Thalia Rediviva The Pass-times and Diversions of a Countrey-muse, In Choice Poems on several Occasions. With Some Learned Remains of the Eminent Eugenius Philalethes. Never made Publick till now [by Henry Vaughan] |
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| Pious thoughts and Ejaculations. |
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Pious thoughts and Ejaculations.
To his Books.
Bright books! the perspectives to our weak sights:
The clear projections of discerning lights.
Burning and shining Thoughts; man's posthume day:
The track of fled souls, and their Milkie-way.
The dead alive and busie, the still voice
Of inlarg'd Spirits, kind heav'ns white Decoys.
Who lives with you, lives like those knowing flow'rs,
Which in commerce with light, spend all their hours:
Which shut to Clouds, and shadows nicely shun;
But with glad haste unveil to kiss the Sun.
Beneath you all is dark and a dead night;
Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight.
The clear projections of discerning lights.
Burning and shining Thoughts; man's posthume day:
The track of fled souls, and their Milkie-way.
The dead alive and busie, the still voice
Of inlarg'd Spirits, kind heav'ns white Decoys.
Who lives with you, lives like those knowing flow'rs,
Which in commerce with light, spend all their hours:
Which shut to Clouds, and shadows nicely shun;
But with glad haste unveil to kiss the Sun.
Beneath you all is dark and a dead night;
Which whoso lives in, wants both health and sight.
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By sucking you, the wise (like Bees) do grow
Healing and rich, though this they do most slow:
Because most choicely, for as great a store
Have we of Books, as Bees of herbs, or more.
And the great task to try, then know the good:
To discern weeds, and Judge of wholsome Food.
Is a rare, scant performance; for Man dyes
Oft e're 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flyes.
But you were all choice Flow'rs, all set and drest
By old, sage florists, who well knew the best.
And I amidst you all am turn'd a weed!
Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed.
Then thank thy self wild fool, that would'st not be
Content to know—what was to much for thee!
Healing and rich, though this they do most slow:
Because most choicely, for as great a store
Have we of Books, as Bees of herbs, or more.
And the great task to try, then know the good:
To discern weeds, and Judge of wholsome Food.
Is a rare, scant performance; for Man dyes
Oft e're 'tis done, while the bee feeds and flyes.
But you were all choice Flow'rs, all set and drest
By old, sage florists, who well knew the best.
And I amidst you all am turn'd a weed!
Not wanting knowledge, but for want of heed.
Then thank thy self wild fool, that would'st not be
Content to know—what was to much for thee!
Looking back.
Fair, shining Mountains of my pilgrimage,
And flow'ry Vales, whose flow'rs were stars:
The days and nights of my first, happy age;
An age without distast and warrs:
When I by thoughts ascend your Sunny heads,
And mind those sacred, midnight Lights:
By which I walk'd, when curtain'd Rooms and Beds
Confin'd, or seal'd up others sights:
And flow'ry Vales, whose flow'rs were stars:
The days and nights of my first, happy age;
An age without distast and warrs:
When I by thoughts ascend your Sunny heads,
And mind those sacred, midnight Lights:
By which I walk'd, when curtain'd Rooms and Beds
Confin'd, or seal'd up others sights:
O then how bright
And quick a light
Doth brush my heart and scatter night;
Chasing that shade
Which my sins made,
While I so spring, as if I could not fade!
How brave a prospect is a bright Back-side!
Where flow'rs and palms refresh the Eye:
And days well spent like the glad East abide,
Whose morning-glories cannot dye!
And quick a light
Doth brush my heart and scatter night;
Chasing that shade
Which my sins made,
While I so spring, as if I could not fade!
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Where flow'rs and palms refresh the Eye:
And days well spent like the glad East abide,
Whose morning-glories cannot dye!
The Shower.
Waters above! eternal Springs!The dew, that silvers the Doves wings!
O welcom, welcom to the sad:
Give dry dust drink; drink that makes glad!
Many fair Ev'nings, many Flowr's
Sweeten'd with rich and gentle showers
Have I enjoy'd, and down have run
Many a fine and shining Sun;
But never till this happy hour
Was blest with such an Evening-shower!
Discipline.
Fair prince of life, lights living well!Who hast the keys of death and hell!
If the mule man despise thy day,
Put chains of darkness in his way.
Teach him how deep, how various are
The Councels of thy love and care.
When Acts of grace and a long peace
Breed but rebellion and displease;
Then give him his own way and will,
Where lawless he may run until
His own choice hurts him, and the sting
Of his foul sins full sorrows bring.
