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BROKEN in pieces all asunder,

Lord, hunt me not,

A thing forgot,
Once a poor creature, now a wonder,

A wonder tortured in the space
Betwixt this world and that of grace.

My thoughts are all a case of knives,

Wounding my heart

With scatter'd smart;
As watering-pots give flowers their lives.

Nothing their fury can control,
While they do wound and prick my soul.

All my attendants are at strife,

Quitting their place

Unto my face :
Nothing performs the task of life :

The elements are let loose to fight,
And while I live, try out their right.

Oh, help, my God! let not their plot

Kill them and me,

And also thee,
Who art my life : dissolve the knot,

As the sun scatters by his light
All the rebellions of the night.

Then shall those powers, which work for grief,

Enter thy pay,
And day by day

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Labour thy praise and my relief ;

With care and courage building me,
Till I reach heaven, and much more, thee.


My God, I heard this day,
That none doth build a stately habitation

But he that means to dwell therein.

What house more stately hath there been, Or can be, than is Man? to whose creation

All things are in decay.

For Man is every thing, And more : He is a tree, yet bears no fruit ;

A beast, yet is, or should be more :

Reason and speech we only bring.
Parrots may thank us, if they are not mute,

They go upon the score.

Man is all symmetry,
Full of proportions, one limb to another,

And all to all the world besides :

Each part may call the farthest, brother : For head with foot hath private amity,

And both with moons and tides.

Nothing hath got so far, But Man hath caught and kept it, as his prey

His eyes dismount the highest star

He is in little all the sphere. Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they

Find their acquaintance there.

For us the winds do blow; The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow.

Nothing we see, but means our good,

As our delight, or as our treasure :
The whole is, either our cupboard of food,

Or cabinet of pleasure.

The stars have us to bed ;
Night draws the curtain, which the Sun withdraws :

Music and light attend our head.

All things unto our flesh are kind
In their descent and being; to our mind

In their ascent and cause.

Each thing is full of duty : Waters united, are our navigation ;

Distinguished,1 our habitation ;

Below, our drink; above, our meat :
Both are our cleanliness. Hath one such beauty ?

Then how are all things neat!

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More servants wait on Man, Than he'll take notice of: in every path

He treads down that which doth befriend him,

When sickness makes him pale and wan.
Oh, mighty love! Man is one world, and hath

Another to attend him.

Since then, my God, thou hast So brave a Palace built ; 0 dwell in it,

That it may dwell with thee at last!

Till then, afford us so much wit,
That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,

And both thy servants be.
1. Distinguished,' i. e., when marked by an island.


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CHOR. PRAISED be the God of love,

MEN. Here below,
ANGELS. And here above :

CHOR. Who hath dealt his mercies so,

Ang. To his friend,
MEN. And to his foe;

CHOR. That both grace and glory tend

Ang. Us of old,
MEN. And us in the end.

CHOR. The great Shepherd of the fold

Ang. Us did make,
MEN. For us was sold.

CHOR. He our foes in pieces brake :

Ang. Him we touch ;
MEN. And him we take.

CHOR. Wherefore since that he is such,

Ang. We adore,
MEN. And we do crouch.

CHOR. Lord, thy praises shall be more.

MEN. We have none,
Ang. And we no store.

CHOR. Praised be the God alone

Who hath made of two folds one. UNKINDNESS.

LORD, make me coy and tender to offend :
In friendship, first I think, if that agree,

Which I intend,


friend's intent and end. I would not use a friend, as I use Thee.

If any touch


friend, or his good name, It is my honour and my love to free

His blasted fame From the least spot or thought of blame. I could not use a friend, as I use Thee.

My friend may spit upon my curious floor:
Would he have gold ? I lend it instantly ;

, And thou within them, starve at door. I cannot use a friend, as I use Thee.

But let the poor,

When that my friend pretendeth to a place,
I quit my interest, and leave it free:

But when thy grace
Sues for my heart, I thee displace;
Nor would I use a friend, as I use Thee.

Yet can a friend what Thou hast done fulfil ?
O write in brass, My God upon a tree

His blood did spill,
Only to purchase my good-will:
Yet use I not my foes, as I use Thee.

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