Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave
Bids 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.

Herbert.

66 HAVING COMPASSION ON OUR INFIRMITIES."

HROW away Thy rod,

Throw away thy wrath;
O my God,

Take the gentle path.

For my heart's desire

Unto Thine is bent:

I aspire

To a full consent.

Not a word or look

I affect to own,

But by book,

And Thy book alone.

Though I fail, I weep :
Though I halt in pace,
Yet I creep

To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove;

Love will do the deed:

For with love
Stony hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot:
Love's a man of war,

And can shoot,

And can hit from far.

Who can 'scape his bow?
That which wrought on Thee,

Brought Thee low,

Needs must work on me.

Throw away Thy rod;

Though man frailties hath,

Thou art God:

Throw away Thy wrath.

Herbert,

'FROM WHOM COMETH EVERY GOOD AND PERFECT GIFT."

Y stock lies dead, and no increase
Doth my dull husbandry improve :
O let Thy graces, without cease,
Drop from above!

If still the sun should hide his face,
Thy house would but a dungeon prove,
Thy works night's captives: O let grace
Drop from above!

The dew doth every morning fall;

And shall the dew outstrip Thy Dove?
The dew, for which grass cannot call,
Drops from above.

Death is still working like a mole,
And digs my grave at each remove :

Let

grace

work too, and on my soul
Drop from above.

Sin is still hammering my heart,
Unto a hardness, void of love:

Let suppling grace, to cross his art,
Drop from above.

O come, for Thou dost know the way;
Or, if to me Thou wilt not move,
Remove me where I need not say,-
Drop from above.

Herbert.

66 DOING ALL TO THE GLORY OF GOD."

J

JEACH me, my God and King,

In all things Thee to see,

And what I do in anything,

To do it as for Thee:

Not rudely, as a beast,

To run into an action;
But still to make Thee prepossest
And give it his perfection.

A man that looks on glass,
On it may stay his eye;

Or if he pleaseth, through it pass,

And then the heaven spy.

All may of Thee partake:

Nothing can be so mean,

Which with this tincture, ' For Thy sake,'

Will not grow bright and clean.

A servant with this clause

Makes drudgery divine:

Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws,
Makes that and the action fine.

This is the famous stone

That turneth all to gold:

For that which God doth touch and own

Cannot for less be told.

Herbert.

"" O THE DEPTH OF THE RICHES!"

WEETEST Saviour, if my soul
Were but worth the having,
Quickly should I then control

Any thought of waving.
But when all my care and pains
Cannot give the name of gains
To Thy wretch so full of stains,
What delight or hope remains?

What, child, is the balance thine?
Thine the poise and measure?
If I say thou shalt be mine,

Finger not my treasure.