JOHN QUARLES.

BORN 1624; DIED 1665.

HE was the son of the more celebrated poet, Francis Quarles. His writings prove him to have been little, if at all, inferior to his father in genius or piety, and unquestionably his superior in taste. They are, principally, "Regale Lectum Miseriæ, or a Kingly Bed of Misery :" "Fons Lachrymarum, or a Fountain of Tears;" "Divine Meditations ;" and, "Triumphant Chastity, or Joseph's Self-conflict."

JOHN QUARLES.

GOD'S LOVE TO MAN.

He that can break a rocky heart in twain,
And reunite it, if he please, again;

He that can part the boiling waves, and stand
Upon the seas, as on the dryest land;

He whose celestial power can make the graves
To open, and command their slumbering slaves
To rise-nay more, to stand-nay more, to walk—
Nay more, (if more than this may be,) to talk;
He that can make a whale to entertain
A Jonah, and to cast him forth again;
He whose almighty power can unlock
The flinty bowels of a scragged rock,

And make her headlong gushing streams abound,
To wash the bosom of the thirsty ground;
He that can transmutate, by power divine,
The poorest water into richest wine;
He that can curb rude Boreas, and assuage
The lawless passion of the ocean's rage;
He that can rain down manna, to supply
The craving stomachs of mortality;

Ꮓ

He that can, like an all-commanding God,
Make almonds flourish from a sapless rod;
He that can make the sun and moon stand still,
Or run, according to his sacred will;

He that preserv'd a Daniel from the paws
Of lions, and can muzzle up their jaws;
He that can make the greedy ravens carry
Food to his servants-their wing'd commissary;
He that can, with an unresisted hand,

Dash fire into ice, and countermand

The wanton flames, and charm them, that they dare

But burn his servants' cords, and not their hair;
He that can cause ten thousand to be fed

With two small fishes and five loaves of bread;
He that can clothe himself with fire, and name
Himself I AM, and make a bush to flame
Without consuming; he that can convert
A rod into a serpent, and not hurt;

He that can make his visage shine so bright
That not a Moses can behold the light;
He that can strike a hand with leprosy,
And cure it in the twinkling of an eye;
He that can in a moment cut and break
Tongue-tying cords, and make the dumb to speak;
He that can out of unregarded stones
Raise unto Abraham many little ones;

He that can heal the cripple with a touch,

And free him from the thraldom of his crutch';
He that can cure the deaf, and can expel
A thousand devils in despite of hell;
He that can perfect what he first begun-
Expects that man should say, "Thy will be done!"
Consider, man, and thou shalt find it true,

Heaven can do all, but what he will not do!

Think not, because thou art of low estate,
That he will scorn to love, or love to hate;
Remember Dives, whose unsumm'd-up store
Improv'd so much, until he prov'd as poor
As ever Job was :-Job! unhappy I
To speak it: he was rich in poverty.

Heaven made poor Job so rich, that Satan's wealth

Could purchase nothing from him, but his health,
And that corporeal too: he could not boast
His bargain, for 'twas Job that purchas'd most.
Even as the sun (which every day surrounds
The sublime globe, and pries into the bounds
Of this dark centre) lets his beams reflect
Upon a mole-hill, with as much respect
As on a mountain-for his glorious beams
Shine always with equivalent extremes,-
Even so the great and powerful Three in One,
That sits upon his all-enlight'ning throne,
Does not deny to let his mercies crown
The poorest peasant with as much renown
As the most stateliest emperor; though he
Invests his body with more dignity,

Yet he's but earth, and must at last decay,
For prince and peasant go the self-same way;
There's no distinction-one infused breath
Made them alike, and both must live, in death
Or everlasting life; both must commence
Divines in heaven-there's no pre-eminence,
But all equality; all must express

With equal joy their equal happiness.
Rouse up, dull man, and let thy waken'd soul
Be vigilate! oh, let thy thoughts enrol
The love of God; engrave it in thy breast,
That his resounding tongue may read thee blest!