Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 82

1 I saw eternity the other night, Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm, as it was bright; And round beneath it, time, in hours, days, years, Driven by the spheres, Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world And all her train were hurled.

The doting lover in his quaintest strain Did there complain; Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, Wit's sour delights; With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, Yet his dear treasure, All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour Upon a flower.

2 The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe, Like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow, He did nor stay, nor go; Condemning thoughts, like sad eclipses, scowl Upon his soul, And clouds of crying witnesses without Pursued him with one shout.

Yet digged the mole, and, lest his ways be found, Worked under ground, Where he did clutch his prey. But one did see That policy.

Churches and altars fed him; perjuries Were gnats and flies; It rained about him blood and tears; but he Drank them as free.

3 The fearful miser on a heap of rust Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust His own hands with the dust, Yet would not place one piece above, but lives In fear of thieves.

Thousands there were as frantic as himself, And hugged each one his pelf; The downright epicure placed heaven in sense, And scorned pretence; While others, slipped into a wide excess, Said little less; The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave, Who think them brave, And poor, despised truth sat counting by Their victory.

4 Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, And sing and weep, soared up into the ring; But most would use no wing.

'O fools,' said I,'thus to prefer dark night Before true light!

To live in grots and caves, and hate the day Because it shows the way, The way, which from this dead and dark abode Leads up to G.o.d, A way where you might tread the sun, and be More bright than he!'

But, as I did their madness so discuss, One whispered thus, 'This ring the bridegroom did for none provide, But for his bride.'

'All that is in the world, the l.u.s.t of the flesh, the l.u.s.t of the eye, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world pa.s.seth away, and the l.u.s.ts thereof; but he that doeth the will of G.o.d abideth for ever.'--1 JOHN ii. 16, 17.

THE CONSTELLATION.

1 Fair, ordered lights, whose motion without noise Resembles those true joys, Whose spring is on that hill where you do grow, And we here taste sometimes below.

2 With what exact obedience do you move, Now beneath, and now above!

And in your vast progressions overlook The darkest night and closest nook!

3 Some nights I see you in the gladsome east, Some others near the west, And when I cannot see, yet do you s.h.i.+ne, And beat about your endless line.

4 Silence and light and watchfulness with you Attend and wind the clue; No sleep nor sloth a.s.sails you, but poor man Still either sleeps, or slips his span.

5 He gropes beneath here, and with restless care, First makes, then hugs a snare; Adores dead dust, sets heart on corn and gra.s.s, But seldom doth make heaven his gla.s.s.

6 Music and mirth, if there be music here, Take up and tune his ear; These things are kin to him, and must be had; Who kneels, or sighs a life, is mad.

7 Perhaps some nights he'll watch with you, and peep When it were best to sleep; Dares know effects, and judge them long before, When the herb he treads knows much, much more.

8 But seeks he your obedience, order, light, Your calm and well-trained flight?

Where, though the glory differ in each star, Yet is there peace still and no war.

9 Since placed by him, who calls you by your names, And fixed there all your flames, Without command you never acted ought, And then you in your courses fought.

10 But here, commissioned by a black self-will, The sons the father kill, The children chase the mother, and would heal The wounds they give by crying zeal.

11 Then cast her blood and tears upon thy book, Where they for fas.h.i.+on look; And, like that lamb, which had the dragon's voice, Seem mild, but are known by their noise.

12 Thus by our l.u.s.ts disordered into wars, Our guides prove wandering stars, Which for these mists and black days were reserved, What time we from our first love swerved.

13 Yet oh, for his sake who sits now by thee All crowned with victory, So guide us through this darkness, that we may Be more and more in love with day!

14 Settle and fix our hearts, that we may move In order, peace, and love; And, taught obedience by thy whole creation, Become an humble, holy nation!

15 Give to thy spouse her perfect and pure dress, Beauty and holiness; And so repair these rents, that men may see And say, 'Where G.o.d is, all agree.'

MISERY.

Lord, bind me up, and let me lie A prisoner to my liberty, If such a state at all can be As an impris'ment serving thee; The wind, though gathered in thy fist, Yet doth it blow still where it list, And yet shouldst thou let go thy hold, Those gusts might quarrel and grow bold.

As waters here, headlong and loose, The lower grounds still chase and choose, Where spreading ail the way they seek And search out every hole and creek; So my spilt thoughts, winding from thee, Take the down-road to vanity, Where they all stray, and strive which shall Find out the first and steepest fall.

I cheer their flow, giving supply To what's already grown too high, And having thus performed that part, Feed on those vomits of my heart.

I break the fence my own hands made Then lay that trespa.s.s in the shade; Some fig-leaves still I do devise, As if thou hadst not ears nor eyes.

Excess of friends, of words, and wine Take up my day, while thou dost s.h.i.+ne All unregarded, and thy book Hath not so much as one poor look.

