All the stars in heav'n that shine, Thy wooing shall thy winning be." Thus sought the dire enchantress in his mind So with her sire to hell she took her flight, (The starting air flew from the damned spright,) Where deeply both aggriev'd, plunged themselves in night. But to their Lord, now musing in his thought, And, as he fed, the holy quires combine All thought to pass, and each was past all thought divine. The birds sweet notes, to sonnet out their joys, And to the birds the winds attune their noise; That the whole valley rung with victory. But now our Lord to rest doth homeward fly : See how the night comes stealing from the moun tains high! PART III. CHRIST'S TRIUMPH OVER DEATH. THE ARGUMENT. Christ's triumph over death on the cross, expressed, 1st, In general, by his joy to undergo it; singing before he went to the garden, Matt. xxvi. 30-by his grief in the undergoing it-by the obscure fables of the Gentiles typing it-by the cause of it in him, his love-by the effect it should have in us-by the instrument, the cursed tree-2d, Expressed in particular: 1st, By his fore-passion in the gardenby his passion itself amplified; 1st, From the general causes, parts, and effects of it-2d, From the particular causes, parts, and effects of it-in heaven-in the heavenly spirits-in the creatures sub-celestial-in the wicked Jews-in Judas-in the blessed saints, Joseph of Arimathea, &c. So down the silver streams of Eridan, But Eridan to Cedron must submit His flowery shore; nor can he envy it, That heavenly voice I more delight to hear, To chide the winds, or hiving bees, that fly About the laughing blooms of sallowy, Rocking asleep the idle grooms that lazy lie. And yet how can I hear thee singing go, When thou, inflam'd with love, their life dost get, While we sought thee to kill, and thou soughtst us to save. When I remember Christ our burden bears, I look for joy, but find a sea of tears; I look that we should live, and find Him die; These banks so narrow are, those streams so highly swell. Christ suffers, and in this his tears begin; Out of the grave doth by the Godhead rise, Go, giddy brains, whose wits are thought so fresh, Pluck all the flow'rs that nature forth doth throw; Go, stick them on the cheeks of wanton flesh; Your songs exceed your matter; this of mine The matter which it sings shall make divineAs stars dull puddles gild, in which their beauties shine. Who doth not see drown'd in Deucalion's name Of Sampson yet alive; and long before That taught the stones to melt for passion, The while the waves stood still to hear his song, And steady shore wav'd with the reeling throng Of thirsty souls, that hung upon his fluent tongue. What better friendship, than to cover shame? Not with some common death, or easy pain, |