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Dull then that hcary soul, which ever bent

When, O my God! when shall I come in place On Earth and earthly toys, his Heav'n neglects ; To see thy light, and view thy glorious face? Content with that wbich cannot give content: What thy foot scorning kicks, thy soul respects.

I dine and sup with sighs, with groans and tears,

While all thy foes mine ears with taunting load; Fond soul! thy eye will up to Heav'n erect.

“ Who now thy cries, who now thy prayer hears? Thou it direct'st, and must it now direct thee?

Where is,” say they, “where is thy boasted God?!! Dull, heavy soul! thy scholar must correct thee.

My molten heart, deep plung'd in sad despairs,

Runs forth to thee in streams of tears and prayers. Thrice happy soul, that guided by thine eyes, Art mounted up unto that starry nation ;

With grief I think on those sweet now past days, And leaving there thy sense, enterest the skies, When to thy house my troops with joy I led : Enshrin'd and fainted there by contemplation ! We sang, we danc'd, we chanted sacred lays;

Fleav'n thon enjoy'st on Earth, and now bereaven No men so haste to wine, no bride to bed.
Of life, a new life to thy soul is given.

Why droop'st, my soul? why faint'st thou in my Thrice happy soul, that hast a double Heaven !

breast? That sacred hand, which to this year hath brought

Wait still with praise ; his presence is thy rest. you,

My famish'd soul, driv'n from thy sweetest word, Perfect your years, and with your years, his graces ; (From Hermon hill, and Jordan's swelling brook) And when his will unto his will hath wrought you, To thee laments, sigbs deep to thee, O Lord ! Conduct your soul unto those happy places, To thee sends back ber hungry, longing look:

Where thousand joys, and pleasures ever new, Floods of thy wrath breed floods of grief and And blessings thicker than the morning dew,

[tears. With endless sweets, rain on that heav'nly crew. And floods of grief breed scoils of plaints and

His early light with morn these clouds shall clear,

These drcary clouds, and storms of sad despairs : THESE ASCLEPIADS OF MR. H. S. TRANSLATED AND

Sure am I in the night his songs to hear,

Sweet songs of joy, as well as he my prayers.
Ne verbum mibi sit mortua litera,

I'll say, “ My God, why slight'st thou my distress,
Nec Christi meritum gratia vanida ;

While all my foes my weary soul oppress ?"
Sed verbum fatuo sola scientia,
Et Christus misero sola redemptio.

My cruel foes both thee and me upbraid ;

They cut my heart, they vaunt that bitter word, U'YLetter'd Word, which never ear could bear; “ Where is thy trust? where is thy hope ?” they Unwritten Word, which never eye could see, Yet syllabled in flesh-spellid character,

“ Where is thy God? where is thy boasted Lord ?” That so to senses thou might'st subject be;

Why Jroop’st, my soul? why faint'st thou in my Since thou in bread art stampt, in print art read,

Let not thy print-stamp'd word to me be dead. Wait still with praise ; his presence is thy rest.
Thou all-contriving, all deserving Spirit,
Made flesh to die, that so thou might'st be mine,
That thou in us, and we in thee might merit,
We thine, thou ours; thou human, we divine;

Let not my dead life's mcrit, my dead heart
Forfeit so dear a purchas'd death's desert.

Whịch may be sung as the Widow, or Mock Widow, Thou Sun of wisdom, knowledge in fivite,

O LORD! before the morning Made folly to the wise, right to profane ;

Gives Heaven warning Be I thy Moon, oh, let thy sacred light

To let out the day, locrease to th' full, and never, never wane:

My wakeful eyes Wise folly in me set, fond wisdom rise,

Look for thy rise, Make me renounce my wisdom, to be wise.

And wait to let in the joyful ray. Thou Life eternal, purest blessedness,

Lank hunger here peoples the desert cells, Made mortal, wretched, sin itself, for me;

Here thirst fills up the empty wells: Show me my death, my sin, my wretchedness,

How longs my flesh for that bread without leaven! That I may flourish, shine, and live in thee :

How thirsts my soul for that wine of Heaven! So I with praise shall sing thy life, death's story, Such (oh!) to taste thy ravishing grace ! O thou my merit, life, my wisdom, glory! Such in thy house to view thy glorious face!

Thy love, thy light, thy face's


(Whose unchanged ray

Knows, nor morn's dawn

Nor evening's wane)

How far surmount they life's winter day! Which agrees with the tune of Like the hermit

My heart to thy glory tunes all his strings; poor.

