I stand,

Propt by thy hand,

A heap of fand!

Which bufie thoughts, like winds, would fcatter quite,

And put to flight,

But for thy might;

Thy hand alone doth tame

Those blafts, and knit my

3.

So that both ftones and duft, and all of me

Joyntly agree

To cry to thee;

frame;

And in this Mufick, by thy Martyrs' bloud

Seal'd and made good,

Prefent, O God,

The Eccho of these stones,

My fighes, and grones!

Buriall.

Thou! the first fruits of the dead,
And their dark bed,

When I am caft into that deep
And fenfeless fleep,

The wages of my finne,
O then,

Thou great Preserver of all men,
Watch o're that loose

And empty house,

Which I fometimes liv'd in!

Not worth thy Eyes;

And scarce a room, but wind and rain

Beat through and stain

The feats, and Cells within;
Yet thou

Led by thy Love wouldst stoop thus low,

And in this Cott,

All filth and spott,

Didft with thy fervant Inne.