More dead to me!

Lord, hear! Shall he that made the ear

Not hear?'

Behold, thy dust doth stir;

It moves, it creeps, it aims at thee:
Wilt thou defer

To succour me,

Thy pile of dust, wherein each crumb

To thee help appertains.

Says, come?

Hast thou left all things to their course,
And laid the reins

Upon the horse?

Is all lock'd? Hath a sinner's plea

No key?

THE JEWS.

POOR nation, whose sweet sap and juice Our scions have purloin'd, and left you dry: Whose streams we got by the apostles' sluice, And use in baptism, while ye pine and die; Who by not keeping once, became a debtor; And now by keeping lose the letter:

Oh, that my prayers-mine, alas! Oh, that some angel might a trumpet sound: At which the church, falling upon her face, Should cry so loud, until the trump were drown'd; And by that cry of her dear Lord obtain,

That your sweet sap might come again!

THE COLLAR.

I STRUCK the board, and cried, "No more!
I will abroad,

What! shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?

Have I no harvest, but a thorn

To let me blood; and not restore

What I have lost with cordial fruit?

Sure there was wine,

Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn,
Before my tears did drown it.

Is the year only lost to me?

Have I no bays to crown it?

No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
All wasted?

Not so, my heart! but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.

Recover all thy sigh-blown age

On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,

Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee

Good cable, to enforce and draw,

And be thy law;

While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away; take heed!

I will abroad,

Call in thy death's-head there: tie up thy fears. He, that forbears

To suit and serve his need,

Deserves his load."

But as I rav'd, and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,

Methought I heard one calling, "Child!"
And I replied, "My Lord!"

ASSURANCE.

O SPITEFUL bitter thought! Bitterly spiteful thought! Couldst thou invent So high a torture? Is such poison bought? Doubtless, but in the way of punishment, When wit contrives to meet with thee; No such rank poison can there be.

Thou saidst but even now,

That all was not so fair as I conceiv'd,
Betwixt my God and me; that I allow
And coin large hopes: but that I was deceiv'd;
Either the league was broke, or near it;
And that I had great cause to fear it.

And what to this? What more Could poison, if it had a tongue, express? What is thy aim? Wouldst thou unlock the door To cold despairs and gnawing pensiveness? Wouldst thou raise devils? I see, I know, I writ thy purpose long ago.

But I will to my Father,

Who heard thee say it. "O most gracious Lord,

U

If all the hope and comfort that I gather,
Were from myself, I had not half a word,
Not half a letter, to oppose
What is objected by my foes.

But thou art my desert;

And in this league, which now my foes invade,
Thou art not only to perform thy part,

But also mine: as, when the league was made,
Thou didst at once thyself endite,

And hold my hand, while I did write.

Wherefore if thou canst fail,

Then can thy truth and I: but while rocks stand,
And rivers stir, thou canst not shrink or quail:
Yea, when both rocks and all things shall disband,
Then shalt thou be my rock and tower,
And make their ruin praise thy power.

Now, foolish thought, go on;

Spin out thy thread, and make thereof a coat
To hide thy shame: for thou hast cast a bone,
Which bounds on thee, and will not down thy
throat.-

What for itself love once began,
Now love and truth will end, in man.

THE CALL.

COME, my way, my truth, my life!

Such a way as gives us breath;
Such a truth as ends all strife;
Such a life as killeth death.

Come, my light, my feast, my strength!
Such a light as shows a feast;

Such a feast as mends in length;
Such a strength as makes his guest.

Come, my joy, my love, my heart!
Such a joy as none can move;
Such a love as none can part;
Such a heart as joys in love.

CLASPING OF HANDS.

LORD, thou art mine! and I am thine,
If mine I am: and thine much more,
Than I or ought, or can be mine.
Yet to be thine, doth me restore;
So that again I now am mine,
And with advantage mine the more;
Since this being mine, brings with it thine,
And thou with me dost thee restore.
If I without thee would be mine,
I neither should be mine nor thine.

Lord, I am thine, and thou art mine!
So mine thou art, that something more
I may presume thee mine, than thine.
For thou didst suffer to restore-
Not thee, but me; and to be mine:
And with advantage mine the more,
Since thou in death wast none of thine;
Yet then as mine didst me restore.

O be mine still! Still make me thine;
Or rather make no thine and mine!