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with as much of intellectual strength as Thou hast granted me. I have declared the praise of Thy works to the men who will read the evidences of it, so far as my finite spirit could comprehend them in their infinity. My mind endeavoured to its utmost to reach the truth by philosophy; but if anything unworthy of Thee has been taught by me, a worm born and nourished in sin, do Thou teach me that I may correct it. Have I been seduced into presumption by the admirable beauty of Thy works, or have I sought my own glory amongst men in the construction of a work designed for Thine honour? O then graciously and mercifully forgive me; and finally grant me this favour, that this work may never be injurious; but may conduce to Thy glory and the good of souls.

312

IN

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J. KEPLER

STILL LIKE HIS NATIVE STREAM

N glowing youth he stood beside
his native stream, and saw it glide
shewing each gem, beneath its tide,

calm as though nought could break its rest,
reflecting heaven on its breast,

and seeming, in its flow, to be
like candour, peace and piety.

When life began its brilliant dream,

his heart was like his native stream:

the wave-shrined gems could scarcely seem
less hidden than each wish it knew;

its life flowed on as calmly too:
and heaven shielded it from sin,
to see itself reflected in.

He stood beside that stream again,
when years had fled in strife and pain;
he looked for its calm course in vain,-
for storms profaned its peaceful flow,
and clouds o'erhung its crystal brow:
and turning then, he sighed to deem
his heart still like his native stream.

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314

Could we (which we never can)
stretch our lives beyond their span;
beauty like a shadow flies,

and our youth before us dies.
Or would youth and beauty stay,
Love hath wings, and will away.
Love hath swifter wings than Time:
change in love to heaven does climb;
gods, that never change their state,
vary oft their love and hate.

Phyllis! to this truth we owe
all the love betwixt us two:
let not you and I enquire,
what has been our past desire:
on what shepherds you have smil❜d,
or what nymphs I have beguil'd:
leave it to the planets too,
what we shall hereafter do:

for the joys we now may prove,
take advice of present love.

E. WALLER

A TIME FOR EVERY THING

WHEN the crab's fierce constellation

WHE

burns with the beams of the bright sun,

then he that will go out to sow

shall never reap where he did plough;

but instead of corn may rather

the old world's diet, acorns gather.

Who the violet doth love,

must seek her in the flowery grove;
but never when the North's cold wind
the russet fields with frost doth bind.
If in the spring-time (to no end)
the tender vine for grapes we bend,
we shall find none, for only still
Autumn doth the wine-press fill.
Thus for all things, in the world's prime,
the wise God seal'd their proper time,
nor will permit those seasons, he
ordained by turns, should mingled be.
Then, whose wild actions out of season
cross to nature and her reason

315

would by new ways old orders rend,
shall never find a happy end.

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H. VAUGHAN

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ASK

SK me no more where Jove bestows,
when June is past, the fading rose:
for in your beauties orient deep
these flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more, whither do stray
the golden atoms of the day;
for, in pure love, heaven did prepare
those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more, whither doth haste
the nightingale, when May is past;
for in your sweet dividing throat
she winters and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more, where those stars light
that downwards fall in dead of night;
for in your eyes they sit, and there
fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west
the phoenix builds her spicy nest;
for unto you at last she flies

and in your fragrant bosom dies.

T. CAREW

316 THE SHORtness of life and uncertaiNTY OF

RICHES

WHY dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must

quit,

or, what is worse, be left by it?

Why dost thou load thyself, when thou'rt to fly,
O man ordained to die?

Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high,
thou who art under ground to lie?

Thou sow'st and plantest, but no fruit must see,
for Death alas! is reaping thee.

Thou dost thyself wise and industrious deem:
A mighty husband thou would'st seem;
fond man! like a bought slave, thou all the while
dost but for others sweat and toil.

Ev'n aged men, as if they truly were
children again, for age prepare;
provisions for long travel they design
in the last point of their short line.

Wisely the ant against poor winter hoards
the stock which summer's wealth affords ;
in grasshoppers, which must in autumn die,
how vain were such an industry!

317 Of power and honour the deceitful light
might half excuse our cheated sight,

if it of life the whole small time would stay,
and be our sunshine all the day.

Like lightning that begot but in a cloud,
(tho' shining bright and speaking loud)
whilst it begins, concludes its violent race,
and where it gilds, it wounds the place.
O scene of Fortune, which dost fair appear
only to men that stand not near!
proud poverty, that tinsel bravery wears!
and, like a rainbow, painted tears!

Be prudent and the shore in prospect keep,
in a weak boat trust not the deep,
placed beneath envy, above envying rise,
pity great men, great things despise.

The wise example of the heavenly lark
thy fellow-poet, Cowley, mark,

above the clouds let thy proud music sound,
thy humble nest build on the ground.

A. COWLEY

318

SLE

TO A DYING INFANT

LEEP, little baby, sleep! not in thy cradle bed, not on thy mother's breast henceforth shall be thy rest, but quiet with the dead.

Flee, little tender nursling,

flee to thy place of rest!
there the first flowers shall blow,
the first pure flake of snow

shall fall upon thy breast,

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Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
whose flocks supply him with attire ;
whose trees in summer yield him shade,
in winter, fire.

Blest, who can unconcern'dly find
hours, days, and years, slide soft away,
in health of body, peace of mind,
quiet by day,

sound sleep by night: study and ease
together mix'd; sweet recreation,
and innocence, which most doth please
with meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
thus unlamented let me die;

steal from the world, and not a stone
tell where I lie.

320

IF

VERSES TO HIS WIFE

F thou, my love, wert by my side,
my children at my knee,

how gaily would our pinnace glide
o'er Gunga's mimic sea!

A. POPE

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