OF HEAVEN.

Where the great King's transparent throne,

Is of an entire jasper stone:
There the eye

O' th' chrysolite,

And a sky

Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase

And, above all, Thy holy face

Makes an eternal clarity.

When Thou Thy jewels up dost bind-that day

Remember us, we pray,

That where the beryl lies,

And the crystal, 'bove the skies,

There Thou may'st appoint us place,

Within the brightness of Thy face:

And our soul

In the scroll

Of life and blissfulness enrol,

That we may praise Thee to Eternity. Allelujah.

A PRAYER FOR CHARITY.

FULL of mercy, full of love,

Look upon us from above;

Thou, who taught'st the blind man's night

To entertain a double light,

O let Thy love our pattern be;
Let Thy mercy teach one brother
To forgive and love another;
That, copying Thy mercy here,
Thy goodness may hereafter rear
Our souls unto Thy glory, when

Our dust shall cease to be with men.

Taylor.

Same.

I SAW Eternity the other night

Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,

All calm, as it was bright;

And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years,
Driv'n by the spheres

THE RING.

Like a vast shadow mov'd, in which the World
And all her train were hurl'd.

The doting Lover in his quaintest strain
Did there complain;

Near him his lute, his fancy, and his flights,
Wit's four delights;

With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure,
Yet his dear treasure,

All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour
Upon a flow'r.

The darksome Statesman hung with weights and woe,
Like a thick midnight fog, mov'd there so slow,
He did not stay, nor go;

Condemning thoughts like sad Eclipses scowl
Upon his soul,

And clouds of crying witnesses without

Pursued him with one shout.

Yet digg'd the mole, and, lest his ways be found,
Worked underground,

Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see
That Policy;

Churches and altars fed him; Perjuries

Were gnats and flies;

It rain'd about him blood and tears; but he
Drank then as free.

The fearful Miser on a heap of rust

Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust
His own hands with the dust;

Yet would not place one piece above, but lives
In fear of thieves.

Thousands there were as frantic as himself,
And hugg'd each one his pelf;

The downright Epicure placed Heaven in sense,
And scorn'd pretence;

THE RING.

While others, slipt into a wide excess,

Said little less.

The weaker sort slight, trivial wars inslave,
Who think them brave,

And poor, despised Truth sate counting by
Their victory.

Yet some, who all this time did weep and sing,
And sing and weep, soar'd up into the Ring;
But most would use no wing.

O fools, said I, thus to prefer dark night
Before true light!

To live in grots and caves, and hate the day,
Because it shows the way,

The way, which from this dead and dark abode
Leads up to God;

A way where you might tread the Sun, and be More bright than he!

But as I did their madness so discuss,

One whispered thus:

This Ring the Bridegroom did for none provide, But for his Bride.

Henry Vaughan.

BLESSED BE THY WILL.

SINCE in a land not barren still,
Because Thou dost Thy grace distil,
My lot is fall'n, blest be Thy will!

And since these biting frosts but kill
Some tares in me which choke or spill
That seed Thou sow'st, blest be Thy skill!

Blest be Thy Dew, and blest Thy Frost,

And happy I to be so crost,

And cur'd by crosses at Thy cost.

The Dew doth cheer what is distrest,
The Frost ill weeds nip and molest,
On both Thou workest with the best.

Thus while Thy sev'ral mercies plot,
And work on me now cold now hot,
The work goes on and slacketh not;

For as Thy hand the weather steers,
So thrive I best 'twixt joys and tears,
And all the year hath some green ears.

Vaughan.