Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 80

BURIAL.

1 O thou! the first-fruits of the dead, And their dark bed, When I am cast into that deep And senseless sleep, The wages of my sin, O then, Thou great Preserver of all men, Watch o'er that loose And empty house, Which I sometime lived in!

2 It is in truth a ruined piece, Not worth thy eyes; And scarce a room, but wind and rain Beat through and stain The seats and cells within; Yet thou, Led by thy love, wouldst stoop thus low, And in this cot, All filth and spot, Didst with thy servant inn.

3 And nothing can, I hourly see, Drive thee from me.

Thou art the same, faithful and just, In life or dust.

Though then, thus crumbed, I stray In blasts, Or exhalations, and wastes, Beyond all eyes, Yet thy love spies That change, and knows thy clay.

4 The world's thy box: how then, there tossed, Can I be lost?

But the delay is all; Time now Is old and slow; His wings are dull and sickly.

Yet he Thy servant is, and waits on thee.

Cut then the sum, Lord, haste, Lord, come, O come, Lord Jesus, quickly!

'And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first-fruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.'--ROM. viii. 23.

CHEERFULNESS.

1 Lord, with what courage and delight I do each thing, When thy least breath sustains my wing!

I s.h.i.+ne and move Like those above, And, with much gladness Quitting sadness, Make me fair days of every night.

2 Affliction thus mere pleasure is; And hap what will, If thou be in't,'tis welcome still.

But since thy rays In sunny days Thou dost thus lend, And freely spend, Ah! what shall I return for this?

3 Oh that I were all soul! that thou Wouldst make each part Of this poor sinful frame pure heart!

Then would I drown My single one; And to thy praise A concert raise Of hallelujahs here below.

THE Pa.s.sION.

1 O my chief good!

My dear, dear G.o.d!

When thy blest blood Did issue forth, forced by the rod, What pain didst thou Feel in each blow!

How didst thou weep, And thyself steep In thy own precious, saving tears!

What cruel smart Did tear thy heart!

How didst thou groan it In the spirit, O thou whom my soul loves and fears!

2 Most blessed Vine!

Whose juice so good I feel as wine, But thy fair branches felt as blood, How wert thou pressed To be my feast!

In what deep anguish Didst thou languis.h.!.+

What springs of sweat and blood did drown thee!

How in one path Did the full wrath Of thy great Father Crowd and gather, Doubling thy griefs, when none would own thee!

3 How did the weight Of all our sins, And death unite To wrench and rack thy blessed limbs!

How pale and b.l.o.o.d.y Looked thy body!

How bruised and broke, With every stroke!

How meek and patient was thy spirit!

How didst thou cry, And groan on high, 'Father, forgive, And let them live!

I die to make my foes inherit!'

4 O blessed Lamb!

That took'st my sin, That took'st my shame, How shall thy dust thy praises sing?

I would I were One hearty tear!

One constant spring!

Then would I bring Thee two small mites, and be at strife Which should most vie, My heart or eye, Teaching my years In smiles and tears To weep, to sing, thy death, my life.

RULES AND LESSONS.

1 When first thy eyes unvail, give thy soul leave To do the like; our bodies but forerun The spirit's duty. True hearts spread and heave Unto their G.o.d, as flowers do to the sun.

Give him thy first thoughts then; so shalt thou keep Him company all day, and in him sleep.

2 Yet never sleep the sun up. Prayer should Dawn with the day. There are set, awful hours 'Twixt Heaven and us. The manna was not good After sun-rising; far-day sullies flowers.

Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut, And heaven's gate opens when this world's is shut.

3 Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush And whispers amongst them. There's not a spring Or leaf but hath his morning-hymn. Each bush And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not sing?

Oh, leave thy cares and follies! go this way, And thou art sure to prosper all the day.

4 Serve G.o.d before the world; let him not go Until thou hast a blessing; then resign The whole unto him, and remember who Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did s.h.i.+ne; Pour oil upon the stones; weep for thy sin; Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.

5 Mornings are mysteries; the first world's youth, Man's resurrection and the future's bud Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth Is styled their star, the stone, and hidden food.

Three blessings wait upon them, two of which Should move. They make us holy, happy, rich.

6 When the world's up, and every swarm abroad, Keep thou thy temper; mix not with each clay; Despatch necessities; life hath a load Which must be carried on, and safely may.

Yet keep those cares without thee, let the heart Be G.o.d's alone, and choose the better part.

7 Through all thy actions, counsels, and discourse, Let mildness and religion guide thee out; If truth be thine, what needs a brutish force?

But what's not good and just ne'er go about.

Wrong not thy conscience for a rotten stick; That gain is dreadful which makes spirits sick.

8 To G.o.d, thy country, and thy friend be true; If priest and people change, keep thou thy ground.

Who sells religion is a Judas Jew; And, oaths once broke, the soul cannot be sound.

The perjurer's a devil let loose: what can Tie up his hands that dares mock G.o.d and man?

9 Seek not the same steps with the crowd; stick thou To thy sure trot; a constant, humble mind Is both his own joy, and his Maker's too; Let folly dust it on, or lag behind.

A sweet self-privacy in a right soul Outruns the earth, and lines the utmost pole.

10 To all that seek thee bear an open heart; Make not thy breast a labyrinth or trap; If trials come, this will make good thy part, For honesty is safe, come what can hap; It is the good man's feast, the prince of flowers, Which thrives in storms, and smells best after showers.

11 Seal not thy eyes up from the poor, but give Proportion to their merits, and thy purse; Thou may'st in rags a mighty prince relieve, Who, when thy sins call for't, can fence a curse.

Thou shalt not lose one mite. Though waters stray, The bread we cast returns in fraughts one day.

12 Spend not an hour so as to weep another, For tears are not thine own; if thou giv'st words, Dash not with them thy friend, nor Heaven; oh, smother A viperous thought; some syllables are swords.

Unbitted tongues are in their penance double; They shame their owners, and their hearers trouble.

13 Injure not modest blood, while spirits rise In judgment against lewdness; that's base wit That voids but filth and stench. Hast thou no prize But sickness or infection? stifle it.

Who makes his jest of sins, must be at least, If not a very devil, worse than beast.