My tongue thy praises cheerly sings : Look as an bart with sweat and blood imbrued, And till I slumber, and death shall undress me, Chas'il and emboss'd, thirsts in the soil to be ; Thus will I sing, thus will I bless thee. So my poor soul, with eager foes pursued, (thee: “ Pill me with love, oh! fill me with praise ! Looks, longs, O Lord, pines, pants, and faints, for So shall I vent due thanks in joyful lays."

said ;



When might all eyes bath quenched,

And paint her wall;
And thoughts lie drenched

There we lay'd asteeping,
In silence and rest;

Ous eyes in endless weeping,
Then will I all

For Sion's fal).
Thy ways recal,

Ous feasts and songs we laid aside,
And look on thy light in darkness best.

On forlorn willows
When my poor soul, wounded, had lost the field, (By Perah's billows)

Thou wast my fort, thou wast my shield. Wo hung our harps, and mirth and joy defyd, Safe in thy trenches I boldly will vauut me, That Sion's ruins should build foul Babel's pride.

There will I sing, there will I chant thee; There I'll triumph in thy banner of grace,

Our conqu’rors vaunting My cong'ring arms shall be thy arms' embrace.

With bitter scoffs and taunting,

'Thus proudly jest: My foes from deeps descending,

“ Take down your barps, and string then, In rage transcending,

Recal your songs, and sing them,
Assaulting me sore,

For Sion's feast."
Into their Hell,

Were our harps well tund in every string,
Are headlong fell;

Our heart-strings broken,
There shall they lie, there howl, and roar: Throats drown'd, and soakers
There let deserv'd torments their spirits tear ; With tears and sighs, how can we praise and sing

Feel they worst ills, and worse yet fear : The King of Heaven under an beathen king? But with his spouse thine anointed in pleasure

Shall reign, and joy past tine or measure: In all my mourning, There new delights, new pleasures, still spring: Jerusalem, thy burning Haste there, oh! haste, my soul, to dance and sing. If I forget;

Forget thy running,

My hand, and all thy eanning,

To th' harp to set.

Let thy mouth, my tongue, be still thy grare ; To the tune of that psalm.

Lie there asleeping,

For Sjon weeping:
Ir God build not the house, and lay

Ob! let mine eyes in tears thy office have;
The ground-work sure; whoever build,
It cannot stand one stormy day :

Nor rise, nor set, but in their briny wave,
If God be not the city's shield;

Proud Edom's raging, If he be not their bars and wall,

Their hate with blood assuaging, Jo vain is watch-tower, men, and all

And vengeful sword, Though then thon wak'st when others rest,

Their cursed joying Though rising thou prevent'st the Sun;

In Sion's walls destroying, Though with lean Care thou daily feast,

Remember, Lord; Thy labour's lost, and thou undone :

Forget not, Lord, their spiteful cry. But God his child will feed and kepp,

“ Fire and deface it, And draw the curtains to his sleep.

Destroy and rase it;

Oh, let the name of Sion ever die !"
Though th' hast a wife fit, young, and fair,

Thus did they roar, and us and tbee defy.
Ad heritage heirs to advance ;
Yet canst thou not command an heir;

So shall thy towers,
For beirs are God's inheritance :

And all thy princely bowers, He gives the seed, the bud, the bloom;

Proud Babel, fall : He gives the barvest to the womb.

Him ever blessed, And look, as arrows, by strong arm

Who th' oppressor hath oppressed,

Shall all men call :
Ju a strong bow drawn to the head,
Where they are meant, will surely harm,

Thrice blest, that turns thy mirth to groans ;

That burns to ashes and if they bit, wound deep and dead; Children of youth are even so ;

Thy towers, and dashes As harmful, deadly, to a foe.

Thy brats 'gainst rocks, to wash thy bloody stones

With thine own blood, and pave thee with the That man shall live in bliss and peace,

Who fills his quiver with such shot :
Whose garners swell with such increase,
Terrour and shame assail him not ;

And though bis foes deep hatred bear,
Thus arm’d, he shall not need to fear.