If Heav'n and Angels, hopes and mirth
Please not the mole so much as Earth:
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And one sad Scheme of hideous hell.
The Ecclipse.
Whither, O whither did'st thou flyWhen I did grieve thine holy Eye?
When thou did'st mourn to see me lost,
And all thy Care and Councels crost.
O do not grieve where e'er thou art!
Thy grief is an undoing smart.
Which doth not only pain, but break
My heart, and makes me blush to speak.
Thy anger I could kiss, and will:
But (O!) thy grief, thy grief doth kill.
Affliction.
O come, and welcom! Come, refine;
For Moors if wash'd by thee, will shine.
Man blossoms at thy touch; and he
When thou draw'st blood, is thy Rose-tree.
Crosses make strait his crooked ways,
And Clouds but cool his dog-star days.
Diseases too, when by thee blest,
Are both restoratives and rest.
For Moors if wash'd by thee, will shine.
Man blossoms at thy touch; and he
When thou draw'st blood, is thy Rose-tree.
Crosses make strait his crooked ways,
And Clouds but cool his dog-star days.
Diseases too, when by thee blest,
Are both restoratives and rest.
Flow'rs that in Sun-shines riot still,
Dye scorch'd and sapless; though storms kill.
The fall is fair ev'n to desire,
Where in their sweetness all expire.
O come, pour on! what calms can be
So fair as storms, that appease thee?
Dye scorch'd and sapless; though storms kill.
The fall is fair ev'n to desire,
Where in their sweetness all expire.
O come, pour on! what calms can be
So fair as storms, that appease thee?
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Retirement.
Fresh
fields and woods! the Earth's fair face,
God's foot-stool, and mans dwelling-place.
I ask not why the first Believer
Did love to be a Country liver?
Who to secure pious content
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent;
Where he might view the boundless skie,
And all those glorious lights on high:
With flying meteors, mists and show'rs,
Subjected hills, trees, meads and Flow'rs:
And ev'ry minute bless the King
And wise Creatour of each thing.
God's foot-stool, and mans dwelling-place.
I ask not why the first Believer
Did love to be a Country liver?
Who to secure pious content
Did pitch by groves and wells his tent;
Where he might view the boundless skie,
And all those glorious lights on high:
With flying meteors, mists and show'rs,
Subjected hills, trees, meads and Flow'rs:
And ev'ry minute bless the King
And wise Creatour of each thing.
I ask not why he did remove
To happy Mamre's holy grove,
Leaving the Citie's of the plain
To Lot and his successless train?
All various Lusts in Cities still
Are found; they are the Thrones of Ill.
The dismal Sinks, where blood is spill'd,
Cages with much uncleanness fill'd.
But rural shades are the sweet fense
Of piety and innocence.
They are the Meek's calm region, where
Angels descend, and rule the sphere:
Where heav'n lyes Leiguer, and the Dove
Duely as Dew, comes from above.
If Eden be on Earth at all,
'Tis that, which we the Country call.
To happy Mamre's holy grove,
Leaving the Citie's of the plain
To Lot and his successless train?
All various Lusts in Cities still
Are found; they are the Thrones of Ill.
The dismal Sinks, where blood is spill'd,
Cages with much uncleanness fill'd.
But rural shades are the sweet fense
Of piety and innocence.
They are the Meek's calm region, where
Angels descend, and rule the sphere:
Where heav'n lyes Leiguer, and the Dove
Duely as Dew, comes from above.
If Eden be on Earth at all,
'Tis that, which we the Country call.
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The Revival.
Unfold, unfold! take in his light,
Who makes thy Cares more short than night.
The Joys, which with his Day-star rise,
He deals to all, but drowsy Eyes:
And what the men of this world miss,
Some drops and dews of future bliss.
Who makes thy Cares more short than night.
The Joys, which with his Day-star rise,
He deals to all, but drowsy Eyes:
And what the men of this world miss,
Some drops and dews of future bliss.
Hark! how his winds have chang'd their note,
And with warm whispers call thee out.
The frosts are past, the storms are gone:
And backward life at last comes on.
The lofty groves in express Joyes
Reply unto the Turtles voice,
And here in dust and dirt, O here
The Lilies of his love appear!
And with warm whispers call thee out.
The frosts are past, the storms are gone:
And backward life at last comes on.
The lofty groves in express Joyes
Reply unto the Turtles voice,
And here in dust and dirt, O here
The Lilies of his love appear!
The Day-spring.
Early, while yet the dark was gay,
And gilt with stars, more trim than day:
Heav'ns Lily, and the Earth's chast Rose:
The green, immortal BRANCH arose;
And in a solitary place
Bow'd to his father his bless'd face.
And gilt with stars, more trim than day:
Heav'ns Lily, and the Earth's chast Rose:
The green, immortal BRANCH arose;
And in a solitary place
Bow'd to his father his bless'd face.
If this calm season pleas'd my Prince,
Whose fullness no need could evince,
Why should not I poor, silly sheep
His hours, as well as practice keep?
Not that his hand is tyed to these,
From whom time holds his transient Lease:
But mornings, new Creations are,
When men all night sav'd by his Care,
Are still reviv'd; and well he may
Expect them grateful with the day.
So for that first drawght of his hand,
Which finish'd heav'n and sea and land,
The Sons of God their thanks did bring,
And all the Morning-stars did sing.
Besides, as his part heretofore
The firstlings were of all, that bore:
So now each day from all he saves,
Their Soul's first thoughts and fruits he craves.
This makes him daily shed and shower
His graces at this early hour;
Which both his Care and Kindness show,
Chearing the good: quickning the slow.
As holy friends mourn at delay,
And think each minute an hour's stay:
So his divine and loving Dove
With longing throws doth heave and move,
And soare about us, while we sleep:
Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep,
And shine; but always without fail
Before the slow Sun can unveile,
In new Compassions breaks like light,
And Morning-looks, which scatter night.
Whose fullness no need could evince,
Why should not I poor, silly sheep
His hours, as well as practice keep?
Not that his hand is tyed to these,
From whom time holds his transient Lease:
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When men all night sav'd by his Care,
Are still reviv'd; and well he may
Expect them grateful with the day.
So for that first drawght of his hand,
Which finish'd heav'n and sea and land,
The Sons of God their thanks did bring,
And all the Morning-stars did sing.
Besides, as his part heretofore
The firstlings were of all, that bore:
So now each day from all he saves,
Their Soul's first thoughts and fruits he craves.
This makes him daily shed and shower
His graces at this early hour;
Which both his Care and Kindness show,
Chearing the good: quickning the slow.
As holy friends mourn at delay,
And think each minute an hour's stay:
So his divine and loving Dove
With longing throws doth heave and move,
And soare about us, while we sleep:
Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep,
And shine; but always without fail
Before the slow Sun can unveile,
In new Compassions breaks like light,
And Morning-looks, which scatter night.
And wilt thou let thy creature be
When thou hast watch'd, asleep to thee?
Why to unwellcome, loath'd surprises
Do'st leave him, having left his vices?
Since these, if suffer'd, may again
Lead back the living, to the slain.
O change this Scourge! or, if as yet
None less will my transgressions fit:
Dissolve, dissolve! death cannot do
What I would not submit unto.
When thou hast watch'd, asleep to thee?
Why to unwellcome, loath'd surprises
Do'st leave him, having left his vices?
Since these, if suffer'd, may again
Lead back the living, to the slain.
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None less will my transgressions fit:
Dissolve, dissolve! death cannot do
What I would not submit unto.
The Recovery.
I
Fair Vessell of our daily light, whose proudAnd previous glories gild that blushing Cloud:
Whose lively fires in swift projections glance
From hill to hill, and by refracted chance
Burnish some neighbour-rock, or tree, and then
Fly off in coy and winged flams agen:
If thou this day
Hold on thy way,
Know, I have got a greater light than thine;
A light, whose shade and back-parts make thee shine.
Then get thee down: then get thee down;
I have a Sun now of my own.
II
Those nicer livers, who without thy RaysStirr not abroad, those may thy lustre praise: (know!)
And wanting light (light, which no wants doth
To thee (weak shiner!) like blind Persians bow;
But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head,
From his own bright, eternal Eye doth shed
One living Ray,
There thy dead day
Is needless, and man to a light made free,
Which shews what thou can'st neither shew, nor see.
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I have a Sun now of my own.
The Nativity.
Peace? and to all the world? sure, one
And he the prince of peace, hath none.
He travels to be born, and then
Is born to travel more agen.
Poor Galile! thou can'st not be
The place for his Nativity.
His restless mother's call'd away,
And not deliver'd, till she pay.
And he the prince of peace, hath none.
He travels to be born, and then
Is born to travel more agen.
Poor Galile! thou can'st not be
The place for his Nativity.
His restless mother's call'd away,
And not deliver'd, till she pay.
A Tax? 'tis so still! we can see
The Church thrive in her misery;
And like her head at Bethlem, rise
When she opprest with troubles, lyes.
