Great God, there is no safety here below;

Thou art my fortress, though thou seem'st my foe, "Tis thou that strik'st the stroke must guard the blow.

Thou art my God; by thee I fall or stand;
Thy grace hath giv'n me courage to withstand
All tortures, but my conscience and thy hand.

I know thy justice is thyself; I know,
Just God, thy very self is mercy too;

If not to thee, where-whither-should I go

?

Then work thy will. If passion bid me flee,
My reason shall obey; my wings shall be
Stretch'd out no further than from thee to thee.

TIME FOR REPENTANCE.

My glass is half unspent ; forbear to arrest
My thriftless day too soon: my poor request
Is that my glass may run but out the rest.

My time-devoured minutes will be done
Without thy help; see, see how swift they run !
Cut not my thread before my thread be spun.

The gain's not great I purchase by this stay;
What loss sustain'st thou by so small delay,
To whom ten thousand years are but a day?

My following eye can hardly make a shift
To count my winged hours; they fly so swift,
They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift:

The secret wheels of hurrying Time do give
So short a warning, and so fast they drive,
That I am dead before I seem to live.

And what's a life? a weary pilgrimage,
Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage
With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age.

And what's a life? the flourishing array
Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay.

Read on this dial, how the shades devour
My short-liv'd winter's day; hour eats
up hour;
Alas! the total's but from eight to four.

Behold these lilies (which thy hands have made Fair copies of my life, and open laid

To view) how soon they droop, how soon they fade!

Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon;
My non-aged day already points to noon;
How simple is my suit! how small my boon!

Nor do I beg this slender inch, to while
The time away, or safely to beguile

My thoughts with joy; here's nothing worth a

smile.

No, no; 'tis not to please my wanton ears
With frantic mirth; I beg but hours, not

years:

And what thou giv'st me, I will give to tears.

Draw not that soul which would be rather led!
That seed has yet not broke my serpent's head;
O, shall I die before my sins are dead?

Behold these rags; am I a fitting guest
To taste the dainties of thy royal feast,

With hands and face unwashed, ungirt, unblest?

First, let the Jordan streams (that find supplies
From the deep fountain of thy heart) arise,
And cleanse my spots, and clear my lep'rous
eyes.

I have a world of sins to be lamented:

I have a sea of tears that must be vented:
O spare till then; and then I die contented.

DELIGHT IN GOD ONLY.

I LOVE (and have some cause to love) the earth:
She is my Maker's creature; therefore good:
She is my mother, for she gave me birth;
She is my tender nurse; she gives me food;
But what's a creature, Lord, compar'd with
thee?

Or what's my mother, or my nurse to me?

I love the air: her dainty sweets refresh
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me ;
Her shrill-mouth'd quire sustains me with their

flesh,

And with their polyphonian notes delight me :

But what's the air or all the sweets that she
Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee?

I love the sea she is my fellow-creature,
My careful purveyor; she provides me store :
She walls me round; she makes my diet greater;
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore:

But, Lord of oceans, when compar'd with thee,
What is the ocean, or her wealth to me?

To heav'n's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye;
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky :
But, what is heav'n great God, compar'd to
thee?

Without thy presence heav'n's no heaven to me.

Without thy presence earth gives no refection; Without thy presence sea affords no treasure; Without thy presence air's a rank infection; Without thy presence heav'n itself no pleasure: If not possess'd, if not enjoy'd in thee,

What's earth, or sea, or air, or heav'n to me?

The highest honour, that the world can boast,
Are subjects far too low for my desire;
The brightest beams of glory are (at most)
But dying sparkles of thy living fire:

The loudest flames that earth can kindle, be
But nightly glow-worms if compar'd to thee.

Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares;
Wisdom, but folly; joy, disquiet-sadness:

Friendship is treason, and delights are snares;
Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness:
Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have they being, when compar'd with thee.

In having all things, and not thee, what have I ?
Not having thee, what have my labours got?
Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I ?
And having thee alone, what have I not?
I wish nor sea, nor land; nor would I be
Possess'd of heav'n, heav'n unpossess'd of thee.

BREVITY OF LIFE.

Behold

How short a span

Was long enough, of old,

To measure out the life of man! In those well-temper'd days his time was then Survey'd, cast up, and found but three-score years and ten.

Alas!

And what is that?

They come, and slide, and pass,
Before my pen can tell thee what.

The posts of time are swift, which having run Their sev'n short stages o'er, their short-liv'd task is done.

Our days
Begun we lend

To sleep, to antic plays