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All things that are, though they have several

ways,

Yet in their being join with one advice

To honour thee; and so I give thee praise
In all my other hymns, but in this twice.

Each thing that is, although in use and name go for one, hath many ways in store

It

To honour thee: and so each hymn thy fame
Extolleth many ways; yet this, one more.

GRATEFULNESS.

THOU that hast given so much to me,
Give one thing more, a grateful heart.
See how thy beggar works on thee

By art.

He makes thy gifts occasion more,
And says, If he in this be cross'd,
All thou hast given him heretofore
Is lost.

But thou didst reckon, when at first

Thy word our hearts and hands did crave,

What it would come to at the worst

To save.

Perpetual knockings at thy door;
Tears sullying thy transparent rooms;
Gift upon gift; much would have more,

And comes.

This notwithstanding, thou went'st on,
And didst allow us all our noise:
Nay, thou hast made a sigh and groan
Thy joys.

Not that thou hast not still above

Much better tunes than groans can make;
But that these country-airs thy love
Did take.

Wherefore I cry, and cry again;
And in no quiet canst thou be,
Till I a thankful heart obtain
Of thee:

Not-thankful when it pleaseth me;
As if thy blessings had spare days:
But such a heart, whose pulse may be

Thy praise.

PEACE.

SWEET Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly

crave,

Let me once know.

I sought thee in a secret cave,

And ask'd if Peace were there,

A hollow wind did seem to answer- 66
Go seek elsewhere."

No;

I did;-and, going, did a rainbow note:
Surely, thought I,

This is the lace of Peace's coat:

I will search out the matter.

But while I look'd the clouds immediately
Did break and scatter.

Then went I to a garden, and did spy
A gallant flower,

The crown imperial. "Sure," said I,
"Peace at the root must dwell."
But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour
What show'd so well.

At length I met a rev'rend good old man :
Whom when for Peace

I did demand, he thus began:
"There was a Prince of old

At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase
Of flock and fold.

"He sweetly liv'd; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes.

But after death out of his grave

There sprang twelve stalks of wheat : Which many wond'ring at, got some of those To plant and set.

"It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth:

For they that taste it do rehearse,
That virtues lie therein;

A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth
By flight of sin.

"Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you:

Make bread of it; and that repose
And peace, which every where

With so much earnestness you do pursue,
Is only there."

MAN'S MEDLEY.

HARK how the birds do sing,
And woods do ring.

All creatures have their joy, and man hath his.
Yet, if we rightly measure,

Man's joy and pleasure

Rather hereafter, than in present, is.

To this life things of sense

Make their pretence:

In the other angels have a right by birth:
Man ties them both alone,

And makes them one,

With one hand touching heav'n, with the other earth.

In soul he mounts and flies,

In flesh he dies:

He wears a stuff, whose thread is coarse and round, But trimm'd with curious lace,

And should take place

After the trimming, not the stuff and ground.

Not, that he may not here

Taste of the cheer:

But as birds drink, and straight lift up their heads;

So must he sip, and think
Of better drink

He may attain to, after he is dead.

But as his joys are double,
So is his trouble.

He hath two winters, other things but one:
Both frosts and thoughts do nip,
And bite his lip;

And he, of all things, fears two deaths, alone.

Yet ev❜n the greatest griefs
May be reliefs,

Could he but take them right, and in their ways.
Happy is he, whose heart

Hath found the art

To turn his double pains to double praise.

THE METHOD.

POOR heart, lament:

For since thy God refuseth still,
There is some rub, some discontent,
Which cools his will.

Thy Father could

Quickly effect what thou dost move;
For he is power and sure he would;
For he is love.

Go search this thing:

Tumble thy breast, and turn thy book:

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