 | Poetick Miscellanies of Mr John Rawlet |  |
77
On the Rain that fell in June ---81. after a long Drought, from the beginning of April; begun in my Journey.
Whilst, gracious Lord, thy Creatures all around,Give thee what praise they can, shall Man be found
The only sensless, dull and silent Thing?
Shall he be mute, whilst ev'n the Fields do sing?
Their pleasedness is in their Colour seen;
How soon the parched Earth looks fresh and green!
The thankful Corn its head doth humbly bend,
Flow'rs and Herbs, sweet Odors heaven-ward send.
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And thereby chide and shame Mans murmuring,
Now use their utmost Art, and strain their Throats,
To warble forth their sweet melodious Notes.
The duller Beasts hear this, and straightway they,
As dancing to this Musick, Frisk and Play.
A noble gratitude they teach, whilst for these showrs,
They thankful are, whose benefit is ours.
And what, shall we, who more receive than they,
And more can render, shall not we repay
Those thanks to which the lower Creatures all,
As well as our Creator, do us call?
And both we disobey, and both we wrong,
If we with all the rest joyn not our Song.
Since they by us, their Praises send to Hea'vn;
By us, who know all good Things thence are giv'n.
And who with Speech and Reason were indu'd;
First to conceive, then shew our Gratitude.
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Which these enriching Showers doth dispence.
That to the languishing and parched Earth,
And dying Grain and Herbs gives life and birth.
The thirsty Fields which could no moisture get
From Springs or Rivers, are refresht with wet,
In such a way, as would mirac'lous seem,
Did not the commonness abate esteem.
What makes the Vapours to ascend on high,
And there condense to Clouds, that fill the Sky?
What makes those hollow Clouds strong to contain
Within their Wombs vast Treasuries of Rain?
And what supports them, when thus weighty grown,
To keep them from a sudden tumbling down?
Justly we may applaud, justly admire
The Chymistry of that Cœlestial Fire,
Which from salt Seas fresh Vapors doth extract;
Like thanks and wonder doth that Art exact,
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And breaks, and parcels them in drops so small;
Which on the Earth, whilst gently they distil,
Revive those Fruits, which Flouds and Spouts would kill.
Thus, Lord, thy Works thy Glory do proclaim;
Both Heav'n and Earth conspire to praise thy Name.
Ev'n every pile of Grass, and every Show'r
Which makes that Grass to grow, doth shew thy Pow'r.
No less they shew thy Bounty to us all,
On whom thy Sun doth shine, thy Rain doth fall.
How wondrous is that Bounty which renews
Daily those Gifts, which daily we abuse?
Mercy is thy delight: O, teach us more
To imitate that Mercy we adore.
And whilst the Earth improves the Sun and Rain,
Let us not still receive thy Gifts in vain.
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And holy Fruits unto perfection brought:
Such Fruits as may our Benefactor please,
Who sends these Gifts, and greater Gifts than these.
He gave his Son, his Son did shed his Blood;
By goodness, God designs to make us good:
And this design his Goodness doth pursue,
Whilst he affords the rich and heavenly Dew,
Of's Word and Grace, to quicken and renew
Our thirsty Souls. O God, thou art all Love;
On this alone we live here, and above.
This doth preserve that Life, which first it gave;
From this the comforts of our Life we have.
This now gives Grace, and Glory hath prepar'd;
By this we Work, from this have our reward.
And since this Love, with blessings fills our days,
Lord give us Hearts as full of Love and Praise.
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To pious Actions, and to grateful Songs.
And as each Moment brings from God above
Mercy through which we live, and breathe, and move;
So, Lord, let every pulse, and every Breath,
And every action praise Thee until Death,
Which stops that Breath, our Souls shall thither raise,
Where love's our Life, and all our Work is praise.
And, what Crowns all, where Death shall not destroy
This blessed Life of Love and Praise, and Joy.
| Poetick Miscellanies of Mr John Rawlet | |