Thy gardens and thy goodly walks Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers Quite through the streets with pleasing sound The flood of life doth flow; And on the banks, on every side, The trees of life do grow. These trees each month yield ripened fruit ; And all the nations of the earth Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place I long to see Jerusalem, The comfort of us all; For thou art fair and beautiful, None ill can thee befall. No candle needs, no moon to shine, No glittering star to light; For Christ the King of Righteousness Forever shineth bright. O, passing happy were my state, Might I be worthy found To wait upon my God and King, His praises there to sound! Jerusalem! Jerusalem ! Thy joys fain would I see; Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief, And take me home to thee ! DAVID DICKSON. DROP, DROP, SLOW TEARS. DROP, drop, slow tears, And bathe those beauteous feet Which brought from heaven The news and prince of peace! Cease not, wet eyes, His mercies to entreat; To cry for vengeance Sin doth never cease; In your deep floods Drown all my faults and fears; Nor let his eye See sin but through my tears. PHINEAS FLETCHER. DARKNESS IS THINNING. So that our Master, having mercy on us, This of his mercy, ever-blesséd Godhead, ST. GREGORY THE GREAT (Latin). Translation If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee, The highest honors that the world can boast But dying sparkles of thy living fire; Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares; Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be, In having all things, and not thee, what have I? FRANCIS QUARLES. Time posteth, O, how fast! Unwelcome death makes haste; None can call back what 's past, Judgment delays not; Though God bring in the light, Sinners awake not, Because hell's out of sight, They sin forsake not. Man walks in a vain show; In Christ's sweet meadows. Life's better slept away Than as they use it; In sin and drunken play Vain men abuse it. RICHARD BAXTER. TWO WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE TO Two went to pray? O, rather say, One stands up close and treads on high, One nearer to God's altar trod, The other to the altar's God. RICHARD CRASHAW. THE VALEDICTION. THE silly lambs to-day In a more brutish sort Till life, not well begun Be sadly ended, And the web they have spu Can ne'er be mended. What is the time that 's gone, The present stays not. THE BIRD LET LOOSE. THE bird let loose in eastern skies, But high she shoots through air and light, Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way. So grant me, God, from every care To hold my course to thee! My soul, as home she springs; Thy sunshine on her joyful way, Thy freedom in her wings! THOMAS MOORE. THE PILGRIMAGE GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, My bottle of salvation; Over the silver mountains Where spring the nectar fountains. My soul will be a-dry before, I'll take them first to quench their thirst, At those clear wells where sweetness dwells Then the blest paths we'll travel, To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea, Set on my soul an everlasting head: To tread those blest paths which before I writ. Is it to quit the dish The platter high with fish? Is it to fast an hour, A downcast look, and sour? No! 't is a fast to dole Thy sheaf of wheat, And meat, Unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife, From old debate And hate, To circumcise thy life. To show a heart grief-rent; And that's to keep thy lent. ROBERT HERRICK. I WOULD I WERE AN EXCELLENT DIVINE I WOULD I were an excellent divine This would I be, and would none other be, And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer, For all estates within the state of grace, That careful love might never know despair, Nor servile fear might faithful love deface; And this would I both day and night devise To make my humble spirit's exercise. And I would read the rules of sacred life; Prayer for the health of all that are diseased, NICHOLAS BRETON. Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, ADAM'S MORNING HYMN IN PARADISE. To give us only good; and if the night THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark. Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works; yet these declare PRAISE. Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. To write a verse or two is all the praise Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, fall'st. Moon, that now meets the orient sun, now fliest, That I can raise ; MILTON. Mend my estate in any wayes, I go to church; help me to wings, and I Or, if I mount unto the skie, Man is all weaknesse: there is no such thing His arm is short; yet with a sling A herb destilled, and drunk, may dwell next doore, To a brave soul: Exalt the poore, With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies, O, raise me then! poore bees, that work all day, And ye five other wandering fires that move In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness called up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Sting my delay, Sadly to earth the poor Saint turned, He roamed alone through weary years, Asked God, "Who now is at the door?" DSCHELLALEDDIN RUMI (Persian). Translation PRAYER BY MARY, QUEEN OF HUNGARY. [Translation.] O GOD! though sorrow be my fate, For my heart's faith pursue me, Thou dost anew imbue me; Thou art not far; a little while Thou hid'st thy face with brighter smile Thy father-love to show me. Lord, not my will, but thine, be done; If I sink down When men to terrors leave me, Thy father-love still warms my breast, All's for the best ; Shall man have power to grieve me When bliss eternal is my goal, And thou the keeper of my soul, Who never will deceive me? Thou art my shield, as saith the Word. Christ Jesus, Lord, Thou standest pitying by me, And lookest on each grief of mine As if 't were thine : What then though foes may try me, Though thorns be in my path concealed? World, do thy worst! God is my shield ! And will be ever nigh me. THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. VITAL spark of heavenly flame! Hark! they whisper; angels say, The world recedes; it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears DIES IRE. DAY of wrath, that day of burning, O, what fear it shall engender Trumpet-scattered sound of wonder, All aghast then Death shall shiver, And great Nature's frame shall quiver, When the graves their dead deliver. |