When yet I had not walked above Before I taught my tongue to wound THE STORM. I SEE the use; and know my blood Is not a sea, But a shallow, bounded flood, Though red as he; Yet have I flows as strong as his, And boiling streams that rave With the same curling force and hiss, As doth the mountain'd wave. But when his waters billow thus, Incite them to that fierce discuss, Thus the enlarg'd, enraged air Uncalms these to a flood, But still the weather that's most fair, Lord, then round me with weeping clouds, In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds So shall that storm purge this recluse And wind and water to thy use Both wash and wing my soul. PEACE. My soul, there is a country All skilful in the wars: Sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles; And one born in a manger Commands the beauteous files. He is thy gracious friend, To die here for thy sake. If thou canst get but thither, There The rose that cannot whither, ROM. VIII. VER. 15. "For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God." AND do they so? have they a sense Can they their heads lift, and expect, They judged them senseless, and their state Go, go, seal up thy looks, I would I were a stone, or tree, Or flower, by pedigree; Or some poor highway herb, or spring Then should I, tied to one sure state, But I am sadly loose, and stray, O let me not thus range!— Sometimes I sit with thee, and tarry Thy other creatures in this scene Some rise to seek thee, and with heads O let not me do less! shall they With fancies, friends, or news? UNPROFITABLENESS. How rich, O Lord! how fresh thy visits are! 'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung Sullied with dust and mud ; Each snarling blast shot through me, and did share Their youth and beauty; cold showers nipt and wrung Their spiciness and blood; But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey I smell a dew like myrrh, and all the day But, ah, my God! what fruit hast thou of this? To wait upon thy wreath? Thus thou all day a thankless weed dost dress, CHRIST'S NATIVITY. AWAKE, glad heart! get up, and sing! The sun doth shake Light from his locks, and all the way Awake! awake! hark, how th' wood rings; A concert make: Awake, awake! Man is their high-priest, and should rise |