Yet if thou shunnest, I am thine : Church Rents and Schisms. BRAVE Rose, alas! where art thou? in the chair, Why doth my mother blush? is she the rose, Turned your ruddy into pale and bleak; Then did your several parts unloose and start : Which when your neighbors saw, like a north wind They rushed in, and cast them in the dirt With these two poor ones lick up all the dew, Justice. O DREADFUL Justice! what a fright and terror Wast thou of old; When sin and error Did show and shape thy looks to me, And through their glass discolor thee! He that did but look up, was proud and bold. The dishes of thy balance seemed to gape, The beam and scape Did like some tort'ring engine show: Thy hand above did burn and glow, Daunting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits. But now that Christ's pure vail presents the sight, I see no fears: Thy hand is white; Thy scales like buckets, which attend And interchangeably descend, Lifting to heaven from this well of tears. For where, before, thou still didst call on me, Now I still touch And harp on thee. God's promises have made thee mine: Why should I justice now decline? Against me there is none; but for me, much. The Pilgrimage. I TRAVELLED on, seeing the hill, where lay A long it was and weary way. I left on th' one, and on the other side, And so I came to Fancy's meadow, strewed Fain would I here have made abode, So to Care's copse I came, and there got through That led me to the wild of Passion; which Some call the wold; A wasted place, but sometimes rich. Here I was robbed of all my gold, Save one good angel, which a friend had tied At length I got unto the gladsome hill, Where lay my hope, Where lay my heart; and climbing still, When I had gained the brow and top, A lake of brackish waters on the ground Was all I found. With that abashed, and struck with many a sting Of swarming fears, I fell, and cried, Alas, my King! Can both the way and end be tears? Yet taking heart, I rose, and then perceived My hill was further: so I flung away; Just as I went, None goes that way And but a chair. The Hold-Fast. I THREATENED to observe the strict decree Of my dear God, with all my power and might; But I was told by one it could not be ; Yet I might trust in God to be my light. Then will I trust, said I, in him alone. But to have nought is ours; not to confess That we have nought. I stood amazed at this; Much troubled, till I heard a friend express, Complaining. Do not beguile my heart, My power and wisdom. Put me not to shame, Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls. Thou art the Lord of glory; Are both thy due. But I, a silly fly, That live or die, 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 Contract my hour, That I may climb and find relief. |