She made the Earth, their nurse and tomb,
Sigh to the sky,

'Til to those sighes fetch'd from her womb
Rain did reply ;

So in the midst of all her fears
And faint requests,

Her earnest sighes procur'd her tears
And fill'd her brests.

O that man could do so! that he would hear
The world read to him! all the vast expence
In the creation shed, and slav'd to sence,
Makes up but lectures for his cie, and ear.

Sure, Mighty Love, foresceing the discent

Of this poor creature, by a gracious art
Hid in these low things snares to gain his
heart,

And layd suprizes in each element.

All things here shew him heaven; waters that fall,

Chide, and fly up; mists and corruptest fome
Quit their first beds and mount; trees, herbs,

flowres, all

Strive upwards still, and point him the way home.

How do they cast off grossness? only earth
And man-like Issachar1-in lodes delight;

1 Genesis xlix. 14. G.

Water's refin'd to motion, aire to light, Fire to all three,' but man hath no such mirth.

Plants in the root with earth do most comply,
Their leafs with water, and humiditie,
The flowres to air draw neer, and subtiltie,
And seeds a kindred fire have with the sky.

All have their keyes, and set ascents; but man Though he knows these, and hath more of his

own,

leeps at the ladder's foot; alas! what can These new discoveries do, except they drown?

Thus groveling in the shade, and darkness, he
Sinks to a dead oblivion; and though all
He sees-like pyramids- shoot from this ball
And less'ning still grow up invisibly.

Yet hugs he still his durt; the stuffe he wears, And painted trimming takes down both his eies; Heaven hath less beauty than the dust he spies, And money better musick than the spheres.

Life's but a blast; he knows it; what? shal straw, And bul-rush-setters temper his short hour?

Light, motion, heat. V. Cf. Faith' ante. G. 2 The frequent contemporary spelling. G.

Must he nor sip, nor sing? grows ne'r a flowr To crown his temples? shall dreams be his law?

O foolish man! how hast thou lost thy sight?
How is it that the sun to thee alone

Is grown thick darkness, and thy bread, a stone? Hath flesh no softness now? mid-day no light?

Lord! Thou didst put a soul here. If I must
Be broke again, for flints will give no fire
Without a steel, O let Thy power cleer
Thy gift once more, and grind this flint to dust!

RETIREMENT.

HO on yon throne of azure sits,
Keeping close house

Above the morning-starre,

While meaner showes,

And outward utensils these glories are,

That shine and share

Part of His mansion; He one day,
When I went quite astray,

Out of meer love,

By His mild Dove,

Did shew me home, and put me in the way.

2.

Let it suffice, at length thy fits,
And lusts-said He-

Have had their wish, and way;

Presse not to be

Still thy own foe, and Mine; for to this day I did delay,

And would not see, but chose to wink;

Nay, at the very brink

And edge of all,

When thou wouldst fall,

My love-twist held thee up, My unseen link.

3.

I know thee well; for I have fram'd,
And hate thee not;

Thy spirit too is Mine;

I know thy lot,

Extent, and end, for My hands drew the line
Assigned thine;

If then thou would'st unto My seat,
'Tis not th' applause, and feat
Of dust, and clay

Leads to that way,

But from those follics a resolv'd retreat.

6.

Now here below where yet untam'd
Thou doest thus rove,

I have a house as well

As there above;

In it My name and honour both do dwell;
And shall untill

I make all new; there nothing gay

In perfumes, or array;

Dust lies with dust,

And hath but just

The same respect, and room, with ev'ry clay.

5.

A faithful school, where thou maist see,

In heraldrie

Of stones, and speechless earth,

Thy true descent;

Where dead men preach, who can turn feasts,

and mirth

To funerals, and Lent.

There dust, that out of doors might fill

Thy eies, and blind thee still,

Is fast asleep :

Up then, and keep

Within those doors-My doors-Dost hear?

'I will.'