But, dearest mother, (what those miss) Blessed be God whose love it was THE QUIP. THE merry world did, on a day, First, Beauty crept into a rose; Which, when I pluck'd not, " Sir," said she, "Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ?" -But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came; and, chinking still, "What tune is this, poor man ?" said he : "I heard in music you had skill." -But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then came brave Glory puffing by, Then came quick Wit and Conversation; -But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Yet when the hour of thy design VANITY. O HEAR betimes, lest thy relenting To purchase heaven for repenting, If souls be made of earthly mold, If born on high, Let them unto their kindred fly: For they can never be at rest, Till they regain their ancient nest. Then, silly soul, take heed; for earthly joy Is but a bubble, and makes thee a boy. BUSINESS. CANST be idle, can'st thou play, Rivers run, and springs each one Hast thou tears, or hast thou none ? If, poor soul, thou hast no tears, Winds still work; it is their plot, If thou hast no sighs or groans, Would thou hadst no flesh and bones! Lesser pains 'scape greater ones. But if yet thou idle be, Foolish soul, who died for thee ? Who did leave his Father's throne, If he had not liv'd for thee, He so far thy good did plot, If he had not died for thee, Two lives worse than ten deaths be. And hath any space of breath "Twixt his sins and Saviour's death? He that loseth gold, though dross, Tells to all he meets, his cross: He that finds a silver vein, Who in heart not ever kneels, DULNESS. WHY do I languish thus, drooping and dull, As if I were all earth? O give me quickness, that I may with mirth Praise thee brimfull! The wanton lover in a curious strain And with quaint metaphors her curled hair Thou art my loveliness, my life, my light, Thy bloody death, and undeserv'd, makes thee Pure red and white. When all perfections as but one appear, Where are my lines, then? my approaches ? views? Where are my window-songs? Lovers are still pretending, and ev'n wrongs But I am lost in flesh, whose sugar'd lies Sure thou didst put a mind there if I could Lord, clear thy gift, that with a constant wit PROVIDENCE. O SACRED Providence, who from end to end Of all the creatures both in sea and land Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes; mute. |