England's Antiphon Part 27

They be all gone like idle dream Suggested from the body's steam.

What's plague and prison? Loss of friends?

War, dearth, and death that all things ends?

Mere bugbears for the childish mind; Pure panic terrors of the blind.

Collect thy soul unto one sphere Of light, and 'bove the earth it rear; Those wild scattered thoughts that erst Lay loosely in the world dispersed, Call in:--thy spirit thus knit in one Fair lucid orb, those fears be gone Like vain impostures of the night, That fly before the morning bright.

Then with pure eyes thou shalt behold How the first goodness doth infold All things in loving tender arms; That deemed mischiefs are no harms, But sovereign salves and skilful cures Of greater woes the world endures; That man's stout soul may win a state Far raised above the reach of fate.

Then wilt thou say, _G.o.d rules the world_, Though mountain over mountain hurled Be pitched amid the foaming main Which busy winds to wrath constrain;

Though pitchy blasts from h.e.l.l up-born Stop the outgoings of the morn, And Nature play her fiery games In this forced night, with fulgurant flames:

All this confusion cannot move The purged mind, freed from the love Of commerce with her body dear, Cell of sad thoughts, sole spring of fear.

Whate'er I feel or hear or see Threats but these parts that mortal be.

Nought can the honest heart dismay Unless the love of living clay,

And long acquaintance with the light Of this outworld, and what to sight Those two officious beams[135] discover Of forms that round about us hover.

Power, wisdom, goodness, sure did frame This universe, and still guide the same.

But thoughts from pa.s.sions sprung, deceive Vain mortals. No man can contrive A better course than what's been run Since the first circuit of the sun.

He that beholds all from on high Knows better what to do than I.

I'm not mine own: should I repine If he dispose of what's not mine?

Purge but thy soul of blind self-will, Thou straight shall see G.o.d doth no ill.

The world he fills with the bright rays Of his free goodness. He displays Himself throughout. Like common air That spirit of life through all doth fare, Sucked in by them as vital breath That willingly embrace not death.

But those that with that living law Be unacquainted, cares do gnaw; Mistrust of G.o.d's good providence Doth daily vex their wearied sense.

Now place me on the Libyan soil, With scorching sun and sands to toil, Far from the view of spring or tree, Where neither man nor house I see;

Commit me at my next remove To icy Hyperborean ove; Confine me to the arctic pole, Where the numb'd heavens do slowly roll; To lands where cold raw heavy mist Sol's kindly warmth and light resists; Where lowering clouds full fraught with snow Do sternly scowl; where winds do blow With bitter blasts, and pierce the skin, Forcing the vital spirits in, Which leave the body thus ill bested, In this chill plight at least half-dead; Yet by an antiperistasis[136]

My inward heat more kindled is; And while this flesh her breath expires, My spirit shall suck celestial fires By deep-fetched sighs and pure devotion.

Thus waxen hot with holy motion, At once I'll break forth in a flame; Above this world and worthless fame I'll take my flight, careless that men Know not how, where I die, or when.

Yea, though the soul should mortal prove, So be G.o.d's life but in me move To my last breath--I'm satisfied A lonesome mortal G.o.d to have died.

This last paragraph is magnificent as any single pa.s.sage I know in literature.

Is it lawful, after reading this, to wonder whether Henry More, the retired, and so far untried, student of Cambridge, would have been able thus to meet the alternations of suffering which he imagines? It is one thing to see reasonableness, another to be reasonable when objects have become circ.u.mstances. Would he, then, by spiritual might, have risen indeed above bodily torture? It is _possible_ for a man to arrive at this perfection; it is absolutely _necessary_ that a man should some day or other reach it; and I think the wise doctor would have proved the truth of his principles. But there are many who would gladly part with their whole bodies rather than offend, and could not yet so rise above the invasions of the senses. Here, as in less important things, our business is not to speculate what we would do in other circ.u.mstances, but to perform the duty of the moment, the one true preparation for the duty to come. Possibly, however, the right development of our human relations in the world may be a more difficult and more important task still than this condition of divine alienation. To find G.o.d in others is better than to grow _solely_ in the discovery of him in ourselves, if indeed the latter were possible.

DEVOTION.

Good G.o.d, when them thy inward grace dost shower Into my breast, How full of light and lively power Is then my soul!

How am I blest!

How can I then all difficulties devour!

Thy might, Thy spright, With ease my c.u.mbrous enemy control.

If thou once turn away thy face and hide Thy cheerful look, My feeble flesh may not abide That dreadful stound; _hour._ I cannot brook Thy absence. My heart, with care and grief then gride, Doth fail, Doth quail; My life steals from me at that hidden wound.

My fancy's then a burden to my mind; Mine anxious thought Betrays my reason, makes me blind; Near dangers drad _dreaded._ Make me distraught; Surprised with fear my senses all I find: In h.e.l.l I dwell, Oppressed with horror, pain, and sorrow sad.

My former resolutions all are fled-- Slipped over my tongue; My faith, my hope, and joy are dead.

a.s.sist my heart, Rather than my song, My G.o.d, my Saviour! When I'm ill-bested.

Stand by, And I Shall bear with courage undeserved smart.

THE PHILOSOPHER'S DEVOTION.

Sing aloud!--His praise rehea.r.s.e Who hath made the universe.

He the boundless heavens has spread, All the vital orbs has kned, _kneaded._ He that on Olympus high Tends his flocks with watchful eye, And this eye has multiplied _suns, as centres of systems._ Midst each flock for to reside.

Thus, as round about they stray, Toucheth[137] each with outstretched ray; Nimble they hold on their way, Shaping out their night and day.

Summer, winter, autumn, spring, Their inclined axes bring.

Never slack they; none respires, Dancing round their central fires.

In due order as they move, Echoes sweet be gently drove Thorough heaven's vast hollowness, Which unto all corners press: Music that the heart of Jove Moves to joy and sportful love; Fills the listening sailers' ears Riding on the wandering spheres: Neither speech nor language is Where their voice is not transmiss.

G.o.d is good, is wise, is strong, Witness all the creature throng, Is confessed by every tongue; All things back from whence they sprung, _go back_--a verb.

As the thankful rivers pay What they borrowed of the sea.

Now myself I do resign: Take me whole: I all am thine.

Save me, G.o.d, from self-desire-- Death's pit, dark h.e.l.l's raging fire--[138]

Envy, hatred, vengeance, ire; Let not l.u.s.t my soul bemire.

Quit from these, thy praise I'll sing, Loudly sweep the trembling string.

Bear a part, O Wisdom's sons, Freed from vain religons!

Lo! from far I you salute, Sweetly warbling on my lute-- India, Egypt, Araby, Asia, Greece, and Tartary, Carmel-tracts, and Lebanon, With the Mountains of the Moon, From whence muddy Nile doth run, Or wherever else you won: _dwell._ Breathing in one vital air, One we are though distant far.

Rise at once;--let's sacrifice: Odours sweet perfume the skies; See how heavenly lightning fires Hearts inflamed with high aspires!

All the substance of our souls Up in clouds of incense rolls.

Leave we nothing to ourselves Save a voice--what need we else!

Or an hand to wear and tire On the thankful lute or lyre!

Sing aloud!--His praise rehea.r.s.e Who hath made the universe.

In this _Philosopher's Devotion_ he has clearly imitated one of those psalms of George Sandys which I have given.

CHARITY AND HUMILITY.

Far have I clambered in my mind, But nought so great as love I find: Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might, Are nought compared to that good sprite.