Mel Heliconium :: :: University of Virginia Library

He who hath Faith's swift wings to flye
Out of the labyrinth of sin,
In pride will neither soare too high,
Nor flye too low, lest he fall in
The sea of desperation;
He knows the golden mean is best.
Or if he with the pinion
Of honour flyes; or if he's blest
With Fortunes wing, hee'l alwayes hold
The middle way; and when he flyes
With mounting thoughts, he'l not be bold
In needlesse curiosities.
On that bright lamp he will not stare,
Nor draw too nigh with waxen wings
Of humane reason, but forbear
To pry into transcendent things.
What mortall blear-eye can abide
The splendour of those flaming rayes,
From which the purest Angels hide
Their faces; O who knows his wayes,
Whose light is inaccessible;
Whose paths in the deep waters lye,
Whose wayes are all unsearchable,
Whose judgements no man can discry.
O that I had Faiths nimble wing,
To cut this airy region,
Away how quickly would I spring
Out of this sinfull dungeon;
Where Satan that great Minotaure
Lyes feeding on the souls of men;
Lord let him not my soul devoure,
But raise me out of his black den:
For none can furnish me with wings,
But thou alone, whose mighty pow'r
Exceedeth all created things.
And thou can'st kill the Minotaure.
Lord guide me in my flight, lest I
Should flye too low in vain desire

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Of earthly things, or least too high
In proud conceits my heart aspire.
I crave not honours airy wing,
For golden Feathers I'le not call:
And if I flye not with a King,
Then with a King I shall not fall:
High hils, tall trees, and lofty towers,
To storms and windes are subject more
Then vallies, shrubs, and poor mens bowers;
The mean estate give me therefore.
Each fall doth answer his ascent;
The highest elevations
Of Planets in the firmament,
Have lowest declinations.