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With the same shake, which at his passion
And did unhinge that day.
The brightness of that day
And fit for Paradise.
Thou art a day of mirth :
Fly hand in hand to heaven!
MONEY, thou bane of bliss, and source of woe,
Whence comest thou, that thou art so fresh and fine?
I know thy parentage is base and low : Man found thee poor and dirty in a mine.
Surely thou didst so little contribute
To this great kingdom, which thou now hast got,
That he was fain, when thou wast destitute, To dig thee out of thy dark cave and grot.
Then forcing thee, by fire he made thee bright :
Nay, thou hast got the face of man; for we
Have with our stamp and seal transferr'd our right; Thou art the man, and man but dross to theo.
Man calleth thee his wealth, who made thee rich; And while he digs out thee, falls in the ditch.
How well her name an Army doth present,
TO ALL ANGELS AND SAINTS.
O GLORIOUS spirits, who after all
bands See the smooth face of God, without a frown,
Or strict commands; Where every one is king, and hath his crown, If not upon his head, yet in his hands :
Not out of envy or maliciousness
I would address
Thou art the holy mine, whence came the gold,
and old; Thou art the cabinet where the jewel lay : Chiefly to thee would I my soul unfold.
But now, alas! I dare not; for our King,
Bids no such thing :
All worship is prerogative, and a flower
At the last hour :
Although then others court you, if
Who do not so ;
He that is weary, let him sit.
My soul would stir
Quitting the fur,
Man is no star, but a quick coal
Of mortal fire :
A faint desire,
When th' elements did for place contest
With Him, whose will Ordain'd the highest to be best :
The earth sat still, And by the others is opprest.
Life is a business, not good cheer;
Ever in wars.
Whereas the stars
O that I were an Orange-tree,
That busy plant ! Then I should ever laden be,
And never want Some fruit for him that dresseth me.
But we are still too young or old;
The man is gone, Before we do our wares unfold :
So we freeze on, Until the grave increase our cold.
When my devotions could not pierce
Thy silent ears ; Then was my heart broken, as was my verse ; My breast was full of fears
My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,
Did fly asunder : Each took his way; some would to pleasures go, Some to the wars and thunder
As good go any where, they say,
As to benumb Both knees and heart, in crying night and day, Come, come, my God, 0 come, ,
But no hearing
O Thou that shouldst give dust a tongue
To cry to thee, And then not hear it crying ! all day long My heart was in my knee,
But no hearing
Therefore my soul lay out of sight,
O cheer and tune my heartless breast,
Defer no time; That so thy favours granting my request,
chime, And mend my rhyme.