 | Miscellaneous works of George Wither |  |
Another Spiritual Song composed, by occasion of the last mentioned Distemper.
I
VVhen in the Morn we rise,Alas! how little think we on,
What through our ears or eyes,
May pierce our hearts, ere that day's gone?
I, did but borrow
From what, next Morrow,
I hop'd to have enjoy'd;
And that, hath quite
The whole delight
Of both dayes, now destroy'd.
II
My thoughtful heart grew sad,And represented unto me,
Such things as in the shade
Of Death's approaches use to be:
96
(Which Faith keeps out)
My Fancy fills my head;
And clouds are come,
Which with a Gloome
This day, have overspread.
III
If, whilst the Sun gives light,Become so dark, so soon, it may,
How black will be the Night
That shall ensue so dark a day?
My Soul, I see
Betray'd we be,
By our own want of care,
To have prepar'd
A dayly guard,
To keep out carnal Fear.
IV
No pow'r was in the WorldWhereby a Passion like to this,
On me could have been hurl'd,
Had nought, been in my self amisse:
By day or night,
(Be't black or bright)
The Devil hath no power
Which can procure
Distemp'rature,
Without some fault of our.
V
How frail a thing is man,That, lifeless words, aray'd in white,
97
Who, seemed fearless yester night?
Dread of ill newes,
Too plainly shews
That, with us all's not well:
For, if it were
We need not Fear,
Though storm'd by Death and Hell.
VI
For, if beneath GOD's WingOur safe repose we sought to make,
None, such Ill newes could bring,
That, much our Courage it could shake;
Of, Plagues that smite
By day or night
We need not stand in awe
Of poysonous things,
Of Serpents stings,
Nor of the Lyons Pawe.
VII
Therefore, my Spirit rowze(Our Foes, we see, are not asleep)
Let us, no longer drowze,
But, better watch hereafter keep;
Come, Courage take,
And we shall make
These Bugg-bears take their flight?
For, 'tis our Fear,
No strength of their
That now doth us affright.
98
VIII
The Passions of the mindAre but the fumes of Flesh and Blood,
Which make the Reason blind,
By mispresenting Ill, or Good.
If, unto these,
We closly presse,
And, wistly on them look,
They will appear
Such as they are,
And, pass away like smoke.
IX
And, yet, my Soul, bewareThou bring not to assault these Foes
Goliah's shield or Spear,
Nor in his Head-piece trust repose.
No, nor unto
What Self can do,
But, take thou Davids sling,
And, what he took
Out of the Brook,
Of Grace, among them fling.
| Miscellaneous works of George Wither | |