Did like some tottering engine show :

Thy hand above did burn and glow, Daunting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits.

But now that Christ's pure veil presents the sight,

I see no fears :

Thy hand is white,
Thy scales like buckets, which attend

And interchangeably descend,
Lifting to heaven from this well of tears.

For where before thou still didst call on me,

Now I still touch

And harp on thee.
God's promises have made thee mine :

Why should I justice now decline?
Against me there is none, but for me much.


I TRAVELL'D on, seeing the hill, where lay

My expectation.
A long it was and weary way.

The gloomy cave of Desperation
I left on the one, and on the other side

The rock of Pride.

And so I came to fancy's meadow strow'd

With many a flower :
Fain would I here have made abode,
But I was quicken'd by my hour.

So to care's copse I came, and there got through

With much ado.

That led me to the wild of passion; which

Some call the world ;
A wasted place, but sometimes rich.

Here I was robb’d of all my gold,
Save one good Angel, which a friend had tied

Close to my side.

At length I got unto the gladsome hill,

Where lay my hope, Where lay my heart; and climbing still,

When I had gain’d the brow and top, A lake of brackish waters on the ground

Was all I found.

With that abash'd and struck with many a sting

Of swarming fears,
I fell, and cried, Alas, my King ;

Can both the way and end be tears?
Yet taking heart I rose, and then perceived

I was deceived :

My hill was further : so I flung away,

Yet heard a cry
Just as I went, None goes


way And lives : If that be all, said I, After so foul a journey death is fair,

And but a chair.


I THREATEN'D observe the strict decree
Of my dear God with all

my power

and might: But I was told by one, it could not be ; Yet I might trust in God to be my light.

Then will I trust, said I, in him alone.

Nay, e'en to trust in him, was also his :

We must confess, that nothing is our own. Then I confess that he my succour is :

But to have nought is ours, not to confess

That we have nought. I stood amazed at this,

Much troubled, till I heard a friend express, That all things were more ours by being his.

What Adam had, and forfeited for all,
Christ keepeth now, who cannot fail or fall.


Do not beguile my heart,

Because thou art
My power
and wisdom. Put me not to shame,

Because I am
Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls.

Thou art the Lord of glory;

The deed and story
Are both thy due: but I a silly fly,

That live or die,
According as the weather falls.

Art thou all justice, Lord ?

Shows not thy word
More attributes ? Am I all throat or eye,

To weep or cry?
Have I no parts but those of grief?

Let not thy wrathful power

Afflict my hour,
My inch of life: or let thy gracious power

Contract my hour,
That I may climb and find relief.


Busy enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know?

Why dost thou pry,
And turn, and leer, and with a licorous eye

Look high and low ;
And in thy lookings stretch and grow ?

Hast thou not made thy counts, and summ’d up all ?

Did not thy heart

the whole, and with the whole depart?

Let what will fall :
That which is past who can recall ?

Thy life is God's, thy time to come is gone,

And is his right.
He is thy night at noon : he is at night

Thy noon alone.
The crop is his, for he hath sown.

And well it was for thee, when this befell,

That God did make
Thy business his, and in thy life partake :

For thou canst tell,
If it be his once, all is well.

Only the present is thy part and fee.

And happy thou,
If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow,

Thou couldst well see
What present things required of thee.

They ask enough; why shouldst thou further go?

Raise not the mud
Of future depths, but drink the clear and good.

Dig not for woe
In times to come ; for it will


Man and the present fit: if he provide,

He breaks the square.
This hour is mine : if for the next I care,


grow too wide, And do encroach upon

death's side :

For death each hour environs and surrounds.

He that would know
And care for future chances, cannot go

Unto those grounds,
But thro' a churchyard which them bounds.

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