BLESSED, who walk'st not in the worldling's way;

Blessed, who with foul sinners wilt not stand :

Blessed, who with proud mockers dar'st not stay;

Nor sit thee down amongst that scornful band. To be sung as, See the building,

Thrice blessed man, who in that heavenly light WHERE Perah's flowers

Walk'st, stand'st, and sitt'st, rejoicing day and Perfume proud Babel's bowers,


Look as a thirsty palm full Jordan drinks,

Their glorious beams, whose gracious sight (Whose leaf and fruit still live, when winter dies) Fills you with joy, with life, and light; With conqu’ring branches erowns the river's brinks; See how with clouds of sorrow drowy'd, And suramer's fires, and winter's frosts defies : They wash with tears thy sinful wound : All so the soul, whom that clear light resives,

See how with streains Still springs, buds, grows, and dying time sur

Of spit th' are drench'd; vives.

See how their beams

With death are quench'd.
But as the dust of claff, cast in the air,
Sinks in the dirt, and turns to dung and mire ; Wake, O mine ear! awake, and hear
So sioners, driv'n to Hell by fierce despair,

That powerful voice, which stills thy fear,
Shall fry in ice, and freeze in hellish fire:

And brings from Heaven those joyful news,
For he, whose naming eyes all actions turn, Which Heaven commands, which Hell subdues;
Sees both; to light the one, the other burn.

Hark how his cars (Hear'n's mercy-seat)
Foul slanders with reproaches beat:

Hark how the knocks

Our eașs resound;

Hark how their mocks

His hearing wound.
From the deeps of grief and fear,
O Lord ! to thee my soul repairs :

Wake, O my heart! tune every string:
From thy Heaven bow down thine ear;

Wake, O my tongue! awake, and sing:
Let thy mercy meet my prayers.

Think not a thought in all thy lays,
Oh! if thou mark'st

Speak not a word but of his praise:
What's done amiss,

Tell how his sweetest tongue they drown'd
Wliat soul so pure,

With gall: think how his heart they wound;
Can see thy bliss ?

That bloody spout,

Gagg'd for thy sin, But with thee sweet Mercy stands,

His life lets out,
Smaling pardons, working fear':

Thy death lets in
Wait, my soul, wait on his hands ;
Wait, mine eye, oh! wait, mine ear :
If he his

Or tongue affords,
Watch all his looks,

Catch all his words,

Drop, drap, slow tears,
As a watchman waits for day,

And bathe those beauteous feet, And looks for light, and looks again ;

Which brought from Hear'n When the nig!it grows old and gray,

The news and Prince of Peace:
To be reliev'd he calls amain :

Cease not, wet eyes,
So look so wait

His mercies to entreat ;
So long mine eyes,

To cry for vengeance

Sin doth never cease :
To see my Lord,
My Sun, arise.

In your deep floods

Drown all my faults and fears; Wait, ye saints, wait op our Lord :

Nor let his eye
For from his tongue sweet merey flows :

Sce sin, but through my tears.
Wait on his cross, wait on his word;
Upon that tree redemption grows :

He will redeem

His Israel
· From sin nd math,

Prom death and Hell.

THOUGH now to Heav'o thy travels are confin'd,
Thy wealth, friends, life, and country, all are lost;
Yet in this picture we thee living find;

And thou with lesser travel, lesser cost,

Hast found new life, friends, wealth, and better.

coast : WAKE, O my soul! awake, and raise

So by thy death thon liv'st, by loss thou gain'st; Up every part to sing his praise,

And in thy absence present still remain'st.
Wbo from lis sphere of glory fell,
To raise thee up from death and Hell:
See now his soul. vext for thy sin,
Weeps blood it out; f'els Hell within:

See wh re he hangs:
Hark how he crics:

Wạo lives with death, by death in death is lying;
Oh, bitter pings!

But he who living dies, best lives by dying :

Who life to trath, who death to errour gives, Now, now, he dies.

In life may die, by death more surfly lives. Wake, O mine eyes! awake, and view

My soul in Heaven breathes, in schools my fame: Those two twin lights, whence Heavens drew

Then on my tomab write pothing but my name.

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THE GROUNDS, LABOUR, AND REWARD OF FAITH. Look as a stag, pierc'd with a fatal bow,

(As by a wood he walks securely feeding) Tais lamp 6ll'd up, and fir'd by that blest spirit,

In coverts thick conceals his deadly blow, Spent his last oil in this pure heav'nly dame;

And feeling death swiin in his endless bleeding, Laying the grounds, walls, roof of faith : this fraine

(His heavy head his fainting strength exceeding) With life he ends; and now doth there inherit What bere he built, crown'd with his laurel merit : Green brakes and primroof sweet his seemlý hearse

Bids woods adieu, so sinks into his grave; Whose palms and triumphs once he loudly rang.

embrave: There now enjoys what here he sweetly sang.

