LVII LIFE THE HE World's a bubble, and the Life of Man In his conception wretched, from the womb Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years Who then to frail mortality shall trust, Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest, Courts are but only superficial schools The rural parts are turn'd into a den And where's a city from foul vice so free, Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, Those that live single, take it for a curse, Some would have children: those that have them, moan What is it, then, to have, or have no wife, But single thraldom, or a double strife? Our own affection still at home to please To cross the seas to any foreign soil, Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease, What then remains, but that we still should cry Lord Bacon LVIII THE LESSONS OF NATURE F this fair volume which we World do name OF If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, Of him who it corrects, and did it frame, We clear might read the art and wisdom rare : Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame, His providence extending everywhere, His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, But silly we, like foolish children, rest Well pleased with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold, Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, W. Drummond LIX OTH then the world go thus, doth all thus move? DoT Is this the justice which on Earth we find? Is this that firm decree which all doth bind? Are these your influences, Powers above? Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove; Ah! if a Providence doth sway this all Why should best minds groan under most distress? Heavens! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time When good may have, as well as bad, their prime ! W. Drummond LX THE WORLD'S WAY IRED with all these, for restful death I cry TIR As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive Good attending captain Ill :— Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. W. Shakespeare LXI SAINT JOHN BAPTIST 'HE last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. There burst he forth: All ye whose hopes rely Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? Only the echoes, which he made relent, BOOK SECOND LXII ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY HIS is the month, and this the happy morn, King Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table He laid aside; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein |