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Yet if thou stayest still, why must I stay?
What is this weary world; this meat and drink,
O show thyself, &c.
With one small sigh thou gavest me th' other day
And scowling on them as they pined away,
Nothing but drought and dearth, but bush and brake,
Some may dream merrily, but when they wake,
We talk of harvests; there are no such things,
O loose this frame, this knot of man untie,
What have I left, that I should stay and groan?
The most of me to heaven is fled :
O show thyself, &c.
Come, dearest Lord, pass not this holy season,
And even my verse, when by the rhyme and reason
O show thyself to me,
Or take me up to thee!
THE BRITISH CHURCH.
I JOY, dear Mother, when I view
Beauty in thee takes up her place,
A fine aspect in fit array,
Neither too mean, nor yet too gay,
Outlandish looks may not compare ;
She on the hills, which wantonly
By her preferr'd,
Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines, That even her face by kissing shines, For her reward.
She in the valley is so shy
Of dressing, that her hair doth lie
While she avoids her neighbour's pride,
But, dearest Mother (what those miss), The mean thy praise and glory is,
Blessed be God, whose love it was
merry world did on a day
With his train-bands and mates agree
To meet together, where I lay,
And all in sport to jeer at me.
First, Beauty crept into a Rose;
Which when I pluck'd not, Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man? said he :
I heard in Music you had skill :
Then came brave Glory puffing by
Then came quick Wit and Conversation,
Yet when the hour of thy design
To answer these fine things shall come;
POOR silly soul, whose hope and head lies low;
May come to late!
To purchase heaven for repenting
If souls be made of earthly mould,
If born on high,
Let them unto their kindred fly:
Till they regain their ancient nest.
Then silly soul, take heed; for earthly joy
AWAKE, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns :
And with a thankful heart his comforts take.
Arise, sad heart; if thou dost not withstand,
Do not by hanging down break from the hand,
And with his burial-linen dry thine eyes.
Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief Draws tears, or blood, not want a handkerchief.
JESU is in my heart, his sacred name
Is deeply carved there but the other week