So lay a gentle knight now full of death, This is his monument, on which he drew

With cloudy eyes his latest bour expecting; His spirit's image, that can never die; (eye; And by his side, sucking his Meeting breath, But breathes in these live words, and speaks to th' His weeping spouse Eliza, lite neglecting, In these his winding-sheets he dead doth show

And all her beauteous fairs wito grief wfecting : To buried souls the way to live anew,

Her cheek as pale as his, tuere har to scan, And in his grave more powerfully now preacheth: If death or sorrow's face did look more pale or Who will not learn, when that a dead man teacheth?

Close by, ber sister, fair Alicia, sits;

Fairest Alicia, io whose sweetest graces UPON ÚR. PERKINS, HIS PRINTED SERMONS. His tears and sighs a fellow pa sion fi.s• PERKINS (our wonder) living, though long dead, Upon her eye (his throne) love sorrow places; In this white paper, as a winding-sheet ;

There comfort sadness, beauty grief eigh, ices: And in this vellum lies enveloped :

Pity might seem a while that face to osseus Yet still he lives, guiding the erring feet,

And tbither now was come to confort death and Speaking now to our eyes, though buried. If once so well, much better now he teacheth :

At length loud grief things with a cheerful shriek Who will not bear, when a live dead unan

(His trumpet) soun'is a buitle, jos sietying;

Sprcalin his colours in Elzas be k
And from her eyes Cais wai h-over) for espring,

With bope, iclimbit, a: a joy, and Conon: t'yung,

This with her 19. gite their coxar! 1..-ht pursus,

Wbile sig's, shrieks, itars, give chase with never OR AN ÉLECY U PON THE UNRIPE DECEASE OF

fainting creus : SIR ANTONY IRBY.

o Thou traitour joy, that in prosperity Composed at the request (and for a monument) of So loudly vauns." whither, a', whither fiest?

And tho'i that 11'st never four life to Ay, his surviving lady.

False bepe ah! whither 10% so spe dy hiest?

In vait ený viagud teer so tast i bou pies!

Hope, idioa art deul, a id Joy, io hope cely:18, ANAGRAMA.

Bleeds in his top less rounds, and ia bis drails Antonius Irbeus

lies dying
An virtus obiens !

But then Alicia (in mbose cheerful eye
Esto mei mortisque memor.

Corafort with grief, hope with coinpa-sion, litelj

Renew, the tight: ir joy and comfort die,
Punus virtuti fænus.

The fault is yours; so inuch (two much) you


That hope could never hope to be relieved.

If all your hopes to one poor b. pe you bind, SIR ANTONY IKBY.

No marvel if one fled, not one remains bebind. 313, I Am altogether (I think) unknown to you, (as Weak, as the thread such knits so we“kly tying;

“ Pond hopes on ise, so weak a thread, depending! having never seen you since your iufancy) neither But heav'uly joys are circular, ne'er ending, do I now desire to be known by this trifle. But I, Sure as the rock on which they grow; and lying

In Hear'n, increase by' loss, live best dy dying. cannot rule these few lines composed presently

Then let yout' hope on tnose sure joys depend, after your father's decease ; they are broken from whicb live and grow by death, and waste not when me, and will see more light than they deserve.

they spend." i wish there were any thing in thelu worthy of 'Then she: “ Great Lord, thy judgments righte. your vacant hours : such as they are, yours they ous be, are by inheritance. As an urn, therefore, of your To inake good ill, when to our ill be use it: father's ashes (I beseech you) receive them, for Good leads us to the greatest good, to thee;

But we w other ends most fond abuse it ; bis sake, and from him, who desires in some better

A cum non fault, yet cannot that excuse it: employment to be

We love thy gifts, and take thein gladly ever : your servant,

We love them (ah, too much !) more than we love

the girer."

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P. P.

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So falling low upon her hambled knoes,

My dear, (once all my joy, now all my care) And all her heart withia ber eye expressing ; To these my words (these my last words) apply "Tis true, great Mercy, only miseries

thee! Teach us ourselves : and thee, ah! if confessing Give me thy hand; these my last greetings are:

Our faults to thee be yll our faults releasing, Show me thy face, I never more shall eye thee.

Bet in thine ear, I never sought to hide them : Ah, would our boys, our lesser selves, were by Ah ! thou hast heard them oft, as oft as thou hast tbee ! ey'd them.

Those my live pictures to the world I give : * I know the heart knows more than tengue can

So single only die, in them twice-two I live.

