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LORD! I confess too, when I dine,
And all those other bits, that be
The Worts, the Purslain, and the mess
Which, of Thy kindness, Thou hast sent!
Makes those, and my beloved Beet,
To be more sweet!
'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth;
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
LORD! 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand
And giv'st me, for my bushel sown,
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
The while, the conduits of my kine
All these, and better, Thou dost send
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart!
Which, fired with incense, I resign
But the acceptance; that must be,
TO DAISIES: NOT TO SHUT TOO SOON!
No Marigolds yet closed are;
Stay but till my JULIA close
Her life-begetting eye!
And let the whole world then dispose
'CHERRY ripe! ripe! ripe!' I cry,
TIME was upon
Him, but a while to stay:
He held out then
A Writing, as he went;
And asked me, 'When
False Man would be content
What GOD and Nature lent?'
O, YEARS! and Age! farewell ! Behold, I go
Where I do know
Infinity to dwell!
And these mine eyes shall see
Are lost i' th' sea
Of vast Eternity!
Where never Moon shall sway
The stars; but she,
And Night, shall be Drowned in one endless Day!
HIS POETRY'S PILLAR.
ONLY a little more
I have to write; Then I'll give o'er
And bid the World Good night!'
'Tis but a flying minute
That I must stay,
Or linger in it;
And then I must away!
O, Time! that cutt'st down all!
And scarce leav'st here
Of any men that were;
How many lie forgot
In vaults beneath!
And piecemeal rot,
Without a fame in death!