Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame,
His providence extending every where,
His justice, which proud rebels doth not spare,
In every page, no period of the same:
But silly we, like foolish children, rest

Well pleas'd with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold,
Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best,
On the great writer's sense ne'er taking hold;
Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught,
It is some picture on the margin wrought.

THE grief was common, common were the cries,
Tears, sobs, and groans of that afflicted train,
Which of God's chosen did the sum contain,
And Earth rebounded with them, pierc'd were skies;
All good had left the world, each vice did reign
In the most monstrous sorts Hell could devise,
And all degrees and each estate did stain,
Nor further had to go whom to surprise;
The world beneath, the prince of darkness lay,
And in each temple had himself install'd,
Was sacrific'd unto, by prayers call'd,
Responses gave, which, fools, they did obey;
When, pitying man, God of a virgin's womb
Was born, and those false deities struck dumb.

"RUN shepherds, run, where Bethlem blest appears;
We bring the best of news, be not dismay'd,
A Saviour there is born, more old than years,
Amidst the rolling Heaven this Earth who stay'd;
In a poor cottage inn'd, a virgin maid,
A weakling did him bear who all upbears;
There he in clothes is wrapp'd, in manger laid,
To whom too narrow swadlings are our spheres.
Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth;
This is that night, no day, grown great with bliss,
In which the power of Satan broken is;
In Heaven be glory; peace unto the Earth :"
Thus singing through the air the angels swam,
And all the stars re-echoed the same.

"O THAN the fairest day, thrice fairer night,
Night to best days, in which a sun doth rise,
Of which the golden eye which clears the skies
Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow light;
And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight,
Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies
That heaven-sent youngling, holy-maid-born wight,
'Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies:
Blest cottage, that hath flow'rs in winter spread;
Though wither'd, blessed grass, that hath the grace
To deck and be a carpet to that place."
Thus singing to the sounds of oaten reed,
Before the babe the shepherds bow'd their knees,
And springs ran nectar, honey dropp'd from trees.

"THE last and greatest herald of Heaven's king, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made him appear, long since from Earth exil'd.

There burst he forth. All ye whose hopes rely
On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn,
Repent, repent, and from old errours turn."
Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry?
Only the echoes, which he made relent,
Rung from their flinty caves, "Repent, repent."

"THESE eyes, dear Lord, once tapers of desire,
Frail scouts betraying what they had to keep,
Which their own heart, then others set on fire,
Their trait'rous black before thee here out-weep;
These locks of blushing deeds, the gilt attire,
Waves curling, wreckful shelves to shadow deep,
Rings, wedding souls to sin's lethargic sleep,
To touch thy sacred feet do now aspire.
In seas of care behold a sinking bark,

By winds of sharp remorse unto thee driven:
O let me not be ruin's aim'd-at mark;
My faults confess'd, Lord, say they are forgiven."
Thus sigh'd to Jesus the Bethanian fair,
His tear-wet feet still drying with her hair.

"I CHANGED Countries new delights to find,
But, ah! for pleasure I did find new pain;
Enchanting pleasure so did reason blind,
That father's love and words I scorn'd as vain.
For tables rich, for bed, for following train
Of careful servants to observe my mind;
These herds I keep my fellows are assign'd,
My bed's a rock, and herbs my life sustain.
Now while I famine feel, fear worser harms,
Father and Lord, I turn, thy love, yet great,
My faults will pardon, pity mine estate."
This, where an aged oak had spread its arms,
Thought the lost child, while as the herds he led,
And pin'd with hunger, on wild acorns fed.

If that the world doth in amaze remain,
To hear in what a sad, deploring mood,
The pelican pours from her breast her blood,
To bring to life her younglings back again;
How should we wonder at that sovereign good,
Who from that serpent's sting that had us slain,
To save our lives, shed his life's purple flood,
And turn'd to endless joy our endless pain!
Ungrateful soul, that charm'd with false delight,
Hast long, long wander'd in sin's flow'ry path,
And didst not think at all, or thought'st not right
On this thy pelican's great love and death. [see
Here pause, and let (though Earth it scorn) Heaven
Thee pour forth tears to him pour'd blood for thee.

A thought, that some great king did sit above, Who had such laws and rites to them assign'd; A king who fix'd the poles, made spheres to move, All wisdom, pureness, excellency, might, All goodness, greatness, justice, beauty, love;With fear and wonder hither turn your sight, See, see, alas! him now, not in that state Thought could forecast him into reason's light. Now eyes with tears, now hearts with grief make great,

Bemoan this cruel death and ruthful case,
If ever plaints just woe could aggravate:
From sin and Hell to save us human race,

See this great king nail'd to an abject tree,
An object of reproach and sad disgrace.
O unheard pity! love in strange degree!

