Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state Is kingly thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.” XX. TO MR. LAWRENCE. LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire XXI. TO CYRIAC SKINNER. CYRIAC, whose grandsire, on the royal bench Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intends, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Towards solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day, And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. XXII. TO THE SAME. CYRIAC, this three years' day, these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied In liberty's defence, my noble task," Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask, Content, thought blind, had I no better guide. XXIII. ON HIS DECEASED WIFE. METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint gave, Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom, wash'd from spot of child-bed taint, Purification in the old law did save, And such, as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in heaven without restraint, Come vested all in white, pure as her mind : Her face was veil'd, yet, to my fancied sight, Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So clear, as in no face with more delight. But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked-she fled and day brought back my night. |