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HUM1LIBUS DAT GRATIAN. — Peacham about 1600.
The mountains huge, that seem to check the sky,
With heath or moss for most part barren lie;
And with his heat in hedge and grove begets *
The virgin primrose or sweet violets.
So God oft times denies unto the great
And those that high in honor's chair are set Do feel their wants; when men of meaner place,
Although they lack the others' golden spring,
Perhaps are blest above the richest king.
ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND. — mines.
I 'm not where I was yesterday,
I have lost a thought, that many a year
214 ON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND.
I have lost a hope, that many a year
For long, too long, in distant climes
My lot was cast, and then
A frail and casual intercourse
Was all I had with men;
But lonelily in distant climes
I was well content to roam,
And felt no void, for my heart was full
Of the friend it had left at home.
And now I was close to my native shores,
And I felt him at my side,
His spirit was in that homeward wind,
His voice in that homeward tide;
For what were to me my native shores,
But that they held the scene
Where my youth's most genial flowers had blown,
And affection's root had been?
I thought, how should I see him first,
O, what is life but a sum of love,
And now how mighty a sum of love
TO A VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.—Milion.
Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green,
And with those few are eminently seen
That labor up the hill of heavenly truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends
To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,
And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure
Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gained thy entrance, virgin wise and pure.
TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.— Keble.
"Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him f"— Matthew xviii. 21.
What liberty so glad and gay,
Reckless of regions far away,
216 TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER THINITY.
The dreary sounds of crowded earth,
The snow-clad peaks of rosy light
The thwarting cliffs that bound his sight,
Two ways alone his roving eye
O blessed restraint! more blessed range!
Too soon the happy child
For life's seducing wild:
Too soon his altered day-dreams show
With sun-bright pleasures to and fro
While of his narrowing heart each yer •
Less keenly through his grosser ear
It must be so; else wherefore falls
While from his pardoning cross he calls,
By our own niggard rule we try The hope to suppliants given;We mete out love, as if our eye Saw to the end of heaven.
Yes, ransomed sinner! wouldst thou know
How often to forgive,
Look where thou hop'st to live:
When thou hast told those isles of light,
And fancied all beyond, Whatever owns, in depth or height,
Creation's wondrous bond;
Then in their solemn pageant learn
Sweet mercy's praise to see;
The bliss of pardoning thee.
THE BEGGAR. — J. R. Lowell.
A beggar through the world am I,
A little of thy steadfastness,
That the world's blasts may round me blow,