Зображення сторінки
PDF
ePub

AN EPITAPH.

HE modeft front of this small floor

TBelieve me, reader, can say more

Than many a braver marble can,
"Here lies a truly honeft man!"
One whose conscience was a thing
That troubled neither church nor king;
One of those few that in this town
Honour all preachers, hear their own.
Sermons he heard, yet not so many
As left no time to practice any;
He heard them reverently, and then
His practice preach'd them o'er again;
His parlour-sermons rather were
Those to the eye, than to the ear;
His prayers took their price and strength
Not from the loudnefs nor the length;
He was a proteftant at home,

Not only in despite of Rome;

He loved his father, yet his zeal

Tore not off his mother's veil;
To th' church he did allow her dress,
True beauty to true holiness;
Peace, which he loved in life, did lend
Her hand to bring him to his end;

When age and death call'd for the score,
No surfeits were to reckon for ;

Death tore not, therefore, but, sans ftrife,
Gently untwined his thread of life.
What remains, then, but that thou
Write these lines, reader, on thy brow,
And, by his fair example's light,
Burn in thy imitation bright?

So, while these lines can but bequeath
A life, perhaps, unto his death,
His better epitaph shall be-

His life ftill kept alive in thee.

Richard Crafhaw. 1637-1650.

A

THE TOUCHSTONE.

MAN there came, whence none could tell,
Bearing a touchftone in his hand;

And tefted all things in the land

By its unerring spell.

Quick birth of transmutation smote

The fair to foul, the foul to fair; Purple nor ermine did he spare, Nor scorn the dufty coat.

Of heirloom jewels, prized so much,

Were many changed to chips and clods,
And even ftatues of the gods
Crumbled beneath its touch.

Then angrily the people cried,

"The lofs outweighs the profit far; Our goods suffice us as they are;

We will not have them tried.”

And fince they could not so avail

To check this unrelenting guest,

They seized him, saying "Let him teft

How real is our jail!"

[ocr errors]

But, though they flew him with the sword,
And in a fire his Touchftone burn'd,

Its doings could not be o'erturn'd,

Its undoings restored.

And when, to stop all future harm,

They ftrew'd its afhes on the breeze;

They little gueff'd each grain of these

Convey'd the perfect charm.

William Allingham.

[ocr errors][merged small]

A

GRATITUDE AND GRACE.

LAS these vifits rare and rude
Unto Thy holy place!

Our weak, wild burfts of gratitude,
Thy calm, clear deeps of grace.

Oh, never shall Thy mercy make
Our souls to reft in Thine?
Nor mortal gratitude partake

The flow of grace divine?

When shall our grateful raptures rise
Faft as Thy grace descends,

And link to endless harmonies
The love that never ends?

T. H. Gill.

[ocr errors]

PEACE

CONTENT.

EACE, muttering thoughts! and do not grudge to keep

Within the walls of your own breast.

Who cannot on his own bed sweetly fleep

Can on another's hardly reft.

Gad not abroad at every queft and call
Of an untrained hope or paffion.

To court each place or fortune that doth fall,
Is wantonnefs in contemplation.

Mark, how the fire in flints doth quiet lie
Content and warm t' itself alone;
But when it would appear to others' eye,
Without a knock it never fhone.

Give me the pliant mind, whose gentle measure
Complies and suits with all eftates;

Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with pleasure

Take up within a cloister's gates.

This soul doth span the world, and hang content From either pole unto the centre:

« НазадПродовжити »