NATHANAEL EATON.

EATON wrote commentaries on some parts of the sacred writings, and other theological works. The following small poems are from his book, De Fustis Anglicis, 1661; a volume of verse not deficient in power, but marked with the faulty peculiarities of style common in that age.

A A

NATHANAEL EATON.

NEW YEAR'S DAY.

'Tis custom, Lord, this day to send
A gift to every vulgar friend;
And shall I find no gift for thee,

That art the best of friends to me?
There's nothing which my thoughts survey---

My life, my soul, the light, the day—
But they are all thy gifts to me;
And shall I find no gift for thee?
Yea, Lord; behold I here confer
My life, my soul, and whatsoe'er
Thy liberal hand hath given to me,
Back as a new-year's gift, on thee.
Said I, a gift? Ah! 'tis not so:
Alas both men and angels know,

That all these things thy Christ hath bought,
And therefore I can give thee nought.

ON GOOD FRIDAY.

HE's dead! Insult, infernal powers, the dread
Messias, Jesus, whom you fear'd, is dead!
But stay! rejoice not neither—it is from

His death that your great empire's fall doth come.
Twas a strange combat this; wherein to slay
The foe you fought with, was to lose the day:
Yet thus it was: the field had been your own,
Had you not your great champion overthrown;
But through his sides yourselves accurs'd you slew,
And he being ruined by you ruin'd you.

ASCENSION.

COME down, blest Saviour! 'tis no sin to pray
Thee down, I hope, upon Ascension-day:

So to descend, as I would have thee do,
Is not indeed to fall, but mount unto

A zenith which thou ne'er before could'st gain-
Even my proud heart, which rebel lusts have ta’en,
And mann'd against thee-this, my God, is it
That I would have thee come and see, and get.
Get this strong-hold into thy hands, and make
Her high-rais'd bulwarks at thy storming shake,
And droop their heads; make my stout thoughts
to fall

Prostrate before thy glorious feet, and all

The powers within me to lie low, and be
Subject, henceforth, unto no king but thee.
Do this, dear Lord, and my glad soul shall say,
To me thou ne'er ascendedst till to-day.