grown fair and full of ine, grace, quest, much sought for, as a good. r we do now behold thee gay and glad, As at doomsday ; When souls shall wear their new array, And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad. Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust Unto an honest faithful grave; DOOMSDAY. COME away, Summon all the dust to rise, Till it stir, and rub the eyes; While this member jogs the other, Each one whispering, Live you, brother? Come away, Make this the day. Dust, alas! no music feels, This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold : For that which God doth touch and own A WREATH. A WREATHED garland of deserved praise, So live and like, that I may know thy ways, DEATH. DEATH, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing, Nothing but bones, The sad effect of sadder groans : Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing. For we consider'd thee as at some six Or ten years hence, After the loss of life and sense, Flesh being turn'd to dust, and bones to sticks. We look'd on this side of thee, shooting short; Where we did find The shells of fledge souls left behind, Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort. But since our Saviour's death did put some blood Into thy face: Thou art grown fair and full of grace, Much in request, much sought for, as a good. For we do now behold thee gay and glad, When souls shall wear their new array, Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust Unto an honest faithful grave; DOOMSDAY. COME away, Summon all the dust to rise, Till it stir, and rub the eyes; While this member jogs the other, Each one whispering, Live you, brother? Come away, Make this the day. Dust, alas! no music feels, But thy trumpet: then it kneels, Come away, O make no stay! Let the graves make their confession, Come away, Thy flock doth stray. Some to the winds their body lend, Come away, Man is out of order hurl'd, Parcell'd out to all the world. JUDGMENT. ALMIGHTY Judge, how shall poor wretches brook Thy dreadful look, Able a heart of iron to appal, When thou shalt call For every man's peculiar book? What others mean to do, I know not well Yet I hear tell, That some will turn thee to some leaves therein That they in merit shall excel. But I resolve, when thou shalt call for mine, And thrust a Testament into thy hand: There thou shalt find my faults are thine. HEAVEN. O WHO will show me those delights on high? Есно. Thou Echo, thou art mortal, all men know. Есно. I. No. Wert thou not born among the trees and leaves? Есно. And are there any leaves, that still abide ? Есно. Leaves. Bide. What leaves are they? impart the matter wholly. Есно. Are holy leaves the Echo then of bliss? Есно. Holy. Yes. Light. Then tell me, what is that supreme delight? ECHO. Light to the mind: what shall the will enjoy? But are there cares and business with the pleasure? Light, joy, and leisure; but shall they persever? |