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Shall I be still in suit ?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit ?

Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted ?

All wasted ?
Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,

And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasure: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage,

Thy rope of sands
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable to enforce and draw

And be thy law,
While thou dost wink and would'st not see.

Away: take heed,

I will abroad.
Call in thy death's-head there: tie up thy fears.

He that forbears
To suit and serve his need

Deserves his load.
But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild

At every word,
Methought I heard one calling Child !'
And I replied My Lord.'

Geo. Herbert.





In this world, the Isle of Dreams,
While we sit by sorrow's streams,
Tears and terror are our themes


But when once from hence we fly,
More and more approaching nigh
Unto young Eternity

Uniting :

In that whiter island, where
Things are evermore sincere;
Candour here, and lustre there

Delighting :

-There no monstrous fancies shall
Out of Hell an horror call,
To create (or cause at all)


There in calm and cooling sleep
We our eyes shall never steep;
But eternal watch shall keep


Pleasures such as shall pursue
Me immortalised, and you ;
And fresh joys, as never too

Have ending.




Most glorious Lord of Life, that on this day
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin,
And having harrow'd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:

This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die,
Being with Thy dear blood clean wash'd from sin,
May live for ever in felicity:

And that Thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love Thee for the same again ;
And for Thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,
With love may one another entertain.

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought, -Love is the lesson which the rd us taught.







The dew no more will weep

The primrose's pale cheek to deck :
The dew no more will sleep

Nuzzled in the lily's neck :
Much rather would it tremble here
And leave them both to be thy tear.

Not the soft gold which

Steals from the amber-weeping tree, Makes Sorrow half so rich

As the drops distill'd from thee: Sorrow's best jewels lie in these Caskets of which Heaven keeps the keys. When Sorrow would be seen

In her brightest majesty,
-For she is a Queen-

Then is she drest by none but thee:
Then, and only then, she wears
Her richest pearls—I mean thy tears.
Not in the evening's eyes,

When they red with weeping are
For the sun that dies,

Sits Sorrow with a face so fair : Nowhere but here doth meet Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.

When some new bright guest
up among

the stars a room, And Heaven will make a feast,

Angels with their bottles come,
And draw from these full eyes of thine
Their Master's water, their own wine.
Does the night arise ?

Still thy tears do fall and fall.
Does night lose her eyes ?

Still the fountain weeps for all.
Let night or day do what they will,
Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still.

R. Crashaw.

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