Rise? should all fall, we cannot be
In more extremities than he.
Great Type of passions! come what will,
Thy grief exceeds all copies still.
Thou cam'st from heav'n to earth, that we
Might go from Earth to Heav'n with thee.
And though thou found'st no welcom here,
Thou did'st provide us mansions there.
A stable was thy Court, and when
Men turn'd to beasts; Beasts would be Men.
They were thy Courtiers, others none;
And their poor Manger was thy Throne.
No swadling silks thy Limbs did fold,
Though thou could'st turn thy Rags to gold.
No Rockers waited on thy birth,
No Cradles stirr'd: nor songs of mirth;
But her chast Lap and sacred Brest
Which lodg'd thee first, did give thee rest.
The Church thrive in her misery;
And like her head at Bethlem, rise
When she opprest with troubles, lyes.
Rise? should all fall, we cannot be
In more extremities than he.
Great Type of passions! come what will,
Thy grief exceeds all copies still.
Thou cam'st from heav'n to earth, that we
Might go from Earth to Heav'n with thee.
And though thou found'st no welcom here,
Thou did'st provide us mansions there.
A stable was thy Court, and when
Men turn'd to beasts; Beasts would be Men.
They were thy Courtiers, others none;
And their poor Manger was thy Throne.
No swadling silks thy Limbs did fold,
Though thou could'st turn thy Rags to gold.
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No Cradles stirr'd: nor songs of mirth;
But her chast Lap and sacred Brest
Which lodg'd thee first, did give thee rest.
But stay: what light is that doth stream,
And drop here in a gilded beam?
It is thy Star runs page, and brings
Thy tributary Eastern Kings.
Lord! grant some Light to us, that we
May with them find the way to thee.
Behold what mists eclipse the day:
How dark it is! shed down one Ray
To guide us out of this sad night,
And say once more, Let there be Light.
And drop here in a gilded beam?
It is thy Star runs page, and brings
Thy tributary Eastern Kings.
Lord! grant some Light to us, that we
May with them find the way to thee.
Behold what mists eclipse the day:
How dark it is! shed down one Ray
To guide us out of this sad night,
And say once more, Let there be Light.
The true Christmas.
So stick up Ivie and the Bays,
And then restore the heathen ways.
Green will remind you of the spring,
Though this great day denies the thing.
And mortifies the Earth and all
But your wild Revels, and loose Hall.
Could you wear Flow'rs, and Roses strow
Blushing upon your breasts warm Snow,
That very dress your lightness will
Rebuke, and wither at the Ill.
The brightness of this day we owe
Not unto Music, Masque nor Showe:
Nor gallant furniture, nor Plate;
But to the Manger's mean Estate.
His life while here, as well as birth,
Was but a cheek to pomp and mirth;
And all mans greatness you may see
Condemn'd by his humility.
And then restore the heathen ways.
Green will remind you of the spring,
Though this great day denies the thing.
And mortifies the Earth and all
But your wild Revels, and loose Hall.
Could you wear Flow'rs, and Roses strow
Blushing upon your breasts warm Snow,
That very dress your lightness will
Rebuke, and wither at the Ill.
The brightness of this day we owe
Not unto Music, Masque nor Showe:
Nor gallant furniture, nor Plate;
But to the Manger's mean Estate.
His life while here, as well as birth,
Was but a cheek to pomp and mirth;
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Condemn'd by his humility.
Then leave your open house and noise,
To welcom him with holy Joys,
And the poor Shepherd's watchfulness:
Whom light and hymns from Heav'n did bless.
What you abound with, cast abroad
To those that want, and ease your loade.
Who empties thus, will bring more in;
But riot is both loss and Sin.
Dress finely what comes not in sight,
And then you keep your Christmas right.
To welcom him with holy Joys,
And the poor Shepherd's watchfulness:
Whom light and hymns from Heav'n did bless.
What you abound with, cast abroad
To those that want, and ease your loade.
Who empties thus, will bring more in;
But riot is both loss and Sin.
Dress finely what comes not in sight,
And then you keep your Christmas right.
The Request.
O thou! who did'st deny to me
This world's ador'd felicity,
And ev'ry big, imperious lust,
Which fools admire in sinful Dust;
With those fine, subtile twists, that tye
Their bundles of foul gallantry:
Keep still my weak Eyes from the shine
Of those gay things, which are not thine,
And shut my Ears against the noise
Of wicked, though applauded Joys.
For thou in any land hast store
Of shades and Coverts for thy poor,
Where from the busie dust and heat,
As well as storms, they may retreat.
A Rock, or Bush are douny beds,
When thou art there crowning their heads
With secret blessings: or a Tire
Made of the Comforter's live-fire.
And when thy goodness in the dress
Of anger, will not seem to bless:
Yet do'st thou give them that rich Rain,
Which as it drops, clears all again.
This world's ador'd felicity,
And ev'ry big, imperious lust,
Which fools admire in sinful Dust;
With those fine, subtile twists, that tye
Their bundles of foul gallantry:
Keep still my weak Eyes from the shine
Of those gay things, which are not thine,
And shut my Ears against the noise
Of wicked, though applauded Joys.
For thou in any land hast store
Of shades and Coverts for thy poor,
Where from the busie dust and heat,
As well as storms, they may retreat.
A Rock, or Bush are douny beds,
When thou art there crowning their heads
With secret blessings: or a Tire
Made of the Comforter's live-fire.
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Of anger, will not seem to bless:
Yet do'st thou give them that rich Rain,
Which as it drops, clears all again.
O what kind Visits daily pass
'Twixt thy great self and such poor grass,
With what sweet looks doth thy love shine
On those low Violets of thine!
While the tall Tulip is accurst,
And Crowns Imperial dye with thirst.
O give me still those secret meals,
Those rare Repasts, which thy love deals!
Give me that Joy, which none can grieve,
And which in all griefs doth relieve.
This is the portion thy Child begs,
Not that of rust, and rags and dregs.
'Twixt thy great self and such poor grass,
With what sweet looks doth thy love shine
On those low Violets of thine!
While the tall Tulip is accurst,
And Crowns Imperial dye with thirst.
O give me still those secret meals,
Those rare Repasts, which thy love deals!
Give me that Joy, which none can grieve,
And which in all griefs doth relieve.
This is the portion thy Child begs,
Not that of rust, and rags and dregs.
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The World.
Can any tell me what it is? can you,
That wind your thoughts into a Clue
To guide out others, while your selves stay in,
And hug the Sin?
I, who so long have in it liv'd,
That if I might,
In truth I would not be repriev'd:
Have neither sight,
Nor sense that knows
These Ebbs and Flows.
But since of all, all may be said,
And likelines doth but upbraid.
And mock the Truth, which still is lost
In fine Conceits, like streams in a sharp frost:
I will not strive, nor the Rule break
Which doth give Loosers leave to speak.
Then false and foul World, and unknown
Ev'n to thy own:
Here I renounce thee, and resign
Whatever thou can'st say, is thine.
That wind your thoughts into a Clue
To guide out others, while your selves stay in,
And hug the Sin?
I, who so long have in it liv'd,
That if I might,
In truth I would not be repriev'd:
Have neither sight,
Nor sense that knows
These Ebbs and Flows.
But since of all, all may be said,
And likelines doth but upbraid.
And mock the Truth, which still is lost
In fine Conceits, like streams in a sharp frost:
I will not strive, nor the Rule break
Which doth give Loosers leave to speak.
Then false and foul World, and unknown
Ev'n to thy own:
Here I renounce thee, and resign
Whatever thou can'st say, is thine.
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Thou art not Truth; for he that tries
Shall find thee all deceit and lyes.
Thou art not friendship; for in thee
'Tis but the bait of policy.
Which, like a Viper lodg'd in Flow'rs,
Its venom through that sweetness pours.
And when not so, then always 'tis
A fadeing paint; the short-liv'd bliss
Of air and Humour: out and in
Like Colours in a Dolphin's skin.
But must not live beyond one day,
Or Convenience; then away.
Thou art not Riches; for that Trash
Which one age hoords, the next doth wash
And so severely sweep away;
That few remember, where it lay.
So rapid streams the wealthy-land
About them, have at their command:
And shifting channels here restore,
There break down, what they bank'd before.
Thou art not Honour; for those gay
Feathers will wear, and drop away;
And princes to some upstart line
Give new ones, that are full as fine.
Thou art not pleasure; for thy Rose
Upon a thorn doth still repose;
Which if not cropt, will quickly shed;
But soon as cropt, grows dull and dead.
Shall find thee all deceit and lyes.
Thou art not friendship; for in thee
'Tis but the bait of policy.
Which, like a Viper lodg'd in Flow'rs,
Its venom through that sweetness pours.
And when not so, then always 'tis
A fadeing paint; the short-liv'd bliss
Of air and Humour: out and in
Like Colours in a Dolphin's skin.
But must not live beyond one day,
Or Convenience; then away.
Thou art not Riches; for that Trash
Which one age hoords, the next doth wash
And so severely sweep away;
That few remember, where it lay.
So rapid streams the wealthy-land
About them, have at their command:
And shifting channels here restore,
There break down, what they bank'd before.
Thou art not Honour; for those gay
Feathers will wear, and drop away;
And princes to some upstart line
Give new ones, that are full as fine.
Thou art not pleasure; for thy Rose
Upon a thorn doth still repose;
Which if not cropt, will quickly shed;
But soon as cropt, grows dull and dead.
Thou art the sand, which fills one glass,
And then doth to another pass;
And could I put thee to a stay,
Thou art but dust! then go thy way,
And leave me clean and bright, though poor;
Who stops thee, doth but dawb his floor,
And Swallow-like, when he hath done,
To unknown dwellings must be gone!
And then doth to another pass;
And could I put thee to a stay,
Thou art but dust! then go thy way,
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Who stops thee, doth but dawb his floor,
And Swallow-like, when he hath done,
To unknown dwellings must be gone!
Welcom pure thoughts and peaceful hours
Inrich'd with Sunshine and with show'rs;
Welcom fair hopes and holy Cares,
The not to be repented shares
Of time and business: the sure rode
Unto my last and lov'd Abode!
O supreme Bliss!
The Circle, Center and Abyss
Of blessings, never let me miss
Nor leave that Path, which leads to thee:
Who art alone all things to me!
I hear, I see all the long day
The noise and pomp of the broad way;
I note their Course and proud approaches:
Their silks, perfumes and glittering Coaches.
But in the narrow way to thee
I observe only poverty.
And despis'd things: and all along
The ragged, mean and humble throng
Are still on foot, and as they go,
They sigh and say; Their Lord went so!
Inrich'd with Sunshine and with show'rs;
Welcom fair hopes and holy Cares,
The not to be repented shares
Of time and business: the sure rode
Unto my last and lov'd Abode!
O supreme Bliss!
The Circle, Center and Abyss
Of blessings, never let me miss
Nor leave that Path, which leads to thee:
Who art alone all things to me!
I hear, I see all the long day
The noise and pomp of the broad way;
I note their Course and proud approaches:
Their silks, perfumes and glittering Coaches.
But in the narrow way to thee
I observe only poverty.
And despis'd things: and all along
The ragged, mean and humble throng
Are still on foot, and as they go,
They sigh and say; Their Lord went so!
Give me my staff then, as it stood
When green and growing in the Wood.
(Those stones, which for the Altar serv'd,
Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd:)
With this poor stick I'le pass the Foord
As Jacob did; and thy dear word.
As thou hast dress'd it: not as Witt
And deprav'd tastes have poyson'd it:
Shall in the passage be my meat,
And none else will thy Servant eat.
Thus, thus and in no other sort
Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't;
And leaving the wise World their way,
Go through; though Judg'd to go astray.
When green and growing in the Wood.
(Those stones, which for the Altar serv'd,
Might not be smooth'd, nor finely carv'd:)
With this poor stick I'le pass the Foord
As Jacob did; and thy dear word.
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And deprav'd tastes have poyson'd it:
Shall in the passage be my meat,
And none else will thy Servant eat.
Thus, thus and in no other sort
Will I set forth, though laugh'd at for't;
And leaving the wise World their way,
Go through; though Judg'd to go astray.
The Bee.
From fruitful beds and flowry borders
Parcell'd to wastful Ranks and Orders.
Where state grasps more than plain Truth needs
And wholesome Herbs are starv'd by Weeds:
To the wild Woods I will be gone,
And the course Meals of great Saint John.
Parcell'd to wastful Ranks and Orders.
Where state grasps more than plain Truth needs
And wholesome Herbs are starv'd by Weeds:
To the wild Woods I will be gone,
And the course Meals of great Saint John.
When truth and piety are mist
Both in the Rulers and the Priest;
When pity is not cold, but dead,
And the rich eat the Poor like bread;
While factious heads with open Coile
And force first make, then share the spoile:
To Horeb then Elias goes,
And in the Desart grows the Rose.
Hail Christal Fountains and fresh shades,
Where no proud look invades.
No busie worldling hunts away
The sad Retirer all the day:
Haile happy harmless solitude,
Our Sanctuary from the rude
And scornful world: the calm recess
Of faith, and hope and holiness!
Here something still like Eden looks,
Hony in Woods, Julips in Brooks:
And Flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled Sweets
With a chast kiss the cool dew greets.
When the toyls of the Day are done
And the tir'd world sets with the Sun,
Here flying winds and flowing Wells
Are the wise, watchful Hermits Bells;
Their buisie murmurs all the night
To praise or prayer do invite,
And with an awful sound arrest
And piously employ his breast.
Both in the Rulers and the Priest;
When pity is not cold, but dead,
And the rich eat the Poor like bread;
While factious heads with open Coile
And force first make, then share the spoile:
To Horeb then Elias goes,
And in the Desart grows the Rose.
Hail Christal Fountains and fresh shades,
Where no proud look invades.
No busie worldling hunts away
The sad Retirer all the day:
Haile happy harmless solitude,
Our Sanctuary from the rude
And scornful world: the calm recess
Of faith, and hope and holiness!
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Hony in Woods, Julips in Brooks:
And Flow'rs, whose rich, unrifled Sweets
With a chast kiss the cool dew greets.
When the toyls of the Day are done
And the tir'd world sets with the Sun,
Here flying winds and flowing Wells
Are the wise, watchful Hermits Bells;
Their buisie murmurs all the night
To praise or prayer do invite,
And with an awful sound arrest
And piously employ his breast.
When in the East the Dawn doth blush,
Here cool, fresh Spirits the air brush;
Herbs (strait) get up, Flow'rs peep and spread:
Trees whisper praise, and bow the head.
Birds from the shades of night releast
Look round about, then quit the neast,
And with united gladness sing
The glory of the morning's King.
The Hermit hears, and with meek voice
Offers his own up, and their Joys:
Then prays, that all the world may be
Blest with as sweet an unity.
Here cool, fresh Spirits the air brush;
Herbs (strait) get up, Flow'rs peep and spread:
Trees whisper praise, and bow the head.
Birds from the shades of night releast
Look round about, then quit the neast,
And with united gladness sing
The glory of the morning's King.
The Hermit hears, and with meek voice
Offers his own up, and their Joys:
Then prays, that all the world may be
Blest with as sweet an unity.
If sudden storms the day invade,
They flock about him to the shade:
Where wisely they expect the end,
Giving the tempest time to spend;
And hard by shelters on some bough
Hilarion's servant, the sage Crow.
They flock about him to the shade:
Where wisely they expect the end,
Giving the tempest time to spend;
And hard by shelters on some bough
Hilarion's servant, the sage Crow.
O purer years of light, and grace!
The diff'rence is great, as the space
'Twixt you and us: who blindly run
After false-fires, and leave the Sun.
Is not fair Nature of her self
Much richer than dull paint, or pelf?
And are not streams at the Spring-head
More sweet than in carv'd Stone, or Lead?
But fancy and some Artist's tools
Frame a Religion for fools.
The diff'rence is great, as the space
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After false-fires, and leave the Sun.
Is not fair Nature of her self
Much richer than dull paint, or pelf?
And are not streams at the Spring-head
More sweet than in carv'd Stone, or Lead?
But fancy and some Artist's tools
Frame a Religion for fools.
The truth, which once was plainly taught,
With thorns and briars now is fraught.
Some part is with bold Fables spotted,
Some by strange Comments wildly blotted:
And discord (old Corruption's Crest,)
With blood and blame hath stain'd the rest.
So Snow, which in its first descents
A whiteness, like pure heav'n presents,
When touch'd by Man is quickly soil'd
And after trodden down, and spoil'd:
With thorns and briars now is fraught.
Some part is with bold Fables spotted,
Some by strange Comments wildly blotted:
And discord (old Corruption's Crest,)
With blood and blame hath stain'd the rest.
So Snow, which in its first descents
A whiteness, like pure heav'n presents,
When touch'd by Man is quickly soil'd
And after trodden down, and spoil'd:
O lead me, where I may be free
In truth and Spirit to serve thee!
Where undisturb'd I may converse
With thy great self, and there rehearse
Thy gifts with thanks, and from thy store
Who art all blessings, beg much more!
Give me the Wisdom of the Bee,
And her unwearied Industry:
That from the wild Gourds of these days
I may extract Health and thy praise;
Who can'st turn darkness into light,
And in my weakness shew thy might!
In truth and Spirit to serve thee!
Where undisturb'd I may converse
With thy great self, and there rehearse
Thy gifts with thanks, and from thy store
Who art all blessings, beg much more!
Give me the Wisdom of the Bee,
And her unwearied Industry:
That from the wild Gourds of these days
I may extract Health and thy praise;
Who can'st turn darkness into light,
And in my weakness shew thy might!
Suffer me not in any want
To seek refreshment from a Plant.
Thou did'st not set! since all must be
Pluck'd up, whose growth is not from thee.
'Tis not the garden and the Bowrs,
Nor fense and forms that give to flow'rs
Their wholsomness: but thy good will,
Which truth and pureness purchase still.
To seek refreshment from a Plant.
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Pluck'd up, whose growth is not from thee.
'Tis not the garden and the Bowrs,
Nor fense and forms that give to flow'rs
Their wholsomness: but thy good will,
Which truth and pureness purchase still.
Then since corrupt man hath driv'n hence
Thy kind and saving Influence,
And Balm is no more to be had
In all the Coasts of Gilead:
Go with me to the shade and cell,
Where thy best Servants once did dwell.
There let me know thy Will, and see
Exil'd Religion own'd by thee.
For thou can'st turn dark Grots to Halls,
And make Hills blossome like the vales:
Decking their untill'd heads with flow'rs
And fresh delights for all sad hours:
Till from them, like a laden Bee,
I may fly home, and hive with thee.
Thy kind and saving Influence,
And Balm is no more to be had
In all the Coasts of Gilead:
Go with me to the shade and cell,
Where thy best Servants once did dwell.
There let me know thy Will, and see
Exil'd Religion own'd by thee.
For thou can'st turn dark Grots to Halls,
And make Hills blossome like the vales:
Decking their untill'd heads with flow'rs
And fresh delights for all sad hours:
Till from them, like a laden Bee,
I may fly home, and hive with thee.
To Christian Religion.
Farewel thou true and tried Refection
Of the still poor and meek Election!
Farewel Souls Joy, the quickning health
Of Spirits, and their secret wealth!
Farewel my Morning-star, the bright
And dawning looks of the true Light!
O blessed shiner! tell me whither
Thou will be gone, when night comes hither?
A Seer, that observ'd thee in
Thy Course, and watch'd the growth of Sin,
Hath giv'n his Judgment and foretold,
That West-ward hence thy Course will hold:
And when the day with us is done,
There fix, and shine a glorious Sun.
O hated shades and darkness! when
You have got here the Sway agen,
And like unwholsome fogs withstood
The light, and blasted all that's good:
Who shall the happy shepherds be
To watch the next Nativity
Of Truth and brightness, and make way
For the returning, rising day?
O! what year will bring back our bliss,
Or who shall live, when God doth this?
Of the still poor and meek Election!
Farewel Souls Joy, the quickning health
Of Spirits, and their secret wealth!
Farewel my Morning-star, the bright
And dawning looks of the true Light!
O blessed shiner! tell me whither
Thou will be gone, when night comes hither?
A Seer, that observ'd thee in
Thy Course, and watch'd the growth of Sin,
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That West-ward hence thy Course will hold:
And when the day with us is done,
There fix, and shine a glorious Sun.
O hated shades and darkness! when
You have got here the Sway agen,
And like unwholsome fogs withstood
The light, and blasted all that's good:
Who shall the happy shepherds be
To watch the next Nativity
Of Truth and brightness, and make way
For the returning, rising day?
O! what year will bring back our bliss,
Or who shall live, when God doth this?
Thou Rock of Ages, and the Rest
Of all, that for thee are opprest!
Send down the Spirit of thy truth,
That Spirit, which the tender Youth
And first growths of thy Spouse did spread
Through all the world, from one small head!
Then, if to blood we must resist
Let thy mild Dove, and our high Priest
Help us, when man proves false, or frowns,
To bear the Cross, and save our Crowns:
O! honour those, that honour thee!
Make Babes to still the Enemy:
And teach an Infant of few days
To perfect by his death, thy praise!
Let none defile what thou did'st wed,
Nor tear the garland from her head:
But chast and chearful let her dye,
And pretious in the Bridegrooms Eye!
So to thy glory, and her praise
These last shall be her brightest dayes.
Of all, that for thee are opprest!
Send down the Spirit of thy truth,
That Spirit, which the tender Youth
And first growths of thy Spouse did spread
Through all the world, from one small head!
Then, if to blood we must resist
Let thy mild Dove, and our high Priest
Help us, when man proves false, or frowns,
To bear the Cross, and save our Crowns:
O! honour those, that honour thee!
Make Babes to still the Enemy:
And teach an Infant of few days
To perfect by his death, thy praise!
Let none defile what thou did'st wed,
Nor tear the garland from her head:
But chast and chearful let her dye,
And pretious in the Bridegrooms Eye!
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These last shall be her brightest dayes.
Revel. Chap. last, vers. 17.
The Spirit and the Bride say, Come.
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