The soul a substance and a spirit is, Which God Himself doth in the body make, And though this spirit be to the body knit. As an apt means her powers to exercise, THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL SHOWN FROM THE UNSATISFYING NATURE OF EARTHLY ENJOYMENTS. AT first her mother earth she holdeth dear, And doth embrace the world, and worldly things; Yet under heaven she cannot light on aught For who did ever yet, in honor, wealth, Or pleasure of the sense, contentment find? Then as a bee, which among weeds doth fall, Which seem sweet flowers with lustre fresh and gay, She lights on that and this, and tasteth all; But pleased with none, doth rise and soar away: So when the soul finds here no true content, And flies to Him that first her wings did make. THE WORTH OF THE SOUL. OH! ignorant, poor man! what dost thou bear Look in thy soul, and thou shalt beauties find, Like those which drowned Narcissus in the flood; Honor and pleasure both are in thy mind, And all that in the world is counted good. Think of her worth, and think that God did mean Kill not her quickening power with surfeitings; And when thou thinkest of her eternity, Think not that death against our nature is; Think it a birth, and when thou goest to die, Sing a like song as if thou wentest to bliss. And thou, my soul, which turnest with curious eye, While thou art clouded with this flesh of mine. Take heed of overweening, and compare Thy peacock's feet with thy gay peacock's train; Study the best and highest things that are, But of thyself an humble thought retain. Cast down thyself, and only strive to raise The glory of thy Maker's sacred name, Use all thy powers that blessed Power to praise, FRANCIS DAVISON Was the son of William Davison, the unfortunate secretary of Queen Elizabeth. After travelling on the continent, he turned his attention to poetry, and in 1602 he published the first edition of the "Political Rhapsody." He was one of the authors of a version of "Selected Poems," and Mr. Wilmot gives the following specimens by him. PARAPHRASE OF PSALM XXIII. GOD, who the universe doth hold Is my shepherd kind and heedful, Still supplied with all things needful. He feeds me in fields which bin' Fresh and green, Mottled with Spring's flowery painting, To refresh my spirits fainting. When my soul from heaven's way Went astray, With earth's vanities seduced, For his namesake, kindly He, To his holy fold reduced.2 1 Be 2 Reduced, led back. Yea, though I stray through Death's vale, Shades did on each side enfold me, For thy rod and staff uphold me. Thou board with messes large My bowls full of wine thou pourest, Envious eyes, Balm upon mine head thou showerest. Neither dures thy bounteous grace But it knows nor bound, nor measure; Shall I spend In thy courts with heavenly pleasure. PARAPHRASE OF PSALM LXXXVI. SAVE my soul which Thou didst cherish Save Thy servant that hath none After Thy sweet-wonted fashion, Send, O send, relieving gladness, Let thine ears which long have tarried That my cries may entrance gain, For Thou, darter of dread thunders, Heavenly Tutor, of thy kindness, In knots to be loosed never, Lord, my God, thou shalt be praised, Mighty men with malice endless, But Thy might their malice passes, |