Divine Poems Written By Thomas Washbourne |
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Upon his walking one day abroad, when sometimes the Sun shone warm, an sometimes the winde blew cold on him.
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 | Divine Poems |  |
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Upon his walking one day abroad, when sometimes the Sun shone warm, an sometimes the winde blew cold on him.
This emblem's forth the world aright,
Which now shines on me hot and bright,
Now it blowes cold on me,
But ne're wil constant be;
Tis just like the weather,
Hot and cold together.
One while it mee with many favours crownes,
Anon it stabs me with as many frownes.
Which now shines on me hot and bright,
Now it blowes cold on me,
But ne're wil constant be;
Tis just like the weather,
Hot and cold together.
One while it mee with many favours crownes,
Anon it stabs me with as many frownes.
Why do I then my trust put in it,
Seeing it varies every minute?
I may goe court the moon,
And stop her course, as soon
As bind the world to stay
My faithful friend a day.
If it be so inconstant, I intend
To seek out if I can, a surer friend.
Seeing it varies every minute?
I may goe court the moon,
And stop her course, as soon
As bind the world to stay
My faithful friend a day.
If it be so inconstant, I intend
To seek out if I can, a surer friend.
But where is he? Not here below,
Where Sun doth shine, and wind doth blow,
But in the heaven above,
There do I fix my love
On one that changeth never,
Being the same for ever;
It is my God who is so fast a friend,
That whom he loves, he loves unto the end.
Where Sun doth shine, and wind doth blow,
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There do I fix my love
On one that changeth never,
Being the same for ever;
It is my God who is so fast a friend,
That whom he loves, he loves unto the end.
What though sometimes he seems to frowne,
And with rough winds to blow me down?
The fault's not his, but mine,
For he would alwaies shine
On me; 'tis I that change,
My sins make him look strange;
Yet under his bent brow I may discover
Some smiling glances which betray a lover,
And with rough winds to blow me down?
The fault's not his, but mine,
For he would alwaies shine
On me; 'tis I that change,
My sins make him look strange;
Yet under his bent brow I may discover
Some smiling glances which betray a lover,
Shewing that he desires no more,
But that I be as heretofore;
For 'tis his only aime,
To make me stil the same
To him, that he may be
The very same to me.
Lord, let me thy unchanging favour find,
I shall not need the Sun, nor fear the wind.
But that I be as heretofore;
For 'tis his only aime,
To make me stil the same
To him, that he may be
The very same to me.
Lord, let me thy unchanging favour find,
I shall not need the Sun, nor fear the wind.
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