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Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of truth to walk upon,
My scrip of joy—immortal diet—
My bottle of salvation;
My gown of glory, hope's true gage;
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage,
While my soul, like a quiet palmer,
Travelleth toward the land of Heaven.

Sir Walter Raleigh


How happy is he born and taught.

That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought,

And simple truth his utmost skill;

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,

Untied unto the worldly care
Of public fame, or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise,

Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise,

Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;

Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who God doth late and early pray,
More of his grace than gifts to lend,

And entertains the harmless day,
With a religious book or friend.

This man is freed from servile bands

Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands,

And having nothing, yet hath all.

Sir Henry Wotton


It is not growing like a tree In bulk doth make men better be; Or standing long an "oak three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere; A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportions we just beauties see, And in short measures life may perfect be.

Ben Jonson


Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round!

Parents first season us: then schoolmasters Deliver us to laws; they send us bound

To rules of reason, holy messengers.

Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin,
Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,

Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in
Bibles laid open, millions of surprises.

Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,
The sound of glory ringing in our ears;

Without, our shame—within, our consciences;
Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears.

Yet all these fences, and their whole array,
One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.

G. Herbert



Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dew shall weep thy fall to-night:
For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Makes the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave,
And thou must die.

Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses
A box where sweets compacted lie, -
My music shows ye have your closes
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like season'd timber never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

G. Herbert



Slowly fashioned, link by link,

Slowly waxing strong, Till the spirit never shrink,

Save from touch of wrong.

Holy habits are thy wealth,

Golden, pleasant chains; Passing earth's prime blessing—health,

Endless, priceless gains;

Holy habits give thee place

With the noblest, best,
All most Godlike, of thy race,

And with seraphs blest;

Holy habits are thy joy,

Wisdom's pleasant ways, Yielding good without alloy,

Lengthening, too, thy days.

Seek them, Christian, night and morn,
Seek them noon and even;

Seek them till thy soul be born
Without stains—in Heaven.

T. Davis



The flower is small that decks the field,
The bee is small that bends the flower,

But flower and bee alike may yield
Food for a thoughtful hour.

Essence and attributes of each
For ends profound combine;

And all they are, and all they teach,
Springs from the mind Divine.

Is there who scorneth little things?

As wisely might he scorn to eat
The food that bounteous Autumn brings

In little grains of wheat.

Methinks, indeed, that such an one
Few pleasures upon earth will find,

Where well nigh every good is won
From little things combined.

The lark that in the morning air
Amid the sunbeams mounts and sings;

What lifted her so lightly there ?—
Small feathers in her wings.

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