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Thou feeding there where lilies fpring,
While round about the virgins dance,
Thy spouse doft to glory bring,
And them with high rewards advance.
The virgins follow in thy ways
Whitherfoever thou doft go,

They trace thy steps with fongs of praise,
And in fweet hymns thy glory fhow.
Caufe thy protecting grace we pray
n all our fenfes to abound,
Keeping from them all harms which may
Our fouls with foul corruption wound.
Praise, honour, ftrength, and glory great
To God, the Father, and the Son,
And to the holy Paraclete,
While time lafts, and when time is done.
X. Hymn.

BENIGN Creator of the stars,
Eternal light of faithful eyes,
Chrift, whofe redemption none debars,
Do not our humble prayers defpife.
Who for the ftate of mankind griev'd,
That it by death destroy'd fhould be,
Haft the difeafed world reliev'd,
And given the guilty remedy.

When th' evening of the world drew near,
Thou as a bridegroom deign'ft to come
Out of thy wedding-chamber dear,
Thy virgin mother's pureft womb.

To the strong force of whose high reign
All knees are bow'd with gesture low,
Creatures which heaven or earth contain,
With rev'rence their subjection show.

holy Lord, we thec defire, Whom we expect to judge all faults, Preferve us as the times require, from our deceitful foes affaults.

Praife, honour, ftrength, and glory great,
To God, the Father, and the Son,
And to the holy Paraclete,

Whilft time lafts, and when time is done.
XI. Hymn for Sunday.

O BLEST Creator of the light,
Who bringing forth the light of days
With the first work of fplendor bright,
The world didft to beginning raise.
Who morn with evening join'd in one
Commandeft should be call'd the day :
The foul confufion now is gone,

O hear us when with tears we pray;
Left that the mind with fears full fraught,
Should lofe beft life's eternal gains,
While it hath no immortal thought,
But is inwrapt in finful chains.
O may it beat the inmost sky,
And the reward of life poffefs;
May we from hurtful actions fly,
And purge away all wickedness.

Dear Father, grant what we entreat,
And only Son who like power haft,
Together with the Paraclete,
Reigning whilft times and ages laft.

XII. Hymn for Monday.

GREAT Maker of the heavens wide,
Who least things mixt fhould all confound;
The floods and waters didit divide,
And didst appoint the heavens their bound.
Ordering where heavenly things shall stay,
Where ftreams fhall run on earthly foil,
That waters may the flames allay,
Least they the globe of earth fhould spoil.
Sweet Lord into our minds infufe
The gift of everlasting grace,
That no old faults which we did use
May with new frauds our fouls deface.
May our true faith obtain the light,
And fuch clear beams our hearts poffefs,
That it vain things may banifh quite,
And that no falfehood it opprefs.

Dear Father grant what we entreat, &c.
Xill. Hymn for Tuesday.

GREAT Maker of man's earthly realm,
Who didst the ground from waters take,
Which did the troubled land o'erwhelm,
And it unmoveable didst make.

That there young plants might fitly spring,
While it with golden flowers attir'd
Might forth ripe fruit in plenty bring,
And yield fweet fruit by all defir'd.
With fragrant greenness of thy grace
Our blafted fouls of wounds release,
That tears foul fins away may chafe,
And in the mind bad motions cease:
May it obey thy heavenly voice,
And never drawing near to ill,
T' abound in goodness may rejoice,
And may no mortal fin fulfil.

Dear Father, &c.

XIV. Hymn for Wednesday.
O HOLY God of heavenly frame,
Who mak'ft the pole's high centre bright,
And paint'ft the fame with fhining flames,
Adorning it with beauteous light:
Who, framing on the fourth of days
The fiery chariot of the fun,

Appoint'ft the moon her changing rays,
And orbs in which the planets run.
That thou might'ft by a certain bound
'Twixt night and day divifion make;
And that fome fure fign might be found
To fhow when months beginning take.
Men's hearts with lightfome fplendor bless,
Wipe from their minds polluting spots,
Diffolve the bond of guiltinefs,

Throw down the heaps of finful blots.

Dear Father, &c.

XV. Hymn for Thursday. O God, whofe forces far extend, Who creatures which from waters fpring Back to the flood doft partly fend, And up to th' air doft partly bring. Some in the waters deeply div'd, Some playing in the heavens above, Xx iij

That natures from one flock deriv'd May thus to feveral dwellings move : Upon thy fervants grace beftow, Whofe fouls thy bloody waters clear, That they no finful falls may know, Nor heavy grief of death may bear: That fin no foul oppreft may thrall, That none be lifted high with pride, That minds caft downward do not fall, Nor raised up may backward flide.

Dear Father, &c.

XVI. Hymn for Friday.

Gob, from whole work mankind did spring,
Who all in rule doft only keep,
Bidding the dry land forth to bring

All kind of beafts which on it creep :
Who haft made subject to man's hand
Great bodies of each mighty thing,
That taking life from thy command,
They might in order ferve their King.
From us thy fervants (Lord) expel
Thefe errors which uncleannefs breeds,
Which either in our manners dwell,
Or mix themselves among our deeds.
Give the rewards of joyful life;
The plenteous gifts of grace increase;
Diffolve the cruel bonds of ftrife;
Knit faft the happy league of peace.
Dear Father, &c.

