But if we steadfast look

We shall discern

In it, as in some holy book,

How man may heavenly knowledge learn.

It tells the conqueror,

That far-stretch'd power,

Which his proud dangers traffic for,
Is but the triumph of an hour.

That, from the farthest north,
Some nation may

Yet undiscovered issue forth,
And o'er his new-got conquest sway.

Some nation, yet shut in

With hills of ice,

May be let out to scourge his sin,
Till they shall equal him in vice.

And then they likewise shall
Their ruin have;

For as yourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires,
Though seeming mute,

The fallacy of our desires,
And all the pride of life, confute.

For they have watch'd since first

The world had birth;

And found sin in itself accurst,

And nothing permanent on earth.

"PRAISE THE LORD FROM THE HEAVENS."

DAVID.

You spirits! who have thrown away
That envious weight of clay,
Which your celestial flight denied ;
Who by your glorious troops supply
The winged hierarchy,

So broken in the angels' pride!

O you! whom your Creator's sight
Inebriates with delight!

Sing forth the triumphs of his name;
All enamour'd souls! agree

you

In a loud symphony,

To give expression to your flame.

To him his own great works relate,
Who deign'd to elevate

You 'bove the frailty of your birth ;
Where you stand safe from that rude war
With which we troubled are
By the rebellion of our earth.

While a corrupted air beneath

Here in this world we breathe,
Each hour some passion us assails:
Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood
Or, that it may seem good,
Itself in wit or beauty veils.

Then envy circles us with hate,
And lays a siege so strait,
No heavenly succour enters in;

But if revenge admittance find,
For ever hath the mind
Made forfeit of itself to sin.

Assaulted thus, how dare we raise
Our minds to think his praise,
Who is eternal and immense ?
How dare we force our feeble wit
To speak him infinite,

So far above the search of sense?

O'you! who are immaculate,
His name may celebrate
In your souls' bright expansion:
You whom your virtues did unite
To his perpetual light,

That even with him you now shine one.

While we, who t' earth contract our hearts,

And only study arts

To shorten the sad length of time,
In place of joys bring humble fears,
For hymns, repentant tears,
And a new sigh for every crime.

"TEACH ME THY WAY."

WHERE have I wandered? In what way

Horrid as night,

Increased by storm, did I delight? Though my sad soul did often say

"Twas death and madness so to stray.

On that false ground I joy'd to tread
Which seem'd most fair,

Though every path had a new snare,
And every turning still did lead
To the dark region of the dead.

But with the surfeit of delight
I am so tired,

That now I loathe what I admired;
And my distasted appetite

So 'bhors the meat, it hates the sight.

For should we naked sin descry,
Not beautified

By the aid of wantonness and pride,
Like some mishapen birth 'twould lie,
A torment to th' affrighted eye.

But cloth'd in beauty and respect,
Even o'er the wise

How powerful doth it tyrannize:
Whose monstrous form should they detract,
They famine sooner would affect.

And since those shadows which oppress

My sight begin

To clear, and show the shape of sin,

A scorpion sooner be my guest,
And warm his venom in my breast.

May I, before I grow so vile

By sin again,

Be thrown off as a scorn to men! May th' angry world decree to exile Me to some yet unpeopled isle:

Where, while I straggle, and in vain
Labour to find

Some creature that shall have a mind,
What justice have I to complain,
If I thy inward grace retain ?

My God, if thou shalt not exclude

Thy comfort thence,

What place can seem to troubled sense

So melancholy, dark, and rude,

To be esteem'd a solitude ?

Cast me upon some naked shore,
Where I may track

Only the print of some sad wrack,
If thou be there, though the seas roar,
I shall no gentler calm implore.

Should the Cymmerians, whom no ray
Doth e'er enlight,

But gain thy grace, they've lost their night: Not sinners at high noon, but they

'Mong their blind clouds have found the day.

"HE HATH EXALTED THE HUMBLE."

How cheerfully the unpartial sun
Gilds with his beams

The narrow streams

O' th' brook, which silently doth run
Without a name!

And yet disdains to lend his flames
To the wide channel of the Thames!