'O how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track! That I might once more reach that plain, But ah! my soul with too much stay CVIII. MY PEACE. Y soul, there is a country Where stands a winged sentry All skilful in the wars; There, above noise and danger, Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles, And One born in a manger Commands the beauteous files. He is thy gracious friend And, O my soul awake! Did in pure love descend To die here for thy sake; There grows the flower of peace, Thy fortress and thy ease. CIX. HEY are all gone into the world of light! THEY And I alone sit lingering here; Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Or those faint beams in which this hill is dressed, I see them walking in an air of glory, My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, O holy hope! and high humility, High as the heavens above! These are your walks, and you have shewed them me To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous death! the jewel of the just, What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust; He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know At first sight, if the bird be flown; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, If a star were confined into a tomb Her captive flames must needs burn there; O father of eternal life, and all Created glories under thee! Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill Or else remove me hence unto that hill, CX. THOMAS STANLEY, 1625?-1678. OH THE RELAPSE. H turn away those cruel eyes, Or death in such a bright disguise May tempt a second wooing. Punish their blind and impious pride, It was my fall that deified Thy name, and sealed thy story. Yet no new sufferings can prepare Lovers will doubt thou canst entice And if thou burn one victim twice, Both think thee poor and cruel. |