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Yet when young April's husband-show'rs

Shall bless the faithful Maia's bed, We'll bring the first-born of her flow'rs

To kiss thy feet and crown thy head: To thee, dread Lamb! whose love must keep The shepherds, while they feed their sheep.

WILLIAM HABINGTON.

Born, 1605; DIED, 1654.

NOT UNTO US, O LORD!-DAVID.

No marble statue, nor high

Aspiring pyramid, be rais'd To lose its head within the sky! What claim have I to memory?

God, be thou only prais'd !

Thou in a moment canst defeat

The mighty conquests of the proud, And blast the laurels of the great; Thou canst make brighter glory set

I'th' sudden in a cloud.

How can the feeble works of art

Hold out against th' assault of storms?
Or how can brass to him impart
Sense of surviving fame, whose heart

Is now resolv'd to worms ?

Blind folly of triumphing pride,

Eternity, why build’st thou here?
Dost thou not see the highest tide
Its humbled stream in th' ocean hide,

And ne'er the same appear?

LOVE OF GOD TO MAN.

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That tide which did its banks o'erflow,

As sent abroad by th' angry sea To level vastest buildings low, And all our trophies overthrow,

Ebbs like a thief away.

And thou who, to preserve thy name,

Leay'st statues in some conquer'd land,
How will posterity scorn fame,
When th' idol shall receive a maim,

And lose a foot or hand!

How wilt thou hate thy wars, when he

Who only for his hire did raise Thy counterfeit in stone, with thee Shall stand competitor, and be

Perhaps thought worthier praise !

No laurel wreath about my brow!

To thee, my God, all praise, whose law The conquer'd doth, and conqueror bow; For both dissolve to air, if thou

Thy influence but withdraw.

EDMUND WALLER.

BORN, 1605; DIED, 1687.

LOVE OF GOD TO MAN. THAT early love of creatures yet unmade, To frame the world th' Almighty did persuade: For love it was that first created light, Moved on the waters, chas'd away the night From the rude chaos, and bestow'd new grace On things dispos'd of to their proper place, Some to rest here, and some to shine above : Earth, sea, and heav'n, were all th' effects of love.

And love would be return'd, but there was none
That to themselves or others yet were known.
The world a palace was without a guest,
Till one appears that must excel the rest;
One like the Author, whose capacious mind
Might by the glorious work the Maker find;
Might measure heav'n, and give each star a name,
With art and courage the rough ocean tame;
Over the globe with swelling sails might go,
And that 'tis round by his experience know;
Make strongest beasts obedient to his will,
And serve his use the fertile earth to till.
When by his word God had accomplished all,
Man to create he did a council call;
Employ'd his hand to give the dust he took
A graceful figure and majestic look;
With his own breath convey'd into his breast
Life and a soul, fit to command the rest,
Worthy alone to celebrate his name,
For such a gift, and tell from whence it came:
Birds sing his praises in a wilder note,
But not with lasting numbers, and with thought,
Man's great prerogative. But above all,
His grace abounds in his new fav'rite's fall.
If he create, it is a world he makes;
If he be angry, the creation shakes.

JOHN MILTON.

BORN, 1608; DIED, 1674.

HYMN TO THE CREATOR. These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty! Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavens To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest'works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.

HYMN TO THE CREATOR.

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ye

Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing; ye in heaven:
On earth join, all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright cirelet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou

sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal.course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fliest,
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies;
And

ye five other wandering fires, that move In mystic dance, not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform ; and mix And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honour to the world's Great Author rise; Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, Rising or falling still advance his praise. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud; and, wave your tops, ye pines, With every plant, in sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.

Join voices all ye living souls: ye birds,
That singing up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye

that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, Universal Lord, be bounteous still
To give us only good; and if the night
Hath gathered aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.

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WORSHIP OF THE ANGELS.

No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all
The multitude of angels with a shout
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet
As from blest voices uttering joy, heaven rung
With jubilee, and loud hosannas fill’d
The eternal regions; lowly reverent,
Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground
With solemn adoration down they cast
Their crowns inwove with amaranth and gold;
Immortal amaranth, a flower that once
In Paradise fast by the tree of life
Began to bloom, but soon for man's offence
To heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows,
And flowers aloft shading the fount of life,
And where the river of bliss, through the midst of heaven,
Rolls o'er Elysian flowers its amber stream:
With these that never fade, the spirits elect
Bind their resplendent locks enwreath'd with beams,
Now in loose garlands thick thrown off; the bright
Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone,
Impurpled with celestial roses smiled.

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