University of Virginia Library

On Psal. 19. 57. Thou art my portion, O Lord.

Distemper'd men, whose Souls are all on fire
For earthly toys, do heighten their desire
By what they reach to; and the more they have,
The less content, the more they still do crave:
Wealth, Honours, Pleasures, all do but enflame
Corrupted Appetites, not fill the same.
As Oil, when thrown upon a raging fire
Quenches it not, but makes the flame rise high'r;
So they in burning Fevers, whilst they think
To cool their heat, encrease it with cold drink.
The best of creatures never were design'd
By their Creator to content the mind,
But are bestow'd to lead us unto him;
We up these Streams should to the Fountain swim:
Only those blessed Souls who place their love
On God himself, and on the Joys above;
That solid satisfaction do attain,
Which others hunt the World for, all in vain.
God is our centre and our place of Rest;
He fills alone the most enlarged breast.
He who enjoys him always, of excess
Will ne're complain; nor he of emptiness
Who doth enjoy him fully: Once but tast
His sweetest goodness, and thou ne're wilt wast
Thy time, or love thy serious thought or pains
Of things that merit not the name of gains:
Him thou wilt make thy Portion and thy Lot;
Nor spend thy Coin for that which profits not:
In him are heighths and depths of good, to move
And satisfy his peoples boundless love.