XC. DULNESS. WHY do I languish thus, drooping and dull, O give me quickness, that I may with mirth The wanton lover in a curious strain And with quaint metaphors her curled hair Thou art my loveliness, my life, my light, Thy bloody death and undeserved, makes thee When all perfections as but one appear, The very dust, where thou dost tread and go Where are my lines then? my approaches? views? Lovers are still pretending, and e'en wrongs But I am lost in flesh, whose sugar'd lies Sure thou didst put a mind there, if I could Lord, clear thy gift, that with a constant wit Look only; for to love thee, who can be, XCI. LOVE-JOY. As on a window late I cast mine eye, I (who am never loth Of Joy and Charity; Sir, you have not miss'd, XCII. PROVIDENCE. O SACRED Providence, who from end to end Of all the creatures both in sea and land, Beasts fain would sing; birds ditty to their notes; Man is the world's high Priest: he doth present The sacrifice for all; while they below Unto the service mutter an assent, Such as springs use that fall, and winds that blow. He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain, But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain; The beasts say, Eat me; but, if beasts must teach, The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise. The trees say, Pull me: but the hand you stretch Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise. Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present We all acknowledge both thy power and love For either thy command, or thy permission Nothing escapes them both: all must appear, And be disposed, and dress'd, and tuned by thee, Who sweetly temper❜st all. If we could hear Thy skill and art, what music would it be ! Thou art in small things great, not small in any : Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall. Thou art in all things one, in each thing many : For thou art infinite in one, and all. Tempests are calm to thee, they know thy hand, And hold it fast, as children do their fathers, Which cry and follow. Thou hast made poor sand Check the proud sea, e'en when it swells and gathers. Thy cupboard serves the world: the meat is set Where all may reach: no beast but knows his feed. Birds teach us hawking: fishes have their net: The great prey on the less, they on some weed. Nothing engender'd doth prevent his meat; How finely dost thou times and seasons spin, And make a twist checker'd with night and day! Which as it lengthens, winds, and winds us in, As bowls go on, but turning all the way. Each creature hath a wisdom for his good. Bees work for man; and yet they never bruise So both the flower doth stay, and honey run. Sheep eat the grass, and dung the ground for more: Trees after bearing drop their leaves for soil: Springs vent their streams, and by expense get store: Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boil. Who hath the virtue to express the rare And if an herb hath power, what have the stars? A rose, besides his beauty, is a cure. Doubtless our plagues and plenty, peace and wars, Are there much surer than our art is sure. Thou hast hid metals: man may take them thence; E'en poisons praise thee. Should a thing be lost? The sea, which seems to stop the traveller, And as thy house is full, so I adore Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods. The hills with health abound, the vales with store; The South with marble; North with furs and woods. |