“ You little souls, your sweetest times enjoy, But theu perceiv'st the heart his fouiness telling : And softly spend among your mother's kisses; Yet knows the beart not half, so wide an Helly

And with your pretty sports and hurtless joy, Such seas of sin in such scant banks are swelling! Supply your weeping inother's grievous misses : Who sees all faults within his boson dwelling;

Ah! while you may, enjoy your little blisses, Maay my tenants are, and I not know them. While yet you nothing know: when back you Most dangerous the wounds thou feel'st, and canst

(nothing knew. not show them.

Sweet will this knowledge seem, when yet you Some hidden fauit, my Father, and my God,

“ For when to riper times your years arrive, Some fault I know not yet, nor yet amended,

No anore (ah! then no more) may you go play Hath forc'st thee frown, and use they smarting rod;

you: Some grievous fault thee grievously offended : Lanch'd in the deep far from the wished hive,

Bet let thy wrath, (ah) set it row be ended Change of world's tempests through blind seas will Fatker, this childish plea (if once I know it)

sway you, Let stay thy threat'ning hand, I never more will

Till to the long-long'd haven they convey you : do it.

Thro' many a wave this brittle life must pass,

And cut the churlish seas, shipt in a bark of glass, “ If to my keart thou show this hidden sere, Sparc me; no more, iro unore I will offend thec, “ How many ships in quicksands swallow'd been ! I dare 150t say I will, I would no more :

What gaping wares, whales, monsters, there exSay thou I shall, and soon I will amend me.

pect you ! Then smooth thy brew, and now some comfort How many rocks, inuch sooner felt than seen!

Yet let no fear, so cosard fright, affect you : Oa, let thy softest mercies rest contented:

He holds the stern, and he will safe direct you, Though late, 1 post repent, that I so late repented. That now I wach the shore, before the seas i Kner.

Who to my sails thus long so gently blew, “ Lay down thy rod, and stay thy smarting hand; These raining eyes into thy bottle gather :

“ I touch the shore, and see my rest preparing. Oh, see thy bloeding sou betwixt us stand; Oh, blessed Gou! how in finite a blessing Remember me a child, thys if a father:

Is in this thought, that thro' this troubled faring, Or, if thou Kay'st not stay, oh, punish rather Through all the faults this guilty age depressing The part offending, this rebellious heart!

I guiltless past, no helpless man oppressing ; Why panlon'st thou the worse, and plagu'st my

And cousing now to thee, lift to the skies better pait?

Unbribed hauds, cleans'd heart, and never tainted

eyes ! “ Was't not thy hand, that tied the sacred knot? Was't not thy hand, that to my hand did gite him?

“ Life, life! how many Scyllas dost thou hide Hast ikou mcmt made us one ? commanl’st thou not,

In thy calm streams, which sooner kill than

threaten! None boose what thou hast bound? If then thou

(pride! reave him,


Gold, honour, greatness, and their daughter, How, without me, by talves dost thou receive

More quiet lives, and less with tempests beaten, Tak'st thou the head, and lear'st the heart be.

Whose middle state content doth richly sweeten ! kind ?

He knows not strife, or brabling lawyers' brawls ; Ay sne! in me abone caast thou such monster find?

His love and wish live pleas'd within his private

walls. Oh, why cost thou so strong ine weak assail ?

“ The king he never sees, nor fears, nor prays; Woman of all thy creatures is the weakest,

Nor sits court promise and false hopes lamenting : Arxd in ber greatest strength did weakly fail;

Within that house he spends and ends his days, Thou who the weak ant bruised never breakest,

Where day he viewed first ; his heart's contenting, Who never triumph in the yielding seekest;

His wife, and babes; nor sits new joys inventing : Pity my weak estate, and leave me never :

Unspotted there, and quiet, he remains ; I ever yet was weak, and now more weak than

And 'mong bis dutcous sons inost lov'd and fear

less reigns. With that her fainting spouse lifts up his haead, “ Thou God of Peace, with what a gentle tide And with some jog his inward griefs refraining, Through this world's raging tempest hast thou Thus with a feeble voice, yet cheerful, said :

brought me ? Spend not in tears this little time remaining; Thou, thou my open soul didst safely hide, Thy grief doth add to mine, not ease my passing: When thousand crafty

, foes so nearly sought me; My death is life; such is the scourge of God: Else had the endless pit too quickly caught me; Ahl if his rod be such, who would not kiss his That endless pit, where it is easier nerer rod?

To fall, than being fallin, to cease from falling ever.

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