Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 85

6 Dear Feast of Palms, of flowers and dew!

Whose fruitful dawn sheds hopes and lights; Thy bright solemnities did shew The third glad day through two sad nights.

7 I'll get me up before the sun, I'll cut me boughs off many a tree, And all alone full early run To gather flowers to welcome thee.

8 Then, like the palm, though wronged I'll bear, I will be still a child, still meek As the poor a.s.s which the proud jeer, And only my dear Jesus seek.

9 If I lose all, and must endure The proverbed griefs of holy Job, I care not, so I may secure But one green branch and a white robe.

[1] Zechariah ix. 9.

PROVIDENCE.

1 Sacred and secret hand!

By whose a.s.sisting, swift command The angel showed that holy well Which freed poor Hagar from her fears, And turned to smiles the begging tears Of young, distressed Ishmael.

2 How, in a mystic cloud, Which doth thy strange, sure mercies shroud, Dost thou convey man food and money, Unseen by him till they arrive Just at his mouth, that thankless hive, Which kills thy bees, and eats thy honey!

3 If I thy servant be, Whose service makes even captives free, A fish shall all my tribute pay, The swift-winged raven shall bring me meat, And I, like flowers, shall still go neat, As if I knew no month but May.

4 I will not fear what man With all his plots and power can.

Bags that wax old may plundered be; But none can sequester or let A state that with the sun doth set, And comes next morning fresh as he.

5 Poor birds this doctrine sing, And herbs which on dry hills do spring, Or in the howling wilderness Do know thy dewy morning hours, And watch all night for mists or showers, Then drink and praise thy bounteousness.

6 May he for ever die Who trusts not thee, but wretchedly Hunts gold and wealth, and will not lend Thy service nor his soul one day!

May his crown, like his hopes, be clay; And what he saves may his foes spend!

7 If all my portion here, The measure given by thee each year, Were by my causeless enemies Usurped; it never should me grieve, Who know how well thou canst relieve, Whose hands are open as thine eyes.

8 Great King of love and truth!

Who wouldst not hate my froward youth, And wilt not leave me when grown old, Gladly will I, like Pontic sheep, Unto my wormwood diet keep, Since thou hast made thy arm my fold.

ST MARY MAGDALENE.

Dear, beauteous saint! more white than day, When in his naked, pure array; Fresher than morning-flowers, which shew, As thou in tears dost, best in dew.

How art thou changed, how lively, fair, Pleasing, and innocent an air, Not tutored by thy gla.s.s, but free, Native, and pure, shines now in thee!

But since thy beauty doth still keep Bloomy and fresh, why dost thou weep?

This dusky state of sighs and tears Durst not look on those smiling years, When Magdal-castle was thy seat, Where all was sumptuous, rare, and neat.

Why lies this hair despised now Which once thy care and art did show?

Who then did dress the much-loved toy In spires, globes, angry curls and coy, Which with skilled negligence seemed shed About thy curious, wild, young head?

Why is this rich, this pistic nard Spilt, and the box quite broke and marred?

What pretty sullenness did haste Thy easy hands to do this waste?

Why art thou humbled thus, and low As earth thy lovely head dost bow?

Dear soul! thou knew'st flowers here on earth At their Lord's footstool have their birth; Therefore thy withered self in haste Beneath his blest feet thou didst cast, That at the root of this green tree Thy great decays restored might be.

Thy curious vanities, and rare Odorous ointments kept with care, And dearly bought, when thou didst see They could not cure nor comfort thee; Like a wise, early penitent, Thou sadly didst to him present, Whose interceding, meek, and calm Blood, is the world's all-healing balm.

This, this divine restorative Called forth thy tears, which ran in live And hasty drops, as if they had (Their Lord so near) sense to be glad.

Learn, ladies, here the faithful cure Makes beauty lasting, fresh, and pure; Learn Mary's art of tears, and then Say you have got the day from men.

Cheap, mighty art! her art of love, Who loved much, and much more could move; Her art! whose memory must last Till truth through all the world be pa.s.sed; Till his abused, despised flame Return to heaven, from whence it came, And send a fire down, that shall bring Destruction on his ruddy wing.

Her art! whose pensive, weeping eyes, Were once sin's loose and tempting spies; But now are fixed stars, whose light Helps such dark stragglers to their sight.

Self-boasting Pharisee! how blind A judge wert thou, and how unkind!

It was impossible that thou, Who wert all false, shouldst true grief know.

Is't just to judge her faithful tears By that foul rheum thy false eye wears?

'This woman,' sayst thou, 'is a sinner!'

And sat there none such at thy dinner?

Go, leper, go! wash till thy flesh Comes like a child's, spotless and fresh; He is still leprous that still paints: Who saint themselves, they are no saints.

THE RAINBOW.

Still young and fine! but what is still in view We slight as old and soiled, though fresh and new.

How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eye Thy burnished, flaming arch did first descry!

When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, The youthful world's gray fathers in one knot, Did with intentive looks watch every hour For thy new light, and trembled at each shower!

When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair, Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air: Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours Balm on the cleft earth, milk on gra.s.s and flowers.

Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tie Of thy Lord's hand, the object[1] of his eye!

When I behold thee, though my light be dim, Distant, and low, I can in thine see him, Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne, And minds the covenant 'twixt all and one.

O foul, deceitful men! my G.o.d doth keep His promise still, but we break ours and sleep.

After the fall the first sin was in blood, And drunkenness quickly did succeed the flood; But since Christ died, (as if we did devise To lose him too, as well as paradise,) These two grand sins we join and act together, Though blood and drunkenness make but foul, foul weather.

Water, though both heaven's windows and the deep Full forty days o'er the drowned world did weep, Could not reform us, and blood in despite, Yea, G.o.d's own blood, we tread upon and slight.

So those bad daughters, which G.o.d saved from fire, While Sodom yet did smoke, lay with their sire.

Then, peaceful, signal bow, but in a cloud Still lodged, where all thy unseen arrows shroud; I will on thee as on a comet look, A comet, the sad world's ill-boding book; Thy light as luctual and stained with woes I'll judge, where penal flames sit mixed and close.

For though some think thou shin'st but to restrain Bold storms, and simply dost attend on rain; Yet I know well, and so our sins require, Thou dost but court cold rain, till rain turns fire.

[1] Genesis ix. 16.

THE SEED GROWING SECRETLY.

MARK IV. 26.

1 If this world's friends might see but once What some poor man may often feel, Glory and gold and crowns and thrones They would soon quit, and learn to kneel.

2 My dew, my dew! my early love, My soul's bright food, thy absence kills!

Hover not long, eternal Dove!

Life without thee is loose and spills.

3 Something I had, which long ago Did learn to suck and sip and taste; But now grown sickly, sad, and slow, Doth fret and wrangle, pine and waste.

4 Oh, spread thy sacred wings, and shake One living drop! one drop life keeps!

If pious griefs heaven's joys awake, Oh, fill his bottle! thy child weeps!

5 Slowly and sadly doth he grow, And soon as left shrinks back to ill; Oh, feed that life, which makes him blow And spread and open to thy will!

6 For thy eternal, living wells None stained or withered shall come near: A fresh, immortal green there dwells, And spotless white is all the wear.