XVII. Hymn for Saturday.
O TRINITY, O bleffed light,
O Unity, most principal;
The fiery fun now leaves our fight,
Cause in our hearts thy beams to fall:

Let us with fons of praise divine
At morn and evening thee implore,
And let our glory bow'd to thine
Thee glorify for ever more.

To God the Father glory great,
And glory to his only Son,
And to the holy Paraclete,
Both now and still while ages run.

UPON THE SUNDAYS IN LENT.
XVII. Hymn.

O merciful Creator, hear
Our prayers to thee devoutly bent,
Which we pour forth with many a tear
In this most holy fast of Lent.

Thou mildeft fearcher of each heart,

Who know'ft the weakness of our strength
To us forgiving grace impart,
Since we return to thee at length.
Much have we finned to our fhame,
But fpare us who our fins confefs;
And for the glory of thy name
To our fick fouls afford redrefs.
Grant that the flesh may be fo pin'd
By means of outward abftinence,
As that the fober watchful mind

May faft from spots of all offence.

Grant this, O bleffed Trinity;
Pure Unity to this incline,
That the effects of fafts may be
A grateful recompence for thine.
XIX. On the Afcenfion Dag.

O Jesu, who our fouls doft fave,
On whom our love and hopes depend,
God from whom all things being have,
Man when the world drew to an end.
What clemency thee vanquisht fo,
Upon thee our foul crimes to take,
And cruel death to undergo,

That thou from death us free might make.

Let thine own goodness to thee bend,
That thou our fins may'ft put to flight;
Spare us, and as our wishes tend,
O fatisfy us with thy fight;
Mayft theu our joyful pleasures be,
Who fhall be our expected gain,
And let our glory be in thee
While any ages fhall remain.

XX. Hymn for Whitsunday.
CREATOR, Holy Ghost defcend,
Vifit our minds with thy bright flame,
And thy celestial grace extend

To fill the hearts which thou didst frame:
Who Paraclete are faid to be,
Gift which the highest God bestows,
Fountain of life, fire, charity,
Ointment whence ghoftly bleffings flows.
Thy seven-fold grace thou down doft send,
Of God's right hand thou finger art,
Thou by the Father promised
Unto our mouths doft fpeech impart.
In our dull fenfes kindle light;
Infufe thy love into our hearts,
Reforming with perpetual light
Th' infirmities of fleshly parts.
Far from our dwelling drive our foe,
And quickly peace unto us bring,
Be thou our guide, before to go,
That we may fhun each hurtful thing.
Be pleased to inftruct our mind,
To know the Father and the Son,
The Spirit who them both doft bind,
Let us believe while ages run.

To God the Father glory great,
And to the Son who from the dead
Arofe, and to the Paraclete

Beyond all time imagined.

XXI. On the Transfiguration of our Lord, the 6th
Auguft. A Hymn.

ALL you that feek Chrift, let your fight
Up to the height directed be,

For there you may the fign most bright
Of everlasting glory fee.

A radiant light we there behold,
Endless, unbounded, lofty, high:
Than heaven or that rude heap more old,
Wherein the world confus'd did lie.
The Gentiles this great Prince embrace;
The Jews obey this King's command,

Promis'd to Abraham and his race
A bleffing while the world shall stand.

By mouths of prophets free from lies,
Who feal the witnefs which they bear,
His Father bidding testifies

That we should him believe and hear:

Glory, O Lord, be given to thee,
Who haft appear'd upon this day;
And glory to the Father be,
And to the Holy Ghoft for ay.

XXII. On the Feast of St. Michael the Arch-Angel.
To thee, O Chrift, thy Father's light,
Life, virtue, which our heart infpires,
In prefence of thine angels bright,
We fing with voice and with defires:
Ourselves we mutually invite,
To melody with answering quires.
With reverence we thefe foldiers praise,
Who near the heavenly throne abide,
And chiefly him whom God doth raise,
His ftrong celeftial host to guide;
Michael who by his power difmays,
And beateth down the devils pride.

Upon the Victorious King of Sweden, Gustavus
Adolphus.

LIKE a cold fatal fweat which ushers death,
My thoughts hang on me, and by labouring breath
Stopt up with fighs, my fancy big with woes
Feels two twin mountains ftruggle in her throws,
Of boundless forrow th' one, th' other of fin,
For lefs let no man call it, to begin
Where honour ends in great Guitavus' flame,
That ftill burn'd out and wafted to a name,
Does barely live with us, and when the stuff
Which fed it fails, the taper turns to snuff;
With this poor fnuff, this airy fhadow, we
Of fame and honour must contented be,
Since from the vain grafp of our wishes fled
Their glorious fubftances, now he is dead.
Speak it again, and louder, louder yet,
Elfe whilft we hear the found we fhall forget
What it delivers, let hoarfe rumour cry
Till the fo many echoes multiply,
That may like numerous witneffes confute
Our unbelieving fouls that would difpute
And doubt this truth for ever, this one way
Is left our incredulity to fway;

T' awaken our deaf fenfe, and make our cars
As open, and dilated as our tears.

