Peace, good reader, do not weep!
Peace! the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that Love could tie.
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
Till the stormy night be gone,
And th' eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they waken with that light
Whose day shall never sleep in night.
To die is landing on some silent shore,
Where billows never break, nor tempests roar;
Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis o'er.
The wise through thought th' insults of death defy; The fools through blest insensibility.
'Tis what the guilty fear, the pious crave;
Sought by the wretch, and vanquish'd by the brave: It eases lovers, sets the captive free,
And, though a tyrant, offers liberty.
THE seas are quiet when the winds give o'er ;
So calm are we when passions are no more,
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries;
The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,
Lets in new light through chinks which time has made :
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,
As they draw near to their eternal home.
Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,
That stand upon the threshold of the new.
LIKE to the falling of a Starre,
Or as the flights of eagles are,
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew;
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or bubbles which on water stood;
Even such is man, whose borrow'd light
Is straight call'd in, and paid to-night.
The Wind blowes out, the bubble dies,
The Spring entomb'd in Autumn lies;
The Dew's dried up, the Starre is shot,
The Flight is past, and man forgot
WHEN God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by;
Let us, said He, pour on him all we can,
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a spanne.
So strength first made a way;
Then beautie flow'd, then wisdom, honoure, pleasure : When almost all was out, God made a staye,
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure
Rest at the bottom laye.
For if I should, said he,
Bestowe this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me
And rest in Nature, not the God of nature,
So both should losers be.
Yet let him keepe the rest,
But keepe them with repining restlessness,
Let him be rich and wearie, that at least
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.
THE night is come, like to the day;
Depart not Thou, great God, away.
Let not my sins, black as the night,
Eclipse the lustre of Thy light.
Keep still in my horizon: for to me
The sun makes not the day, but Thee.
Thou whose nature cannot sleep
On my temples sentry keep;
Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes,
Whose eyes are open while mine close.
Let no dreams my head infest,
But such as Jacob's temples blest ;
While I do rest, my soul advance,
Make my sleep a holy trance;
That I may, my rest being wrought,
Awake into some holy thought,
And with as active vigour run
My course as doth the nimble sun.
Sleep is a death ;-O make me try,
By sleeping, what it is to die!
And as gently lay my head
On my grave, as now my bed.
Howe'er I rest, great God, let me
Awake again at last with Thee.
And thus assur'd, behold I lie
Securely, or to wake or die.
These are my drowsy days; in vain.
I do now wake to sleep again :
O come that hour, when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake for ever!
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