To Egypt hence I fled, ran o'er
All her parch'd bosom to Nile's shore,
Her yearly nurse: came back'; inquir'd
Among the doctors, and desir'd
To see the temple; but was shown
A little dust, and for the town
A heap of ashes, where some said
A small bright sparkle was a bed,
Which would one day (beneath the pole)
Awake, and then refine the whole.
Tir'd here, I come to Sychar; thence
To Jacob's well, bequeathed since
Unto his sons; (where often they
In those calm golden evenings lay
Watering their flocks, and having spent
Those white days, drove home to the tent
Their well-fleec'd train ;) and here (O fate!)
I sit, where once my Saviour sate;
The angry spring in bubbles swell'd,
Which broke in sighs still, as they fill'd;
And whisper'd, Jesus had been there,
But Jacob's children would not hear.
Loath hence to part, at last I rise,
But with the fountain in my eyes;
And here a fresh search is decreed-
He must be found where he did bleed.
I walk the garden, and there see
Ideas of his agony,
And moving anguishments that set
His bless'd face in a bloody sweat:
I climb'd the hill, perus'd the cross,
Hung with my gain, and his great loss;
Never did tree bear fruit like this,
Balsam of souls, the body's bliss!
But, O his grave! where I saw lent
(For he had none) a monument,
An undefil'd, and new-hew'd one,
But there was not the corner-stone.
Sure, then, said I, my quest is vain,
He'll not be found, where he was slain;
So mild a Lamb can never be
'Midst so much blood and cruelty:
I'll to the wilderness, and can
Find beasts more merciful than man;
He liv'd there safe, 'twas his retreat
From the fierce Jew, and Herod's heat;
And forty days withstood the fell
And high temptations of hell.
With seraphins there talked he,
His Father's flaming ministry;
He heav'nd their walks, and with his eyes
Made those wild shades a paradise:
Thus was the desert sanctified
To be the refuge of his bride:
I'll thither then; see, it is day,
The sun's broke through to guide my way.
But as I urg'd thus, and writ down
What pleasures should my journey crown;
What silent paths, what shades and cells,
Fair virgin-flowers, and hallow'd wells,
I should rove in, and rest my head
Where my dear Lord did often tread,
Sug'ring all danger with success,
Methought I heard one singing thus:-
"Search well another world; who studies this, Travels in clouds, seeks manna where none is."
'TWAS SO-I saw thy birth: that drowsy lake
From her faint bosom breath'd thee, the disease
Of her sick waters and infectious ease;
But now, at even,
Thou fall'st in tears, and weep'st for thy mistake.
Ah! it is so with me! oft have I press'd
Heaven with a lazy breath, but fruitless this
Pierc'd not; love only can with quick access
Unlock the way,
When all else stray
The smoke and exhalations of the breast.
Yet, if as thou doest melt, and with thy train
Of drops make soft the earth, my eyes could weep
O'er my hard heart, that's bound up, and asleep;
Perhaps at last
(Some such showers past,)
My God would give a sunshine after rain.
HAPPY those early days, when I
Shin'd in my angel-infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race;
Or taught my soul to fancy ought
But a white celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two from my first love;
And looking back, at that short space,
Could see a glimpse of his bright face;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;
Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound;
Or had the black art to dispense
A several sin to every sense;
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.
O how I long to travel back
And tread again that ancient track!
That I might once more reach that plain,
Where first I left my glorious train;
From whence th' enlighten'd spirit sees
That shady city of palm-trees;
But, ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way.
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came, return.
I SEE the use; and know my blood
But a shallow, bounded flood,
Though red as he;
Yet have I flows as strong as his,
And boiling streams that rave
With the same curling force and hiss,
As doth the mountain'd wave.
But when his waters billow thus,
Dark storms and wind
Incite them to that fierce discuss,
Else not inclined;
Thus the enlarg'd, enraged air
Uncalms these to a flood,
But still the weather that's most fair,
Breeds tempests in my blood.
Lord, then round me with weeping clouds,
And let my mind
In quick blasts sigh beneath those shrouds
A spirit-wind;
So shall that storm purge this recluse
Which sinful ease made foul,
And wind and water to thy use
Both wash and wing my soul.
My soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
All skilful in the wars:
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles;
And one born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
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