He his own life doth give, his blood doth shed, For wormlings base such worthiness to see. Poor wights! behold his visage pale as lead,

His head bow'd to his breast, locks sadly rent, Like a cropp'd rose, that languishing doth fade. Weak nature, weep! astonish'd world, lament! Lament, you winds! you Heaven, that all contains!

And thou, my soul, let nought thy griefs relent! Those hands, those sacred hands, which hold the reins Of this great all, and kept from mutual wars The elements, bare rent for thee their veins: Those feet, which once must tread on golden stars, For thee with nails would be pierc'd through and torn;

[bars:

For thee Heaven's king from Heaven himself deThis great heart-quaking dolour wail and mourn, Ye that long since him saw by might of faith, Ye now that are, and ye yet to be born. Not to behold his great Creator's death,

The Sun from sinful eyes hath veil'd his light, And faintly journies up Heaven's sapphire path; And cutting from her prows her tresses bright

The Moon doth keep her Lord's sad obsequies, Impearling with her tears her robe of night; All staggering and lazy lour the skies;

The earth and elemental stages quake; The long-since dead from bursted graves arise. And can things, wanting sense, yet sorrow take, And bear a part with him who all them wrought, And man (though born with cries) shall pity lack? Think what had been your state, had he not brought To these sharp pangs himself, and priz'd so high Your souls, that with his life them life he bought! What woes do yon attend, if still ye lie

Plung'd in your wonted ordures! Wretched brood! Shall for your sake again God ever die?

O leave deluding shows, embrace true good,

He on you calls, forego sin's shameful trade; With prayers now seek Heaven, and not with blood.

Let not the lambs more from their dams be had,
Nor altars blush for sin; live every thing;
That long time long'd-for sacrifice is made.
All that is from you crav'd by this great king
Is to believe: a pure heart incense is.
What gift, alas! can we him meaner bring?
Haste, sin-sick souls! this season do not miss,
Now while remorseless time doth grant you
space,

And God invites you to your only bliss:
He who you calls will not deny you grace,
But low-deep bury faults, so ye repent;
His arms, lo! stretched are, you to embrace..

When days are done, and life's small spark is spect,
So you accept what freely here is given,
Like brood of angels deathless, all-coutent,
Ye shall for ever live with him in Heaven.

COME forth, come forth, ye blest triumphing bands,
Fair citizens of that immortal town;
Come see that king which all this all commands,
Now, overcharg'd with love, die for his own:
Look on those nails, which pierce his feet and hands;
What a sharp diadem his brows doth crown!
Behold his pallid face, his heavy frown,

And what a throng of thieves him mocking stands!
Come forth, ye empyrean troops, come forth,
Preserve this sacred blood that Earth adorns,
Gather those liquid roses off his thorns;
O! to be lost they be of too much worth:
For streams, juice, balm, they are, which quench,
kills, charms,

Of God, Death, Hell, the wrath, the life, the harus

SOUL, whom Hell did once inthral,
He, he for thine offence

Did suffer death, who could not die at all.
O sovereign excellence!

O life of all that lives!

Eternal bounty which each good thing gives!
How could Death mount so high?
No wit this point can reach,
Faith only doth us teach,

He died for us at all who could not die.

And Death display'd hath ensign against Death;
LIFE, to give life, deprived is of life,
So violent the rigour was of Death,

That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life:
No power had power to thrall life's pow'rs to death,
But willingly life down hath laid his life.
Love gave the wound which wrought this work of
death;

Now quakes the author of eternal death,
His bow and shafts were of the tree of life.
Shall fill his room above the lists of death;
To find that they whom late he reft of life,
Now all rejoice in death who hope for life.
Dead Jesus lives, who Death hath kill'd by Death;
No tomb his tomb is, but new source of life.

RISE from those fragrant climes, thee now embrace;
Unto this world of ours, O haste thy race,
Fair Sun, and though contrary ways all year
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest share,
Join thy blue wheels to hasten time that low`rs,
And lazy minutes turn to perfect hours;
The night and death too long a league have made,
To stow the world in horrour's ugly shade.
Shake from thy locks a day with saffron rays
So fair, that it outshine all other days;
And yet do not presume, great eye of light,
To be that which this day must make so bright.
See an eternal Sun hastes to arise;

Not from the eastern blushing seas or skies,
Or any stranger worlds Heaven's concaves have,
But from the darkness of an hollow grave.

Through those thick mists when any mortal wight Aspires, with halting pace, and eyes that weep To pry, and in his mysteries to creep,

With thunders he and lightnings blasts their sight. O Sun invisible, that dost abide

Within thy bright abysmes, most fair, most dark, Where with thy proper rays thou dost thee hide, O ever-shining, never full-seen mark,

To guide me in life's night, thy light me show; The more I search of thee the less I know.

