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Awake and dress yourself with speed,
From whom all bounty does proceed :
They willingly his voice obey;
10 The earth, the air, the sea, and fire Are subject all to his empire. The heaven it is his dwelling place,
The earth his little footstool low;
Of hearts the secrets He does know;
The Cherubins of substance pure,
And make him daily service sure;
And potent power to declare,
Suspended in the cessile air ; And at her due appointed hours Brings forth most pleasant fruits and flowers. 30 What thing is fiercer than the sea?
More raging than the awful deep?
And doth her bounds and marches keep,
The mighty winds blow to and fro
From every airth by day and night ;
Yet not conceive them with our sight :
Like flocks of fowls the clouds above
Forth fly and cover all the sky;
We wot not where, nor reason why :
He made the sun, a lamp of light,
A well of heat, to shine by day;
And set the stars in good array;
O poets, pagans impudent,
Why worship ye the planets seven ?
On idols and the host of heaven :
He is above Mercurius,
The winds they know not Æolus,
There is no Jupiter but He ;
But, sons of light, ye know the truth ;
Extol the Lord with heart and mind;
OF MY DEAR SON GERVASE BEAUMONT. Can I, who have for others oft compiled The songs of death, forget my sweetest child, Which, like the flower crusht, with a blast is dead, And ere full time hangs down his smiling head, Expecting with clear hope to live anew, Among the angels fed with heavenly dew ? We have this sign of joy, that many days, While on the earth his struggling spirit stays, The name of Jesus in his mouth contains His only food, his sleep, his ease from pains. Oh! may that sound be rooted in my mind, Of which in him such strong effect I find. Dear Lord, receive my son, whose winning love To me was like a friendship, far above The course of nature, or his tender age; . 15 Whose looks could all my bitter griefs assuage ; Let his pure soul, ordained seven years to be In that frail body, which was part of me, Remain my pledge in heaven, as sent to show, How to this port at every step. I go.
20 Sir John Beaumont.
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages :
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ;
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Thou hast finished joy and moan :
Mortality behold and fear !
Here they lie, had realms and lands,
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.
Proclaim how wide your empires are;
As night or day,
Devouring Famine, Plague, and War,
Each able to undo mankind,
He hath at will
15 Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart.