HEAVENLY LOVE.

And look, at last, how of most wretched wights
He taken was, betray'd, and false accused;

How with most scornful taunts and fell despights

He was revil'd, disgrac'd, and foul abus'd;

How scourg'd, how crown'd, how buffeted, how bruis'd.

And lastly, how 'twixt robbers crucified,

With bitter wounds, through hands, through feet, and side!

Then let thy flinty heart, that feels no pain,

Empierced be with pitiful remorse,

And let thy bowels bleed in every vein

At sight of His most sacred heavenly corse,

So torn and mangled with malicious force;

And let thy soul, whose sins His sorrows wrought,
Melt into tears, and groan in grieved thought.

With sense whereof, whilst so thy soften'd spirit
Is inly toucht, and humbl'd with meek zeal
Through meditation of His endless merit,
Lift up thy mind to th' Author of thy weal,
And to His sovereign mercy do appeal;
Learn Him to love that loved thee so dear,
And in thy breast His blessed image bear.

With all thy heart, with all thy soul and mind,
Thou must Him love, and His behests embrace ;
All other loves with which the world doth blind
Weak fancies, and stir up affections base,
Thou must renounce and utterly displace,
And give thyself unto Him full and free,
That full and freely gave Himself to thee.

Then shalt thou feel thy spirit so possest,
And ravisht with devouring great desire
Of His dear Self, that shall thy feeble breast
Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire
With burning zeal, through every part entire,
That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight,
But in His sweet and amiable sight.

HEAVENLY LOVE.

Thenceforth all World's desire will in thee die,
And all Earth's glory, on which men do gaze,
Seem dirt and dross in thy pure-sighted eye,
Compared to that celestial beauty's blaze,

Whose glorious beams all fleshly sense doth daze
With admiration of their passing light,
Blinding the eyes, and lumining the spright.

Then shall thy ravisht soul inspired be

With heavenly thoughts, far above human skill,
And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainly see
The idea of His pure glory present still
Before thy face, that all thy spirit shall fill

With sweet enragement of celestial love,

Kindled through sight of those fair things above.

Edmund Spenser.

A CAUTION.

WHY fearest thou thy outward foe,
When thou thyself thy harm dost feed?
Of grief, or hurt, or pain, or woe,
Within each thing is sown the seed.

The knotty oak, and wainscot old,
Within doth eat the silly worm ;

E'en so, a mind in envy roll'd
Always within itself doth burn.

Thus everything that Nature wrought
Within itself his hurt doth bear:
No outward harm need to be sought
Where enemies be within so near.

A SIGH.

WHERE all day long in helpless cares,
All hopeless of relief,

I wish for night, I might not see
The objects of my grief.

And when night comes, woes keep my wits

In such a waking vein,

That I could wish, though to my grief,
That it were day again.

My sun is turn'd into a shade,

Or else mine eyes are blind,

That Sorrow's cloud makes all seem dark

That comes into my mind;

My youth to age; or else because

My comforts are so cold,

My sorrow makes me in conceit

To be decrepit, old,—

My hopes to fears; or else because

My fortunes are forlorn,

My fancy makes me make myself

Unto myself a scorn.

Nicholas Breton.

IF right be ract and overrun,

And power take part with open wrong,
If fear by force do yield too soon,
The lack is like to last too long.

If God for good shall be unplaced,
If right for riches lose his shape,
If world for wisdom be embraced,
The guess is great much hurt may hap.

THE MEAN ESTATE THE HAPPIEST.

Among good things I prove and find
The quiet life doth most abound,
And sure to the contented mind

There is no riches may be found.

For riches hates to be content,
Rule is enemy to quietness,
Power is most unpatient,

And seldom likes to live in peace.

I heard a herdsman once compare
That quiet nights he had more slept,
And had more merry days to spare,
Than he who owned the beast he kept.

I would not have it thought hereby,
The dolphin swim I mean to teach,
Nor yet to learn the falcon fly,

I row not so far past my reach.

But as my part above the rest,

Is well to wish and well to will, So till my breath do fail my breast, I will not cease to wish you still.

From Tottle's Miscellany.