The other days fill up the spare Which parts their ranks and orders. The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's string, More plentiful than hope. This day my Saviour rose, And did enclose this light for His: Who want herbs for their wound. The Rest of our creation Our great Redeemer did remove With the same shake which, at His passion, Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our sal vation, And did unhinge that day. The brightness of that day We sullied by our foul offence: Wherefore that robe we cast away, Having a new at His expense, Whose drops of blood paid the full price Thou art a day of mirth: And, where the week-days trail on ground, O let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from seven to seven, AVARICE. MONEY, thou bane of bliss, and source of woe, Whence comest thou, that thou art so fresh and fine? I know thy parentage is base and low : Man found thee poor and dirty in a mine. Sure thou didst so little contribute To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got, That he was fain, when thou wast destitute, To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot. Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright: Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we Have with our stamp and seal transferr❜d our right: Thou art the man, and man but dross to thee. Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich; And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch. ANA-RYGRAM. How well her name an ARMY doth present, In whom the LORD OF HOSTS did pitch His tent! TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS. O GLORIOUS spirits, who, after all your bands, Where every one is king, and hath his crown, Not out of envy or maliciousness My vows to thee most gladly, blessed Maid, Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold, The great restorative for all decay In young and old; Thou art the cabinet where the jewel lay: But now, alas! I dare not; for our King, And where His pleasure no injunction lays, All worship is prerogative, and a flower Therefore we dare not from His garland steal, Although, then, others court you, if ye know Since we are ever ready to disburse, EMPLOYMENT. HE that is weary, let him sit. And trade in courtesies and wit, To cold complexions needing it. Man is no star, but a quick coal Who blows it not, nor doth control Lets his own ashes choke his soul. When the elements did for place contest Ordain'd the highest to be best, And by the others is opprest. Life is a business, not good cheer; The sun still shineth there or here, Watch an advantage to appear. O that I were an orange-tree, Then should I ever laden be, And never want Some fruit for Him that dresseth me. But we are still too young or old; |