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 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. CXIII. THE PILGRIMAGE. I TRAVELL'D on, seeing the hill, where lay A long it was and weary way. 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. Save one good Angel, which a friend had tied At length I got unto the gladsome hill, Where lay my hope, Where lay my heart; and climbing still, 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 My hill was further: so I flung away, Yet heard a cry Just as I went, None goes that way After so foul a journey death is fair, And but a chair. CXIV. THE HOLD-FAST. I THREATEN'D to observe the strict decree Then will I trust, said I, in him alone. Nay, e'en to trust in him, was also his : 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. CXV. COMPLAINING. Do not beguile my heart, 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. CXVI. THE DISCHARGE. BUSY enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know? And turn, and leer, and with a licorous eye And in thy lookings stretch and grow? Hast thou not made thy counts, and summ'd up all? Did not thy heart Give up 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, He is thy night at noon: he is at night The crop is his, for he hath sown. And well it was for thee, when this befell, Thy business his, and in thy life partake: If it be his once, all is well. Only the present is thy part and fee. If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow, 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 grow. Man and the present fit: if he provide, This hour is mine: if for the next I care, And do encroach upon death's side: For death each hour environs and surrounds. And care for future chances, cannot go Unto those grounds, But thro' a churchyard which them bounds. |