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TEIGHING the steadfastness and state
reside, Where birds, like watchful clocks, the noiseless date
And intercourse of times divide,
Early as well as late,
I would, said I, my God would give
And no new business breaks their peace :
The flowers without clothes live, 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 says it is so far
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
And passage through these looms
Having a glass of blessings standing by; Let
us, said He, pour on him all We can: Let the world's riches which dispersèd lie
Contract into a span.
So strength first made a way, Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure : When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.
For if I should, said He,
So both should losers be.
Yet let him keep the rest,
I will abroad.
Shall I be still in suit ?
Sure there was wine,
Before my tears did drown it.
Have I no bays to crown it?
All wasted ?
And thou hast hands.
Thy rope of sands
And be thy law,
Away! take heed !
Call in thy death's-head there. Tie up thy fears.
He that forbears
Deserves his load.'
At every word,
JOY IN SORROW.
* As sorrowful, yet always rejoicing.' GIVE 'IVE me thy joy in sorrow, gracious Lord,
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 But, Thou withdrawn, I am but as a chord That vibrates to the pulse of hope and fear; Nor rest I more than harps which to the air Must answer when we place their tuneful board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
And pray to Him in secret : He will hear.