18 So doth the deep and wide sea, wherein are Innumerable creeping things, both small And great; there ships go, and the shipmen's fear, 19 These all upon thee wait, that thou mayst feed 20 When thou dost hide thy face, (thy face which keeps All things in being,) they consume and mourn: When thou withdraw'st their breath their vigour And they to dust return. [sleeps, 21 Thou send'st thy Spirit forth, and they revive, 22 Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole stage 23 Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breath 24 I'll spice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word Gather true comforts; but the wicked liver Shall be consumed. O my soul, bless thy Lord! THE TIMBER. 1 Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodged in thy living bowers. 2 And still a new succession sings and flies; Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches Towards the old and still-enduring skies, While the low violet thrives at their root. 3 But thou, beneath the sad and heavy line [shoot Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark; Where not so much as dreams of light may shine, Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark. 4 And yet, as if some deep hate and dissent, Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, Were still alive, thou dost great storms resent, Before they come, and know'st how near they be. 5 Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath 6 So murdered man, when lovely life is done, And his blood freezed, keeps in the centre still Some secret sense, which makes the dead blood run At his approach that did the body kill. 7 And is there any murderer worse than sin? Or any storms more foul than a lewd life? Or what resentient can work more within Than true remorse, when with past sins at strife? 8 He that hath left life's vain joys and vain care, 9 But though thus dead unto the world, and ceased Yet grief and old wounds make him sore displeased, 10 For though he should forsake the world, and live 11 But as shades set off light, so tears and grief, Though of themselves but a sad blubbered story, By showing the sin great, show the relief Far greater, and so speak my Saviour's glory. 12 If my way lies through deserts and wild woods, Where all the land with scorching heat is cursed; 13 Blest showers they are, and streams sent from above; Than upper springs, and none else make them grow. 14 But these chaste fountains flow not till we die. Some drops may fall before; but a clear spring And ever running, till we leave to fling Dirt in her way, will keep above the sky. 'He that is dead is freed from sin.'-ROM. vi. 7. 1 2 3 Of your Deliverer comes, And that long frost which now benumbs Your hearts shall thaw; when angels here Shall yet to man appear, And familiarly confer Beneath the oak and juniper; When the bright Dove, Which now these many, many springs Shall with spread wings Descend, and living waters flow Oh, then, that I Might live, and see the olive bear And, without root and sap, decay; For as your fast and foul decays, Would shine elsewhere, since you were blind, So by all signs Our fulness too is now come in; And the same sun, which here declines And sets, will few hours hence begin Towards old Mamre and Eshcol's brook. Who loved the world so as to give Whose Spirit too doth mourn and grieve From your dark hearts this veil remove. 4 Faith sojourned first on earth in you, You were the dear and chosen stock: The arm of God, glorious and true, Was first revealed to be your rock. 5 You were the eldest child, and when 6 Thus, righteous Father! dost thou deal PALM-SUNDAY. 1 Come, drop your branches, strew the way, Plants of the day! Whom sufferings make most green and gay. Weeping still like the wet morrow, Your shades and freshness comes to borrow. 2 Put on, put on your best array; Let the joyed road make holyday, 289 |