Part 27 (1/2)

Hark! how His winds have chang'd their note!

And with warm whispers call thee out; The frosts are past, the storms are gone, And backward life at last comes on.

The lofty groves in express joys Reply unto the turtle's voice; And here in dust and dirt, O here The lilies of His love appear!

THE DAY SPRING.

Early, while yet the dark was gay And gilt with stars, more trim than day, Heav'n's Lily, and the Earth's chaste Rose, The green immortal Branch arose; } And in a solitary place } S. Mark, Bow'd to His Father His blest face. } c. 1, v. 35- If this calm season pleased my Prince, Whose fulness no need could evince, Why should not I, poor silly sheep, His hours, as well as practice, keep?

Not that His hand is tied to these, From whom Time holds his transient lease But mornings new creations are, When men, all night sav'd by His care, Are still reviv'd; and well He may Expect them grateful with the day.

So for that first draught of His hand, } Which finish'd heav'n, and sea, and land, } Job, c. 38, The sons of G.o.d their thanks did bring, } v. 7- And all the morning stars did sing. } Besides, as His part heretofore The firstlings were of all that bore So now each day from all He saves Their soul's first thoughts and fruits He craves.

This makes Him daily shed and show'r His graces at this early hour; Which both His care and kindness show, Cheering the good, quickening the slow.

As holy friends mourn at delay, And think each minute an hour's stay, So His Divine and loving Dove With longing throes[67] doth heave and move, And soar about us while we sleep; Sometimes quite through that lock doth peep, And s.h.i.+ne, but always without fail, Before the slow sun can unveil, In new compa.s.sions breaks, like light, And morning-looks, which scatter night.

And wilt Thou let Thy creature be, When Thou hast watch'd, asleep to Thee?

Why to unwelcome loath'd surprises Dost leave him, having left his vices?

Since these, if suffer'd, may again Lead back the living to the slain.

O, change this scourge; or, if as yet None less will my transgressions fit, Dissolve, dissolve! Death cannot do What I would not submit unto.

FOOTNOTES:

[67] The original has _throws_.

THE RECOVERY.

I.

Fair vessel of our daily light, whose proud And previous glories gild that blus.h.i.+ng cloud; Whose lively fires in swift projections glance From hill to hill, and by refracted chance Burnish some neighbour-rock, or tree, and then Fly off in coy and winged flames again: If thou this day Hold on thy way, Know, I have got a greater light than thine; A light, whose shade and back-parts make thee s.h.i.+ne.

Then get thee down! then get thee down!

I have a Sun now of my own.

II.

Those nicer livers, who without thy rays Stir not abroad, those may thy l.u.s.tre praise; And wanting light--light, which no wants doth know-- To thee--weak s.h.i.+ner!--like blind Persians bow.

But where that Sun, which tramples on thy head, From His own bright eternal eye doth shed One living ray, There thy dead day Is needless, and man to a light made free, Which shows that thou canst neither show nor see.

Then get thee down! then get thee down!

I have a Sun now of my own.

THE NATIVITY.

Written in the year 1656.

Peace? and to all the world? Sure One, And He the Prince of Peace, hath none!

He travels to be born, and then Is born to travel more again.

Poor Galilee! thou canst not be The place for His Nativity.