The conscious colours of my sin Are red without, and pale within.
O, let thine own soft bowels pay Thyself, and so discharge that day! If sin can sigh, Love can forgive, O, say the word, my soul shall live!
Those mercies which thy Mary found, Or who thy cross confess'd and crown'd, Hope tells my heart, the same loves be Still alive, and still for me.
Though both my prayers and tears combine, Both worthless are, for they are mine; But thou thy bounteous self still be, And show thou art by saving me.
O! when thy last frown shall proclaim The flocks of goats, to folds of flame, And all thy lost sheep found shall be, Let "Come, ye blessed," then call me.
When the dread "Ite" shall divide Those limbs of death from thy left side, Let those life-speaking lips command, That I inherit the right hand.
O! hear a suppliant heart all crush't, And crumbled into contrite dust : My hope, my fear, my judge, my friend, Take charge of me, and of my end.
TO THE INFANT MARTYRS.
Go, smiling souls, your new-built cages break, In heaven you'll learn to sing ere here to speak: Nor let the milky fonts that bathe your thirst Be your delay,
The place that calls you hence is at the worst Milk all the way.
To see both blended in one flood, The mother's milk, the children's blood, Makes me doubt if heav'n will gather Roses hence, or lilies rather.
BELOW the bottom of the great abyss,
There where one centre reconciles all things, The world's profound heart pants; there placed is Mischief's old master; close about him clings A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kiss His correspondent cheeks; these loathsome strings Hold the perverse prince in eternal ties
Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies.
From death's sad shades, to the life-breathing air, This mortal enemy to mankind's good, Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care, To become beautiful in human blood. Where Jordan melts his crystal, to make fair The fields of Palestine with so pure a flood;
There does he fix his eyes, and there detect New matter to make good his great suspect.
He calls to mind th' old quarrel, and what spark Set the contending sons of heaven on fire: Oft in his deep thought he revolves the dark Sybil's divining leaves; he does inquire Into the old prophecies, trembling to mark How many present prodigies conspire
To crown their past predictions: both he lays Together, in his pond'rous mind both weighs.
Heaven's golden-winged herald, late he saw To a poor Galilean virgin sent:
How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what
Immortal flowers to her fair hand present.
He saw th' old Hebrew's womb neglect the law Of age and barrenness, and her babe prevent His birth by his devotion, who began Betimes to be a saint, before a man.
He saw rich nectar-thaws release the rigour Of th' icy north; from frost-bound Atlas' hands His adamantine fetters fall; green vigour
Gladding the Scythian rocks, and Lybian sands. - He saw a vernal smile sweetly disfigure
Winter's sad face, and through the flow'ry lands
Of fair Engaddi's honey-sweating fountains, With manna, milk, and balm, new broach the mountains.
He saw how in that blest day-bearing night, The heav'n-rebuked shades made haste away; How bright a dawn of angels, with new light, Amaz'd the midnight world, and made a day Of which the morning knew not; mad with spite, He mark'd how the poor shepherds ran to pay
Their simple tribute to the babe, whose birth Was the great business both of heaven and earth.
He saw a threefold sun, with rich increase, Make proud the ruby portals of the east. He saw the temple sacred to sweet peace, Adore her prince's birth, flat on her breast. He saw the falling idols all confess
A coming deity. He saw the nest
Of poisonous and unnatural loves, earth-nurst, Touch'd with the world's true antidote to burst.
He saw heaven blossom with a new-born light, On which, as on a glorious stranger, gaz'd The golden eyes of night, whose beam made bright The way to Beth'lem, and as boldly blaz'd (Nor ask'd leave of the sun), by day as night. By whom (as Heav'n's illustrious handmaid) rais'd Three kings (or what is more) three wise men
Westward, to find the world's true orient.
That the great angel-blinded light should shrink His blaze, to shine in a poor shepherd's eye;
That the unmeasur'd God so low should sink, As pris'ner in a few poor rags to lie;
That from his mother's breast he milk should drink, Who feeds with nectar Heaven's fair family;
That a vile manger his low bed should prove, Who in a throne of stars thunders above:
That he whom the sun serves should faintly peep Through clouds of infant flesh; that he the old Eternal Word should be a child and weep; That he who made the fire should fear the cold; That Heaven's high Majesty his court should keep In a clay cottage, by each blast controll'd;
That glory's self should serve our griefs and fears,
And free eternity submit to years:
And further, that the law's eternal Giver Should bleed in his own law's obedience; And to the circumcising knife deliver Himself, the forfeit of his slave's offence; That the unblemish'd Lamb, blessed for ever, Should take the mark of sin, and pain of sense : These are the knotty riddles, whose dark doubt Entangles his lost thoughts past getting out.
ISAAC WALTON, the patriarch of anglers, was born at Stafford in 1593. His trade was a sempster, or dealer in ready
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