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Tell her, that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That, had'st thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retir'd;

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desir'd,

And not blush so to be admir'd.

Then die that she

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee,

How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!



WHEN first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave
To do the like; our bodies but forerun
The spirit's duty: true hearts spread and leave
Unto their God, as flowers do to the sun :
Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep
Him company all day, and in Him sleep.
Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should
Dawn with the day : there are set awful hours
'Twixt heaven and us; the manna was not good
After sun-rising ; far day sullies flowers :
Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut,
And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut.
Walk with thy fellow creatures ; note the hush
And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn ; each bush
And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not sing ?
() leave thy cares and follies! Go this way,
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.
Serve God before the world ; let Him not go
Until thou hast a blessing ; then resign
The whole unto Him, and remember who
Prevail'd by wrestling ere the sun did shine ;
Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin,
Then journey on, and have an eye to heav'n.
Mornings are mysteries; the first, the world's youth,
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud,


Shroud in their births ; the crown of life, light, truth,
Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food :
Three blessings wait upon them, one of which
Should move-they make us holy, happy, rich.
When the world's up, and every swarm abroad,
Keep well thy temper, mix not with each clay;
Despatch necessities ; life hath a load
Which must be carried on, and safely may ;
Yet keep those cares without thee; let the heart
Be God's alone, and choose the better part.



My mind to me a kingdom is,

Such perfect joy therein I find,
That it excels all other bliss

That God or Nature hath assign'd :
Though much I want that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.


No princely port, or wealthy store,

Nor force to win a victory;
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a loving eye ;
To none of these I yield as thrall,
For why, my mind despise them all.

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