Although by stealth My flesh get on; yet let her sister, . My soul, bid nothing, but preserve her wealth: Childhood is health. George Herbert [1593-1633] UNKINDNESS LORD, make me coy and tender to offend: Unto my friend's intent and end; I would not use a friend as I use Thee. If any touch my friend or his good name, His blasted fame From the least spot or thought of blame; I could not use a friend as I use Thee. My friend may spit upon my curious floor. And Thee within them, starve at door; When that my friend pretendeth to a place, Sues for my heart, I Thee displace; Yet can a friend what Thou hast done fulfil? O, write in brass, "My God upon a tree His blood did spill, Only to purchase my good-will"; Yet use I not my foes as I use Thee. George Herbert [1593–1633] Prayer 3477 PRAYER AN ODE WHICH WAS PREFIXED TO A LITTLE PRAYER-BOOK GIVEN TO A YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN Lo, here a little volume, but great book! (Fear it not, sweet, It is no hypocrite), Much larger in itself than in its look. A nest of new-born sweets, Whose native fires, disdaining To lie thus folded, and complaining Of these ignoble sheets, Affect more comely bands, Fair one, from thy kind hands, And confidently look To find the rest Of a rich binding in your breast! It is, in one choice handful, heaven; and all Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie Against the ghostly foe to take your part, And fortify the hold of your chaste heart. It is the armory of light; Let constant use but keep it bright, To holy hands and humble hearts Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. Only be sure The hands be pure That hold these weapons; and the eyes Those of turtles, chaste and true, Wakeful and wise, Here is a friend shall fight for you; Hold but this book before your heart,— But, O! the heart That studies this high art Must be a sure house-keeper, Dear soul, be strong; Mercy will come ere long, And bring her bosom fraught with blessings,- To make immortal dressings For worthy souls, whose wise embraces Amongst the gay mates of the god of flies And keep the Devil's holiday; To dance in the sunshine of some smiling, Spheres of sweet and sugared lies, Of false, perhaps, as fair, Flattering, but forswearing, eyes; Will get the start Meanwhile, and, stepping in before, Prayer Home to the heart, and sets the house on fire, Yet doth not stay To ask the window's leave to pass that way; Of soul, dear and divine annihilations; Of joys, and rarefied delights; An hundred thousand loves and graces, And many a mystic thing, Which the divine embraces 3479 Of the dear Spouse of spirits, with them will bring, That dull mortality must not know a name. Of all this store Of blessings, and ten thousand more, If, when He come, He find the heart from home, Doubtless He will unload Himself some otherwhere, And pour abroad His precious sweets On the fair soul whom first He meets. Selected dove, Whoe'er she be, Whose early love With winged vows Makes haste to meet her morning Spouse, Happy, indeed, who never misses To improve that precious hour, Seize her sweet prey, All fresh and fragrant as He rises, At once ten thousand paradises! To rifle and deflower The rich and roseal spring of those rare sweets How many heavens at once it is Richard Crashaw [1613?-1649] PROVIDENCE Lo, the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield! Say, with richer crimson glows The kingly mantle than the rose? Say, have kings more wholesome fare Than we citizens of air? Barns nor hoarded grain have we, Yet we carol merrily. Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, One there lives, whose guardian eye Fearless of the snare and lime, Free from doubt and faithless sorrow: God provideth for the morrow. Reginald Heber [1783-1826] |