Ir with such passing beauty, choice delights,
The Architect of this great round did frame
This palace visible, short lists of fame,
And silly mansion but of dying wights;
How many wonders, what amazing lights
Must that triumphing seat of glory claim,
That doth transcend all this all's vasty heights,
Of whose bright Sun, ours here is but a beam!
O blest abode! O happy dwelling-place!
Where visibly th' Invisible doth reign;
Blest people, which do see true Beauty's face,
With whose far shadows scarce he Earth doth deign:
All joy is but annoy, all concord strife,
Match'd with your endless bliss and happy life.

LOVE which is here a care,
That wit and will doth mar,
Uncertain truce, and a most certain war;
A shrill tempestuous wind,
Which doth disturb the mind,

And like wild waves all our designs commove;
Among those powers above,

Which see their maker's face,

It a contentment is, a quiet peace,

A pleasure void of grief, a constant rest,
Eternal joy, which nothing can molest.

THAT space, where curled waves do now divide
From the great continent our happy isle,
Was sometime land; and now where ships do glide,
Once with laborious art the plough did toil :
Once those fair bounds stretch'd out so far and wide,
Where towns, no shires enwall'à, endear each mile,
Were all ignoble sea and marish vile,

Where Proteus' flocks danc'd measures to the tide:
So age transforming all, still forward runs ;
No wonder though the Earth doth change her face,
New manners, pleasures new, turn with new suns,
Locks now like gold grow to an hoary grace;
Nay, mind's rare shape doth change, that lies de-
spis'd

Which was so dear of late, and highly priz’d.

THIS world a hunting is,

The prey, poor mau; the Nimrod fierce, is Death;
His speedy greyhounds are,
Lust, Sickness, Envy, Care;
Strife that ne'er falls amiss,

With all those ills which haunt us while we breathe.
Now, if by chance we fly

Of these the eager chace,
Old age with stealing pace

Casts on his nets, and there we panting die.

And lean to gilded glories which decay?
WHY, wordlings, do ye trust frail honour's dreams,
Why do ye toil to registrate your names
On icy pillars, which soon melt away?
True honour is not here, that place it claims
Where black-brow'd night doth not exile the day,
Nor no far-shining lamp dives in the sea,
But an eternal Sun spreads lasting beams;
There it attendeth you, where spotless bands
Of sp'rits stand gazing on their sovereign bliss,
Where years not hold it in their cank'ring hands,
But who once noble, ever noble is.

Look home, lest he your weaken'd wit make thrall,
Who Eden's foolish gard'ner erst made fall.

As are those apples, pleasant to the eye,
But full of smoke within, which use to grow
Near that strange lake where God pour'd from the
sky

Huge show'rs of flames, worse flames to overthrow:
Such are their works that with a glaring show
Of humble holiness in virtue's dye

Would colour mischief, while within they glow
With coals of sin, though none the smoke descry.
Bad is that angel that erst fell from Heaven;
But not so bad as he, nor in worse case,
Who hides a trait'rous mind with smiling face,
And with a dove's white feathers clothes a raven,
Each sin some colour hath it to adorn,
Hypocrisy Almighty God doth scorn.

SWEET bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past, or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights which present are,.
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flow'rs:
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leavy bow'rs
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that low'rs.
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
(Attir'd in sweetness) sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget Earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to Heaven?
Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays.

As when it happeneth that some lovely town
Unto a barbarous besieger falls,

Who both by sword and flame himself instals,
And shameless it in tears and blood doth drown;
Her beauty spoil'd, her citizens made thralls,
His spite yet cannot so her all throw down,
But that some statue, pillar of renown,
Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls:
So after all the spoil, disgrace and wreck, [bin'd,
That time, the world, and death, could bring com-
Amidst that mass of ruins they did make,
Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind:
From this so high transcendent rapture springs,
That I, all else defac'd, not envy kings.

LET us each day inure ourselves to die,

If this, and not our fears, be truly death,
Above the circles both of hope and faith
With fair immortal pinions to fly;
If this be death, our best part to untie
(By ruining the jail) from lust and wrath,
And every drowsy languor here beneath,
To be made deniz'd citizen of sky;

To have more knowledge than all books contain,
All pleasures even surmounting wishing pow'r,
The fellowship of God's immortal train,

And these that time nor force shall e'er devour:
If this be death, what joy, what golden care
Of life, can with death's ugliness compare?

"All these have not the pow'r
To free the mind from fears,

Nor hideous horrour can allay one hour,
When Death in stealth doth glance,
In sickness lurks or years,

And wakes the soul from out her mortal trance,

"No, but blest life is this,

With chaste and pure desire

To turn unto the load-star of all bliss,
On God the mind to rest,
Burnt up with sacred fire,
Possessing him to be by him possest;

"When to the balmy east
Sun doth his light impart,
Or when he diveth in the lowly west,
And ravisheth the day,

With spotless hand and heart,
Him cheerfully to praise, and to him pray:

"To heed each action so

As ever in his sight,

More fearing doing ill than passive woe;
Not to seem other thing
Than what ye are aright;
Never to do what may repentance bring: