Solomon's recantation :: :: University of Virginia Library

Upon the Waters let thy Bread be cast,
And thou shalt find it when some Days are past.
Give lib'ral Alms, for it's unknown to thee
How full of Wants thy after Days shall be.
If Clouds be full, will they deny to pour
Their fruitful Blessings in a lib'ral Show'r?
Or North, or South, or wheresoe'er the Tree
Shall fall, no question it shall fall to thee.
He that observes the Wind shall never sow:
Who marks the Clouds shall never reap nor mow.
Like as the Embryo's growth within their Wombs,
Is strange to thee, and how the Soul becomes
The Body's Inmate; e'en so all the rest
Of Heav'ns high Works are Strangers to thy Breast.
Cast thou thy morning Seed upon the Land,
And at the Evening hold not back thy Hand;
For who is he can tell thee which of these
Shall prosper best, or bring thee best Increase?
'Tis true, the Light is sweet, and every one
Takes pleasure in the World-rejoycing Sun:
But who lives many joyful Years, if he
But count how long his after Shades shall be
In Earths dark Bosom, how can he refrain
To think these short-liv'd flattering Pleasures vain?
Rejoyce O young Man in thy youthful Ways;
Let thy Heart cheer thee in thy youthful Days,
Delight thine Eyes, thy Heart, and take thy Way;
But know that Heavens Account will find a Day.

Then banish false-ey'd Mirth: Be dispossest
Of those lewd Fires that so enflame thy Breast;
For Childhood, Youth, and all their Joys remain
But for a Season, and they all are vain.

SOLILOQUY. XI.

So now my Soul, thy Wisdom-season'd Breast
May eat and drink, and labour and digest
Thy careful Morsels, and with holy Mirth
Disperse the Clouds of melancholy Earth:
Now mayst thou sit beneath thy clustred Vine,
And press thy Grapes, and drink thy frolick Wine
In soft and plenteous Peace, and leave to morrow
To bare the Burden of her self-born Sorrow:
Now mayst thou walk secure from all those Threats
Of peevish Fortune, and the sly Deceits
Of flattering Pleasure: Plenty cannot drown
Thine Eyes in Mirth, nor Misery cast thee down:
If the blew Rafters of the falling Skies
Should leave their spangled Mansion, and surprise
Thy feeble Strength, well may their Ruins smite thee,
And grind thy Clod to Dust, but not affright thee.

What want'st thou then, my Soul, that may augment
The real Happiness of a true Content?
What Virtue's wanting now, whose Absence may
Encourage bold fac'd Vanity to betray
Thy even sun-shine Days to Sorrow; or occasion
Thy fair-contriv'd Designs to taste Vexation?
Woulst thou have Honour? Thou enjoyst it: Treasure?
Thou hast it: Wouldst thou gain the greater Pleasure
Of a true noble Spouse; whose Life may show
Virtues rare Quintessence? Thou hast that too:
Wouldst thou have hopeful Sons to crown thy Last
With Peace and Honour? Such rare Sons thou hast:

Thy Princes Favour? Or thy Peoples Love?
All this thou hast: Wisdom in Things above?
Thou hast it: Knowledge in these Toys beneath?
Thou hast it: Skill in th'Arts? Or curious Breath
Of whispering State? All this thou hast: Where then
Shall thy new Wishes fix, rare Man of Men?

Ay, but my Soul, one Good is wanting still
To sum a full Perfection, and to fill
Thy Cruise with Happiness; which if possest,
Thou hast a Diadem, crowns all the rest:
Hadst thou the Tongues of Men, and couldst thou break
Thy Lips in Oracles; or couldst thou speak
The Dialect of Angels when they sing
Their sacred Canzons to their sovereign King,
A tinkling Cymbal, or the hideous Sounds
Of discomposed Discords, or the Rounds
Of frolick midnight Madness would requite
Thy wild Attention with as much Delight,
And breathe as sweetly in the Almighty's Ear,
If heart-rejoycing Charity be not there:
Hadst thou what Strength the Parnassean Muse
Can bless thy Fancy with, or Heaven infuse;
Hadst thou a Faith to make the Mountains fly
In the vast Orbe, like Atoms in thy Eye;
Less than those Atoms would thy Faith appear,
If Faith-confirming Charity be not there:
Shouldst thou, to purchase Heaven, renounce thy Right
Of all thy Goods, and turn an Anchorite;
Or should thy Courage, to deserve the Name
Of Martyr, give thy Body to the Flame,
When that Blood pleads, Heav'n will not lend an Ear
If Heav'n-engaging Charity be not there.

Since then, my Soul, both Faith and Works lie dead
If Charity fail, be wise, and cast thy Bread
Upon the Waters; as the Waters run
Deal thou thy Dole, until thy Dole be done.
Man is God's Husbandry; if then the Plough
Of careful Want hath struck the furrow'd Brow,

And makes it fit for Seed; hold not thy Hand;
He robs himself that faintly sows the Land:
Stay not for Showers; the Soil if overflown,
Will drown thy Seed corn, and return thee none:
Let not some Weeds discourage thee to sow,
The Plough will root them up; or if they grow
Too sturdy for the Coulter's Point to kill,
Fear not thy Harvest; a hard Winter will.
Cast not lank Grain upon too lean a Ground,
Fair Crops from off all Corn are rarely found.
Sow closly what thou sow'st, and least in Sight,
The Eyes of Doves will make thy Hearvest light:
But stay! Thou mayst surcharge as well as starve
The Soil; but wise Men know what Seed will serve:
Thy Work thus wisely done; What then remains?
Give Heaven th'Glory, and expect the Gains.