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IN SACRAM ANCHORAM PISCATORIS, G. HERBERT.

Quod crux nequibat fixa, clavique additi,
(Tenere Christum scilicet, ne ascenderet)
Tuîve Christum devocans facundia,
Ultra loquendi tempus : addit anchora :
Nec hoc abundè est tibi, nisi certæ anchoræ
Addas sigillum ; nempe symbolum suæ
Tibi debet unde et terra certitudinis.
Quondam fessus Amor loquens amato,
Tot et tanta loquens amica, scripsit:
Tandem et fessa manus dedit sigillum.
Suavis erat, qui scripta dolens lacerando recludi,
Sanctius in regno magni credebat amoris
(In quo fas nihil est rumpi) donare sigillum !
Munde, fuas fugiasque licet, nos nostraque fixi.

Although the cross could not Christ here detain,
Though nailed unto it, but he ascends again,
Nor yet thy eloquence here keep him still,
But only while thou speak’st; this anchor will:
Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to
This certain anchor add a seal; and so
The water and the earth, both unto thee
Do owe the symbol of their certainty.
When love, being weary, made an end
Of kind expressions to his friend,
He writ; when his hand could write no more
He gave the seal, and so left o’er.
How sweet a friend was he who, being grieved
His letters were broke rudely up, believed
'Twas more secure in great love's common weal
(Where nothing should be broke) to add a seal!
Let the world reel, we and all ours stand sure;
This holy cable is of all storms secure.

TRANSLATED OUT of Gazæus.

Vota Amico facto, fol. 160.

God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine,
Thou who dost, best friend, in best things outshine:
May thy soul, ever cheerful, ne'er know cares;
Nor thy life, ever lively, know gray hairs;
Nor thy hand, ever open, know base holds ;
Nor thy purse, ever plump, know plaits or folds ;
Nor thy tongue, ever true, know a false thing;
Nor thy words, ever mild, know quarrelling;
Nor thy works, ever equal, know disguise ;
Nor thy fame, ever pure, know contumelies ;
Nor thy prayers know low objects, still divine
God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine.

HYMN to God, my God, In My Sickness. SINCE I am coming to that holy room

Where with the choir of saints for evermore I shall be made thy music, as I come

I tune the instrument here at the door, And what I must do then think here before.

Whilst my physicians by their love are grown

Cosmographers, and I their mass, who lie Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown,

That this is my south-west discovery Per fretum febris, by these straits to die. I joy that in these straits I see my west;

For though those currents yield return to none,
What shall my west hurt me? as west and east

In all flat maps (and I am one) are one,
So death doth touch the resurrection.
Is the Pacific Sea my home? or are

The eastern riches ? Is Jerusalem,
Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar?

All straits, and none but straits are ways to them, Whether where Japheth dwelt, or Cham, or Sem,

- We think that paradise and calvary,

Christ's cross and Adam's tree, stood in one place; Look, Lord ! and find both Adams met in me:

As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face,
May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace.
So in his purple wrapped receive me, Lord !

By these his thorns give me his holy crown;
And as to others' souls I preached thy Word,

Be this my text, my sermon to inine own;
Therefore, that he may raise, the Lord throws down.

THE END.

LONDON:

JOHN W. FARKER, ST. MARTIN'S LANE.

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