III. PSALMS XVII. V.
Stay my steps in thy paths, that my feet do not slide.
1
When ere the Old Exchange of Profit rings
Her silver Saints-bell of uncertaine gaines,
My merchant soule can stretch both legs and wings:
How I can run, and take unwearied paines!
The Charmes of Profit are so strong, that I
Who wanted legs to go, find wings to fly.
2
If time-beguiling Pleasure but advance
Her lustfull Trump, and blow her bold Alarms,
O, how my sportfull soule can frisk and daunce,
And hug that Syren in her twined Armes!
The sprightly voice of sinew-strengthning Pleasure
Can lend my bedrid soule both legs and leisure.
3
If blazing Honour chance to fill my veines
With flattring warmth, and flash of Courtly fire,
My soule can take a pleasure in her paines;
My loftie strutting steps disdaine to tire:
My antick knees can turne upon the hinges
Of Complement, and skrue a thousand Cringes.
4
But when I come to Thee, my God, that art
The royall Mine of everlasting Treasure,
The reall Honour of my better part,
And living Fountaine of eternall pleasure,
How nervelesse are my limbs! how faint, and slow!
I have nor wings to flie, nor legs to go.
5
So when the streames of swift-foot Rhene convay
Her upland Riches to the Belgick shore;
The idle vessell slides the watry lay,
Without the blast, or tug, of wind, or Oare;
Her slippry keele divides the silver foame
With ease; So facile is the way from home.
6
But when the home-bound vessell turnes her sailes
Against the brest of the resisting streame,
O then she slugs; nor Saile, nor Oare prevailes;
The Streame is sturdy, and her Tides extreme:
Each stroke is losse, and ev'ry Tug is vaine;
A Boat-lengths purchase is a League of paine.
7
Great All in All, that art my Rest, my Home,
My way is tedious, and my steps are slow;
Reach forth thy helpfull hand, or bid me come;
I am thy child; O teach thy Child to go:
Conjoyne thy sweet commands to my desire,
And I will venture, though I fall or tire.
S. AUGUST. Ser. 15 de Verb. Apost.
Be alwayes displeased at what thou art, if thou desirest to attaine to what
thou art not: For where thou hast pleas'd thy selfe, there thou abidest: But if
thou sayest, I have enough, thou perishest: Alwayes add, alwayes walke, alwayes
proceed; neither stand still, nor go backe, nor deviate: He that stands still,
proceeds not; He goes back, that continues not: He deviates, that revolts: He
goes better that creepes, in his way, than he that runs, out of his way.
EPIGRAM 3.
[Feare not, my soule, to lose for want of cunning]
Feare not, my soule, to lose for want of cunning;
Weepe not; heav'n is not alwayes got by running:
Thy thoughts are swift, although thy legs be slow;
True love will creepe, not having strength to go.
