PART II.

OH, that I knew how all thy lights combine,
And the configurations of their glory!
Seeing not only how each verse doth shine,
But all the constellations of the story.

This verse marks that, and both do make a motion
Unto a third, that ten leaves off doth lie.
Then, as dispersed herbs do watch a potion,

These three make up some Christian's destiny.

Such are thy secrets; which my life makes good, And comments on thee. For in every thing Thy words do find me out, and parallels bring, And in another make me understood.

Stars are poor books, and oftentimes do miss :
This book of stars lights to eternal bliss.

Whitsunday.

LISTEN, Sweet Dove, unto my song, And spread thy golden wings on me; Hatching my tender heart so long, Till it get wing and fly away with thee.

Where is that fire which once descended
On thy apostles? Thou didst then
Keep open house, richly attended,

Feasting all comers by twelve chosen men.

Such glorious gifts thou didst bestow,
That th' earth did like a heaven appear.
The stars were coming down, to know
If they might mend their wages, and serve here.

The sun, which once did shine alone,
Hung down his head, and wished for night,
When he beheld twelve suns, for one,

Going about the world, and giving light.

But, since those pipes of gold, which brought
That cordial water to our ground,

Were cut and martyred by the fault

Of those, who did themselves through their side wound;

Thou shutt'st the door, and keep'st within:
Scarce a good joy creeps through the chink:
And, if the braves of conquering sin

Did not excite thee, we should wholly sink.

Lord, though we change, thou art the same-
The same sweet God of love and light.
Restore this day, for thy great name,
Unto his ancient and miraculous right.

Grace.

My stock lies dead; and no increase
Doth my dull husbandry improve:

O let thy graces, without cease,

Drop from above.

If still the sun should hide his face,
Thy house would but a dungeon prove;
Thy works, night's captives. O let grace
Drop from above.

The dew doth every morning fall:

And shall the dew outstrip thy Dove? The dew for which grass cannot call Drop from above!

Death is still working like a mole,

And digs my grave at each remove. Let grace work too, and on my soul Drop from above.

Sin is still hammering my heart
Unto a hardness void of love.
Let suppling grace, to cross his art,
Drop from above.

O, come; for thou dost know the way!
Or, if to me thou wilt not move,
Remove me, where I need not say,
"Drop from above!"

Praise.

To write a verse or two, is all the praise

That I can raise :

Mend my estate in any ways,

Thou shalt have more.

I go to church; help me to wings, and I
Will thither fly:

Or, if I mount unto the sky,
I will do more.

Man is all weakness; there is no such thing
As prince, or king.

His arm is short; yet, with a sling,
He may do more.

An herb distilled and drunk may dwell next door,
On the same floor,

To a brave soul. Exalt the poor,
They can do more.

O, raise me then. Poor bees, that work all day,
Sting my delay,

Who have a work as well as they,
And much, much more.

Amiction.

KILL me not every day,

Thou Lord of life! since thy own death for me Is more than all my deaths can be ; Though I, in broken pay,

Die o'er each hour of Methusalem's stay.

If all men's tears were let

Into one common sewer, sea, and brine;

What were they all compared to thine?
Wherein if they were set,

They would discolor thy most bloody sweat.

Thou art my grief alone;

Thou, Lord! conceal it not.

And, as thou art

All my delight, so all my smart:

Thy cross took up in one,

By way of impress, all my future moan.

Matins.

I CANNOT ope mine eyes,
But thou art ready there, to catch
My morning soul and sacrifice.

Then we must needs for that day make a match.

My God, what is a heart? Silver, or gold, or precious stone,

Or star, or rainbow, or a part

Of all these things, or all of them in one?

My God, what is a heart?

That thou shouldst it so eye, and woo;
Pouring upon it all thy art,

As if that thou hadst nothing else to do?

Indeed, man's whole estate Amounts (and richly) to serve thee.

He did not heaven and earth create, Yet studies them; not Him, by whom they be.

Teach me thy love to know;

That this new light, which now I see,

May both the work and workman show: Then by a sunbeam I will climb to thee.