4.
“Precept upon precept, precept upon precept; line upon line, line upon
line; here a little, and there a little.”
Why should I not beneath the Cross lie still,
Recounting o'er and o'er the self-same beads,
Though the proud world rides by and nothing heeds,
While musing Meditation has her fill
In sonnet after sonnet poured forth, till
Goodwill itself is weariness, and needs
Variety, to sooth that faith that feeds
Upon the memories of that dreadful hill
Of sorrows? What avails it, if so be
That such my melancholy sad delight
May profit others? Nature loves the sight
Of ordered sameness in variety;
How many golden ears in harvest field
Each like to each their full-grained treasure yield!
