Still single heard, while these agree
With his mild blood in voice and will,
Who prayed for those that did him kill!

RIGHTEOUSNESS.

1 Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades
The old, white prophets planted first and dressed;
Leaving for us, whose goodness quickly fades,
A shelter all the way, and bowers to rest;

2 Who is the man that walks in thee? who loves Heaven's secret solitude, those fair abodes, Where turtles build, and careless sparrows move, Without to-morrow's evils and future loads?

3 Who hath the upright heart, the single eye, The clean, pure hand, which never meddled pitch? Who sees invisibles, and doth comply

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5

With hidden treasures that make truly rich?

He that doth seek and love

The things above,

Whose spirit ever poor is, meek, and low;

Who simple still and wise,

Still homeward flies,

Quick to advance, and to retreat most slow.

Whose acts, words, and pretence

Have all one sense,

One aim and end; who walks not by his sight;

Whose eyes are both put out,

And goes about

Guided by faith, not by exterior light.

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10

Who spills no blood, nor spreads

Thorns in the beds

Of the distressed, hasting their overthrow;
Making the time they had
Bitter and sad,

Like chronic pains, which surely kill, though slow.

Who knows earth nothing hath
Worth love or wrath,

But in his Hope and Rock is ever glad.
Who seeks and follows peace,

When with the ease

And health of conscience it is to be had.

Who bears his cross with joy,
And doth employ

His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes;
Who lends not to be paid,

And gives full aid

Without that bribe which usurers impose.

Who never looks on man

Fearful and wan,

But firmly trusts in God; the great man's measure,
Though high and haughty, must

Be ta'en in dust;

But the good man is God's peculiar treasure.

Who doth thus, and doth not

These good deeds blot

With bad, or with neglect; and heaps not wrath
By secret filth, nor feeds

Some snake, or weeds,

Cheating himself-That man walks in this path.

JACOB'S PILLOW AND PILLAR.

I see the temple in thy pillar reared,

And that dread glory which thy children feared,
In mild, clear visions, without a frown,

Unto thy solitary self is shown.

'Tis number makes a schism: throngs are rude,
And God himself died by the multitude.

This made him put on clouds, and fire, and smoke;
Hence he in thunder to thy offspring spoke.
The small, still voice at some low cottage knocks,
But a strong wind must break thy lofty rocks.

The first true worship of the world's great King From private and selected hearts did spring; But he most willing to save all mankind, Enlarged that light, and to the bad was kind. Hence catholic or universal came

A most fair notion, but a very name.

For this rich pearl, like some more common stone,
When once made public, is esteemed by none.
Man slights his Maker when familiar grown,
And sets up laws to pull his honour down.
This God foresaw: and when slain by the crowd,
Under that stately and mysterious cloud
Which his death scattered, he foretold the place
And form to serve him in should be true grace,
And the meek heart; not in a mount, nor at
Jerusalem, with blood of beasts and fat.
A heart is that dread place, that awful cell,
That secret ark, where the mild Dove doth dwell,
When the proud waters rage: when heathens rule
By God's permission, and man turns a mule,
This little Goshen, in the midst of night

And Satan's seat, in all her coasts hath light;
Yea, Bethel shall have tithes, saith Israel's stone,
And vows and visions, though her foes cry, None.
Thus is the solemn temple sunk again
Into a pillar, and concealed from men.
And glory be to his eternal name,
Who is contented that this holy flame
Shall lodge in such a narrow pit, till he
With his strong arm turns our captivity!

But blessed Jacob, though thy sad distress Was just the same with ours, and nothing less; For thou a brother, and bloodthirsty too,

Didst fly, whose children wrought thy children's woe:
Yet thou in all thy solitude and grief,

On stones didst sleep, and found'st but cold relief;
Thou from the Day-star a long way didst stand,
And all that distance was law and command.
But we a healing Sun, by day and night,
Have our sure guardian and our leading light.
What thou didst hope for and believe we find
And feel, a Friend most ready, sure, and kind.
Thy pillow was but type and shade at best,
But we the substance have, and on him rest.

1

THE FEAST.

Oh, come away,

Make no delay,

Come while my heart is clean and steady!
While faith and grace

Adorn the place,

Making dust and ashes ready!

1 Obadiah 10; Amos i. 11.

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No bliss here lent

Is permanent,

Such triumphs poor flesh cannot merit;
Short sips and sights

Endear delights:

Who seeks for more he would inherit.

Come then, true bread,

Quickening the dead,

Whose eater shall not, cannot die!

Come, antedate

On me that state,

Which brings poor dust the victory.

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Which from thine eye

Breaks as the day doth from the east,
When the spilt dew

Like tears doth shew

The sad world wept to be released.

Spring up, O wine,

And springing shine

With some glad message from his heart,

Who did, when slain,

These means ordain

For me to have in him a part!

Such a sure part

In his blest heart,

The well where living waters spring,

That, with it fed,

Poor dust, though dead,

Shall rise again, and live, and sing.