As all my sins Thy sorrows were! To this reply? What, O God! but a silent tear? Some toil and sow That wealth may flow, COMPLAINING. Do not beguile my heart, Because Thou art My power and wisdom! Put me not to shame, Thy clay that sweeps, Thy dust that calls! Thou art the Lord of Glory— Are both Thy due; but I a silly fly, According as the weather falls. Art Thou all justice, Lord? More attributes? Am I all throat or eye, Have I no parts but those of grief? Let not Thy wrathful power My inch of life; or let Thy gracious power That I may climb and find relief. SONNETS. GEORGE HERBERT. How orient is Thy beauty! How divine! NOR myrrh, nor cassia, nor the choice per- Of unctious nard, or aromatic fumes With more delicious sweetness than the fair And dress this earth for next year's meat: With heavenly laurels of eternal fame, But let me heed Why thou didsted, And what in the next world to eat. HENEY VAUGHAN. Which makes the virgins fix their eyes upon Thee, And all that view Thee are enamored on Thee. These are Thy wonders, Lord of loveTo make us see we are but flowers that glide; Which when we once can find and prove, Who would have thought my shrivelled Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. heart Could have recovered greenness? It was gone Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root when they have blown, Where they together, All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown. These are Thy wonders, Lord of power: Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell And up to heaven in an hour, Making a chiming of a passing-bell. We say amiss, This or that is Thy word is all, if we could spell. O that I once past changing wereFast in Thy paradise, where no flower can wither! Many a Spring I shoot up fair, Offering at heaven, growing and groaning thither; Who would be more, Swelling through store, Forfeit their paradise by their pride. GEORGE HERBEET. A PRAYER LIVING AND DYING. Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Not the labors of my hands |