Pia Desideria or, Divine Addresses, In Three Books. Illustrated with XLVII. Copper-Plates. Written in Latin by Herm. Hugo. Englished by Edm. Arwaker ... The Fourth Edition, Corrected |
 |
|
| 1. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 2. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| 3. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
 | Pia Desideria |  |
27
V.
Remember, I beseech thee, that thou hast made me as the Clay, and wilt thou bring me into Dust again?
Job x. 9.
Has
Providence regard to things below?
Or does it slight what it's not pleas'd to know?
That the great Author of this brittle Frame
Forgets from what Original it came?
Or does it slight what it's not pleas'd to know?
That the great Author of this brittle Frame
Forgets from what Original it came?
Ages, to Thee are but as yesterday:
And canst thou, Lord, forget thy humble Clay?
Form'd with a touch, and quick'ned with a breath;
In one short moment made, and doom'd to death.
If thou hast this forgot, receive from me
The strange relation of the History.
When this great Fabrick of the World was rear'd,
And its Orig'nal Nothing disappear'd,
Then, in the close of the Sixth busie day,
Thou with a glance didst the whole Work survey;
And pleas'd with that fair product of thy Pow'r,
Wou'dst copy't o'er again in Miniature;
Then was with all the Art of Heav'n design'd,
The mortal Image of th'immortal Mind.
Blest Eden was the place which gave him Birth,
And as he lightly leapt from Mother Earth,
Pleas'd Heav'n and Nature smiling greet his rise,
And bid him welcome into Paradise.
Hard by a silver Stream did gently pass,
Stealing its secret Path along the Grass;
But soon its head-strong Waves more fiercely hurl'd,
To view the New-born Master of the World:
Thence in four streams to distant Regions stray,
And bear the wondrous Tidings wide away.
Here from a Lump of despicable Earth,
Had Man (the less, but Nobler World) his Birth;
The Nobler, since in his small Frame we view
At once the World and its Creator too.
And canst thou, Lord, forget thy humble Clay?
Form'd with a touch, and quick'ned with a breath;
In one short moment made, and doom'd to death.
If thou hast this forgot, receive from me
The strange relation of the History.
When this great Fabrick of the World was rear'd,
And its Orig'nal Nothing disappear'd,
Then, in the close of the Sixth busie day,
Thou with a glance didst the whole Work survey;
And pleas'd with that fair product of thy Pow'r,
Wou'dst copy't o'er again in Miniature;
28
The mortal Image of th'immortal Mind.
Blest Eden was the place which gave him Birth,
And as he lightly leapt from Mother Earth,
Pleas'd Heav'n and Nature smiling greet his rise,
And bid him welcome into Paradise.
Hard by a silver Stream did gently pass,
Stealing its secret Path along the Grass;
But soon its head-strong Waves more fiercely hurl'd,
To view the New-born Master of the World:
Thence in four streams to distant Regions stray,
And bear the wondrous Tidings wide away.
Here from a Lump of despicable Earth,
Had Man (the less, but Nobler World) his Birth;
The Nobler, since in his small Frame we view
At once the World and its Creator too.
But things of finest texture first decay,
And Heav'n's great Master-piece is brittle Clay;
Ruin'd by that which does its worth advance,
And dash'd to pieces by the least mischance.
And Heav'n's great Master-piece is brittle Clay;
Ruin'd by that which does its worth advance,
And dash'd to pieces by the least mischance.
This frail, this transitory Thing am I,
Who only live, to learn the way to die:
So soon shall Fate to its first Matter turn,
The curious Structure of this living Urn.
Thus China-Vessels, wrought with Art and Pain,
Are, without either, turn'd to Dust again.
Such is th'uncertainty of humane state,
Such the destructive haste of necessary Fate!
Who only live, to learn the way to die:
So soon shall Fate to its first Matter turn,
The curious Structure of this living Urn.
Thus China-Vessels, wrought with Art and Pain,
Are, without either, turn'd to Dust again.
29
Such the destructive haste of necessary Fate!
Why then, my God, does swift-pac'd Time betray,
What of it self's so subject to decay?
All to the Grave, their Centre, freely bend,
And thither, prest with their own weight, descend;
Fate needs not any hasty vi'lence use,
To force a motion, which unurg'd they chuse.
What of it self's so subject to decay?
All to the Grave, their Centre, freely bend,
And thither, prest with their own weight, descend;
Fate needs not any hasty vi'lence use,
To force a motion, which unurg'd they chuse.
Did I the Stars more temper'd matter share,
Till they first fell, I no decay shou'd fear:
Or cou'd I like th'unbody'd Angels be,
Like them, I'd triumph o'er Mortality.
But I, like Insects, sure, derive my Birth
From some Plebeian, putrifying Earth.
Why did not Heav'n an Iron temper grant,
Or hew me from a Rock of Adamant?
Till they first fell, I no decay shou'd fear:
Or cou'd I like th'unbody'd Angels be,
Like them, I'd triumph o'er Mortality.
But I, like Insects, sure, derive my Birth
From some Plebeian, putrifying Earth.
Why did not Heav'n an Iron temper grant,
Or hew me from a Rock of Adamant?
But how dare I with Heav'n expostulate,
Or blame the frailty of my mortal state?
Nor ought prou'd Clay its Potter e'er upbraid,
Nor scorns he that weak Vessel he has made.
Or blame the frailty of my mortal state?
Nor ought prou'd Clay its Potter e'er upbraid,
Nor scorns he that weak Vessel he has made.
Dares the unhappy Clay blaspheme the fingers of its Potter? How so! because the Potter contracting his fingers, and striking the Vessel with his whole hand, it is violently dash'd to pieces.
Rupert. in Jerem. lib. 1. cap. 4.
| Pia Desideria | |