ODE XV.
[Vnsatisfyed with Earth]
1
Vnsatisfyed with Earth
(Where Greife and thousand Troubles intermixe
With some poor seeming Mirth)
I put on wings, and mounting higher, fixe
On fairer obiects. See the great
Rector of nature and the vniverse
His gifts disperse,
In everie kind; and all his bounties meet,
To make a Harmonie compleat.
2
This Power, which Nature rules,
And the whole world, is the great God of Power;
The God, which antique Schooles
Have aymed at; the God which wee Adore;
Whose Misterie, Stupendious height,
Includes the obiect of our Faith alone;
For he were none,
If Reason could vnfold him to our Sight;
And to fraile Sence display that Light.
3
Oh Infinite! beyond the Qvill
Of Nature, or her Servant, to display:
Whose Power is but to will;
To whom, the Earth, the Sea, and Heavens obay;
How shall I dare to bring a verse
Before thy Throne of Glorie? Oh, despise
Not what shall rise
From a full Soule; though Sinfull Lips reherse
The Tenor, doe not shut thy Ears.
4
Oh, doe not shut thy Ears,
Offended with my Song; but let my Zeale
Thy Anger and my Fears
Prevent; let thy indulgent Mercie heale
The boyling vlcer of my Sin.
And yet in Time, repaire the Soon-decay
Of thy wrought Clay;
A despised Shred of mankind, who has bin
Made clean before; oh cleanse agin.
5
Then will I bring to thee
My Himnes of Praise; and Celebrate thy Name,
In the best Poesie,
My humble Thoughts, or Zealous fires can frame;
This, all the Tribute I can bring;
And though it be above all Taske of verse,
I must reherse
Something to thee. The widdow can but fling
Her Mites; nor I, alas, but Sing.
6
Naught have I else to give,
Nor can I give it; onlie thine repay,
Whose breath first made me Live,
And gave me Being, in noe obscure way;
Noe vegetable, Plant, nor Beast,
But noblest of thy Creatures, made me man,
And Christian;
Borne in the Light of Truth, where glories feast
The Soule, in Sempiternall Rest.
7
Thou hast redeeméd Mee
From double Death; and the Strict covenant
Is cancelléd by thee;
Wee have a freedome which old Times did want;
Thou hast secured me from the wombe
Vnto this minute; that I now may praise
For all the Dayes
I have compleated, and the Time to come,
Thy mercie, to the Tombe.
8
Then let my Qvill Aspire
In mightie Numbers, and thy Mercies Sing;
A Himn, the Soule to fire
In ioyfull Rapture. Oh! could frailtie bring
Those liveing heights of Poesie,
Which Fancie faine would flatter witt into;
Here they might flow;
But wee are Silent; all our Streames are Drye;
Our Qvills are Stopt, or Idlye Lye.
9
Yet, will I once assay,
To honour thee, in Straines of humble Rhime.
Suffice it, if I pay
A gratefull Tribute. Hee, who gvides the Time
Expects from Man, some howers t' applye
His worke; indeed his owne. For what wee give
To Him, shall live,
Our richest Store; when our fraile Bodies Dye,
And in the Grave, forgotten lye.