If thou steal in amidst the mirth And kindly tell me, I am earth, I shut thee out, and let that slip; Such music spoils good fellows.h.i.+p.

Thus wretched I and most unkind, Exclude my dear G.o.d from my mind, Exclude him thence, who of that cell Would make a court, should he there dwell.

He goes, he yields; and troubled sore His Holy Spirit grieves therefore; The mighty G.o.d, the eternal King Doth grieve for dust, and dust doth sing.

But I go on, haste to divest Myself of reason, till oppressed And buried in my surfeits, I Prove my own shame and misery.

Next day I call and cry for thee Who shouldst not then come near to me; But now it is thy servant's pleasure, Thou must and dost give him his measure.

Thou dost, thou com'st, and in a shower Of healing sweets thyself dost pour Into my wounds; and now thy grace (I know it well) fills all the place; I sit with thee by this new light, And for that hour thou'rt my delight; No man can more the world despise, Or thy great mercies better prize.

I school my eyes, and strictly dwell Within the circle of my cell; That calm and silence are my joys, Which to thy peace are but mere noise.

At length I feel my head to ache, My fingers itch, and burn to take Some new employment, I begin To swell and foam and fret within: 'The age, the present times are not To snudge in and embrace a cot; Action and blood now get the game, Disdain treads on the peaceful name; Who sits at home too bears a load Greater than those that gad abroad.'

Thus do I make thy gifts given me The only quarrellers with thee; I'd loose those knots thy hands did tie, Then would go travel, fight, or die.

Thousands of wild and waste infusions Like waves beat on my resolutions; As flames about their fuel run, And work and wind till all be done, So my fierce soul bustles about, And never rests till all be out.

Thus wilded by a peevish heart, Which in thy music bears no part, I storm at thee, calling my peace A lethargy, and mere disease; Nay those bright beams shot from thy eyes To calm me in these mutinies, I style mere tempers, which take place At some set times, but are thy grace.

Such is man's life, and such is mine, The worst of men, and yet still thine, Still thine, thou know'st, and if not so, Then give me over to my foe.

Yet since as easy 'tis for thee To make man good as bid him be, And with one glance, could he that gain, To look him out of all his pain, Oh, send me from thy holy hill So much of strength as may fulfil All thy delights, whate'er they be, And sacred inst.i.tutes in me!

Open my rocky heart, and fill It with obedience to thy will; Then seal it up, that as none see, So none may enter there but thee.

Oh, hear, my G.o.d! hear him, whose blood Speaks more and better for my good!

Oh, let my cry come to thy throne!

My cry not poured with tears alone, (For tears alone are often foul,) But with the blood of all my soul; With spirit-sighs, and earnest groans, Faithful and most repenting moans, With these I cry, and crying pine, Till thou both mend, and make me thine.

MOUNT OF OLIVES.

When first I saw true beauty, and thy joys, Active as light, and calm without all noise, s.h.i.+ned on my soul, I felt through all my powers Such a rich air of sweets, as evening showers, Fanned by a gentle gale, convey, and breathe On some parched bank, crowned with a flowery wreath; Odours, and myrrh, and balm in one rich flood O'erran my heart, and spirited my blood; My thoughts did swim in comforts, and mine eye Confessed, 'The world did only paint and lie.'

And where before I did no safe course steer, But wandered under tempests all the year; Went bleak and bare in body as in mind, And was blown through by every storm and wind, I am so warmed now by this glance on me, That 'midst all storms I feel a ray of thee.

So have I known some beauteous pa.s.sage rise In sudden flowers and arbours to my eyes, And in the depth and dead of winter bring To my cold thoughts a lively sense of spring.

Thus fed by thee, who dost all beings nourish, My withered leaves again look green and flourish; I s.h.i.+ne and shelter underneath thy wing, Where, sick with love, I strive thy name to sing; Thy glorious name! which grant I may so do, That these may be thy praise, and my joy too!

ASCENSION-DAY.

Lord Jesus! with what sweetness and delights, Sure, holy hopes, high joys, and quickening flights, Dost thou feed thine! O thou! the hand that lifts To him who gives all good and perfect gifts, Thy glorious, bright ascension, though removed So many ages from me, is so proved And by thy Spirit sealed to me, that I Feel me a sharer in thy victory!

I soar and rise Up to the skies, Leaving the world their day; And in my flight For the true light Go seeking all the way; I greet thy sepulchre, salute thy grave, That blest enclosure, where the angels gave The first glad tidings of thy early light, And resurrection from the earth and night, I see that morning in thy convert's[1] tears, Fresh as the dew, which but this dawning wears.

I smell her spices; and her ointment yields As rich a scent as the now primrosed fields.

The day-star smiles, and light with the deceased Now s.h.i.+nes in all the chambers of the east.

What stirs, what posting intercourse and mirth Of saints and angels glorify the earth?