"If I Could Shut the Gate"

E'en so we met; and after long pursuit,

E'en so we joined; we both became entire; No need for either to renew a suit,

For I was flax, and He was flames of fire:

Our firm-united souls did more than twine; So I my Best-belovèd's am; so He is mine.

If all those glittering Monarchs, that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,

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I would not change my fortunes for them all: Their wealth is but a counter to my coin: The world's but theirs; but my Belovèd's mine. Francis Quarles [1592-1644]

"IF I COULD SHUT THE GATE AGAINST
MY THOUGHTS"

IF I could shut the gate against my thoughts,
And keep out sorrow from this room within,

Or memory could cancel all the notes

Of my misdeeds, and I unthink my sin:
How free, how clear, how clean my soul should lie,
Discharged of such a loathsome company.

Or were there other rooms within my heart
That did not to my conscience join so near,
Where I might lodge the thoughts of sin apart,

That I might not their clamorous crying hear;
What peace, what joy, what ease should I possess,
Freed from their horrors that my soul oppress.

But, O my Saviour, who my refuge art,

Let Thy dear mercies stand 'twixt them and me, And be the wall to separate my heart

So that I may at length repose me free;

That peace, and joy, and rest may be within,

And I remain divided from my sin.

John Daniel [f. 1625]

HIS LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT

In the hour of my distress,

When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick at heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When his potion and his pill,
His, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the passing-bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,

And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath prayed,

And I nod to what is said

'Cause my speech is now decayed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

To Keep a True Lent

When, God knows, I'm tossed about
Either with despair or doubt,

Yet, before the glass be out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the Judgment is revealed,
And that opened which was sealed,

When to Thee I have appealed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

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Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

TO KEEP A TRUE LENT

Is this a fast, to keep

The larder lean,

And clean

From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish

Of flesh, yet still

To fill

The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,

Or ragged to go,

Or show

A downcast look, and sour?

No; 'tis a fast to dole

Thy sheaf of wheat

And meat

Unto the hungry soul.

It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate;

To circumcise thy life.

To show a heart grief-rent;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin;

And that's to keep thy Lent.

Robert Herrick [1591-1674]

THE FALLEN STAR

A STAR is gone! a star is gone!
There is a blank in Heaven;
One of the cherub choir has done
His airy course this even.

He sat upon the orb of fire
That hung for ages there,
And lent his music to the choir
That haunts the nightly air.

But when his thousand years are passed,
With a cherubic sigh

He vanished with his car at last,

For even cherubs die!

Hear how his angel-brothers mourn-
The minstrels of the spheres-
Each chiming sadly in his turn
And dropping splendid tears.

The planetary Sisters all

Join in the fatal song.

And weep this hapless brother's fall,
Who sang with them so long.

But deepest of the choral band
The Lunar Spirit sings,
And with a bass-according hand
Sweeps all her sullen strings.

"A Child My Choice"

From the deep chambers of the dome
Where sleepless Uriel lies,

His rude harmonic thunders come
Mingled with mighty sighs.

The thousand car-borne cherubim,
The wandering Eleven,

All join to chant the dirge of him
Who fell just now from Heaven.

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George Darley [1795-1846]

“WE NEED NOT BID, FOR CLOISTERED
CELL"

We need not bid, for cloistered cell,
Our neighbor and our work farewell,
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high
For sinful man beneath the sky:

The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask;
Room to deny ourselves; a road
To bring us, daily, nearer God.

Seek we no more; content with these
Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease,

As Heaven shall bid them, come and go:

The secret this of Rest below

John Keble [1792-1866]

"A CHILD MY CHOICE"

LET folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love that Child Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word, whose hand no deed defiled.

I praise Him most, I love Him best, all praise and love is His, While Him I love, in Him I live, and cannot live amiss.