Fourth Sonnet.

CAN God forget his children dear,
Difciples of his foul?
No, no, in trouble he'll be near,
To fave them every one.

'Tis true, fometimes, for ends most wise,
His prefence is withdrawn ;

But 'tis not long, he foon fupplies
Our various wants again.

Contrary motions oftentimes

Concur in one effect;
So God in all his works defigns
Salvation to th❜elect.

The fecret ways of Providence,
Too hard for man to fee;
'Tis far beyond the reach of fin
To bring forth God's decree.

Some this way turn, fome that way prefs,

Some backwards, fome direct;

As feems unto Jehovah best

In wisdom to project;

Yet

Yet all a curious ftructure raise

Of our celeftial story,
To celebrate th' Almighty's praise,
In bringing faints to glory.

Truth's felf, from whose unerring pen
An untruth never tell,
Declares it that with righteous men
It furely fhall go well.

In this fafe road I'll anchor caft

Until the troubles cease;

Tho' th' earth remove, his word ftands faft,
And here my foul finds peace.

On the Death of my Sifter, ELIZABETH WATTS, who deceased Nov. 11, 1691, aged two Years.

AND has the left us too? dear infant! what
But two fhort years, and scarcely that!
Could nothing, nothing here commend thy ftay?
Could eager paffion brook no small delay?

What flames of longing love did thus extend Thy wings or move thy hafty feet?

A mile or two, and then at journey's end! Methinks a little travel in the way

Would make thy home more pleasant, and thy

reft more sweet.

C 3

Did

Did the black irreverfible decree,
Graven in th' eternal book of fate
Deny thy life a longer date?

Or was thy noble foul afpiring to be free,
(Weary'd of earth's vile drudgery)

Forfook its element of clay and fled,

As just before thy fifter's did?

But then, methinks, fome refpite we might have, To close the jaws of the devouring grave,

And heal that wound thy fifter's late long farewel

gave.

Could it, fweet babe! alas! how could it be
So great, fo fore an injury,

T' have kept thine earthly house until the fun
Had at least twelve times more exchang'd his
ftarry Throne?

O how our paffions disagree,

Thy love to heaven, and ours to thee!

Thine gave thee freedom from a fleshy chain, Quick'ned thy flight; ours, ah, but all in vain! Strive to detain thee here, or pull thee down again.

How strong were the propenfions of thy foul,
To mount above the ftarry pole,

To dwell near that right hand,

Where fempiternal joys attendants ftand?

No

No wavering hopes of earthly bliss
(If fuch a thing on earth there is)
Could countervail thy fight of this.
Thy longing mind thought every hour a day,

Each year a century,

No wonder then it fled, two ages here

Is more than flesh can laft, is more than fpirit can bear.

But fay, dear babe, what though these dull delights
Of oft repeated days and nights,

Earth's old ftale fmoaky pleasures had no power
To charm or stop thy flight one hour;
Yet fay, dear babe, could not a tear, a figh,
A tender mother's figh

Prevail, or had thy foul, nor ear, nor eye;

Or fay, dear babe, will't now return and chase
Our griefs with one fmall glimpse of thy fweet face.
Oh! ere we part fo long, vouchfafe us one embrace.

But ftay, fond paffion, whither doft thou rove,

Dar'ft thou with murmurs countermand Th' all-wife, th' almighty, th' all-difpofing hand? Stay fond unthinking love.

Love, cruel, foolish, and profane;

Foolish to afk what cannot be,

Profane t'accufe divine decree,

Cruel to with a faint enclos'd with fin again :

Henceforth be mute fond childish love,
Dare not complain of her too quick remove,
Whom God faw ripe for heaven and wifely plac'd

above.

On Wisdom in great Defigns.
WHEN careful wisdom doth intend

To raise her name by fome great deed,
Not with an over hafty speed

She feeks to gain her end;
But fairly doth with even pace proceed
By small advances, till she rise
Above the reach of enemies,
Then takes the aim'd at enterprize.

So nature still produces,

By fober course and flow,

Things of the greatest uses,

She

generates from low.

The pine, whofe lofty head

With pride afcends the skies,

Did from a lowly weed
Originally rife.

The fruit that longeft doth endure,
Comes not at once compleat,

But by degrees is made mature,
Bitter in tafte before 'tis fweet.

So