His Golden Grove,

Connor, and afterwards of Dromore. written during his retirement in Wales, treated of Things to be Believed, Things to be Done, Things to be Prayed for, and concluded with some hymns for festivals and solemn days. His vivid and exuberant imagination found freer scope in prose than in measure; but his poetry is by no means wanting in the qualities which gave splendour to his general style. The following is part of a hymn for Advent:

When, Lord, O when, shall we

Our dear salvation see?

Arise, arise!

Our fainting eyes

Have longed all night; and 'twas a long one too.

But Thou hast given us hopes that we

At length another day shall see

Wherein each vile neglected place,

Gilt with the aspect of Thy face,

Shall be, like that, the porch and gate of heaven.
How long, dear God, how long!

See how the nations throng:

All human kind,

Knit and combined

Into one body, look for Thee their Head.

Pity our multitude;

Lord, we are vile and rude,

Headless, and senseless, without Thee,

Of all things but the want of Thy blest face :
O haste apace,

And Thy bright self to this our body wed!1

From the Second Hymn for Advent:

Lord, come away :

Why dost Thou stay?

The road is ready, and Thy paths, made straight,
With longing expectation wait

The consecration of Thy beauteous feet.
Ride on triumphantly; behold, we lay
Our lusts and proud wills in Thy way.
Hosanna! welcome to our hearts!
Thou hast a temple too, and full as dear
As that of Sion, and as full of sin :

Lord, here

1 Jeremy Taylor's Works, ed. by Bishop Heber, vol. xv. p. 76.

Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell therein :
Enter and chase them forth, and cleanse the floor.

And then, if our stiff tongues shall be
Mute in the presence of Thy Deity,
The stones out of the temple wall
Shall cry aloud, and call

Hosanna! and Thy glorious footsteps greet.

Amen.1

George Wither (1588-1667) is sometimes called the Puritan poet. The term is not quite correct, for he did not adopt Puritan opinions till 1646, and many of his poems were published long before this. His life was spent among many vicissitudes. He had been brought up in comfort, if not in luxury, and had spent two years at Magdalen College, Oxford, when a sudden reverse in his father's fortunes summoned him home to hold the plough. After a while he made his way to London, and entered at Lincoln's Inn. He soon became known as a writer of poetry and satire. Tho galling force with which he lashed the vices of the time made him enemies, and lodged him for some time in the Marshalsea prison, where he appears to have suffered great hardships. In 1623 he published his Hymns and Songs of the Church. They were set to music by Orlando Gibbons, one of the best musicians of the day. In 1625 he acted a noble part in aiding the sick and dying in the Plague. In 1631 he published his version of the Psalms. During the Civil Wars he threw himself with great vigour and vehemence into the Puritan cause, and at the Restoration was sent first to Newgate, then to the Tower. 1663 he was released, and was in London at the time of the second Plague and the Great Fire. He was always a man of simple piety and austere principle, and, though he changed and veered in politics, it was not from lack of honesty. He lost the Protector's goodwill through his wholly unbending demeanour to him.

In

In his Hymns and Songs of the Church, Wither rendered into verse a good deal of the poetry both of the

Old and New Testaments. The following is the second verse in the Song of Deborah :

When Thou departedst, Lord, from Seir,
When Thou leftst Edom's field,

Earth shook, the heavens dropped there,
The clouds did water yield.

Lord, at Thy sight
A trembling fright
Upon the mountains fell:
E'en at Thy look
Mount Sinai shook,

Lord God of Israel !1

These are followed by hymns for the holy days and fast days of the Church, and for other special occasions. I quote the first two stanzas out of sixteen of the Song for Good Friday:

You that like heedless strangers pass along,

As if nought here concernéd you to-day;
Draw near, and hear the saddest passion song
That ever you did meet with on your way:
So sad a story ne'er was told before,
Nor shall there be the like for evermore.
The greatest King that ever wore a crown,
More than the basest vassal was abused;
The truest Lover that was ever known,

By them He loved was most unkindly used;
And He that was from all transgressions clear,
Was plagued for all the sins that ever were.2

Among his other hymns may be specially mentioned the carol, 'As on the Night before this Happy Morn❜3. the psalm beginning, Come, O come, in pious lays, Sing we God Almighty's praise'-the morning hymn, 'Since Thou hast added now, O God, Unto my life another day,' and especially his evening hymn, ‘Behold the sun, that seemed but now Enthroned overhead,' which

1 George Wither's Hymns and Songs of the Church, ed. by E. Farr. Song iii.

2 Id. Song lv.

3 Id. Song xlvi.

It may be also seen in Sylvester's Garland of Christmas Carols, p. III.

It is quoted in Lord Selborne's Book of Praise, as are also the Morning and Evening Hymns.

last I forbear quoting, only to give more room for a part of his delightful Lullaby Song:

Sweet baby, sleep! What ails my dear,
What ails my darling thus to cry?
Be still, my child, and lend thine ear
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep!

Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What thing to thee can mischief do?
Thy God is now thy Father dear,

His holy Spouse thy mother too.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

While thus thy lullaby I sing,

For thee great blessings ripening be ;
Thine Eldest Brother is a King,

And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear;
For whosoever thee offends
By thy protector threatened are,

And God and angels are thy friends.
Sweet baby, etc.

When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes He took delight;

Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in His sight.

Sweet baby, etc.

A little infant once was He,

And strength in weakness then was laid

Upon His Virgin mother's knee,

That power to thee might be conveyed.

Sweet baby, etc.

In this thy frailty and thy need

He friends and helpers doth prepare,
Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed
For of thy weal they tender are.
Sweet baby, etc.

The wants that He did then sustain

Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;
And by His torments and His pain

Thy rest and ease securéd be.

My baby, etc.

Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this,

A promise and an earnest got

Of gaining everlasting bliss,

Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not.
Sweet baby, etc.

Among his other poems, I must simply refer to a pleasing Hymn for Anniversaries of Marriage, and to some pathetic lines on the Loss of an only Child1

Nicholas Billingsly published his Treasury of Divine Raptures in 1667. In it he has ranged a great variety of subjects in a series of short poems, under the first three letters of the alphabet. They are not very noteworthy, but some contain pithy expressions. under the heading Burdens:

God never burthens us, but that He may
Unburthen us of sin.2

Thus,

John Austin, a Roman Catholic, published in 1668 his Devotions in the Ancient Way of Offices. Among the prayers and meditations there are a number of hymns. The following is from the Office for Sunday Lauds:Hark, my soul, how every thing Strives to serve the bounteous king: Each a double tribute pays,

Sings its part, and then obeys.

Nature's sweet and chiefest quire

Him with cheerful notes admire ;
Chanting every day their lauds

Whilst the grove their song applauds.

Though their voices lower be,
Streams have too their melody;
Night and day they warbling run,

Never pause but still sing on.

All the flowers that gild the spring
Hither their still music bring;

1 E. Taylor's Flowers and Fruits from Old English Gardens, p. 105. 2 Corser's Collectanea Anglo-Poetica, ii. 204.