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Where, in each room of the well-furnished tent,

He lies warm and without adventure,

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Then cease discoursing, soul; till thine own ground.

Do not thyself or friends importune.
He that, by seeking, hath himself once found,
Hath ever found a happy fortune.

George Herbert. 1593–1635.


S To be abhorréd more


OME think there is no earthly state
To be abhorred

Or more deserving fear or hate,

Than to be mean and poor :
Yet such a portion I have got,

That I am needy made;
Yea, this is fallen to my lot,


am not sad.

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For earth and all that therein is,

The Lord's possessions be;
Both He is mine and I am His,

Who hath enough for me :
The rich their own providers are,

Yet sometimes they have need;
But God hath of the poor a care,

And them doth always feed.

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Though poverty seem grievous may,

And much afflicteth some, It is the best and safest way

Unto the world to come ;
For poverty in her extreme,

Nor tempts nor so perverts,
As great abundance tempteth them

Who thereon set their hearts.

Therefore, that every man might grow

With his estate content ;
Thy Son, O God! this way did go,

When through this world He went; He wealth and honor prizéd not,

Though we now prize it high, And Satan, therefore, nothing got

By tempting Him thereby.

Lord ! though I do sometimes complain

That outward means are scant, And would assume that luggage fain,

Which I but think I want;
Yet when I mind how poor a life

My Saviour lived on earth,
Wealth I condemn, and all my grief

Is changed into mirth.

Let still my heart be pleased so,

Whate'er betide me shall ; Yea, make me, though I poorer grow,

Contented therewithal :

And let me not be one of them

Who, in profession poor,
Seem wealth and pleasure to contemn,

That they may cheat the more.

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The works my calling doth propose,

Let me not idly thun;
For he whom idleness undoes,

Is more than twice undone :

eftate enlarge I may, Enlarge my love to Thee; And though I more and more decay,

Yet let me thankful be.

For be we poor or be we rich,

If well employ'd we are,
It neither helps nor hinders much,

Things needful to prepare ;
Since God disposeth riches now,

As manna heretofore,
The feeblest gath'rer got enow,

The strongest got no more.

Nor poverty nor wealth is that

Whereby we may acquire
That blessed and most happy state,

Whereto we should aspire ;
But if Thy Spirit make me wise,

And strive to do my best,
There may be in the worst of these

A means of being blefl'd.

The rich in love obtain from Thee

Thy special gifts of grace ; The poor in spirit those men be

Who shall behold Thy face : Lord ! grant


may be one of these,
Thus poor, or else thus rich;
E'en whether of the two Thou please,
I care not greatly which.

George Wither.

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AY by day the manna fell ;

O, to learn this lesson well! Still by constant mercy fed,

Give us, Lord, our daily bread.

“Day by day” the promise reads ;

Daily strength for daily needs : Cast foreboding fears away ;

Take the manna of to-day !

Lord, our times are in thy hand;

All our sanguine hopes have planned, To thy wisdom we resign,

And would mould our wills to thine.

Thou our daily task shalt give ;

Day by day to thee we live ;

So shall added years fulfil

Not our own, our Father's will.

O, to live exempt from care,

By the energy of prayer ;
Strong in faith, with mind subdued,
Glowing yet with gratitude !


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YEARS gone down into the past;

What pleasant memories come to me, Of your untroubled days of peace,

And hours of almost ecstacy !

Yet would I have no moon stand still,

Where life's most pleasant valleys lie; Nor wheel the planet of the day

Back on his pathway through the sky.

For though, when youthful pleasures died,

My youth itself went with them, too ; To-day, aye ! even this very hour,

Is the best hour I ever knew.

Not that my Father gives to me

More bleffings than in days gone by,

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