He is thy gracious friend,
And, O my soul, awake!
Did in pure love descend

To die here for thy sake.
If thou canst get but thither,

peace,

There grows the flower of
The rose that cannot whither,
Thy fortress and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure,
But one who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.

ROM. VIII. VER. 15.

"For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God."

AND do they so? have they a sense
Of ought but influence?

Can they their heads lift, and expect,
And groan too? why the elect
Can do no more: my volumes said
They were all dull and dead;

They judged them senseless, and their state
Wholly inanimate.

Go, go, seal up thy looks,

And burn thy books.

I would I were a stone, or tree,
Or flower, by pedigree;

Or some poor highway herb, or spring
To flow, or bird to sing!

Then should I, tied to one sure state,
All day expect my date;

But I am sadly loose, and stray,
A giddy blast each way:

O let me not thus range!-
Thou canst not change.

Sometimes I sit with thee, and tarry
An hour or so, then vary.
Thy other creatures in this scene
Thee only aim, and mean;

Some rise to seek thee, and with heads
Erect peep from their beds;
Others, whose birth is in the tomb,
And cannot quit the womb,
Sigh there, and groan for thee,
Their liberty.

O let not me do less! shall they
Watch, while I sleep or play?
Shall I thy mercies still abuse

With fancies, friends, or news?
O brook it not! thy blood is mine,
And my soul shall be thine;
O brook it not! why wilt thou stop
After whole showers one drop?
Sure, thou wilt joy to see
Thy sheep with thee.

UNPROFITABLENESS.

How rich, O Lord! how fresh thy visits are! 'Twas but just now my bleak leaves hopeless hung

Sullied with dust and mud;

Each snarling blast shot through me, and did share Their youth and beauty; cold showers nipt and

wrung

Their spiciness and blood;

But since thou didst in one sweet glance survey
Their sad decays, I flourish, and once more
Breathe all perfumes and spice;

I smell a dew like myrrh, and all the day
Wear in my bosom a full sun; such store
Hath one beam from thy eyes.

But, ah, my God! what fruit hast thou of this?
What one poor leaf did ever I let fall

To wait upon thy wreath?

Thus thou all day a thankless weed dost dress,
And when th' hast done, a stench or fog is all
The odour I bequeath.

CHRIST'S NATIVITY.

AWAKE, glad heart! get up, and sing!
It is the birth-day of thy King;
Awake! awake!

The sun doth shake

Light from his locks, and all the way
Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.

Awake! awake! hark, how th' wood rings;
Winds whisper, and the busy springs

A concert make:

Awake, awake!

Man is their high-priest, and should rise.
To offer up the sacrifice.

I would I were some bird or star,
Flutt'ring in woods, or lifted far
Above this inn

And road of sin!

Then either star or bird should be
Shining, or singing still to thee.

I would I had in my

best part

Fit rooms for thee! or that my heart
Were so clean as

Thy manger was!

But I am all filth and obscene;

Yet, if thou wilt, thou canst make clean.

Sweet Jesu! will then; let no more
This leper haunt and soil thy door;
Cure him, ease him,

O release him!

And let once more, by mystic birth,
The Lord of life be born in earth.

SUNDAYS.

BRIGHT shadows of true rest! some shoots of bliss; Heaven once a week;

The next world's gladness pre-possessed in this; A day to seek;

Eternity in time; the steps by which

We climb above all ages; lamps that light

Man through his heap of dark days; and the rich

And full redemption of the whole week's flight:

The pulleys unto headlong man; time's bower;
The narrow way;

Transplanted paradise; God's walking hour;
The cool o' th' day;

The creatures' Jubilee; God's parle with dust; Heaven here; man on those hills of myrrh and flowers;

Angels descending; the returns of trust;
A gleam of glory after six days' showers:
The church's love-feasts; time's prerogative'
And interest,

Deducted from the whole; the combs, and hive,
And home of rest;

The milky way chalk'd out with suns; a clue
That guides through erring hours, and in full story
A taste of heaven on earth; the pledge and cue
Of a full feast, and the out-courts of glory.

THE DAWNING.

AH! what time wilt thou come? when shall that

cry,

'The Bridegroom's coming!" fill the sky?

Shall it in the evening run

When our words and works are done?
Or will thy all-surprising light

Break at midnight;

When either sleep, or some dark pleasure,

Possesseth mad man without measure?

Or shall these early fragrant hours

Unlock thy bowers;