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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.
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?
Is now resolv'd to worms ?
Blind folly of triumphing pride,
Eternity, why build’st thou here?
And ne'er the same appear?
LOVE OF GOD TO MAN.
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,
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.
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
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.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
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,
WORSHIP OF THE ANGELS.
No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all