11. An Epigram. Upon the Pictures* in the following Poems, which the Author first made with his own hand, admirably well, as may be seen in his Manuscript, dedicated to the Right Honourable Lady the L. Denbigh. 'Twixt pen and pencil rose a holy strife Which might draw Virtue better to the life: As these fruits of pure Nature; where no Art The hand grown bold, with wit will needs contest : THOMAS CAR. * This Epigram being portion of the original book, we reprint it in its place, although the Pictures' of the 1652 volume are not here reproduced.-Ed. To the Moblest and Best of Ladies, the Countess of Denbigb, PERSUADING HER TO RESOLUTION IN RELIGION, AND TO RENDER HERSELF WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY INTO THE COMMUNION OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH. HAT Heaven-entreated heart is this, WH Stands trembling at the gate of bliss? Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open it, and enter; Whose definition is a doubt 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out. Fettered, and locked up they lie In a sad self-captivity. The astonish'd Nymphs their flood's strange fate deplore, To see themselves their own severer shore. Thou that alone canst thaw this cold, And fetch the heart from its stronghold; O fix this fair Indefinite! And 'mongst Thy shafts of sov'reign light Which has the key of this close heart, Come once the conquering way; not to confute That so, in spite of all this peevish strength And use the season of Love's shower! Meet His well-meaning wounds, wise heart! And haste to drink the wholesome dart. It must not fall in vain, it must Not mark the dry regardless dust. Meet it with wide-spread arms, and see 'Tis cowardice that keeps this field," 94 And want of courage not to yield. Yield then, O yield, that Love may win Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove I To the Name above every Name, the Name of Jesus: A HYMN. SING the name which none can say But touch'd with an interior ray : The name of our new peace; our good: : 2 The name of all our lives and loves. 5 The heirs elect of Love, whose names belong All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast And that fair word at all refer to thee), Bring hither thy whole self; and let me see What of thy parent Heaven yet speaks in thee. O thou art poor Of noble powers, I see, And full of nothing else but empty me: Than this great morning's mighty business. (Alas!) will never do; 25 We must have store. Go, Soul, out of thyself, and seek for more. Great Nature for the key of her huge chest |