I hold for two lives, and both lives in me.
To Him I brought a dish of fruit one day,
And in the middle plac'd my heart. But He,
I sigh to say,

Lookt on a servant, who did know His eye
Better then you know me, or, which is one,
Then I, myself. The servant instantly
Quitting the fruit, seiz'd on my heart alone,
And threw it in a font, wherein did fall

A stream of bloud, which issu'd from the side

Of a great rock :-I well remember all,

And have good cause :-there it was dipt and dy'd,
And washt and wrung; the very wringing yet
Enforceth tears. 'Your heart was foul, I fear.'
Indeed 'tis true: I did and do commit
Many a fault more then my lease will bear:
Yet still askt pardon, and was not deni'd.
But
you shall heare. After my heart was well,
And clean and fair, as I one even-tide,

I sigh to tell,

Walkt by myself abroad, I saw a large
And spacious fornace flaming, and thereon
A boyling caldron, round about whose verge
Was in great letters set Affliction.'

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The greatnesse shew'd the owner.
To fetch a sacrifice out of my fold,

So I went

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Thinking with that which I did thus present

To warm His love, which I did fear grew cold.

But as my heart did tender it, the man
Who was to take it from me, slipt his hand,
And threw my heart into the scalding pan;
My heart that brought it (do you understand?),
The offerer's heart. 'Your heart was hard, I fear.'
Indeed 'tis true. I found a callous matter
Began to spread and to expatiate there :
But with a richer drug then scalding water
I bath'd it often, ev'n with holy bloud,
Which at a board, while many drank bare wine,
A friend did steal into my cup for good,

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spread abroad

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Ev'n taken inwardly, and most divine.

To supple hardnesses. But at the length
Out of the caldron getting, soon fled
Unto my house, where, to repair the strength
Which I had lost, I hasted to my bed:

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But when I thought to sleep out all these faults,
I sigh to speak,

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I found that some had stuff'd the bed with thoughts,

I would say thorns. Deare, could my heart not break, When with my pleasures ev'n my rest was gone?

Full well I understood who had been there,

For I had giv'n the key to none but one :

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It must be He. 'You heart was dull, I fear.'
Indeed a slack and sleepie state of minde

Did oft possesse me; so that when I pray'd,

Though my lips went, my heart did stay behinde.
But all my scores were by another paid,

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Who took the debt upon Him. Truly, friend,
For ought I heare, your Master shows to you
More favour then you wot of.' Mark the end.
The Font did onely what was old renew;
The Caldron suppled what was grown too hard;
The Thorns did quicken what was grown too dull:
All did but strive to mend what you had marr❜d.
Wherefore be cheer'd, and praise Him to the full
Each day, each houre, each moment of the week,
Who fain would have you be new, tender, quick. living

100. § MAN'S MEDLEY.

Heark how the birds do sing,

And woods do ring :

All creatures have their joy, and man hath his.
Yet if we rightly measure,

Man's joy and pleasure

Rather hereafter then in present is.

To this life things of sense

Make their pretence;

In th' other angels have a right by birth:

Man ties them both alone,

And makes them one,

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claim

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With th' one hand touching heav'n, with th' other earth.

In soul he mounts and flies,

In flesh he dies;

He wears a stuffe whose thread is course and round, 15

But trimm'd with curious lace,

And should take place

After the trimming, not the stuffe and ground. according to

Not that he may not here

Taste of the cheer;

But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head,

He

may

So must he sip and think

Of better drink

attain to after he is dead.

But as his joyes are double,

So is his trouble:

He hath two winters, other things but one;
Both frosts and thoughts do nip

And bite his lip;

And he of all things fears two deaths alone.

Yet ev'n the greatest griefs

May be reliefs,

Could he but take them right and in their wayes.

Happie is he whose heart

Hath found the art

To turn his double pains to double praise.

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101. THE STORM.

If as the windes and waters here below

Do die and flow,

My sighs and tears as busie were above,

Sure they would move

And much affect Thee, as tempestuous times
Amaze poore mortals, and object their crimes.

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[cast before them

Starres have their storms ev'n in a high degree,
As well as we :

A throbbing conscience spurred by remorse
Hath a strange force;

It quits the earth, and mounting more and more,
Dares to assault Thee, and besiege Thy doore.

There it stands knocking, to Thy musick's wrong,
And drowns the song:

Glorie and honour are set by till it

An answer get.

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Poets have wrong'd poore storms: such dayes are best, They purge the aire without; within, the breast.

102. § PARADISE.

I blesse Thee, Lord, because I GROW
Among Thy trees, which in a ROW
To Thee both fruit and order ow.

What open force or hidden CHARM
Can blast my fruit, or bring me HARM,
While the inclosure is Thine ARM?

Inclose me still, for fear I START ;
Be to me rather sharp and TART
Then let me want Thy hand and art.