127. PRAISE. LORD, I will mean and speak thy praise, My busie heart shall spin it all my dayes: When thou dost favour any action, All things concurre to give it a perfection. That which had but two legs before, When thou dost blesse, hath twelve: one wheel doth To twentie then, or more. But when thou dost on businesse blow, It hangs, it clogs : Not all the teams of Albion in a row Can hale or draw it out of doore. Legs are but stumps, and Pharaoh's wheels but logs, Thousands of things do thee employ This spacious globe: Angels must have their joy, The windes their stint: and yet when I did call, I have not lost one single tear: But when mine eyes Did weep to heav'n, they found a bottle there [rise (As we have boxes for the poore) Readie to take them in; yet of a size That would contain much more. But after thou hadst slipt a drop (Which there did hang like streamers neare the top Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart, O that I might some other hearts convert, And so take up at use good store : That to thy chests there might be coming in WOUNDED I sing, tormented I indite, Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest: To linger in me, and together languish. I live to shew his power, who once did bring 129. THE PULLEY. WHEN God at first made man, Having a glasse of blessings standing by ; So strength first made a way; Then beautie flow'd, then wisdome, honour, pleasure : For if I should (said he) Bestow this jewell also on my creature, Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlesnesse: 130. THE PRIESTHOOD. BLEST Order, which in power dost so excell, For that of th' holy word. But thou art fire, sacred and hallow'd fire; : To wear thy habit, the severe attire My slender compositions might consume. To deal in holy writ. Yet have I often seen, by cunning hand Of skilfull artists, for the boards of those Who make the bravest shows. But since those great ones, be they ne'er so great, Have one beginning and one finall summe : If earth in earth delight. But th' holy men of God such vessels are, Their hands convey him, who conveys their hands: Wherefore I dare not, I, put forth my hand To hold the Ark, although it seem to shake Through th' old sinnes and new doctrines of our land. Onely, since God doth often vessels make Of lowly matter for high uses meet, I throw me at his feet. There will I lie, untill my Maker seek For some mean stuffe whereon to show his skill: Then is my time. Doth flatter power. The distance of the meek Lest good come short of ill In praising might, the poore do by submission What pride by opposition. WHITHER, O, whither art thou fled, My Lord, my Love? My searches are my daily bread; Yet never prove. My knees pierce th' earth, mine eies the skie : And yet the sphere And centre both to me denie That thou art there. Yet can I mark how herbs below Grow green and gay; As if to meet thee they did know, While I decay. Yet can I mark how starres above Simper and shine, As having keyes unto thy love, While poore I pine. I sent a sigh to seek thee out, Deep drawn in pain, Wing'd like an arrow but my scout Returns in vain. |