 | Men-Miracles |  |
To my Lord C. An. 1640.
Our feares are shortned now, and while eyes,Mourne a set Sun, we see another rise.
Your bright approach cleares all, and forbids they
Should dread a Night, who doe but change their day.
Know your great Father is supply'd in you,
The Casket's lost, yet we the Jewell view.
We misse not the Perfections, but their Place,
Tis the same Beauty in another Face,
You keepe the Seale still each your Act hath in't,
Something that savours Royall, like that Print.
Your just wills law, and your command-due Taxe,
And still you stampe Decrees, though not in wax.
We begge of you we may the danger beare,
Since the same Starre moves in another Spheare;
82
Since the pure Current runties in Christall still.
If not our Teares most willingly obey,
You may command each droppe into a Sea.
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