That we may feel the blow, and feeling grieve
At what we would not fain, but must believe,
And in that horrid faith behold the world
From her proud height of expectation hufl'd;
Stcoping with him, as if the ftrove to have
No lower centre now, than Sweden's grave.
O could not all the purchas'd victories
Like to thy fame thy flesh immortalize?
Were not thy virtue, nor thy valour charms
To guard thy body from those outward harms
Which could not reach thy foul? could not thy
fpirit

Lend fomewhat which thy frailty could inherit,
From thy diviner part that death nor heat
Nor envy's bullets e'er could penetrate?
Could not thy early trophies in ftern fight
Turn from the Pole, the Dane, the Muscovite?

Which were thy triumphs, feeds as pledges fown,
That when thy honour's harveft was ripe grown
With full plum'd wing thou falcon-like could fly,
And cuff the eagle in the German sky,
Forcing his iron beak, and feathers feel
They were not proof 'gainst thy victorious steel.
Could not all these protect thee, or prevail,
To fright that coward death, who oft grew pale
To look thee and thy battles in the face?
Alas they could not; deftiny gives place
To none. Nor is it feen that princes lives
Can faved be by their prerogatives:

No more was thine; who, clos'd in thy cold lead,
Doft from thyself a mournful leЯure read
Of man's fhort dated glory. Learn you kings,
You are like him but penetrable things,
Though you from demi-gods derive your birth,
You are at best but honourable earth.
And howe'er fifted from that courfer bran
Which doth compound and knead the common

man;

Nothing immortal, or from earth refin'd
About you, but your office and your mind.
Hear then, break your false glasses which present
You greater than your Maker ever meant.
Make truth your mirror now, fince you find all
That flatter you, confuted by his fail.

Yet fince it was decreed thy life's bright fun
Must be eclips'd e'cr thy full courfe was run,
Be proud thou didst in thy black obfequies
With greater glory fet than others rifc..
For in thy death, as life, thou holdest one
Moft juft and regular proportion.
Look how the circles drawn by compass meet
Indivifibly, joined head to feet;

And by continued points which them unite
Grow at once circular, and infinite.

So did thy fate and honour both contend
To match thy brave beginning with thine ende
Therefore thou hadft instead of paffing bells
The drums, and canons, thunder for thy knells;
And in the field thou didst triumphing die,
Clofing thy eye-lids with a victory,

X x iiij

WOULD you know these royal knaves Of free-men would turn us flaves; Who our union do defame

With rebellion's wicked name;

Read these verses, and ye will spring them.
Then on gibbets ftraight caufe hing them.
They complain of fin and folly,
In thefe times, fo paffing holy
They their fubftance will not give
Libertines that we may live
Hold thofe fubjects too too wanton,
Under an old king dare canton.
Negle& they do our circular tables,
Scorn our acts and laws as fables,
Of our battles talk but meekly,
With four fermons pleas'd are weekly,
Su ar King Charles is neither Papist,
Armenian, Lutheran or Atheist:
But that in his chamber-prayers,
Which are pour'd 'midst sighs and tears
Te avert God's fearful wrath,
Threat'ning us with blood and death;
Perfuade they would the multitude,
This king too holy is and good.
They avouch we'll weep and groan,
When hundred kings we ferve for one,
That each fhire but blood affords,
To ferve the ambition of young lords,
Whofe debts ere now had been redoubled
If the state had not been troubled.
Slow they are our oath to fwear,
Slower for its arms to bear,
They do concord love and peace,
Would our enemies embrace:
Turn men profelytes by the word,
Not by musket, pike and fword.

They swear that for religion's fake
We may not maffacre, burn, fack:
That the beginning of these pleas
Sprang from the ill-fpe'd A, B, C's.
For fervants that it is not well
Against their masters to rebel,
That that devotion is but flight

Doth force men first to swear, then fight.
That our confeffion is indeed

Not the Apoftolic Creed,

Which of negations we contrive,

Which Turk and Jew may both subscrive.

That monies fhould men's daughters marry,
They on frantic war mifcarry.
Whilft dear the foldiers they pay,
At laft who will fnatch all away.
And as times turn worfe and worse,
Catechife us by the purse.

That debts are paid with bold ftern looks,
That merchants pray on their count-books;
That justice dumb and fullen frowns
To fee in croflets hang'd her gowns;
That preachers ordinary theme
Is 'gainst monarchy to declaim.
That fince leagues we began to fwear,
Vice did ne'er fo black appear;
Oppreffion, bloodshed, ne'er more rife,
Foul jars between the man and wife;
Religion fo contemn'd was never
Whilft all are raging in a fever.

They tell by devils and fome fad chance
That that deteftable league of France,
Which coft fo many thousand lives,
And two kings by rebellious knives,
Is amongst us, though few defcry,
Though they speak truth, yet fay they lie.