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SIR H. WOTTON. The Character of a happy Life. 1 HOW happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will, Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill ! 2 Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame, or private breath; -
Nor vice hath ever understood,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good; 4 Who hath his life from rumors freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great ; 5 Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend, And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;
6 This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
1 BLEST are the humble souls that see
Their emptiness and poverty ;
And crowns of joy laid up in heaven. 2 Blest are the meek, who stand afar
From rage and passion, noise and war;
And plead their cause against the great. 3 Blest are the souls that thirst for grace,
Hunger and long for righteousness;
With living streams and living bread. 4 Blest are the men whose bowels move
And melt with sympathy and love; From Christ the Lord shall they obtain
Like sympathy and love again. 5 Blest are the pure, whose hearts are clean
From the defiling powers of sin ;
A God of spotless purity.
Who quench the coals of growing strife; They shall be called the heirs of bliss,
The sons of God, the God of peace. 7 Blest are the sufferers who partake
Of pain and shame for Jesus' sake;
The Christian while he sings;
With healing on his wings:
He grants the soul again
To cheer it after rain.
2 In holy contemplation,
We sweetly then pursue
And find it ever new;
We cheerfully can say,
Bring with it what it may !
But he will bear us through ;
Will clothe his people too;
No creature but is fed ;
Will give his children bread.
Their wonted fruit shall bear,
Nor flocks nor herds be there,
Yet, God the same abiding,
His praise shall tune my voice; For, while in him confiding,
I cannot but rejoice.
Sink deep in miry ground. 2 Despairing help below,
To heaven I raise my cries;
Outstretches from the skies.
3 I on that arm repose,
And all my fears are o'er ;
Attests its vital power. 4 My mind in perfect peace
Thy guardian care shall keep;
For thou canst never sleep. 5 Happy the souls alone
On thee securely stayed !
And let our joys be known;
And thus surround the throne. 2 Let those refuse to sing,
That never knew our God ;
May speak their joys abroad. 3 This awful God is ours,
Our Father and our Love;
To carry us above.
And never, never sin,
Drink endless pleasures in. 5 Yes, and before we rise
To that immortal state,
Should constant joys create. 6 The men of grace have found
Glory begun below;
From faith and hope may grow. 7 Then let our songs abound,
And every tear be dry;
To fairer worlds on high.