If joyes, and hopes, and earnest throws, And hearts, whose pulse beats still for light, Are given to birds; who, but Thee, knows A love-sick soul's exalted flight ? Can souls be track'd by any eye But His, who gave them wings to flie? Onely this veyle which Thou hast broke, This veyle, I say, is all the cloke, O take it off! make no delay; Though with no lilie,' stay with me! 1 Song of Solomon. v. 7 and 13: ii. 1. 3. G. THE STARRE. HAT ever 'tis, whose beauty here below and flow, And wind and curle, and wink and smile, Though thy close commerce nought at all imbarrs Yet, seeing all things that subsist and be First, I am sure, the subject so respected Next, there's in it a restless, pure desire None can be writh'd nor wrench'd. These are the magnets, which so strongly move As beauteous shapes, we know not why, For where desire, celestiall, pure desire, This is the heart he craves; and who so will Put on their youth and green. THE PALM TREE. EARE friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade, As I have yours long since. This plant you see So prest and bow'd, before sin did degrade Both you and it, had equall liberty With other trees; but now that from the breath And air of Eden, like a male-content places or establishes in a well ordered way. G. It thrives no where. This makes these weights like death And sin-hang at him; for the more he's bent The more he grows. Celestial natures still This is the life which, hid above with Christ Here spirits that have run their race, and fought, Here is the patience of the saints: this tree Here is their faith too, which, if you will keep 1 Colossians iii., 3. G. 2 Misprinted pricked'. G. B JOY. E dumb, coarse measures, jar no more; to me There is no discord but your harmony, False, jingling sounds; a grone well drest, where care Moves in disguise, and sighs afflict the air. Sorrows in white; griefs tun'd; a sugred dosis roses. He weighs not your forc'd accents, who can have Such numbers tell their days, whose spirits be But as for thee, whose faults long since require More eyes then stars; whose breath, could it aspire To equal winds, would prove short: Thou hast Another mirth, a mirth, though overcast With clouds and rain, yet full as calm and fine Kill and cure the tender flowers, |