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THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE.
And what's a life? The flourishing array
Read on this dial how the shades devour
Behold these lilies which thy hands have made,
To view, how soon they droop, how soon they fade!
Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon;
Nor do I beg this slender inch to wile
The time away or falsely to beguile
My thoughts with joy: here's nothing worth a smile.
TIME's an hand's-breadth; 'tis a tale;
'Tis an eagle in its way,
SWEET peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave Let me once know.
I sought thee in a secret cave,
And ask'd if peace were there,
A hollow wind did seem to answer, "No!
I did;-and going, did a rainbow note:
This is the lace of peace's coat:
I will search out the matter.
But while I look'd, the clouds immediately
Then I went to a garden, and did spy
A gallant flower,
The crown imperial.
"Sure," said I,
"Peace at the root must dwell."
But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour
At length I met a reverend good old man;
I did demand, he thus began:
"There was a prince of old
At Salem dwelt, who liv'd with good increase
"He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes.
But after death out of his grave
There sprang twelve stalks of wheat;
"It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth;
For they that taste it do rehearse,
That virtues lie therein;
A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth,
"Take of this grain which in my garden grows, And grows for you:
Make bread of it; and that repose
And peace which everywhere
I MADE a posy, while the day ran by :
But time did beckon to the flowers, and they
My hand was next to them, and then my heart.
Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey,
Yet sug'ring the suspicion.
Farewell, dear flow'rs! sweetly your time ye spent ;
DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST.
THE glories of our birth and state,
Death lays his icy hands on kings;
Sceptre and crown,
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
Early or late,
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
HYMN TO THE NATIVITY.
SOLILOQUY ON DEATH.
I HAVE not lived
After the rate to fear another world.
DATE OF BIRTH UNCERTAIN; DIED ABOUT 1650.
HYMN TO THE NATIVITY.
GLOOMY night embrac'd the place
We saw thee in thy balmy nest
And chase the trembling shades away .
She sings thy tears asleep, and dips