Submission.

BUT that thou art my wisdom, Lord, And both mine eyes are thine, My mind would be extremely stirred For missing my design.

Were it not better, to bestow

Some place and power on me? Then should thy praises with me grow, And share in my degree.

But, when I thus dispute and grieve,
I do resume my sight;

And, pilfering what I once did give,
Disseize thee of thy right.

How know I, if thou shouldst me raise,
That I should then raise thee?—
Perhaps great places and thy praise
Do not so well agree.

Wherefore unto my gift I stand;
I will no more advise.

Only do thou lend me a hand,

Since thou hast both mine eyes.

Justice.

I CANNOT skill of these thy ways:

Lord, thou didst make me; yet thou woundest me. Lord, thou dost wound me; yet thou dost relieve me. Lord, thou relievest; yet I die by thee.

Lord, thou dost kill me; yet thou dost reprieve me. But, when I mark my life and praise,

Thy justice me most fitly pays :

--

For I do praise thee; yet I praise thee not.
My prayers mean thee; yet my prayers stray.
I would do well; yet sin the hand hath got.
My soul doth love thee; yet it loves delay.
I cannot skill of these my ways.

Charms and Knots.

WHO read a chapter when they rise,
Shall ne'er be troubled with ill eyes.

A poor man's rod, when thou dost ride,
Is both a weapon and a guide.

Who shuts his hand, hath lost his gold:
Who opens it, hath it twice told.

Who goes to bed, and doth not pray,
Maketh two nights to every day.

Who, by aspersions, throw a stone
At th' head of others, hit their own.

Who looks on ground with humble eyes,
Finds himself there, and seeks to rise.

When th' hair is sweet through pride or lust,
The powder doth forget the dust.

Take one from ten, and what remains?
Ten still; if sermons go for gains.

In shallow waters heaven doth show;
But, who drinks on, to hell may go.

Amiction.

My God, I read this day,
That planted Paradise was not so firm,
As was (and is) thy floating ark; whose stay
And anchor thou art only, to confirm

And strengthen it in every age,
When waves do rise, and tempests rage.

At first we lived in pleasure;

Thine own delights thou didst to us impart.
When we grew wanton, thou didst use displeasure
To make us thine; yet, that we might not part,
As we at first did board with thee,
Now thou wouldst taste our misery.

There is but joy and grief;

If either will convert us, we are thine.
Some angels used the first; if our relief
Take up the second, then thy double line
And several baits in either kind
Furnish thy table to thy mind.

1

Affliction then is ours.

We are the trees whom shaking fastens more, While blust'ring winds destroy the wanton bowers, And ruffle all their curious knots and store.

My God! so temper joy and wo,

That thy bright beams may tame thy bow.

Mortification.

How soon doth man decay!

When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets
To swaddle infants, whose young breath
Scarce knows the way;

Those clouts are little winding-sheets,
Which do consign and send them unto death.

When boys first go to bed,

They step into their voluntary graves;

Sleep binds them fast; only their breath

Makes them not dead.

Successive nights, like rolling waves, Convey them quickly who are bound for death.

When youth is frank and free,

And calls for music, while his veins do swell,
All day exchanging mirth and breath

In company;

That music summons to the knell,

Which shall befriend him at the house of death.

When man grows staid and wise,

Getting a house and home, where he may move

Within the circle of his breath,

Schooling his eyes;

That dumb enclosure maketh love Unto the coffin that attends his death.

When age grows low and week, Marking his grave, and thawing every year, Till all do melt, and drown his breath

When he would speak;

A chair or litter shews the bier,

Which shall convey him to the house of death.

Man, ere he is aware,

Hath put together a solemnity,

And drest his hearse, while he hath breath

As yet to spare.

Yet, Lord, instruct us so to die,

That all these dyings may be life in death!

Decay.

SWEET Were the days when thou didst lodge with Lot,
Struggle with Jacob, sit with Gideon,

Advise with Abraham; when thy power could not
Encounter Moses' strong complaints and moan.
Thy words were then, Let me alone!

One might have sought, and found thee presently,

At some fair oak, or bush, or cave, or well.

Is my God this way?" "No!" they would reply:

He is to Sinai gone, as we heard tell :

List! ye may hear great Aaron's bell."