MAN. WEIGHING the steadfastness and state Of some mean things which here below reside, Where birds, like watchful clocks, the noiseless date And intercourse of times divide, Where bees at night get home and hive, and flowers, Early as well as late, Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers; I would, said I, my God would give And no new business breaks their peace: Yet Solomon was never dressed so fine. Man hath still either toys or care: He hath no root, nor to one place is tied, But, ever restless and irregular, About this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where : He says it is so far That he hath quite forgot how to go there. He knocks at all doors, strays and roams; Nay, hath not so much wit as some stones have, Which, in the darkest nights, point to their homes, By some hid sense their Maker gave. Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest God ordered motion, but ordained no rest. HENRY VAUGHAN. THE PULLEY. HEN God at first made man, WHEN Having a glass of blessings standing by; Let us, said He, pour on him all We can : Let the world's riches which dispersed lie So strength first made a way, Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure: For if I should, said He, Bestow this jewel also on my creature, Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness: GEORGE HERBERT. I THE COLLAR. STRUCK the board, and cried, 'No more! What! shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free, free as the road, Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn Is the year only lost to me? Have I no bays to crown it? No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted? Not so, my heart; but there is fruit, Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures. Leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. I will abroad. Call in thy death's-head there. Tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need Deserves his load.' But as I raved, and grew more fierce and wild Methought I heard one calling, 'Child!' GEORGE Herbert. JOY IN SORROW. 'As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.' IVE me thy joy in sorrow, gracious Lord, GIV And sorrow's self shall like to joy appear! Although the world should waver in its sphere I tremble not, if Thou thy peace afford. But, Thou withdrawn, I am but as a chord That vibrates to the pulse of hope and fear; Nor rest I more than harps which to the air Must answer when we place their tuneful board Against the blast, which thrill unmeaning woe Even in their sweetness. So no earthly wing E'er sweeps me but to sadden. Oh, place Thou My heart beyond the World's sad vibrating: And where but in Thyself? Oh, circle me, That I may feel no touches save of Thee. CHAUNCY HARE TOWNSHEND. FIVE SONNETS FROM WITHIN AND WITHOUT. I. O thou into thy closet; shut thy door; And pray to Him in secret: He will hear. But think not thou, by one wild bound, to clear The numberless ascensions, more and more, Of starry stairs that must be climbed, before Thou comest to the Father's likeness near; And bendest down to kiss the feet so dear That, step by step, their mounting flights passed o'er. Be thou content if on thy weary need There falls a sense of showers and of the spring; A hope, that makes it possible to fling Sickness aside, and go and do the deed; II. Hark, hark, a voice amid the quiet intense! It is thy Duty waiting thee without. Rise from thy knees in hope, the half of doubt; |